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There was no doubt about it; Fjord was officially fat.
His upper arms had grown thick and flabby, his chest had swelled and begun to sag, his once flat stomach was rounded out into a sheer barrel of fat and muscle, and in the right position his jaw rounded out to produce an extra layer of fat beneath his chin that Jester just loved to nibble at when she got the opportunity. It was scarier that he didn't mind it. He was still fit, could still fight and travel with the rest of the Nien, and he was happier than he had been in ages. He felt fulfilled, as if every meal he shoved into his growing gut, the happier he became. Filling himself in more ways than one.
He knows that the rest of the Nein have noticed. How could they not? He'd been steadily getting bigger and bigger, softer and softer, plumper and plumper. He ate enough for two during every meal, going so far as to occasionally order seconds when he was alone and sometimes ordering room service afterwards to see just how much he could really take. Caduceus had been cooking tenfold to accommodate him, cooking hearty meals with luxurious ingredients every night just to keep Fjord full while he slept, knowing that he'd be starving by the time he woke up. Jester used mending on his clothes when he shyly approached her with torn seams or missing buttons, and she smiled and fixed his clothing without comment. Nott chided him if he didn't order enough food during mealtimes, and Caleb and Beau encouraged him and told him not to worry about the bill or about the leftovers or leaving enough food for the rest of the Nein and Yasha smiled at him when he shifted uncomfortably in his chair as his clothes clung tightly to his swollen frame. It seemed as though the Nein, at least, had accepted it, and even supported it, and now here Fjord was, fat and happy.
His body had changed a lot. He barely recognized himself in the mirror these days. His belly was made up of hard muscle hidden underneath a layer of lard, fat so soft that he could sink his fingers into it and make it tremble at his very touch. His belly button was deeply sunken, a gaping, cavernous hole among a sea of soft green fat. His underbelly hung bellow his waistband, pure fat drooping in a tear-drop shape barely restrained by his belt and briefs, the ties on his breachers struggling to contain the sheer mass of him. His gut was striped with pale, long-healed stretchmarks that zig and zag like he'd been struck by lightning, fingers of Lichtenberg scars showing his rapid and unending growth. His chest was soft, softer than soft, so plush and plump and malleable that he could grab entire fistfuls and the flesh would spill from between his fingers, unable to be contained, his nipples almost tripped in size, his moobs resting constantly on the apex curve of his gut as if it was built to be a resting place for his new anatomy. His jawline had softened and his chin had grown plump, and now a small bulge of fat extended from his jaw, making his whole face look rounder and softer all younger, and much more healthy, the extra fat jiggling with every movement, no matter how small. He often found himself admiring his reflection in any mirror he came across. He would turn this way and that, twist his body into different configurations to see himself from every angle. He liked the swell of his gut, he liked the softness to his chest, he liked the bulge under his throat. He liked it all, the way it felt, the way it looked, and wished that it made any sense. The truth is, he got more joy out of being fat than he ever did out of being fit. At least, when you're fat, people expect you to eat a lot of food at mealtimes. When he was fit, he would get weird glances and tight smiles. Now, nobody batted an eye and he was free to eat whatever and how much he pleased. If only they knew.
It was dusk, and the setting sun was beginning to paint the sky in dull blues and pinks when Fjord crossed the road, hood thrown up over his head, to what the locals had been calling the 'alternative' pleasure house. He didn't quite know what that meant, but he knew that before they left the town, he needed to find out. It was a multi-storied building with a sign hanging from the side of the wall, swinging in the mild wind, depicting a naked woman with her breasts and privates on display and her hair tangled behind her. The sign read "Kinkies Emporium" in bold, intricate letters and Fjord didn't know what that meant, but his curiosity was peaked.
The interior was dimly lit, and immediately he was met by couples making out in darkened corners, thrown over tables and moaning loudly as they were pleasured, acts typically performed behind closed doors being engaged in right here in the middle of the tavern. He didn't see anybody eating or drinking but he did see a bar where a woman with a shaved head was mixing a colourful glittery cocktail in a salt-rimmed glass, and Fjord made a beeline over to her. "Uh, evening, ma'am," Fjord greeted as confidently as he could. "I was wondering if you might be able to answer some questions for me?"
She took one glance at him, looking him up and down from head to toe, and made a considering sound. Her expression was bored, if maybe a little sympathetic. "This is your first time here?"
"Uh," Fjord laughed awkwardly. "Is it really so easy to tell?"
Wordlessly, she slid a menu over to him. It was immaculately designed with graphic artwork and brief yet involved explanations and instead of food or drink items, there were sex acts or kinky escapades. Fjord felt his face heat up at the sight. "All you gotta do is tell me what you want from off the list. I'll give you a room, and I'll send someone up to sort you out. You got any preferences on gender or presentation?"
"Uh, no," Fjord gulped and cautiously pulled the menu towards him. This menu was longer than some of the regular taverns the Nien have frequented on their travels. "Thank you kindly."
She turned away to tend to other customers, all seemingly much more familiar with this place than Fjord was, and he finally turned his attention to the menu. It was long, extensive and in-depth. It wasn't necessarily in any sort of order that he could tell. He glanced at one, and read the word ' bondage ' and the definition beneath it " sexual practice that involves the tying up or restraining of one partner ". This particular item on the menu came with a subcategory, like ' shibari '. Fjord didn't find any interest in those. He also didn't find any interest in the more painful, violent items on this list. He didn't want to be hurt, he wanted to be cared for and loved and, most importantly, fed.
He scanned the list and struggled to find anything he liked. Every time he saw something he was into, he didn't connect with it the way he wanted to. He figured that this place catered to a large variety but very different clientele, because Fjord didn't find 'temperature play' or 'suspension' or 'sensory deprivation' or 'blood play' or 'spanking' pleasurable in the slightest. Maybe he ought to just ask Caduceus to tend to him and be done with it- he'd never make him feel weird or uncomfortable for wanting to be well-fed and well-loved. Just when he was starting to feel hopeless, and was going to tell the nice lady at the bar that he made a mistake but thank her for her time- he found it. Right there, in the middle of the list, his eyes landed on the words 'stuffing' and 'belly rubs' and 'food play' and he felt sudden excitement zip through him with the force and speed of a lightning strike. He waited for the barmaid to finish tending to her current customer and slid over to her, muttering in the quietest, most timid voice, "Uh, I would like to order, um, a full number 58, if you wouldn't mind."
Frowning, she took the menu from Fjord's trembling hand and peered down at the cramped writing, squinting in the dim lighting. He took a deep breath to settle himself. She wasn't judging him, he told himself, but she was reminding herself what number 58 involved. It was a very long list, even somebody who worked here probably wouldn't be able to remember them all. His suspicions were proven correct when her face broke into a wide, genuine smile and she nodded approvingly. "Yeah, that makes sense, I should have known when you walked in. You've got Lydia- she'll be thrilled, nobody ever asks for that one. What kind of food would you like?"
"Uh," Fjord floundered. "Anything's fine."
"Not picky, huh? We like that around here," she said as she marked something down on a napkin with a nub of charcoal. "Now, do you want her sour or sweet?"
Fjord had no idea what that meant, and at this point, he was too afraid to ask. "Sweet,"
She gave him a room key and directed him to make himself comfortable and wait for Lydia to arrive. He slapped a handful of gold on the table and ascended the stairs, mindful of the people making out on the steps, and tried his best to ignore the sounds of debauchery and ecstasy from the other closed doors in the hallway. There was another set of stairs going upwards, and Fjord thought he could hear screaming, but he quickly turned away in favour of sliding the key in the lock and entering his room. It was pristine and spacious, even better than he had expected from a sex tavern. It was bigger than most of the rooms the Nein had stayed in on their travels. He would sooner compare it to the Lavish Chateau. The bed was large and made with plush blankets and soft pillows. There was a wardrobe with a heavy lock on it that Fjord didn't dare to inspect. He did what he was told, and followed orders, like he was good at doing. He unclasped his cloak from around his neck and rested it on the back of a chair, unlaced his boots and kicked them off near the door, and sat on the edge of the bed to wait.
He wasn't waiting long before a woman entered, carrying a heavy-laden metal tray in her arms. She had dark ebony skin and the long pointed ears of elvish heritage and her long black hair was intricately braided and decorated with coloured beads, pushed away from her face by a ribbon that could be easily removed if necessary. She wasn't wearing heavy makeup, but her lipstick was dark red, and her clothing was so revealing she might as well have been wearing nothing at all. Fjord politely averted his gaze as she crossed to the side of the bed and deposited her cargo on the bedside table with a grunt. Something stirred within Fjord, he wanted to know what was under the cloche, and he wanted to eat it all. "Hello there," she greeted cheerfully once she stood straight. "My name's Lydia, I'll be your companion for the evening. And you are...?"
"Fjord," he said meekly. He wanted to come across as suave and confident, but now that he was here, moments away from getting what he so desperately wanted from such a pretty woman who could crush him like a bug if she felt like it, he felt all confidence leave his body through his toes. "Ma'am."
Next thing he knew, there was a hand on his chin, and perfectly manicured nails gripped him by the jaw and gently tilted his head upwards, stroking his double chin with a thumb that sent shivers through his spine. "Don't worry, sugar," she assured. "I'm going to take very good care of you."
She told him to strip down to his underclothes, and he did. She told him to lie down and get comfortable on the bed, and he did. She remained fully dressed and standing and as she moved, she ran her long nails across the soft flesh of his belly, and his breath caught in his throat as the simple touch made the fat jiggle and drag before settling back in its resting position, spread out around him like a ball of melting ice-cream. She smiled indulgently down at him as she removed the cloche from the metal tray and filled the room with delicious aromas. Fjord tried to tilt his head in that direction but found that he couldn't quite see. "Oh, I know your type. You used to be fit with muscle but you've let yourself go, huh? I get it. Besides, you look just darling with some meat on your bones."
Nobody had ever spoken to Fjord like that before, and he felt his heart pound even faster in his chest at the words. He didn't know why he was reacting this way. Did he like people talking about how fat he'd gotten and how good he looked? He never thought about it before, but then again, he had never gone to an exotic fetish establishment about to be fed by a gorgeous woman before. The tray was abstinently full to bursting, laden with pastries and little sandwiches cut into triangles and little meat pies and sausages on toothpicks and chicken wings. It all smelled delicious, and Fjord's mouth filled with saliva almost instantly. She smiled at him, and it didn't feel mocking at all, it felt loving, pleased, fond. She didn't even know him and yet she was treating him like an old friend. He liked her service already, and he hadn't even tasted any of the food yet.
"Pace yourself," Lydia said as she placed the tray on Fjord's lap. He had to crane his neck to see over the swell of his stomach, and his chin doubled, trippled, at the motion. "The kitchen staff will be bringing food up throughout the rest of the evening. Think of this as the appetizer."
"Uh," Fjord's eyes felt bigger than his stomach at the sight of it all. He wanted everything, every last bite and to lick the crumbs from the plate like a desperate dog, but he didn't know where to start. "Where should I...?"
Laughing lightly, Lydia rested one knee on the bed, sinking into the mattress between Fjord's spread legs, and picked up a little egg and bacon finger sandwich. "Oh dear, do I really need to do everything for you tonight?" she teased as she brought the sandwich to Fjord's lips, pushing slightly when he took too long to open. "You don't have to think too hard about it. I want this whole tray gone, and I don't think either of us really cares where you start, hm? Come on now, be a good boy for me, and eat."
Fjord did as he was told. It was remarkably easy, as her hands caressed his softened jawline and played with his swollen double chin, to methodically chew and swallow the sandwhich. The bread was soft and fluffy, the bacon nice and crispy, and the eggs perfectly scrambled. It was better than any tavern food he'd eaten in ages. Is this what all the patrons got to eat, or was this quality of food reserved for only those who choose to engage in number 58 of the menu at the bar?
Lydia's eyes never left him as he steadily made his way through the items on the tray. The pastries were flakey and buttery, the meat pies not too hot, the sausages salty and tangy, and the chicken wings were crunchy on the outside and tender on the inside. It all tasted as delicious as it smelled, and he enjoyed every single bite, resisting the urge to moan as each new taste danced across his tongue. He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten to eat a meal this delicious. Lydia lay on the bed beside him, watching him eat with rapt attention. With Fjord partially relining back against the pillows and the tray resting on the apex of his gut for easy reach, she traced her nail across his silvery stretchmarks, sunk her fingers into his rolls of pillowy fat, danced across his doughy body and making every inch of him jiggle as she went, careful not to disturb the tray or the content upon it, before she tweaked his swollen nipples between her fingers, making him gasp and almost choke on a pie, fondling his moobs between talented fingers, palpitating and pulling and shaking until the skin was flushed red and his nipples were hard, and Fjord was breathing heavily in a way that had nothing do to with the food he'd consumed. "Look at how big you are," she said, marvelling at the sight of him like one would admire a prized artifact. "How long did it take you to get so soft? Weeks, months? These stretchmarks tell me that it didn't take very long at all, it must have hit you all at once. Did you wake up and suddenly look in the mirror to find yourself fat? Thin one night and huge the next, surprised by the size of you? Or did it happen so slowly that you only noticed when your drawstring no longer tied around your gut?" She sunk her nails into his moob, sending sharp, pleasant pain through the sensitive flesh, and he threw his head back against the pillows and moaned. "You're gorgeous, did you know that? There's just so much of you to hold, to touch. Your entire body shakes when you eat, did you know that? Every inch of you. Come on, baby, eat up. There's plenty more where that comes from, and if you want to be a good boy for me tonight, you're going to eat everything I give you."
Fjord didn't know how this night could possibly get any better, but he did as he was told, eating until the tray was empty, and then he used his finger to clean up all the crumbs. He didn't feel full, not by a long shot, and maybe that should worry him, but all it did was excite him. The menu said he was going to be stuffed beyond his wildest dreams, fuller and fatter than he'd ever been before. With a sigh, he allowed himself to fully relax into the pillows and rested a hand on the sides of his belly. He was still mostly soft- he couldn't wait until he became so incredibly stuffed that his typically soft flesh had no give, full to bursting.
"Good job baby," Lydia cooed as she removed the tray. Her finger swiped away some sauce from the corner of Fjord's mouth and held it up to his lips. He licked it off instinctually, desperate to be good for her, desperate to consume every last morsel he was given, and he sucked on her fingers until he could taste nothing but the salt of her flesh. She rewarded him with a finger plunging deep into his belly button, sending sparks from his belly to his fingers and his toes, and he felt his toes curl at the sensation. She grabbed his underbelly, the sagging, swollen hunk of pure fat, and shook it, making every inch of him, from his sides to his gut to his moobs to his chin to his cheeks, wobble and jiggle and remble with the motion. "I'm so proud of you, you did so well. But you're still so empty! Are you still hungry, yeah? Don't worry, we'll fill that gut up in no time, don't you worry about that. You'll be waddling out of here like a mother with a babe when we're done with you."
Her words made something like since dormant awakened in Fjord, and he suddenly felt hot all over, desperation gnawing at him like it never had before. He felt like every single nerve in his body was on fire, hyper-sensitive and on full alert. He moaned as she surged up and bit at his double chin, her teeth sinking into the extra mound of fat, making his eyes roll into the back of his head. She sunk her fingers into his fat roughly, almost to the point of pain, and she hummed in consideration as she grabbed fistfuls of green lard and played with the countless doughy rolls that cascaded off of him in waves. "Oh, my big boy, with an even bigger appetite. How about I get you something else to fill this bottomless pit of yours, hm? Would you like that? Would you like me to stuff you with food until you can barely breathe?"
Fjord forced himself to inhale through his excited panting and gasped, "Please, ma'am,"
"Oh, a big appetite and a gentleman," Lydia purred. "I think I just might keep you."
Fjord found that he didn't really mind that thought, of being Lydia's little plaything for all eternity. Of course, he wouldn't leave the Mighty Nein, not without some warning, but the thought of going through this every single night, being fed and played with and teased and told how good a job he was doing, kept constantly full so he no longer recalled what it felt like to be hungry, made to get bigger and bigger and bigger at Lydia's whim... it was everything he never knew he wanted.
The door opened nearly silently, and the fresh scent of more food wafted into the room, and Fjord knew that Lydia was right. They were just getting started.
Throughout the course of the night, minutes or hours, Fjord lost count a long time ago, he ate diligently and he was fed well. Deep-fried mozzarella sticks, onion rings, wedges of roasted potato, mini quiches, slices of halloumi, corn fritter bites, fried ravioli chips, teriyaki chicken, mini sausage rolls, beef and olive empanadas, stuffed spinach and cheese rolls, cheese and pineapple breadsticks, mini quesadillas, chickpea and beetroot falafel, sweet chilli and lime prawns, lamb skewers, smoked salmon and avocado tarts. Fjord ate so much food, all of it delicious and tender and succulent and wonderful, he felt himself disconnecting from his body as his belly got tighter and tighter. He knew that there was grease and sauce and debris smeared across his face, down his chin, even resting in the pillowy space of his moobs, but he couldn't find it within himself to care, because he was so full that his breathing was coming in fits and starts, tight and painful as he struggled to soothe his protesting stomach, gurgling loudly as it digested.
Eventually, the food changed from savoury to sweet, and his next mouthful was met with slices of apple, pear, banana, melon, strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, kiwi, watermelon, pomegranate, passionfruit, cherries, peaches, orange, mango. Sweet and tart, the juices dribbled down his thick double chin and pooled in the hollow of his throat, leaving a sticky residue that Lydia eagerly leant forward and licked away with gentle laps of her talented tongue. Fjord moaned around each and every morsel, unable to keep the sounds at bay, his mind foggy as if from drink as the haze of overindulgence settled over him like a veil. His fingers were sticky and gross, but that didn't stop him from sucking them into his mouth and licking up every last taste, in a near-desperate urge to get every last bit of it inside him.
Once the fruit was done, they brought sweets. Brownies, rum balls, almond tarts, chocolate-covered strawberries, mini cheesecake bites, black-bottomed brandy bites, mini chocolate-chip sandwich cookies, cream-filled pastry puffs, peppermint meringue, mini citrus cakes, fruitcake slices, pistachio baklava, chocolate and mint cupcakes, pumpkin muffins, maple cinnamon rolls, caramel apple bites. Fjord had never eaten so much food in his entire life, and beneath his copious amounts of cookie-dough soft, marshmallowy fat, his belly was taut, stuffed full to bursting, glutted like a prized big, bigger and fuller than he had ever been before. He ate as if in a fugue state, his mind going elsewhere as his body acted on nothing but desire, and he desired all this food to be inside him, so full that breathing hurt, that sharp pain zipped up his sides, and he groaned low and loud as he desperately tried to move his heavy, stiff fingers in lazy motions to calm his angry stomach, protesting at the amount of food it's been forced to digest.
At some point, Fjord became unable to feed himself, his arms feeling too heavy, his fingers too clumsy. Lydia was more than happy to take control, and she fed him huge bites of food, sticking her fingers into his mouth to let him suck on them and humming when she pulled them away clean. Sometimes, he protested, but he was opening his mouth and accepting food all the same, so what was he actually refusing? Nothing, and she knew that because he would shake his head while opening his mouth for more and she would laugh like one would laugh at a puppy learning how to sit. Lydia ensured that he licked up every crumb of every tray that was brought to their room, rubbing her talented hands across his massive globe of a belly as he did so, playing with his many folds and rolls as he chewed, fondling his underbelly and his moobs and his double chin, making him feel the whole expanse of him, how badly he had let himself go, how much fat pilled onto his once-fit frame.
As he ate, she kept up a litany of praise, calling him a good boy and telling him he was doing great. Every word, heard through the blood pounding through his ears, the loud gurgling from his stomach and his loud unrestrained chewing, made heat pool in his gut and his limbs grow heavy, like falling into a deep sleep where his only option was to eat and listen and obey. U'katoa could take a lesson from Lydia's book.
"Look at you, baby," She purred, voice sweet as sugar, as smooth as honey. "You really can pack it away, huh? I don't think I've ever seen anybody eat this much in a single sitting before, and I've been doing this for a very long time. No wonder you got so fat and soft, eating like this. You're doing such a good job, I'm so proud of you. Come on now darling, you're almost finished, just a little bit more. Can you be a good boy for me, hm? Don't worry, when I'm done with you you're gonna be so big and so stuffed with the finest food our establishment has to offer that you're not even gonna be able to make it off the bed without a little help, but that's what the bell on the side table is for. Come on, sugar, open up. Finish this plate, and I'll give your moobs and your underbelly a little extra attention, how does that sound? There you go. That's my big boy."
When Fjord had licked clean the plate and cleared away every last morsel, Lydia cooed and put the tray aside and slung her legs over Fjord's lap. He grunted as the motion jostled his obscenely full got, but moaned when she got her hands on him. Her hands travelled across the massive swell of his gut, red and hot from the strain, and she sunk her fingers into his mounds of fat to reach the tightness beneath, rubbing soothing circles, prodding at particularly cramped parts to force a belch from his throat and bring him some ease, bringing him pleasure and pain and discomfort and relief all at once. When he would cry out at the unexpected burst of pain, she would instantly soothe it by playing with his moobs, thumbing over his swollen nipples until they pebbled under her hand, or leaning down to nip at his underbelly with her teeth until he was throwing himself around on the bed, making his entire body wobble like ocean waves as she kissed bruises into the softest, most tender part of him. Plush fat spilled between her fingers and overflowed in her hands as she pulled and prodded and played with the malleable parts of him, leaving him aching and wanting and loved beyond compare. She was still speaking, loving, praising words that Fjord could no longer hear over his own desire, over his own moans and groans and panting and wanton begging for more. Because, despite the unseemly amount of food residing inside him, he still wanted more, though he didn't quite know what exactly he wanted more of. More food? More attention? More praise?
He hadn't had a single drop to drink all night, not even downstairs at the bar when he was looking for a little fun and got more than he bargained for, but he felt hammered like he'd been drinking all night without coming up for air, and he eventually passed out with Lydia still on top of him, touching every inch of his massive belly, calling him pretty names and telling him how good he did for her and how proud she is, and he fell into a dreamless sleep that smelled of fried foods and sugar. It might have been the best sleep he'd ever had.
When he woke up some indeterminate time later, he was alone. That didn't surprise him. After he had slipped into a food coma, Lydia had probably cleaned him up and left to go home and live her own life. He was under no illusions that she was going to stay until he woke up- what time was it?- but it was still disconcerting to wake up alone, in an unfamiliar room with his last memory being of a woman on top of him. What did surprise him, however, was that he was still noticeably, embarrassingly, startlingly full from the night before, his poor stomach unable to digest all the food he had binged on. He dug his fingers into his gut and passed the expanse of soft flab was a tautness that was indicative of a full stomach. Still full from the night before after a deep sleep? That had never happened before. He found that he quite liked the feeling, and the knowledge that he had gorged himself so much that his body couldn't keep up with him and was still struggling to deal with the consequences the next day. How long would the bloat take to go down? Would the rest of the Nein notice and know exactly how he spent his night? He wouldn't mind that, actually, not as much as he should.
His belly sloshed with partially digested food as he heaved himself to his feet with more effort than usual, having to rock back and forth on the bed, making the springs squeak in protest and the frame creak in fear, before he could stand upright on the cool floorboards. He might as well have been naked, his clothes discarded on the floor and his underwear pulled low beneath his stomach, hidden by the droop of his underbelly. He had to hold the sides of his belly in both hands to stop it from moving as he waddled, bow-legged, painfully slowly towards the floor-length mirror on the other side of the room. Every step made his rolls of fat wobble, and his underbelly swayed with the motion, his moobs bouncing like they had a mind of their own. He felt the fat under his jawline ripple and jiggle as he glanced down at himself, trying to take in the sheer size of his mountainous gut. He looked huge, bigger and softer than he ever had before, so swollen that not even the mirror could contain all of him. He turned, this way and that, taking it all in.
His green skin was peppered with lip-shaped bruises and red bite marks and long, uneven scratches from Lydia's ministrations. The space around his bellybutton, the apex of his gut, was an angry red with strain, hot to the touch. His nipples were still red and puffy from being played with so consistently last night, his moobs sporting the familiar circular buries of finger marks. His underbelly had been teased mercilessly last night, and he could still feel the phantom stings from when Lydia's teeth had sunken in deep enough to cause him that delectable pleasure-pain, and he ran his fingers over the softest part of him in search of that raised, healing skin. There, striped across his sides pepped with healed silver skin were... new stretchmarks? Already? Fjord was hardly surprised, and they ached in a familiar, pleasant way as he ran his hands across them, raised and uneven, just like the rest of him.
He groaned as he released his hold on his heavy gut and everything sank down, pulled towards the ground by gravity, and Fjord stumbled forward under his own weight, his hot belly pushing against the cold glass of the mirror, causing him to gasp at the sensation. His soft, pliable fat was pressed flat against the glass, and he moaned at the way his body shifted and adapted. Was this what he looked at beneath his clothes, beneath the buttons and the laces and the ties and the straps that hold his massive belly in check within his clothing, squished and flattened within his breastplate, his armour pressed so tight that it changed his entire body? He grabbed at his underbelly with a fist, moaning at the tender softness and tenderness and sensitivity of the malleable fat, pulsing between his fingers like risen bread dough, warm within his palm, dropping down so low that his underwear was hidden by the tear-drop shape. Did it hang lower than normal? He couldn't quite tell, but it certainly felt like it. He inched his other hand up and grabbed at his moob, squeezing harder than was strictly necessary to drag a gasp from his lips, still tasting of sugar and salt, and he felt his nipple harden under his palm, watched in fascination as the fat rippled and filled out his hand. Once, he was fit and flat-chested, and now he had breasts large enough to rival any woman of the night, made entirely out of pure, enticing fat.
Fjord stepped back and stared at himself in the mirror. The evidence of his gluttony, of his overindulgence, of his uncontrollable desire hung heavy on his frame in rolls of fat and stretchmarks he wore like war paint. His entire body ached from the night before, his belly still stuffed with food and swollen with greed, the reminder of Lydia's talented touch littered across his massive body. Was he ruined or perfected? He couldn't tell for sure, but he knew his personal opinion if you were to ask him his thoughts on the matter.
He was still tired, and his over-taxed stomach still needed some time to digest from his obsessive binge from the night before. A nap couldn't hurt, even if he did just wake up, but when a food coma called, it was Fjord's job to answer. He tottered back to the bed, his tummy trying to shift his centre of gravity, holding tightly to it like a mother with a babe, and crawled back beneath the covers that still smelled of delicious foods. His fat pooled out around him like mounds of wet sand being pulled out by the tide, hanging off of him and turning him into a ball of blubber, beached like a whale on his back. Sleep quickly took him, and he fell asleep with his hands fisted in his many rolls of fat and his swollen sagging moobs, wondering how long it was acceptable to wait before he came back to Kinkies to do it all over again, and hopefully, get even bigger.
Uk'otoa had promised Fjord a reward when everything was said and done. Maybe this is what he was talking about. It most certainly felt like a reward to Fjord.