Rent Is Due (NSFW, weight gain, Dom/sub, furry, extreme gluttony, mild slob, nausea)
Marrel slid his pudgy digits into the handle of the container, feeling a tightness that hadn’t existed only a few weeks before as his fingers struggled for room. He lifted the gallon jug, arm straining and weakened muscles already aching just a bit as he was reminded, both frighteningly and excitedly, just how out of shape he was becoming. He opened the top and was instantly hit with a smell he actively hated, oily and heavy, with a particularly potent fake chocolate punch. He winced, and yet beneath a belly that was spreading his thighs more by the day, he throbbed in need.
“But there are so many left,” he complained meekly, looking from the jug to the stern expression on his partner’s face. Renn just shifted forward, pressing more weight against his massive boyfriend, sinking in as he pushed his paws against the bottom of the jug and shifted the opening to Marrel’s lip. Insistent, yet gentle, he let the first few thick ounces slide down the obese dog’s muzzle and onto his chins until Marrel finally opened his mouth and began to drink.
“Rent’s due, fatass,” Renn murmured, eyes seemingly disinterested as they glanced over the various stretch marks Marrel had grown recently. Marrel’s toes curled and he shuddered as the slimy substance, a new brand with monstrous caloric content, set his stomach to churning and turning over in protest. Still, he drank, watching Renn’s sharp teeth slowly getting revealed as the slender ocelot’s devious nature showed itself in a predatory grin. “If you don’t start catching up on your shakes, you might end up warming the pavement with your triplewide ass… Or you can just give me more control like we talked about.”
Marrel whimpered, almost choking on the shake as the threat rang in his head. He didn’t know if Renn meant it when he said things like that, or whether he would be made to give up even more power, but he had learned never to assume how dark the feline would go to encourage Marrel to grow fatter. The gallon crossed halfway empty and his throat pulsed. Despite the nausea clutching his cavernous stomach, he kept drinking. Somewhere deep under his gut, his pre finally leaked far enough down the tunnel of fat to soak into his straining, tear-lined underwear.
“I’m going away for my trip after you finish this,” Renn added, quieter, his voice excellent at demanding full attention. He shifted a paw to adjust the tie he was wearing, smoothing his suit jacket after. “If I come home and even an ounce of this stuff is left, you better have made up your mind. Either you stuff yourself through the front door, or I attach a leash and collar to that fat neck of yours once and for all."
Before he could darken his slacks with his own excitement, Renn snatched Marrel’s paw and pushed it to the bottom of the almost empty jug, making the husky hold it as Renn backed off, turning to a mirror on the wall and finishing his preening. Marrel, stunned into obedience as he so often was, finished the gallon even while tears of discomfort formed in his mint-green, piggish eyes. Those eyes rolled up in their sockets as he forced down the final few gulps, finally coming up for air in wheezing, stuttering, hiccup-punctuated gasps.
Renn picked up his suitcase and left the house without another word, leaving his lover pushing six hundred pounds in a living room filled with over a dozen more gallons of black-market gainer shake. Two days to drink fifteen of them would either make for a spectacular trainwreck of added blubber, a massive weak fatass looking for an apartment, or ropes, funnels, and leashes forever. Even Renn wasn't sure what Marrel would do. As he gingerly got in the taxi, shifting his toned body to hide his still-subsiding erection, he hummed softly to himself. He was looking forward to Sunday night.
Back at home, Marrel clutched his stomach, pudgy paws sinking into copious belly fat as he gritted his teeth and waited for the nausea to go away.
“Nnng,” he groaned, “what the fuck is in this stuff!?”
He had asked Renn the same thing multiple times that month before he began to avoid his responsibilities by not drinking it for days on end. Renn never told him, or maybe Renn didn’t know either. All Marrel could gather was the stuff wasn’t sold in stores or on any normal retail website. This stuff was unsafe, but Renn didn’t care. Marrel already knew why; after the first week guzzling, FORCING down that stuff, his weight had ballooned alarmingly.
Now, thanks to his own choices and procrastinating, he had a half month’s supply to finish in just two days. It was Friday afternoon and Renn was coming home Sunday evening. If he wanted to put off the decision a little longer, he needed to do better.
The stomach cramps were dying off, and despite a gallon of shake inside his gut, he started to feel gnawing hunger creeping back to him. Thankful for a break from the shake, Marrel braced himself on the armrest of his buckling and worn out couch. He stood with effort, joints complaining and back cracking loud enough to make him gasp. His fat hung off him heavily. His form was sloppy with rolls, and yet rounded out and springy from constant new growth.
Renn had taken to not telling Marrel what the scale said each time he stepped onto it. All he got was varying degrees of energy in the ocelot's voice when he confirmed, consistently, that Marrel was fatter than last time. As Marrel waddled, paws grasping for the railing on the wall desperately even before his side fat had the chance to slap against it, he knew there was no way his expansion would stop.
With his fat massaging his fupa-smothered dick as he moved, the thought of the beef stroganoff Renn prepared just for him made him drool down his chins. He panted from exhaustion and arousal as the widened kitchen doorway approached, stomach going from merely needy to loudly demanding. His paws clapped on the linoleum as he took the final few necessary steps. He looked at the fridge door, knowing the food was in a huge container inside, and, after opening the door as wide as it could go… He sat. He let his flabby ass slam down on the floor and felt his belly spread his legs wide. Leaning forward, wheezing as his belly and chest fat compressed, he pulled the massive tub of cold pasta out of the fridge. Weakly trying to toss the lid aside, it instead landed and smeared sauce on the side of his belly before clattering on the floor.
He couldn’t resist, couldn’t wait for the microwave, and definitely had no use for a plate. He lifted the container to his muzzle and began to eat. Drips of sauce and chunks of meat slid lazily down his chins and between his flabby pancaked moobs as he inhaled soggy noodles, congealed beef fat, and creamy, fattening sauce in loud, hungry gulps. The only breaks he took were to breathe quickly, let out a moan, and return his lips to the food. It wasn’t tasty cold, but that didn’t matter to Marrel. It was fattening, and more importantly, it was stretching his stomach to its capacity. If he could get full, like really, truly STUFFED, he could get off, otherwise his cock would throb and leak but never release. He had been trained too well to cum without a stomach so packed it made his rib cage ache.
Before long, and before he was ready, the food was gone. He licked the container clean, frantic and whimpering in dismay, and ferried the fallen chunks of beef into his muzzle.
“N-no, please… I… M… More… Hrrrf… Huff… I need more…”
He wasn’t full enough. He was hurting and tight, but it just wasn’t ENOUGH. He didn’t even register the effort it took to stand; his focus was on fixing his problem. He waddled as fast as he could back to the living room, eyes darting around and landing on the nearest gallon of shake propped against the bottom of the couch. He leaned down, hearing his sweat pants tearing somewhere over his ass, and belched as the force of the motion pushed out gas.
Fuck, he thought, not now! Now I’m even less full!
His member pulsed angrily in his sweaty, musky fupa as he grabbed the gallon. The cap bumped his lips as he thrusted it against them clumsily, making him swear. He was being too hasty, but he couldn’t help himself. He dropped onto his ass, snapping the couch into further peaks and valleys, and put a shaking paw on the lid. He removed it and put the bottle to his lips again, heart hammering and legs twitching, making his fat form ripple as he chugged, head swimming and eyes seeing spots. He had forgotten to breathe before he started chugging. It didn’t matter; he needed more.
Suddenly, after finally breaking to breathe and avoid passing out, his stomach tightened around the ungodly load it carried. He cried out and gagged, clutching his belly and sweating as the nausea kicked in stronger than last time. He cursed, starting to cry desperate tears as he realized his precious calories might be lost. He had to do something, but moving made it worse. Finally, in a snap of realization, he reached into the couch-side drawer and pulled out nausea meds Renn had stashed for moments like these.
Taking what he hoped was the right dose, swigging from the bottle, Marrel tilted his head back and called out in a jolt of pain as the liquid rushed to his ailing stomach. He could feel his pulse in his whole body as he waited for the nausea to hopefully subside. All the while, despite it all, his shaft throbbed. He had been too horny for too long and even the pleasure of his erection began to ache painfully.
He didn’t know how long he was gripping the back of the couch, but when the queasiness abated, his fingers felt numb. He blinked, took a few cautious breaths, and brought the bottle to his lips, inhaling and smelling the unpleasant aroma. It… did nothing to his stomach. Huffing in excitement and relief, he resumed his eager chugging, stomach feeling oddly empty as he watched the viscous fluid drain from the jug to his throat.
Before he could cum, and just as the final drops of shake touched his tongue, the overworked quarter-ton-plus canine passed out there on the couch, tilted slightly to one side by the broken seat beneath him. He slept fitfully, breathing in fits and starts without his CPAP, late into the night.
Marrel woke up, startled by a loud crunching sound. His body was jiggling subtly and his rump felt dully sore as he tried to shake off sleep to find out what happened. Looking around his bulk, all he could guess was the couch broke the rest of the way under him. He shifted an arm, trailing the saggy upper arm fat across his stomach and, immediately, he noticed something wrong. His stomach burned around the middle, feeling like it was being squeezed in a tightening hula hoop! Frightened, he tried to stand, but his body felt more cumbersome than usual. Burping and groaning, the pain increasing as he flailed and tried to shift, he realized what was going on.
He had grown. He had grown significantly. All night, his waistband had pulled tighter and tighter as he digested, leaving him feeling like his gut was strangled. Shifting his paw toward the deep artificial crease in his midsection, holding his breath, gritting his teeth, he managed to hook the guitar string-tight elastic with his claw and severed it with a tug.
His belly jumped forward, filling back out, bouncing and touching the floor for the first time.
“O-oh god,” he breathed, eyes wide, jaw dropping. Even though the couch was broken, feeling the floor against his overhang felt like a religious experience. It was… hotter than anything he had ever felt before. As his erection returned, cushioned by more fupa than ever, he struggled to shift, bending his knees to try to get up. He needed more.
Gaining was everything to him, and as he tried and failed time and again to get up, his need for it only grew.
“Fuck, I need… huff… I need to… Nnnf… God I need more…”
Lurching forward, belly shoving against the ground, Marrel fell onto his hands and knees, belly taking up the space between his legs as he crawled toward the waiting gallons, fat paws groping toward them as his thoughts devolved more and more, focused solely on getting fatter, drinking more, and feeling himself swell.
His stomach was ready this time. Big needy gulps of shake pulsed down what used to be a neck, but had become a thick, sagging roll of soft, buttery blubber. One bottle was tossed aside within minutes and another was hastily opened and drained just as fast. His tail, shortened by the ass and back fat around it, wagged frantically as he imagined himself ballooning there on the floor, belly lifting him higher, tits sagging to touch the carpet, limbs getting too heavy and weak to move.
Three, four, five. He was on his sixth gallon when he came, sputtering and groaning, vision blurring as his tucked away cock spasmed and shot his pitifully small, yet powerfully pleasurable load. He passed out again, half a gallon hitting the floor and spilling as he fell into a dreamless sleep.
Sometime Sunday afternoon, after waking and chugging, cumming and passing out several times in a haze of lust he just couldn’t fight, Marrel woke to realize he was out of shake. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Sometime in the next hour as he tried to clear his head, lying on his side, beached by drowsiness and a body that had grown too fat for his clothes, he noticed the gallon he had dropped who knew how long ago. Lying in a sticky, dried stain of shake, he realized he would never be able to clean it up or hide it from Renn.
Despite this, as mounds of male massiveness worked and worked to get themselves at least sitting, he didn’t care. His paw shifted to the tire of fat that used to be his neck, swallowing at the knot in his dry, phlegmy throat. He stroked the soft flesh there for a while and began to daydream about a collar encircling and soon sinking into it. The thought made him blush, moan, and smile.
He had drank every drop, minus half a gallon, and he did it all in less than two days. He didn’t even know if he had the strength to stand. The best he could do was shift until the spilled jug was framed by his meaty thighs and loomed over by his belly. Properly posed, Marrel sighed and committed.
“Hey Cassandra,” he called, activating the smart camera in the corner of the room, conveniently looking down at him at just the right angle. “Take a picture of me, then send it to Renn in a text saying, ‘ordering takeout until you get home. Didn’t quite make it. Bring a collar and leash.’”
He confirmed the details and the picture was sent. With paws shifting to his moobs, playing with stretched, oversized nipples as he worked himself up for his next feast, biting his lip and plaintively moaning, he let the decision he made sink in much like his paws did in his chest fat.
Renn spoke from behind him, startling him. He hadn’t heard Renn come inside! He couldn’t turn his head enough to look over his shoulder as his partner said, “Cassandra, order catering from Tubbthumper’s and purchase everything on my shopping list for one-hour shipping.”
Without a word to Marrel, Renn circled him, inspecting the couch, the collection of empty jugs, and the stain on the floor. He tapped the jug that Marrel hadn’t finished, hearing the subtle glorp of thickening, wasted liquid. He nodded to himself, then turned and locked eyes with Marrel, making the dog whine and blush, unable to look away. He didn’t know what Renn would do.
Renn did what he had to do. He did what was right and proper in a moment like that. He walked over, knelt down, wrapped his arms around Marrel’s neck, and kissed him softly and tenderly. He smiled as he felt Marrel’s trembling arms wrap around him, pulling him against a body that was even more sexy and attractive than ever. Renn spent minutes just holding his partner and telling him how proud he was, how good Marrel did, and how much he loved him.
Marrel cried for a while, moved to tears at an outcome far more meaningful than he had expected. He was reminded that, under all the weight gain and undeniable power shift that had happened since they met, they were still in love.
Renn helped Marrel to stand, but only for a few seconds, as he guided Marrel to sit back down in front of Renn’s favorite chair. He lifted his legs and rested them on Marrel’s shoulders, his crotch nestled against the back of the dog’s fat neck, and the pair watched an episode of their favorite sitcom, silent and content, Renn stroking Marrel’s head slowly the whole time.
The peaceful hour ended when the doorbell rang. Marrel’s heart began to beat faster. Despite the welcome break to simply be with Renn as equals, he and Renn both knew what was coming next. Marrel felt Renn’s shaft grow hard against his neck fat before the feline shifted his legs down from their perch and strode to the door. Framed by evening purples and reds, the shopping delivery fur handed several packages to Renn before leaving. The food would follow soon.
“I love you, Marrel, and I love what you’re finally giving me,” Renn stated matter-of-factly, tearing open a large padded envelope to reveal a long, thick sky blue collar. He tipped the envelope and shook it, catching the sturdy padlock waiting inside. “Now. Tell me you want this.”
Marrel gulped. He had rehearsed this little speech in his head for months now, but the words still tumbled out clumsily as he replied, “I-I love you, and I trust you. You… huff… You’ve been so good to m-me, Renn, and I know there’s n-no way I… Mmmph… Fuck… No way I’ll ever be able to stop getting fatter, and I know neither of us want that, so I-”
“To the point,” Renn interjected, one eyebrow raising and an impatient frown on his muzzle. Marrel shivered, his excitement returning and growing as he spat out the words they both wanted to hear.
“Please, Renn, collar me and make me your pet hog.”
Renn smiled, but instead of agreeing, he opened the second box to reveal cuffs, leather ropes, and a funnel gag, things he had often shown Marrel photos of to get him horny, to make him eat. Now, as he walked up to his new pet, he intended to use all of it on him.
“You’re looking huge, boy. But you know how I like my fatasses. You’re only a good boy if you’re growing. So for the rest of today, you do not speak unless I command you to. You do not move unless I say. You do not complain about being full. You do not stop eating until I think you’ve had enough. Yes? Speak!!”
Marrel, ears back, eyes wide, didn’t know whether to bark or talk, and ended up doing both, practically howling out a quavering, needful, “Yess, Rrrenn!!”
The food arrived moments later and Renn didn’t bother hiding the alarming scene as he answered the door. He just smirked when the delivery fur’s gaze locked on the panting whale of a man behind the ocelot. He took the food in several trips, loading it around Marrel’s sprawling belly. He tipped well, shut the door, and fetched the restraints.
He was thankful he thought to bolt his chair to the floor. This would be a lovely little honeymoon for the happy master and pet!
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