Otts

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Heavy lids slowly lifted from Frank’s eyes, the bright light of what looked to be morning making him shut them again and try to recoil. He didn’t muster much movement, and had he been more awake that might have set off alarm bells in his head. Indeed, he felt far heavier than he ever had before in his life as well, but that was for another time as he tried to open his eyes again, only to find the morning light still far too much for them. The otter sighed and groaned at that, trying to move himself under the blankets more, but to no avail. Trying to lift his stubby arms was met by the strain of underused muscle, and yet no movement. His short legs were an even further exaggeration of this, and that began to fire off the warning signs for his mind. The otter shut his eyes tighter and tried to move some more, getting a sluggish wobble from his arms in response to that. He took in a deep breath through his nose… And…

Something stunk like an unwashed skunk.

Musk, sweat, stale food, unwashed laundry, and other scents which the otter couldn’t place but knew were raunchy in their own right came flooding into his nostrils. He was sure that something was amiss by that point, but had yet to see any of it as his eyes were still adjusting to the light. He tried to open them again, getting them open to slits and leaving them there at that point, as he did his best to breathe through his mouth so as to not inhale the stench filled the air. His slits of eyes saw nothing but stained and matted fur, two mounds of it which blocked the bottom two-thirds of his vision with their sagging mass. The top bit was all light, and nothing else; it was practically blinding but Frank was beginning to truly adjust to it. He tried to move again, and then to turn his head to see just what was holding him in place. He couldn’t move that either, and that was when the panic began to set in. Inhaling deeply, the otter went to shout for help… And…

Nothing came out.

A gurgling belch was all that left his mouth, followed by another the second time he went to speak. The third time Frank got something that sounded like a cry for help, but he could swear that the voice wasn’t his. It was far too deep, too thick, and just too guttural for it to have been his. The belches before couldn’t have been either… They were slovenly and just lewd; something that Frank would never consider doing. They had come from him though, so the only thing that the otter could think of was that he was somehow trapped, and had been drugged. The drugs would explain why everything felt so heavy, and why he couldn’t move. They would also explain the headache and sensitivity to light, the latter of which was waning with every passing moment. His eyes were opening more and more as the sun was becoming less of a burden on his sight, but he still couldn’t see much else aside from the two imposing mounds of brown, sticky fur and the sun itself. There was little else for him to see, and as he tried to move oncemore, Frank had to suspect there wasn’t going to be.

“Oh, we forgot to dose you, didn’t we?” Came a voice. Frank had no idea where it was coming from, but somehow he felt that he knew it. He had heard it in a dream, or somewhere else before

hand, but he simply couldn’t place it try as he might. He tried to move again, getting nothing but the faintest of jiggles from his legs, and that was when he felt toes somewhere on his body. They touched what he had to assume was his stomach, but they felt so incredibly far away… The drugs were still in effect? Then why would the voice have sa- “I can’t imagine how you feel off those drugs; you haven’t been sober in months. Want to see your progress?”

“Pr..o…”Frank tried to talk, to ask what was going on, to say or do something that would get him an answer or to even explain just what was going on. Instead he was greeted with a slovenly blob that he could only see the top of. Moobs that looked to be the size of small anthros in their own right were the main attraction, but the arms were just as large. Useless sacs of adipose as they were, they looked to be moving to Frank, though upon a closer inspection that was just the fat rippling from simply being so darn fat. His cheeks, chins, and the remnants of a neck had all bunched together beneath what Frank had to assume was its head, pressing down and out around a face that was so smothered in fat that it looked to be little more than a collection of folds and creases in a belly. The snout was nearly gone, and two beady eyes were barely visible; even the ears were almost covered by an infringing roll of lard from the back of the blob’s head. Just to see it really made Frank almost want to be sick in some rights, but in others… Rolls of fat, all caked in sweat and food which looked to have been there for ages, settled in a misshapen mass of flesh and fur somehow made Frank curious as to just what it was. The fur color matched, and when he tried to move his arms the blob did the same, but it had to be an illusion. There was no way he could be that fat; he was an exercise nut! A neat freak! Not what was staring back at him, wheezing for breath and smelling like a garbage dump as a hose was lowered towards it. Every iota of him wanted that to not be him, but as a new smell entered the fray and the hose got closer… Frank began to doubt himself, and trust in the mirror’s expansive truth.

The owner of the voice crawled into view, getting a few grunts and pants from Frank as he felt the not-so-slim anthro crawling over what he had to assume was his surface. The fact that the otter could feel that, from the stepping on his stubby, yet oh-so-round tail, to the pressure on a shelf of a rear which could only have fit in a dump truck at that point, to the feeling of paws pressing on cheeks the size of basketballs, all with copious amounts of fondling and squeezing in between each and every bit of it… There was no denying that the one in the mirror was him. The hose was just as real too, as Frank felt himself almost involuntarily latch onto it. His mind was beginning to numb again, slowly sinking back into what the otter could only assume was his drugged state. The voice calmed him though, telling him just how good he looked with soothing whispers as it strapped on his feeding hose, and assuring him that he was going to look even better after his meal between pecking kisses to his unbathed flab. Frank tried to cling to his consciousness though, begging his mind to not succumb; he needed answers. The drugs were taking effect again though, and his rational mind was giving up on fleeting thoughts in broad swaths; it wouldn’t be long before Frank forgot who he was again. The voice was so calming about that though, promising happiness and comfort to him while providing attention which comforted the otter to the very core. The light whir of the hose, the affectionate caress to his face-smothering cheek, the taste of pure chocolate in his mouth… Even before his mind was utterly ravaged by drugs, the otter would have found this moderately pleasant. High as a kite though, and he thought he was somewhere in heaven.

There he would stay too, if the voice had anything to do with that.

“Charlie, I’d say Frank is all set to go again. Let’s go check on Luke.”

 

Meanwhile…

 

Luke blinked a few times, belched, and then tried to raise his arms…

FIN

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