Doors

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The wolf felt the door to the room he was in, and he couldn’t have been happier. It had not been with his paws, or his sides, as most furs did. It wasn’t even with his hips like several other wide beasts that he knew could. Nor his ass, which he knew would make it there eventually if he kept up his current habits. No, the blob of wolf could feel both sides of the doorframe with his fat, a feat which made him aroused just even imagining. He had let himself bloat up so large, so obese, so stupendously overweight and swaddled with lard, that normally something which just built up around middles, thighs, and chests had rolled and swollen itself yards behind him to the exit of his room. It would just keep growing too, if the canine had anything to say about it. Granted, he wasn’t doing much talking now that he almost permanently had a feeding hose strapped to his muzzle, or was being shoved full with snacks between his outrageously oversized meals. Words were hard for his consistently-comatose brain to work out at that point anyways, as were many other things past the need to feed, and the need for sex.

Luchas, the wolf, hadn’t seen what he had become in several months. He had been given the opportunity many-a-time, but always turned it down for fear that he would either not like what he saw, or would just become so enraptured by it that he wouldn’t even know what to do. That was when he was still capable of doing anything other than consuming, or sleeping. He hadn’t been that way for some time though, and it looked as if it was just going to become even worse as he sank further and further into the throngs of gluttony. A beast of consumption if there ever was one, Luchas had become the epitome of sloth, laziness, slobbishness, and gluttony all rolled into a vaguely canid figure. As long as the food kept coming though; that was all Luchas cared about. That, and his feeder coming in regularly to either pleasure him or stuff him past what the feeding machine deemed full.

The canine had already worked his way through his first, second, and third breakfast before his feeder came into the room. There was just a vague notion of his friend entering as well, for the wolf couldn’t see anything over the mountains of lard his cheeks had become, nor the swells his chest had bloated out into. Indeed, nothing but his own deep-brown, stained fur was visible to the ball of lard anymore; nor would it be ever again. Just his own stink to smell, his own grease-and-sweat caked lard to see, his own digestion to hear, and his ever-expanding pelt to feel. It was such a single-minded sensation for him, to be all that he knew, that he rarely could think of anything else even during the extraordinarily rare moments during which he was lucid enough to form a thought. The frequency of those times was down to nearly nil as well; his feeding friend made sure of that quite handily.

Paws on the sides of Luchas’s face brought him back into some semblance of reality, though to call what he experienced that was a vast stretch. He tried to open his eyes further than the slits that they were, and failed as he always did. He tried to move his head to see where the arms were coming from, but the sheer weight of the collar of fat alone that smothered his neck, head, and myriad of chins made that a feat which was far beyond Luchas. The mask on his face made looking down an impossibility, though the canine could feel the foreign paws moving to undo that. He knew immediately what was coming next, and began to salivate at the thought as his brain meandered sluggishly to one of the few thoughts it could still manage to assemble. Food was going to be next. Solid food. Stuff that Luchas would have to work his overused jaw on to simply try and break down into even more calories for his swollen mass of a body. The wolf could hardly wait for that sensation, and yet every bit of him screamed for the food to not come because he was so impossibly stuffed already.

Knowing his feeder wouldn’t have it, and that he was incapable of protesting even if he wanted to, Luchas simply waited and drooled slightly down the avalanche of chins which spilled forth from his face. He was not so much anticipating the meal as he was expecting it, and the feeder which he had not seen in what felt like an eternity was more than happy to oblige. In an instant, or what at least felt like one to the strung out blob, the mask on his muzzle was replaced by a paw forcing a soft, warm doughnut in. Luchas could see the deep blue fur, the vague shape of fingers, and a forearm which more resembled one of his own fingers now rather than an arm enter his vision. It lingered there too, holding the pastry in place and just making sure that Luchas chewed, and swallowed, his latest treat. There was never a question as to whether or not the blob of a wolf would do that, but it was a habit that the feeder never broke.

Oh the feeder… Luchas tried to remember his name, his face, anything aside from the draconic arm that was his only respite from his own folds and the decreasing amount of white wall he could see over his own horizon. It was all coming up blank though, as were many other things that the canine tried to remember as he ate without even realizing that he was doing so, shoving more needless calories down into his bottomless stomach. The wolf was eating at a rapid pace too, unaware as ever while he did so in spite of himself. He barely watched the paw, instead just letting his eyes droop shut as the rhythm of the feeding combined with the stress of trying to use his mind, whatsoever, was making him drowsy. On and on he ate too as this happened, the doughnuts melding into pies and then to cupcakes, then still onwards to custard.

Biting down into air a few times, Luchas realized his feeder had stopped giving him those vital nutrients he needed to gain. This started to form a whimper in the canine, but instead was forced out in a deafening belch. The small hole left for him to see, and breathe, out of was that much smaller, and caked with that much more food, thanks to the latest feeding session courtesy of the blue arm. The canid suddenly noticed just how full he was, and that whimper melted down into a groan as he tried to move his arms what little he still could. This was to say that he thought he could still move his arms, when in actual fact the feeble musculature left in those appendages had long since been worn out due to the sheer weight, and size, of the limbs. Instead, all Luchas was capable of doing was moving his fingers the faintest amount, enough to send a few ripples through his nearly constantly-quaking surface. It was enough though for the simple wolf, and granted another groan from his muzzle.

A third groan came quickly after, the result of the other thing that his feeder would do to him. A paw coasted along what he could only assume to be his rear; he hadn’t seen behind himself in far longer than he could remember. He could feel that paw’s claws, each one digging in ever so slightly to the furred flesh pulled taut from flab beneath them. The wolf shuddered slightly, sending more waves throughout his frame as he did so; the ocean was beginning to stir. Luchas couldn’t even begin to fathom the pleasure he was feeling as he felt his own heft just shake itself more and more, the weight of his frame causing more ripples than should have been possible. It was a feeling that he reveled in, and would often create on his own just to get aroused. His feeder was taking care of that all on his own though, and that made the wolf grin with glee somewhere between his bloated, swollen cheeks. Indeed, the feeder would handle every single aspect of pleasuring Luchas, just like always.

The feeder would get his pleasure too, and Luchas could feel that as he groaned again. He wasn’t sure just what he was getting himself into, again, but he knew it was going to be good. He could feel those clawed paws just sliding their way along his fur, moving to the doughy backfat which Luchas knew he had, and yet had never seen even as it had begun to form so long ago. It was so plush, so malleable, so much like pudding in a sense that it alone sent waves of adipose along the equally-soft lovehandles that encircled where Luchas’s waist had once been. It was no surprise to the wolf that he was already rock-hard in the one place on his body that could get stiff, even as he felt the feeder climb atop him. The weight was nothing new, and barely even registered as something that Luchas needed to care about. His breath was already labored. His body was already so far past immobile that it was inconceivable to most. His whole existence was regulated by the beast on his back. That meant, at least in the mind of the dragon, that he had no right to say anything and just had to take the weight on his back.

That, and it was even more pounds for him to feel.

His one addiction.

More weight.

Luchas had a hard time not shooting off right then and there as he felt the excess pounds which weren’t his own. He always did that, and more than once hadn’t had the self-control to not go off like a fire hose into his own adipose. He always would at some point during the sex, but he tried to at least hold off until he was getting violated by his feeder. That was more and more difficult to do, and as the drake felt the warm liquid somewhere far below his head in the mass that he inhabited, he wasn’t sure what he had done. He tried to care about it too, but he could feel the paws of the dragon on his rear, slowly moving down the doughy, malleable flesh that composed the two globes of lard which orbited the galaxy of a gut he had. That melted him, and had he not already been so far past immobile that any movement was nigh impossible, he would have gone limp. Instead, he just squeezed out a wheezing moan form his smothered muzzle, feeling his flesh roll and slap against itself like a vast blue ocean.

His feeder wasted little time, the giant crevice between the twin peaks of Luchas slick with sweat already thanks to the constant heat of being so titanically obese. The dragon slid in with little effort, and slid, and slid. All said and done, Luchas could feel the entire torso of his feeder and then some, and it was a feeling that gave away just how giant he had grown. If he hadn’t gone off before, he went off right then like a hose into his underbelly. The stench of musk which constantly filled his nostrils just grew stronger as that happened, but the wolf was already cross-eyed with bliss; he didn’t care in the least. Even as he felt his hole being taken, wide and loose as it was from the nearly constant abuse it got from his feeder or other ‘benefactors’, Luchas could barely even put into his mind more pleasure. Bits of drool came from his muzzle he was so lost in his own happiness, rolling down into the pool of sweat, spittle, and food which sat at the bottom of his chins and top of his smothering chest. The canine did nothing to stop that though, just letting his eyes fall shut and the whole experience take him over.

The first thing that he felt was the slow pump of his feeder behind him. It sent his lardy frame aslosh, moving it nearly a full foot forward simply due to the sheer amount of blubber which encased it. It was as if he was made entirely of a sole balloon of water, that any and all movements would translate into motion for the entire shapeless thing he had become. Luchas didn’t care; he barely even noticed as he was splashed a bit from his sweat and crumbs in his face. He just panted and wheezed to suck breath into his overworked lungs, and felt his own pride plunge straight into the copious amounts of adipose surrounding it. His feeder knew that apparently too, for he took his time with that first pump and let the slosh take hold.

Once it ended, the real pumping began, and it put Luchas in motion. Rolling back and forth as though he was on the high seas, his whole entire frame went from one position to another and back again. It did so again and again, at the same pace over and over as his feeder held onto the slick, slimy cheeks of his rear as best as his paws could muster. Luchas winced ever so slightly once or twice from the claws digging into his spongy arse, but by and large he just ignored it and instead let his sex-addled brain revel in yet another romp. The pace of the sex was perfect for the titanic beast, as he humped his own lard several feet from fresh air at the same pace that his provider humped into him, a constant stimulus for him which sent him over the moon of pleasure. His paws moved the minute amount they still could and rubbed at the fat of his wrists which had long swallowed them. His toes curled what tiny bit they could to touch the bottom of his bloated, fat, and useless feet. His tail muscles twitched with effort as they tried to sway and raise his sagging appendage. All the signs of pleasure were there, but they were as supersized as the beast experiencing them.

The humping continued, Luchas’s body sliding well over a foot back and forth at the same pace even as his feeder began to pick up his pace. There seemed to be a limit for how much the sheer amount of fat on Luchas could move, and he had hit it as he rolled back and forth. Positioned feet in the air, his body like a see-saw of sorts, his whole existence controlled by the one violating him… Any other beast may have put some things in perspective and wondered just what they were doing. Luchas didn’t though, he just came hard for a second time right into the already-warm pool of sweat and seed buried beneath him. His wheezes grew louder from that, and his chest even hurt somewhat from the pounding of his heart and the strain on his lungs of trying to keep up with his feeder. The wolf was a trooper in that sense though, and waited to be used fully before even trying to open his muzzle. That, and the simple fact that being as stupendously, overtly, unapologetically, impossibly fat had rendered him that way was arousing in its own right for the canine. He didn’t want to change that, or take it back, or even regret it. He wanted more of it too.

His feeder apparently did as well, for just a few moments later he went off like an uncapped fire hydrant straight into Luchas. The wolf let out a deep groan, for howling over his wheezing had long ago stopped with his reduced capacity for breathing. He felt his bowels fill with seed, even expand slightly to accommodate just how much he was being pumped full with. Parts of him stretched even bigger, just that much rounder from how much seed his feeder had. Luchas never really thought about it, but he had felt the swollen grapefruits for balls between his cheeks the entire time. That had never entered his mind though, just that he was so obese that he could encompass all of that in his ass and still have room for so, so much more. It was enough to make him cum yet again, and had he not been so spent he just may have. Instead though, he just settled what little more he could back into himself and let his provider finish himself off.

It took a little while, but the dragon in him eventually stopped and slumped down onto Luchas, his own chest heaving apparently from what Luchas could feel through his innumerable pounds of flab. He could feel the dragon talking, saying something… The wolf had no idea what, but he didn’t really care. Hunger was starting to enter his mind, and even though he was still riding the indescribable sexual high which he had been on, it was beginning to nag at him. Even though he had eaten enough for several people, even though he had just gotten multiple gallons of cum forced into him, and in spite of every part of him being too fat to function; he was hungry again. His feeder didn’t seem to care for the moment however, spent from his own romp and needing a chance to recover. Luchas could be patient for that, but only for a short while. He needed his meals, he needed them nigh constantly, and it was time for one of them. But he would wait though, he would take his time with his demands and instead let his stomach send out its growling, fat-rippling demands in due time.

It took less than a minute.

His feeder felt them, apparently, and gave a hearty smack to the back fat of the wolf he had just pumped full. Luchas was grateful for that, as hunger was now starting to dominate his brain. He was still too stupefied to think of much else, but his brain was beginning to clear from the agony of not eating for more than twenty minutes. He thought of what he was doing with his life, just how he had wound up so fat. There were a great many things flooding his mind, and as he felt the dragon behind him slide out of his ass, his whole entire torso and part of his thighs, moving out from between cheeks that could smother a car, he was reminded of how fat he had become. As he felt the feet walk along the roll of flab which was to one side of him, feeling well over a yard from any semblance of bone structure on the dragon, he was reminded of what an immense pig he was. As he felt paws on the vague place where his chest was, numerous feet in front of the hole his muzzle was in, he remembered that he couldn’t move if he wanted to.

And then the hose came.

It was that hose, his one comfort, his one thing to sate him and turn his brain back off. He didn’t want to think on all those things, and there was no need to with that hose. He was eating again, he was happy again, and he would stay that way until the next time he was forced to go without his one comfort. His one arousal. His one solace in the blackness his world had become, or rather the world he had eaten himself into. He didn’t regret his choice, and as his mind slipped back down into the sex-and-food-addicted mush that it was almost constantly, he in fact praised himself for making that choice. For finding a feeder as dedicated as his, to allow him to grow to such impossible sizes. To take care of him as well as he was being taken care of. To let him grow so that his fat alone touched both sides of the door.

 

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