Dietrich
"You can't honestly enjoy being fat."
The comment left on my latest video shouldn't have affected me as much as it did. I was no stranger to the jeers and barbs slung at me by random viewers--I knew they'd come when I started my channel, which in polite company I described as "a modern version of a circus sideshow: see the amazing fat red wolf!"
In reality, of course, it's just me putting stuff up for friends to jerk off to.
And that's why it bothered me to see that one sentence, apparently given in all seriousness, with a familiar icon and name above it.
To be fair, if anyone were to criticize me on my weight, it would've been Dietrich. The horsetaur was constantly posting pictures of his musculature to Twitter, talking about his workouts and his hunting and his paleo, or whatever the fad man-diet of the month is supposed to be.
I'd thought he was fine with me, but I guess that can be hard to judge when your chaser friends call you 'tubster' and 'lardo' out of affection.
Oh well.
I decided not to answer him online. This would be a conversation we'd have to have in person.
I got my chance that weekend at our gaming night. Dietrich showed up early as usual, and I confronted him as he was unloading his saddlebags.
"Hey... about that comment you left..." I hesitated, not sure, now that I'd started, that I really wanted to follow through.
He entirely misinterpreted the pause. "Hey, you know. Sometimes we just need to be reminded we can do better. If you want to hit the gym with me I'd be glad to guide you back on track."
"It's not that, it's--"
"All right, I get it, when you're a big fat tub you don't want to be seen working out, getting all gross and sweaty. We can work out at my place then."
"I do like being fat." I inhaled deeply. "That's what I wanted to say. I love being big, soft and blubbery."
The horsetaur crossed his arms. "That's not funny."
I lowered my ears. "I--it turns me on," I said.
His expression changed to something on the dark side of stunned. "You don't--"
"After I shot that video--I took a dozen donuts... and I jerked off as I ate them all." I'm not even sure why I was so keen on telling him that. I knew it was... impolite to subject people to one's kink outside of kink-appropriate spaces. But I kept going: "When I got to the last one... I came all over it. And as I gulped it down I thought of how fat all that would make me, and what a piggish pup I was. And even though I'd just cum, I was hard again right away just thinking of it."
I was hard as I told the tale, too, but there's no way Dietrich would've been able to know that--while my fat pad had left a few inches available at full hardness, the curve of my belly more than overshadowed anything that might've been going on in the crotch area.
The horsetaur wouldn't have been interested anyway--the look he gave me was one of utter contempt, and he wouldn't talk to me, outside of what the game required, for the whole rest of the night.
I decided I'd lost that friendship, though on the bright side Dietrich and I were obviously never all that close to begin with.
Yet it was only the next day before he was knocking on my door.
I let him in and showed him a seat along the couch, and I sat in the chair facing him. "So."
He looked at me, his face still kind of troubled as he tried to come to terms with the kind of person I was.
"Were we going to talk, or--"
The horsetaur reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a gun.
"Hey, what--"
He shot me--with a dart--and I slumped back in my chair immediately. Immobility was instant, and after a few moments I found it difficult to even think properly, and then I lost consciousness altogether.
When I woke up, I was still at home, still in my living room chair, but bound and naked. My alarm escalated as I saw Dietrich, also in the nude, doing stretches like he owned the place.
How can he act so casually, I thought. Has he... done this before? "Hey--"
The horsetaur looked at me with something that might have been apprehension before he saw that the ropes still held me, and returned his attention to whatever set of exercises he was doing. When he finished, he approached and loomed over me, flaring his nostrils and snorting with disdain as he sat back on his hind legs.
"All right porky pup," he said. "All this talk of yours about your weight... got me thinking. You're in need of serious help, buddy. So I thought I should be the one to give it to ya. No excuses, no payment needed, no worries, just you and me and some pretty hard training."
"But-- but-- I like being fat... I really do..."
He smirked at me, reaching over my head and pulling down a flat box, brightly colored and full of--
--donuts.
"You're going to be so fat you'll be sick of it," he said, opening the box. "You'll be so fat, you'll beg me to take you to the gym and work out with you, so people won't laugh at you when you walk down the street anymore."
I didn't really know what to say.
And then I couldn't talk, because the first donut was in my mouth.
He counted it out for me as I chewed, the next donut already on hand to cram it in my muzzle: "That was 300 calories... this makes it 600.... How high do you think we can take ya, pup?
I swallowed down the sweet treats one after another. The big taur gave me a break after every few donuts to pour milk down my throat, and kept counting out: "1200... 1500..." The steady influx of sugar cloyed after a bit, but the feel of being stuffed and Dietrich's attention had me hard and eager for more.
"2400... 2700..." It might be hard for some people, but I did have practice doing just this; my stomach rumbled as it felt the need to be stuffed.
"3600... That'll make a good pound of fat for ya... 3900..." I gulped down the final donut and belched deep and loud. Dietrich smirked a little as he tossed the empty donut box aside and reached below my gut to stroke my stiff shaft with a finger. "Looks like you enjoyed that, porker. If you want to get off though, you're going to have to earn it. Tell me you want to lose weight."
"Rrrrf..." I said, squirming against the bonds that held me. "But... But I love being fat..."
Dietrich smirked again and withdrew his paw from my shaft. "Wrong answer, fatty. Guess we'll have to give you a second round."
The second round was a monster-sized pizza. Slice after slice of good hot cheese was stuffed down my throat, but my stomach started to complain after six slices in and I had to beg for a break. "Please, Deet..."
"Will you come to the gym with me?"
"I told you, I like being f--mph!" My protest was silenced by the seventh slice and I had no choice but to keep eating. I felt my gut straining to hold the meal, and my dick was throbbing.
When the pizza was gone, he gave my poor taut gut a thump and repeated the question.
"I want to be fat..."
"Round three it is then."
Round three was four two-liters of orange soda. At first, it was a relief--when you're full, a drink is still easy for a little while. But then after that little while has passed, your gut feels like it's at its limit and you're struggling to swallow and you can see you still have a ways to go.
And then after a little while more, you just have to go, period. "I'm going to have to piss," I said between bottles, struggling against the rope that bound me.
"Are you going to lose weight?"
"Only the weight I plan on leaving in the toilet."
He laughed, half a smile showing, and for a second I thought I saw the Dietrich I remembered before the cruelty returned. "Fair enough."
The horsetaur undid some of the ropes that held me down, leaving my paws tied, and marched me to the restroom.
"What if I need to wipe or something?"
"What if you could stand to lose a hundred pounds?"
I scowled and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me with a footpaw. Since my paws weren't free to aim, I sat on the toilet to take care of business and thought about what was happening to me--what would happen to me outside that door.
Dietrich was unhinged, certainly. Who knew if he'd ever let up, until I agreed to hit the gym with him. I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. But what other options did I have?
I looked up and saw the bathroom window, still open from a bit of airing out I needed to do earlier. It was on the small side, sure, but I wasn't that fat yet--I figured I'd just barely be able to squeeze through and make an escape.
I got up from the toilet, managed to flush with my footpaw, and tried to contemplate the window again but was distracted by the sight of my reflection in the mirror.
Even after a bit of unloading, my gut was still much rounder than usual--taut and heavy with the weight of all the food the horsetaur had been dumping into it. I couldn't help but appreciate how being so well stuffed made me feel.
I half wished I was getting it all on camera.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, some sensible part of me was telling me I should get away from the mentally unstable friend who might really do anything to carry out his goal of making me lose weight.
The front of my mind, however, was entirely consumed with just how big my belly looked.
Dietrich started banging on the door. "What're you up to in there?"
"Yeah, yeah, just a moment," I said. He was suspicious now; if he noticed the open window, I wouldn't get an opportunity to escape again. It was now or never.
I inhaled deeply, feeling the stretch of my gut.
Yep, I thought. Now or never.
With a bit of maneuvering behind my back I was able to get my paw in line with the doorknob to get it open.
I let Dietrich lead me back to the chair and resecure the rope that bound me, and I readied myself for the next round of food.
I honestly enjoyed being fat, after all.