#ask a catwolf

[elazul-sasayaki]

fattened well past immobility to be used as a bed by feeder. is this anything.

Oh yeah, definitely something, though it does feel like it's missing something. Can't quite place what. Hrm...

[elazul-sasayaki]

SALMON: I want to get you so large you can’t fit through doorways.

Hehe, that is a good goal for one such as me. Now the real question: Get me fat enough I get stuck at the hips? Or get me fat enough that, even when I'm -not- stuffed, even my belly can't be squished enough to push through a doorway?

~w~

[elazul-sasayaki]

Two boxes of pudding and a whole quart of heavy cream... I'm sure we could find ways to get it into your gut more easily, if we get creative with it... Slowly consuming it throughout the entire day... Maybe breaking it up into two separate batches using two different pudding flavors. Mix other flavors or toppings into some of it to keep it interesting. Crumbled cookies or graham crackers, bits of cake, various fruits, syrups and sauces, nuts, cinnamon or other spices, or candy, perhaps. Or the pudding could be a topping itself. Pour it onto pancakes, waffles, or cake. Dip cookies into it instead of crumbling them. Maybe go for the salty and sweet combo, like dipping french fries in it the same way you would with milkshakes or ice cream. Maybe potato chips would have the same effect. If all else fails, the leftovers can become a part of a shake to gulp down with your savory dinner. So many ways to eat it, so many ways to gain...

~w~

I don't really have anything to add, these are all just really fun ideas...

Though, given what my problem usually ends up being, I'd still have issue pulling this off on my own. I do really like the shake idea...

Then again, there's always a piping bag and having someone squeeze it into my mouth and down my throat... ~w~

[elazul-sasayaki]

mmm, good thoughts.

The tube slides down your throat effortlessly, and you're still half asleep, so out of it you're dozing off again before you even process what's happening. A gentle scratch under your chin and a soft pat send you right back into dreamland where you fantasize about devouring a feast fit for a king, servants doting on your every need.

Meanwhile your stomach is being filled with thick, viscous shake, the flow rate is slow enough that you're still dozing away when you pass from full to stuffed to overstuffed. Ounce by ounce you've gone far past your comfortable limits, but it happened so slowly it couldn't rouse you from your slumber.

When you do wake, it's to the sound of the pump straining and a sharp pain in your belly. You're more full than you have ever been in your life, and your skin is covered in angry red marks, stretched so thin it feels like you're about to burst at the seams with every shallow labored breath. A stuffed burp provides only a moments relief before the pump packs the freed up space with more fattening mix.

You try to reach over and shut it off to give yourself some time to digest the mass of calorie rich sludge weighing down your middle, but it's so heavy and the switch is so far away. Your muscles burn and you feel like you're going to pop after less than a minute of futile struggle and you flop back into the divot you carved into your mattress while you slept. All your efforts accomplish is coaxing up another belch that the pump dutifully refills with more shake.

You look over at the clock in desperation, but it only confirms your fears, I've already left for the day, and it will be hours of stuffed agony before I return to finally end your feeding. You rub your belly and find it doesn't even wobble or give, every inch of space is packed tightly with cold, rich, shake. The temperature at least helps to numb the pain of being stuffed to the gills, but you still feel like any sudden movement will pop you like an overripe tomato.

It feels like you spend days trapped like this, the occasional belch affording you precious seconds of relief before you are packed tight as a drum again, but it's only a few hours before I return and flick the switch to end the torture. It's hours more of digestion, belly rubs, and soft praise for how good you did, holding all those calories in before you finally digest enough to sit up and assess the damage.

You feel like you're buried in new flab, everything is so much thicker and softer, from your belly and thighs to your arms and face, there is a plush softness that wasn't there yesterday, and to your surprise, a new hunger as well. You can still feel gallons of shake settling heavily in your gut, but your stomach has been stretched like putty, and craves the fullness it had for so many hours. Already, you can tell that your new role of "shake tank" is one you will fit right in to. No need to worry about anything other than living the best life a calorie balloon could.

Hhhhhh... ~///~

If I have the strength to sit up after this, even after digesting enough to have the -room- to sit up, that would be a small miracle.

[elazul-sasayaki]

hey I bet you know about this already

I think I do, but I thought I knew about a lot of stuff that I really don't.

[elazul-sasayaki]

Regarding that "light meal can pin you in your seat" post, you've beamed the thought of a cutie that size getting stuck after a snack from their feeder, before realizing what they've just ate themselves into as a large cart of food is rolled in...

So uh, thanks, I'll be daydreaming about playing with that edge of mobility for a long while now >.>

Hehehe, it's such a lovely, enticing, frightening, exhilarating thought, isn't it?

You can get up and about just fine on your own, so long as you haven't eaten recently, but your partner is getting unexpectedly frisky, and you're distracted and easily plied with snacks in this state...

Next thing you know, you hear the sound of The Cart™ coming in, you move to get up, only to realize you've been snacking... And a LOT at that, and now you're stuck, and soon to been far, FAR more stuck...

Can't help but wonder if this bout of "fun" will finally be the one that makes leaving the couch a long lost dream.

[elazul-sasayaki]

I look over the invitation ticket one more time to make sure I have the right place. I'm not much of a party person, and the venue is fancy enough that I feel inadequate even in my best clothes, but I did make a promise I would at least attend. A friend of mine had apparently been invited to this "event" but had fallen ill and was unable to attend. Both he and the invitation had neglected to mention what exactly this event was, though with the manor standing in front of me, I have the social skills to recognize that asking would probably be something of a faux pas. The only clue as to what was supposed to be happening here was a photo of a chubby hybrid catwolf listed as the guest of honor. Admittedly he was easy on the eyes, but he was probably there as a speaker or maybe he was a CEO or philanthropist celebrating some big accomplishment.

I flash the doorman my ticket and he notes down the number printed on it before opening the door and gesturing me forward. The large chandelier lit ballroom is filled to capacity with all kinds of people casually milling about the place, seemingly without a care in the world, most of them appear upper class, decorated with fancy designer dresses and suits and loaded down with flashy jewelry, but I am surprised to see a number of more modestly dressed folk like myself wandering aimlessly around.

Looking around the place for what is supposed to be happening, I spot a line of people going past a table off in the distance, and make my way over there to try and at least look like I fit in. When I get closer, I find there is more activity here than I expected and get pushed out of the way a couple times by others looking to join in on whatever is happening. I fall in line, more on instinct than anything and quietly observe the room as I slowly shuffle forward.

The house is just as fancy on the inside as it is the outside, expensive looking furniture is sat neatly in its place and the occasional painting or other piece of wall art breaks up the blank spaces nicely. Clearly whomever was hosting this affair was well off enough that its cost was of little real consequence to them. How my friend managed to get a ticket to an upscale event like this is beyond me.

The line has slowly but surely been moving forward as I've been admiring the decor, and I lean around the people ahead of me to get a look at where we are going. What I see doesn't make sense at first, and it's only after a few minutes of staring that I start to comprehend what's happening.

The line passes along a table stocked with all manner of food, carved fruit displays, pasta dishes, slabs of meat, and plenty of rich desserts, it all looks mouth wateringly good and as people walk along it, they pile their plates high with the catering. When they reach the end of the table however, most of that food is being emptied into an amorphous blue blob that I realize with a start is a person! A catwolf specifically, the very same one from the ticket in fact, or at least he looks like he might have been the same one some time ago. Now he looks like a caricature of the plump hybrid the ticket depicted, bloated to preposterous proportions with a sign looped around his pudgy neck that reads "Will eat for food."

Whatever the guests don't eat as they make their way down the table is crammed into his mouth, and now that I'm closer, I can see him struggle to chew through all the goodies being pressed into his open maw. I pick up a plate as I reach the far end of the table and start piling up goodies onto it as the line makes its way down the table. Looking back, I can see only a handful of others in line behind me, it looks like everyone else has already fed the guest of honor, so I figure the most appropriate thing to do would be to treat him to dessert.

As the line ahead of me shrinks, I can only stare in awe at the catwolf, at first I thought the image of him from the ticket might have been old, but with the amount of food he is devouring, it looks very possible that the photo might have been taken only a few days prior. His shirt strains at the seams, little diamonds of blue fur showing between the buttons, and his thick arms dangle uselessly at his sides, looking like overstuffed sausage casings with how tightly they are packed into his sleeves. I can hear his stomach gurgling and churning as it processes the mass of food within, interrupted occasionally by his wheezing or gulping. He has a dim, vacant stare on his face, his eyes tearing up slightly as the person ahead of me forces a slice of pie into the half open maw of the blimp like hybrid, and then all too soon, it's my turn.

I look down at my plate, stacked high with sweets I don't remember grabbing and then back to the catwolf. He stares back at me with a pleading expression on his face, or at least as much of one as he can manage with pudgy cheeks stuffed with food like a chipmunk. I can't tell if he's pleading for mercy or pleading for more, and I hesitate, just long enough for his stomach to gurgle loudly.

I put a paw on his massive belly and gently stroke the outside, feeling it swell and shrink with each painfully full breath. He swallows more of the food he's chewing and I reach over to my plate and pass a brownie between his lips on instinct. It surprises me, that I do so without even thinking, but at the same time, it feels so right, like feeding him is what I was meant to do. Time blurs as I alternate between rubbing his churning gut and passing him more desserts, and before I know it, I'm reaching over to an empty plate.

I blink suddenly looking over at my now bare platter and then back at the doughy catwolf who is panting and groaning with fullness. It can't have been more than a few minutes, but it feels as though I had been feeding him for days. Wordlessly I step out of line and let the next person in line casually walk forward and cram a slice of beef into the immobile blue blob as they chat with another person in line, almost as if they don't even recognize what they are doing. I pull out my ticket and stare at the heavyset catwolf depicted on it, then back to the boulder sized one at the end of the table. They are unmistakably the same person, but it seems impossible that he could have gotten so fat, so quickly. Reading the invitation over, it only announces him as "Elaz" the guest of honor for this party, there's no mention of why he is the guest of honor, nor is there anything about why everyone seems to be stuffing him to the bursting point.

I look up from the ticket and watch the last person in line pour their drink into Elaz before dispersing into the crowd. Whatever reason everyone had for wanting to turn him into a food balloon doesn't seem to warrant coming back for a second round. The crowd has already started to spread out to the rest of the mansion leaving Elaz alone at the head of the table. I can't help but stare in fascination as he makes a final gulp, condemning the last of his feeding to his colossal gut. Before I even realize what I'm doing, I've already walked right up to him again and put my paws on his bulging belly. He looks at me with those vacant eyes and I can't tell if he is relieved or disappointed that I'm not forcing more food into his mouth. I gently run my paws across his bloated stomach, feeling it shift and burble as the mass of food within churns noisily. Anywhere I put a paw on him, it just seems to keep sinking deeper, first through thick fur and then through plush fat. He seems to appreciate the gesture at least, since his arms are unable to reach with how tightly they are bound by his shirt. The rubbing eventually coaxes out a few small, overstuffed burps, causing the blubbery blue ball of catwolf belly to wobble slightly.

He doesn't speak, but his panting and groaning gets ever so slightly softer, so I can tell I've given him at least some relief from the pressure. I grab a napkin from the table and lightly dab at his face to wipe away the crumbs of food that did not quite make it to his mouth before removing the sign from around his neck and laying it on the table.

Elaz shifts slightly in his chair and I can hear the aged wood creak before it snaps, sending him tumbling to the ground with a meaty slap and an uncomfortable sounding belch. His shirt, strained to the breaking point, rips a seam along the side, and soft catwolf flab oozes out through the newfound weakness.

It takes several minutes, but I am able to help haul him to his knees and eventually his feet, the entire ordeal made more difficult by his colossal weight as much as it was by his thick flabby exterior. My paws sink at least an inch into anything I grab, and it's nearly impossible to get good leverage on him when anything I can push on flows out of the way like a water balloon. When I am able to get him to his feet, I carefully guide him towards a couch lined up against a nearby wall. He can barely walk, only able to make a slow, ponderous waddle when he leans most of his weight on me, nearly burying me in warm, soft blubber. Eventually he does make it to the couch, and I have to hold onto both of his paws to ease him onto the couch so that doing so resembles sitting more than it does crashing into it.

Even as softly as I am able to sit him down, the motion jostles another belch from Elaz, and the tear in his shirt rips another few inches, but he is finally comfortable, or at least as comfortable as he can get under the circumstances. His flabby frame bulges out in every direction, and there's barely enough room left on the couch for me, but I'm able to make it work. As exhausting as getting him across the room was for me, I can only imagine how exhausting it was for him. With Elaz finally seated, I set to work rubbing his belly, receiving pleased gurgles and groans from him as he digests his massive meal. The gentle, rhythmic motion seems to help settle his stomach, and the angry growling of minutes ago is replaced by the occasional low burble. All my kneading and massaging does not erase the consequences of the catwolfs gluttony, but it does, at least, appear to make them bearable. Elaz is putty in my paws, his dim expression much more relieved than when he was, quite literally, stuffed to tears at the table.

With his tummy seemingly satisfied, I take one paw off it to lightly scratch behind his ears and under his meaty chin while my other paw absentmindedly traces patterns in his belly fur. Something about him being stuffed to the gills like that makes me want to reward him for it, I lean into my scratching and rubbing, and get pleasant sounding grunts in response.

A gurgle from his belly suddenly snaps me out of my trance, and I look around to see most of the partygoers have left. I check my watch to find it's been hours since I arrived and am surprised to realize how tired I am when I yawn. I look over to see Elaz staring at the table with that same conflicted look on his face as before, caught between wanting more and feeling like he could burst at any moment.

I get up off the couch and survey the table as I approach, spotting a now mostly melted tub of icecream that would make for a suitable offering. Cool, soft, and calorie rich, perfect for the hybrid who doesn't seem to know the meaning of the word, "enough".

I bring the tub back to the couch and sit down next to Elaz again, he opens his mouth to say something, but I press the corner of the tub to his lips and slowly tip it forwards. He starts to gulp down the thick liquid, slowly at first, but soon his greed starts to overtake his reasoning and he starts to take bigger and bigger swallows of rich dairy dessert. In only a couple of minutes, he has emptied the tub and has to take shallow breaths to recover from the ordeal. As I'm setting the empty tub on the ground, he takes a deeper breath than before and nearly shreds what little remains of his top. The rip in his shirt goes even farther this time, letting more catwolf blubber spill out, pinning me to the side of the couch so hard I have the wind knocked out of me. The two of us groan at the same time, Elaz in relief and I in pain.

After I blink the stars from my vision, I find myself half buried underneath Elaz, squashed between his frame and the frame of the couch. Trying to stand up proves futile, I'm simply too exhausted to heft the mound of fluffy blue belly out of the way, and with Elaz starting to nod off, there's no way he will be able to help me escape either. "Ah well", I think to myself, "might as well make the best of the situation and get comfortable. I've got the softest weighted blanket around, and there's nowhere I'd rather be."

Hhhhhh... Yes, yes please, this is a beautiful expansion on my silly idea, I absolutely love it and could almost feel it as I read along.

Thank you so very much for writing this, I can't think of anything else to say to express how giddy it made me feel to read it. ~w~

[elazul-sasayaki]

I dunno, you're looking pretty balloon-ish to me... 👀

I mean, you say that, but I don't see that lovely shine of an overstretched balloon, that soft thrumming of excessive pressure... The lines of thinning skin akin to the latex of said balloon struggling to keep in one piece... ~w~

Wanna come over and help fix that? :3