Food Alert

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“This is Food Alert, how may we help you?” The cheery, thickly-accented voice coming through the speaker across the room sounded as though an angel itself had entered the beached raccoon’s life. All it had taken was lazily smearing a paw along the button he always wore around his neck, and there it was. That voice would get him more food, keep him gaining, and most importantly; get him more food. The overstuffed glutton could hardly think straight as he pondered just what getting more to eat would mean, but he simply knew that he wanted more. More, and more, and more. More food, more fat, and more of that stretching pain which filled him nearly constantly. First though, he would need to talk to that voice… That angelic, life-saving voice. “Sir?”

“Y-Yeah…” the raccoon wheezed heavily as he had to take in deep, long breaths in order to speak. His lungs were undoubtedly being smothered both beneath the lard of his chest, and the food in his stomach that had him beached on the couch. How long had he been beached there? “I… I… I can’t… I can’t move…” More wheezing, and a few coughs which sent the rolls upon rolls of grey colored adipose surrounding and burying his frame wobbling. He hacked and coughed a few more times, his ears now ringing from the sheer effort he needed to put into just speaking. He could hear his own heartbeat, and the pain in his chest was beginning to get to be a little more than he was used to. Normally, some was there constantly simply from the daunting task his lungs faced from having to force the weight of a small anthro up and down with every labored breath. This was more than the raccoon was used to, as his squinted, beady eyes, above cheeks that looked to be swollen with balloons, screwed shut in light agony.

“We will send someone over right away Lionel.” A belch, which subdued a great deal of the pain in the raccoon’s chest, was all the angel got in response before the line went dead and Lionel was left all alone with nothing but his fat and empty plates galore for company. The grey blob didn’t much mind that; that had been his company for what felt to be ages now. He’d been provided a feeding robot, same as all citizen who grew to his… Imposing stature after the great food boom of 2038. That had broken three days prior though, and though Lionel had planned to have it fixed, he had been too absorbed in both eating and sleeping to bother calling the repair bot to fix his feeder bot. All it would have taken was another push of that button, another lazy swipe and a few more wheezed words to another recording. No such moves had been made though, as that would interrupt the gorging that had grown to define every waking moment of the raccoon’s life. When he was awake, he was eating. When he wasn’t awake, he was digesting his meal into more flab so that he could fit more food into himself the next time he awoke. That was his entire life; eat and sleep. There was a drone of television, and while he chewed down the longer bites or drained full pitchers of beer, the blaring box across the room sometimes held a glimmer of the immobilized ball of lard’s attention. That was rare though, as the raccoon had nothing else but the next high of being so full he could hardly breathe on his mind.

The moments of being awake and not eating gave Lionel a chance to explore his frame. He hadn’t done that in more time than he could remember, and it was quite a frame. What little he could see over the swell of his cheeks, which he could feel resting both on the roll of his neck and even over it, was simply stained grey fur, an off-white wall stained with dust and filth, and a television that was starting to vanish over the artificial horizon of the raccoon. His paws grabbed at rolls of flab, shaking and jostling them as best they could in spite of the barely-mobile limbs jarring lack of muscle. Lionel had been feeding himself with the feeding machine he had in case of feeder bot malfunction after all; the automated hose did all the work for him. Feeling what little he could with his paws, and the strain in his shoulders, biceps, and wrists in just trying to move those atrophied appendages, and it was obvious why. The raccoon gave his flabby self a few more gropes, his eyes rolling shut and his tongue flopping out from his muzzle in utter ecstasy at the feeling of any sort of touch to his frame. He would have tried to pleasure himself, but the fat of his legs and the foot-thick fat pad between them made sure that was nigh impossible for even others, let alone the owner of the useless body that Lionel inhabited. The stains of meals past which dotted what little flesh was visible in front of him also accentuated just how little he was touched; he hadn’t been bathed in weeks. No one would be able to even try, as the raccoon could only guess his weight at this point, let alone how much sweat and slime coated his grey, moderately-amorphous frame. That much surface area would be impossible to clean, as just sitting at all made him sweat constantly and pant like he had just run a marathon. It wouldn’t be long before he would be on life-support, still eating himself into oblivion with machines further helping to keep him alive. However, as the raccoon grasped his heft one more time and gave it the meekest jostle he could, he knew all that would be worth it. All of the shunning, the over-stuffed pain, the constant panting… It was all resulting in every luscious, orgasm-inducing pound which enshrouded his frame with countless folds and rolls of blubber.

“Lionel?” A robotic voice called out, the door to his small apartment swinging open with a loud creak. Another belch caused the robot to enter, albeit slowly, into the trash-covered sty in which Lionel lived.

“O… O… Over…” That was all Lionel managed to wheeze out before having to stop and pant hard again, words just too much effort for the engorged raccoon as he sat stock still in his own filth and flab. The robot intruder didn’t say another word, and instead just went into his kitchenette. A few clatters were heard, which set Lionel drooling almost involuntarily as he knew what they meant. He had heard those clatters many-a-time before, and knew just what they could mean for him as they continued on. Another noise joined the clatters soon enough, twin sets of robots now preparing a feast for the over-fed ball of lard. His door creaked shut soon after that, but Lionel paid it little heed as he had far more important things to listen to. Those things were taking their time though, and that made Lionel salivate all the more; he had no idea just what they could be doing. Smells began to fill the room that were not the usual ones of stale food and unwashed fur, but ones of sauces and spices that smelled almost foreign to Lionel. A torrent of drool now flowing from his muzzle, the gainer of a raccoon struggled weakly against his whale-like body to just   to try and see, smell, hear… Anything more about the meal that was coming up for him.

“Sir, dinner is served.” The robotic voice couldn’t have sounded better to the flattened ears of the raccoon. He had a new angel with that voice, one that he could just revel in the tones of as he heard the clinking of dishes moving towards him, and then the feeling of cold, metallic limbs pressing against his flesh. Still unable to see a thing, Lionel just panted and opened his eyes as wide as he could in anticipation. A plate then entered his vision, the sound of hydraulics from extending arms reaching his ears as the sight of food reached his eyes. Another limb, one almost akin to a shovel, came into view above that food and lowered down to behind the mound of pasta and sauce. It clinked on the place, stopped, and then began to move forward towards Lionel. The raccoon let his eyes fall shut as that happened, his muzzle opening up wide.

A wheeze, a grunt, and then the sounds of chewing came from Lionel… And that was that.

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