Middle of Nowhere

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Kobo was hungry. The fat foxcoon had been on the road for hours without a meal, and that resulted in him being hungry enough to stop at one of the greasy diners he had sworn off years ago. The places always either made him sick, had horrible service, or just overcharged for food which bordered on cardboard. Kobo didn’t want to have to put up with that, but the gravid sack of overindulgence which rested heavily in his lap demanded something be put into it post-haste. This draw alone pulled over the large hybrid’s truck at the next stop that he could find. The stop was in the middle of nowhere along Route 10, a dusty diner that looked to have seen better years some fifty years before, but Kobo was too hungry and tired to complain about the food. Once he had fully stopped, parked, and left his truck, the chubby beast stretched for a moment. Yawning sleepily, he scratched at the exposed part of his stomach beneath his blue and black hoodie. Once the ritual of standing after a long drive was done, Kobo placed a paw on the opened cab door of his vehicle and gave it a rough shove to slam it shut. Satisfied with the noisy clang with which the door shut, the foxcoon slapped his paws together, cracked his knuckles, and began lumbering towards the entrance to the diner in front of him.

It was a short trek, but by the time Kobo reached the door he was huffing lightly. The hybrid was hopelessly out of shape, and he knew it as his white stomach rubbed against the door while his paw fumbled with the handle. Grasping it tightly, Kobo sighed and then moved his bulk out of the way and swung the door open so that he could step into the diner. Before he did though, he peered into the glass reflection on the door and sighed faintly to himself. His mostly-foxish features looked back, the three piercings in his right ear shining in the moonlight above him. A tuft of yellow hair on the top of his head, a short brown goatee, and black rectangular glasses all sat on that foxy face and completed Kobo’s look. The fox could also spot his immense tail in the look at his head, its sheer girth holding it up behind his head. Shaded in stripes of orange and off-white like his face, the thing was his only raccoon-esque feature, but a prominent one at that. That was all Kobo wanted to see though, just how tired he looked and whether or not he was presentable; he was for the most part. He didn’t dare look down at his middle, for that would be all that he could see thanks to the protruding middle which was strapped around his torso. The foxcoon took that in his paws and gave it a light jostle, sighing to himself right before it groaned in response. He smirked once that happened, and gave his thick table muscle a hearty pat once he heard and processed the noise.

“I’m feeding you soon enough, calm down…” He murmured, and then stepped through the doorway he had been blocking while he took in his looks. All of the shades of the building had been drawn thanks to the late hours, but it was still obviously open, and looked obviously used. The first thing that Kobo saw was the beaten metallic counter, looking still faintly shiny but having knicks, dents, dings, and various other damage that showed how much it had been used. The stained red-and-white floor was the same way, various mop stains littering its surface as well as bits of food in the corners. The stools were all worn, various shades of red with rips in some and stains on others. The booths were hardly better, one even missing a table with caution tape blocking off access to it. All in all, the place was just the quintessential diner with nothing in it even remotely breaking the stereotype. Kobo was nearly ready to turn around as he came to that realization, but his stomach drove him on, and put his thick butt right on a stool at the bar.

There the hefty foxcoon sat for a couple minutes before a server came over to him and gave him a faint smile. The lithe cheetah just looked to be the only one working the counter that particular night, which meant that service would be slow thanks to the few other patrons on the other side of the bar. Kobo didn’t mind terribly, but the wait for a menu was worrisome to him. The waitress brought one though, and upon a brief exchange, was bringing the foxcoon out some coffee and an order of fries while he browsed the menu.

Knowing that it would take more than just fries and a coffee to feed him, Kobo spent a solid few minutes perusing the menu while he sat at the bar and just waited for the waitress to come back over to him. The thing was riddled with diner standards, and the urge to leave was starting to truly build up in Kobo as he read over the menu once, and then again. He could hear the faint chatter around him as he read, drawing his attention slightly away from deciding what grease-laden attempt at food he ‘wanted’. Nothing was catching his eyes, and the conversation at the end of the bar was just audible enough that Kobo strained to hear it. Something about cars, then trucks, then the cargo the two large truckers were hauling reached Kobo’s ears in fits and starts; the final nail in the coffin for the foxcoon. He hoped the place would let him order soon, as the hybrid doubted he could stay in the diner for much longer without shuddering himself to pieces.

Before the foxcoon could think on this more though, the waitress came back over to him with a pad in paw and a far warmer smile on her face. This relaxed Kobo slightly, and as he gave the menu one final glance, he came to a decision about what he was going to get. He lowered his menu and slid it towards the waitress, who took it and started talking in a heavily accented voice. “Howdy there, what can I getcha?”

“The fried steak and eggs with potatoes and gravy on the side, and one of those endless chocolate shakes too.” Kobo said fairly flatly, drawing a slight frown from the waitress. She didn’t lose her polite attitude though, writing down the order quickly before looking back at the foxcoon.

“How’dya want yer steak?”

“Rare if ya would.”

“Alrighty, Earl will have that out to ya soon then. Those fries are just cooling for ya now too.”

“Thanks,” Kobo replied, ending the exchange and letting the waitress get back to her job. The wait began right then for the foxcoon, and he knew it would be a short one thanks to the two truckers that were the only others in the bar rising to their feet as soon as the foxcoon ordered. This would make him the only one in the place, and while the time of night made that an obvious thing, it was still somewhat unnerving to Kobo. He didn’t expect anything bad out of the staff persay, but being alone in a building he knew nothing about, with no cell service for miles and no pay phone he could find didn’t bring the foxcoon comfort. It would have to be enough though, for he had already ordered and was sipping at surprisingly good coffee. The hybrid just hoped that the empty diner would be more tolerable than one with the few patrons in it, especially since the waitress was at least polite enough to keep to herself. The foxcoon didn’t want conversation, he wanted food. That wasn’t going to be coming for a little while though, so all Kobo could do was turn towards the only TV in the place and watch the fuzzy images flicker on the old box.

That food came after several minutes of waiting, piping hot and looking startlingly edible. The atmosphere was deceiving apparently, and as Kobo spun around on his creaking stool away from the television he had been watching while he waited, he let his jaw slacken slightly. “Enjoy,” the waitress told him as the place slid in front of the foxcoon along with a tall mug of chocolate shake. Kobo gave a nod of thanks, smiling as he took a deep inhale of the delectable scents coming from the platter in front of him. The place certainly believed in large portions, for the plate was nearly overflowing and far larger than any plate he had seen in other restaurants. The steak was thick, battered perfectly, and still seeping just enough juice that it looked to be something from a magazine rather than a late-night diner. The potatoes were perfectly done, as were the eggs, and the gravy smelled as though it was professionally made. The shake was just as good-looking as the rest of the food, a quick shake of the glass giving away that it was at the perfect balance of runny and thick. Kobo had apparently been wrong about the place, and he was more than happy to admit that as he unwrapped his utensils from their rolled-up napkin prison.

The foxcoon struggled for a split-second to decide what to eat first, ending on the eggs as they were the easiest to eat. Taking his fork and knife, the hungry hybrid cut out a large chunk of the white-and-yellow foodstuffs and lifted it towards his muzzle. Pushing the food in, Kobo groaned a bit from the heat, and then moaned faintly from the taste. His noises were barely audible, but still got a peek from the portly panda running the kitchen. Shutting his eyes in bliss for a long moment, the foxcoon just raised a firm thumbs-up to the chef while he chewed up the first bite of his meal. It was perfectly perfect in every way; easily the best eggs which Kobo had eaten in his whole life. The chef could see that apparently and laughed heartily at the foxcoon’s bliss. Kobo couldn’t help but flush brightly at that, gulping down the bite as soon as he finished savoring it and looking at the panda with his cheeks still somewhat red. “Ya liked that huh?”

“Best diner food I’ve ever eaten in my life, paws down.”

“Good to hear; looks like ya’ve eaten at more than yer share of diners. Give the cat a holler if ya need something, it’s my break.” No sooner had the panda finished talking than his apron was off his thick frame and he wasn’t in the window of the kitchen anymore. Kobo was barely paying attention though, having just given a wave of acknowledgement before digging in with more gusto to his warm meal. The eggs suffered his wrath first in the gluttonous binge, being made into nothing more than a greasy puddle of nothing after a couple minutes and some large, sloppy bites. Kobo didn’t bother wiping the grease from his muzzle or paws; he knew more would be there soon enough and instead decided to try and savor his food rather than worry about his looks. No one was there to judge his eating habits, and even if they were he wouldn’t have cared. The food was so good it was almost addicted, and the foxcoon was quickly losing himself to eating. Gone were doubts about the staff, or worries of his truck, or anything like that. Kobo was enthralled in the meal, and nothing would pull him out of the trance-like grip of eating aside from finishing the hearty portions.

Thirst would interrupt the eating part though, and that was what the shake was for. Halfway through the steak and potatoes, which were just a stirred mess of grease and gravy with how Kobo was eating, he couldn’t take the salty burn which was building in his throat and needed to quench it. He begrudgingly put down his fork and knife, grabbing the shake’s mug and bringing it to his muzzle. He quickly tossed the straw inside it aside before he brought the rim to his lips, opting instead to just drink straight from the container so he could quench his thirst faster. Once the cold surface contacted his muzzle, Kobo began to drain the glass with a fervor that any outsider would have gawked at in either amazement or disgust. The foxcoon was unaware of his actions at this point, utterly lost to the haze of gluttony and taste which had enveloped every conscious thought in his mind at this point. On and on he drank as he felt the cold drink coating his throat and innards in chocolatey goodness. Kobo was determined to finish the glass though, so he kept guzzling it down relentlessly in hopes of hitting the bottom.

He drank this way for almost two minutes straight before peeking through his eyes into the mug. Its level of liquid hadn’t dropped one iota since he started drinking from it, which would have been startling to the foxcoon had he not been so mentally foggy at that point. Instead, it was a new challenge to him, and one that he gladly accepted as he shut his eyes again and began to drink with a renewed vigor. He could already feel his stomach pushing against the counter far more than it had been, and the sounds of the creaking stool beneath his engorged rumpcheeks was getting louder than the loud gulps with his he was pulling shake into his stomach. The sweet chocolate liquid was too enticing to care about that though, and secretly a part of Kobo was loving every second of his newfound gaining and growth as the shake took hold of him. It was utterly addictive, the size was arousing and just as addictive, and there was no one there to tell him not to do it. The foxcoon was off in his own little paradise, and from there it was pointless to even try and stop him from just glutting until he could glut no more.

Pull after pull of shake went down into the foxcoon’s stomach. His gut began to roll over and under the counter as the pressure of his stomach against it got stronger and stronger. The seat beneath his rear was groaning in agony, which prompted Kobo to use two seats as soon as he got wide enough to reach them both with his massive posterior. He stayed drinking the whole time this was happening as well, a task which was getting harder by the second thanks to the rising tide of moobs and the expanding circumference of his arms. All of his growth didn’t take as long as it should have to even be somewhat realistic, but Kobo didn’t care or think of the consequences. He just wanted more shake and more room to grow, and this prompted him to try and turn around while he guzzled down the sweet liquid. He was too wedged against the counter for any success in this endeavor though, and that left him with a small problem. He could either continue glutting until the counter broke, or just stop and cry for help in getting his gravid mass out of there. He wasn’t going to fit into his truck anymore in this state, and anyone who would be able to help him was hours away safely in bed. The shake was just too good to pass up too, and thusly the decision was made for Kobo instead of him having to think. His mind was too addled with the bliss of outgrowing a diner to care about that too; euphoria didn’t do his state justice. There was one niggling though in his mind though, that hadn’t been pushed away even as he continued to drain more and more of the unending shake into his muzzle.

Just how much was in that darn mug?

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