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Chase hadn't added his name to the list of attendees, hadn't told anyone he would be going, hadn't let on at all. He knew no one would recognize his face thanks to years of careful photography. He would be an anonymous bar patron having a few appetizers and maybe a few beers while the rest of the furballs and their admirers cavorted tantalizingly close by. The chipmunk hoped he wouldn't be noticed while he stealthily watched the proceedings of fat males and their admirers, but deep inside his flabby chest, he felt a pang of sorrow.

Buttoning up his new (and newly laundered) dress shirt took some real effort, especially when it came time to breathe out and let every square centimeter of fabric form-fit to his blubbery 450 pound torso. He sighed and turned to waddle his soft, vaguely spherical form toward the door of his apartment, trying to work through the nerves that were making him crave comfort food. It was going to be a lonely night. Well, at least, he assumed so.

He already spared himself the embarrassment of squeezing into a tiny traditional cab by ordering the beastly yellow SUV that pulled up shortly after the 27 year old male gainer huffed and puffed his way down the hall and out of his building. All he had to deal with was the driver's less-than-subtle glances into the rearview as Chase hoisted himself into the back of the vehicle, already out of breath and sporting dark marks of sweat under his arms. He ignored the lizard's looks and grunted out the address of the bar, handing his credit card to the older male and closing his eyes as the cab started to move.

Margo Instruktor's hit song "Nothin' but that Butt" started playing on the radio, making Chase roll his eyes. The only reason he tolerated the song was the tubby polar bear that danced in the video while Margo talked about plus-sized acceptance. When the song first aired, the bear was something of an inspiration to a then-thinner Chase, the chipmunk having on more than one occasion blared the song in his apartment while he shoved his chubby cheeks full of donuts. Back then he had been barely 275, and although he had truly ballooned by almost anyone's standards since then, he still wished his younger self had tried harder to pack away the calories. Chase never felt big enough... and couldn't foresee a day when he would.

"Hey fella, you gettin' out?"

Chase blinked and brought himself back to the present, looking around and noticing the bustling barfront scene next to his door. He grunted in reply, opened his door, and practically poured out of the cab and onto his unsteady feet on the sidewalk beyond. Brushing his chubby paws down the front of his shirt, barely able to reach the bottom of his hanging apron of gut, Chase prepared himself mentally for the crowded bar.

He approached the door, pausing to read a small poster advertising the Furball meeting happening that night. The bar owner had tucked it near the bottom among other, mostly old, posters; the chipmunk wondered why the guy agreed to host the event if he was so ashamed of a bunch of obese, gay furs wandering around his establishment. Chase gulped hard and waddled toward the door, having to stop more than once to let thinner furs by before he had his chance to get inside.

The instant his bloated body was brushing the doorframe he found himself colliding with something fur-shaped. The guy bounced back a foot or two but caught his balance with remarkable speed, looking over the chipmunk with much less annoyance than Chase usually saw in the eyes of those unfortunate enough to come in contact with so much rodent lard. A slender ibex, with curved horns impressive in the mixed light of the bar, extended a hooved paw without hesitation, giving a crooked, confident grin. Chase blushed and shuffled into the bar and away from the door before he took the paw nervously. "S-sorry about that," Chase sputtered. The ibex chuckled and shook his head.

"No need to apologize, big guy. Men of your stature command a lot of space, eh? You here for the Furball meet? I almost guarantee it, with a body like yours."

Chase's bigger-than-average cheeks turned a darker shade of red. He fumbled in his search for the right words, finally spurting out, "F-furball? N-no, I'm just here for a few drinks... "

The taller male nodded, pursed his lips, and knew everything he needed to know about that mound of 'munk. He looked over his shoulder, horns obviously having been trimmed and polished for the event, and eyed the small group of fat and thin men laughing and chatting loudly at a set of large tables across the way. He turned his attention back to Chase who, as expected, hadn't moved a muscle.

"Cute, nervous, and packed like a sausage in a nice new button up shirt? Oh yeah, you know all about Furball... What, trying to keep out of sight? You know that's impossible, tubby."

Chase felt indignation rising in his chest, but the emotion was beaten by his embarrassment and the growing arousal the goat was causing. He tried to seem huffy and offended, putting one hammy fist on his pillowy hip and frowning at the stranger in front of him. "H-how dare you? Making fun of my weight, making wild assumptions..."

As he spoke, the bar's ambient noise quieted just in time for Chase's phone, tucked in his tight pants pocket, to let out (of all things) a burping noise. The shorter mammal felt like he might faint from shame as the ibex's grin grew into a sneer.

"Uh huh, only one app sounds like that, fatass. You can't hide from me. But I tell ya what," he looked back at the raucous group of Furball users and then chuckled before he addressed Chase again, "Sit with me, let me order you a few drinks, maybe some food. Have a nice chat with your pal Lewis, eat and drink whatever I order... and I'll keep your secret. On my honor."

What an ass, Chase thought as he started to feel a nervous sweat seeping out from under his fur. And yet, as he reasoned he could simply turn around and leave, he realized something surprising: he wasn't going to turn Lewis down. In fact, he was already responding.

"W-wow, well... Fuck it, ok. I'm Chase, by the way."

Twenty minutes later, Lewis was perched effortlessly on a tall high top chair while Chase felt his own seat trying to wedge itself uncomfortably between his enormous ass cheeks. Still, he didn't want to give in and grab another for fear of Lewis teasing him mercilessly. It hardly mattered, though; Lewis teased him anyway.

"What's that, a five X shirt? You're wearing it like a second coat of fur, so you must REALLY love Gray Fort burgers. Or are you more of a fried chicken guy? Eh, doesn't matter... tonight you're a mozzarella stick guy, aren't you, Chubby Chase?"

Chase gave a sarcastic laugh, ironically drowning his shame by shoving another pawful of fried cheese into his muzzle and swallowing the accompanying grease as he chewed. For such a busy night, Chase was surprised they prepared the order so quickly. As he thought about that, another order was placed on their table by an older mare server who also left Chase with another draft of beer to drink. Lewis, fully in control, winked at the mare before he hopped down and moved his chair right up next to Chase's heavily hanging side rolls. Without the burden of societal norm weighing on his choices, the ibex dug a paw into the chipmunk's love handle and leaned in to whisper in the shy guy's ear.

"You're anonymous, sure... no one else knows your secret... but you're not getting away without needing a wheelbarrow for that swelling gut of yours. You gotta pay for hiding so much sexy lard from the men over there."

As Chase squeaked and whined in utter humiliation, and despite the subtle musk of arousal Lewis could smell, the goat eased up. His expression softened as he put a paw over Chase's, smiling at his companion.

"Look, I'm actually not always such an ass. I'm not saying this stuff to hurt you and I think you know that. All the same, I'm happy to drop the attitude for a bit so we can chat normally."

"D-does that mean we could... ease up on the ordering?" Chase burped yet again, rubbing his tight upper belly and feeling the fur that was revealing itself in the gaps between strained buttons.

Lewis laughed, smiling warmly, then suddenly squeezed Chase's paw hard, making the chipmunk squeal in surprise.

"Hell no, blubberbutt. Our little deal stands, you eat what I say, drink what I say." His expression slipped smoothly back to warmth and friendliness after his point was made; he let go of Chase's paw. The chipmunk whimpered and grabbed his beer, tilting a third of it down his throat to show he still planned to follow the rules.

"Urrrp... f-fine..." he wiped his lips with his cuff and set the glass down. "S-so you in town for the event, then? Just a temporary thing?"

"Nah, man; I'm local. Surprised we never met. Then again... maybe I'm not so surprised. You one of those 'no muzzle-pics' kind of guys? What, you got some office job, some government career you're trying to protect?"

Chase sighed and shook his head, cheeks jiggling subtly and his thick double chin bouncing as he replied. "No, nothing like that... I'm just... I dunno, not good with people, I guess? I like my privacy."

"You oughta rethink that, blobby. You've probably got your body on display online, which I'm sure gives you tons of attention... but that face? You're just so damn adorable, always looking like you've got food in your cheeks like that!"

Those cheeks turned red once again; Chase must have blushed twice a minute since Lewis had blackmailed him into sitting. "I j-just don't want people looking at me funny when I go out... "

"Hun, with an ass that fat, people are already looking at you funny, muzzle-pic or no."

Chase didn't reply; he tipped his glass back again, drinking away his mixed emotions until, right at the last gulp, a button burst from over his belly and clattered against a nearby and (thankfully) empty chair. The chipmunk squeaked, covering his muzzle with both paws, smearing grease from his eating paw onto his cheek. Lewis just laughed and reached over to boldly rub at the exposed fur.

"Looks like you've earned those pounds of yours, big guy. I won't press ya to show face online... but I will order you another beer. How does garlic bread sound? Marinara to dip? No, strike that... your hips tell me you're an alfredo man."

The conversation drove on in fits and starts, with Chase trying to keep things casual and Lewis bringing it right back to the subject of, for example, how many chins Chase wanted to collect in the future. His favorite topic seemed to be the chipmunk's appetite, which only made sense, considering by the hour and a half mark the fatty had eaten two baskets of mozzarella sticks, three baskets of garlic bread, one order of boneless wings, all washed down with five beers.

His shirt was quite literally unbuttoned, with only a few strained buttons holding out over his heaving chest. Lewis had taken the trouble to gather all the projectile fastenings and pile them on the table for Chase to see. From across the bar, the mare was glaring at him. It brought to mind the old supermarket cliche: No shoes, no shirt... He gulped, blushing all over again. "Lewis, I think I've gotta get going... I'm practically exposed here..."

Lewis scoffed and nudged an elbow against Chase's side, making the nervous 'munk belch, breath smelling of an amalgam of bar food and drink. "Nah, let's just relax and see where this goes! Come on, blimp, don't you wanna be one of those lardasses who get kicked out for being too much of a glutton?"

"N-no I don't," Chase muttered, looking down at his paws folded on the table.

"Don't lie," Lewis forged on, clearly missing the signals Chase was sending. "You'd orgasm the moment your fat butt hit the pavement out front, wouldn't you? And you'd waddle straight for the Greek restaurant across the street. Lemme order another beer and see what happens, Chubby Chase. You can't refuse."

Chase could, however. He turned, grunting and belching as he shook up the food and drink that stuffed his middle to the brim, and lowered himself onto his footpaws, looking back at Lewis, panic in his eyes as he waddled slowly to the door and out into the cold evening air.

If the chipmunk hadn't hailed a cab so quickly and squeezed himself into the back, Lewis would have caught up with him. The ibex felt terrible, though he did his best to hide any emotion as he left a stack of bills on the table, stood, and headed out of the bar himself. Once outside, away from the furs who had seen him all night, he swore loudly and slammed his paw against his forehead, grimacing as guilt hit him like a train. He had taken it too far as usual and he had no idea how to contact the chipmunk and apologize. He turned and headed down the sidewalk, slumped over, looking at the pavement and beating himself up inside. He added one more porker he had scared off to a growing list.

---

By the time Chase squeezed himself out of the back of the cramped cab and got on his footpaws in front of his apartment complex, his belly had swollen even further. Each breath he took was painful and as he slowly shuffled his way toward the door another button burst off his shirt and exposed his cleavage to the brisk night air. Each inhale was released as a pitiful series of whimpers and desperate burps as he opened the hallway door and waddled inside, utterly exhausted by the time he got to his apartment and squeezed inside.

His couch beckoned, but the chipmunk kept waddling right past and headed for the kitchen. He was humiliated, bloated beyond belief, and exhausted, but he was one thing more than anything else... and as he heard the floorboards creak along with the churning and sloshing of his immense belly, he carried a full box of glazed donuts back with him to the couch. He sat with a thud, the rest of his buttons exploding off him and leaving his shirt fully undone. He sat there for a while, huffing, eyes closed, before he broke the seal on the box and pulled out two donuts, shoving as much as he could into his maw.

Ten minutes later, looking even more like a chipmunk-shaped balloon, belching softly and groaning, Chase started to rock back and forth... deep under his belly, tucked inside his fat pad that acted like a thick second sheath, his throbbing member slipped in and out... in and out of that musky sack of blubber... until, with a final gurgling whine, he came, shooting his copious load into his pad, staining his already sweaty underwear and pants.

Eyes closing, the chipmunk passed out thinking about a certain ibex, wondering if he would ever see him again.