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Tyson had not felt his anxieties lessen in the manner one might expect with the proposition before him, but his bright, shuddering sexual excitement was almost keeping his anguish in check. The short, gray donkey's dick throbbed in his jeans and he felt the same pulse echo in his wrists, confined as they were in the tightly-snapped handcuffs that were securing him to the chair. He didn't want to acknowledge the risk he was taking in this agreement and tried to force down his nerves.

Just keep looking at the food, he forced himself to repeat. Over and over, shouting in his mind because his faith in it was all that was left. Devote yourself to the mantra, repeat and repeat it, let its reality manifest through devotion. Just keep looking at the food. He had fasted for some time, and the hunger gnawing him up inside was undercutting his devotion. He heard Jarvis whistling happily from outside the room, heard bubbling noises and the crackling of electricity and the clatter of trays and pans and the faint undercurrent of the Herbie Hancock record that was playing out there. He knew and trusted Jarvis and otherwise would not be here, would not have accepted the offer, but it was his natural inclination to let his damn anxiety fly away when absolutely every little detail was not under his control. And this was nothing if not a new gray area for him to navigate. To navigate while handcuffed to a chair in the ballroom of a hotel his friend had rented for the express purpose of engaging in some dangerously indulgent and most likely untested activity.

Tyson was seated by the main doorway, with tables and rolling catering carts and pop-up waiter stands jammed in solid to the other end of the room. Every surface was completely covered with food. The enclosed space was big enough to host four thousand people dancing wildly, as he and Jarvis had done when they had attended a sci-fi convention's rave in this very room a year ago. The night they'd met and danced and ended up talking in the lobby until four in the morning and pledged to keep in touch online. And now this room, which seemed set to receive a great mass of famished people and feed them all to absolute satiation was, supposedly, going to be fed to him alone. For the briefest moment Tyson had wondered how his friend had managed this expense, but if Jarvis had some method for enacting the miracle that was about to take place money was probably not a concern.

All the surfaces were piled with more types of food than Tyson, who often ate peanut butter with a spoon to avoid starvation, had ventured to imagine he'd ever enjoy. Pizzas and noodle dishes and fried rice and pho and hummus and long thick loaves of bread that looked, he thought naughtily, like thick heavy dicks. Wedding cakes and flapjacks drenched in syrup and bowls of cut fruit and several whole tables of just hot dogs. Pasta dishes and sushi and protein of every conceivable cooking method from deep frying to steaming. He half-wanted to jump up in terror and run out into the street with the chair still handcuffed to his wrists but the potential of being able to do what Jarvis had promised they'd do had him begging to every possible force in the universe to let it be true. He wanted to eat it all. His dick throbbed so hard against the zipper of his jeans it hurt like hell.

There was a clatter as Jarvis entered, pushing one last catering cart into the room bearing a casserole dish that had to be at least four feet long and two feet wide. It was topped with baked cheese that steamed and bubbled and pulsed, as though struggling to contain a great energy. Jarvis, a tall thin game cock with shiny brown and green feathers and a long bobbling neck, parked the cart before Tyson and turned to his friend. Jarvis' smile was deep and radiant, and he placed a broad, gentle hand on Tyson's shoulder.

"You still want to do this, right?"

Tyson nodded.

"You know it's possible and that it won't hurt you? You have faith in me?"

Tyson nodded.

"I love you so goddamn much," Jarvis said. His voice cracked at the end and he leaned in, flopping his long neck over Tyson's shoulder and hugging him tightly. The cuffs bit into his wrists and he felt his erection brush against his feathered friend's. Then his stomach growled and he felt as much as heard Jarvis laughing, pressed against him and vibrating with mirth and anticipation against his ribs.

Jarvis stood back a hair, his head astride Tyson's. He nipped the donkey's long ear gently with his beak and whispered with hot breath "you're hungry, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"You haven't eaten for how long?"

"A week and a half."

"You're fucking starving, aren't you?"

"I'm so fucking hungry I want to cry." And he was crying, crying because the gnawing in his belly was mixing with his anxiety.

"And even though you're hungry you wanna be fat, don't you? You wanna be fucking huge, so fucking fat and gigantic they'll use you for an ocean liner."

"I want to be the biggest fucking thing on earth. I want to be so fucking fat and huge that I'll never feel small again."

"You want to eat..." Jarvis began, but stopped when he heard Tyson sobbing. Great, racking sobs that shook his whole body. Sharp, pained, shuddering breaths were cracking out of him in quick succession.

"I don't want to be alone anymore," Tyson choked out. "I love you and I want to be with you forever. I want you to love me and feed me and make it okay." The tears were coming fast and hard, dark specs quickly accumulating on his t-shirt where they fell. "I love you and I want you to make me grow. I don't want to be small anymore. I don't want them to hurt me..."

Tyson couldn't push out the words anymore. His throat was tight and painful and his cheeks hurt from pressing his eyes shut in a futile attempt to hold back the tears. He felt like he would pass out or implode from the gnawing hunger inside him. Then he felt the soft swish of Jarvis dabbing his eyes with a napkin from one of the tables. A hand was gently lifting his chin, and he opened his eyes.

"I love you so fucking much I could explode," Jarvis said, his voice full and confident and still somehow tender. "Let's get you fed, big guy."

Jarvis lowered himself onto Tyson's thighs, lap-dance style, and reached his bare hand into the steaming spaghetti. Even though it must have been piping hot he gave no indication it caused him pain, and he lifted the heaping, sloppy handful of food to Tyson's mouth. Tyson gnawed at it ravenously, chewing noisily as noodles and sauce and cheese dripped down onto his neck and shirt. When that fistful was gone Jarvis quickly scooped out another one and fed it to Tyson tenderly, rubbing the back of his neck as he ate. His feathered fingers tickled intricate patterns down Tyson's neck at the roots of his frazzled black mane. There were no windows or clocks in the ballroom and Tyson had no estimation of how much time was passing. He didn't care. He greedily gnawed at handful after handful of the hot, heavy pasta as his friend delicately fed him each bite. Their dicks, hard and throbbing, pulsed against each other in syncopation.

When the enormous pan of baked spaghetti was all gone, Tyson leaned back in the chair and panted. His stomach bulged, his shirt riding up slightly. He wasn't ravenously hungry but he sure as hell wasn't full. Jarvis patted his distended gut and whispered, hot and intense, "that's a hell of a tum big guy." He stood and pulled Tyson's chair by the space between his legs to the first of oh so many tables. It was ladened with a mixture of smothered burritos, pizza and fried protein lengths. Everything was still steaming and fresh despite having sat out for hours. Tyson sheepishly wondered if a patent on that process alone could pay for all this indulgence.

His friend carried over a bucket of fried protein and began to feed it to him one strip and a time. Between each morsel he stroked the back of Tyson's neck and breathed softly into his ears. Tyson felt himself growing heavy, emitting small digestive gurgles. He shifted his legs apart to let his gut expand and spill down into the space in between. His shirt was riding up and his pants were beginning to squeeze as Jarvis moved on to the pizzas. Everything one slice or section at a time, held tenderly to his mouth without hurry. Tyson tore at and chewed it all greedily though his ravenous hunger had long since been sated. Now it was purely psychological, a compulsion of inadequacy and devotion to his love.

And Jarvis certainly was enjoying it. It was hard to tell with the beak, but the upturned creases in his eyes betrayed his joy at seeing his friend gorge. When the table was empty Jarvis paused to rub Tyson's cock from the outside of his strained jeans. "You look like you're gonna pop, big guy," he taunted happily and began carrying over a tray loaded with hotdogs. Tyson tasted every note of every flavor that was being fed to him, but he was barely keeping track of what was entering his body. Noodles and rice and cakes and waffles and every variety of culinary indulgence was being brought to his lips one handful at a time. He ate with messy intensity, and by the time Jarvis took a moment to stand back and admire his friend's progress the donkey was thoroughly soiled with sauce, crumbs and drips of every sort.

He was beautifully obese, flab flopping about from the lengths of his arms and legs. His belly distended out over a yard and sagged heavily as though full of concrete. He was so fat after the sixth table that his arms were pushed out by his flab to the point of straining his handcuffs. He felt marvelous. He could feel his size displacing the air. Each gram of the mud in his belly was a part of his being now, gurgling and pushing out against his flesh with some help from Jarvis that he didn't care to ever understand. He wasn't full but he was big, and if he exploded right now he'd die happy in the arms of his lover.

Tyson's belly was a thing of beauty, full and round and jiggling softly with the forces inside him trying to conquer his indulgence. Jarvis admired it for a time after the tenth table had been cleared. He'd leaned into it and embraced it, arms wide, dick throbbing into the folds of flesh that contained the bounty he'd fend his friend. "God, you're lovely," he'd muttered out as Tyson felt his friend grind his pelvis softly into his belly flesh. There was a dull ache in his wrists and after he shifted his head around on his fat neck with some difficulty he realized the sheer massiveness of his meal thus far had pushed him up as well as out. His head was a good two or three feet higher than where it had been to start, and the handcuffs were straining against his bulk and the top of the chair's back as well.

Jarvis had wandered around behind him and was observing his Donkey friend trying to keep his head turned to the rear. "Let's bust you outta that," he clucked. He walked over to a table weighted to near-collapse with steaming tourines of pho and, with seeming effortlessness, pushed it over to Tyson's seat. He climbed up the front of the now-considerable slope of Tyson's belly with the talons of his feet. It tickled more than hurt, and Jarvis rode the wave of his friend's laughter warbling his loose, plush flesh. Broth and noodles poured down his throat one pail at a time. Salads, loaves of bread, long platters of sushi and casserole pans full of mac n' cheese were all lifted to his mouth and always one bite at a time. Jarvis laid atop the continental shelf of his friend's belly, legs swinging gleefully behind him as he lifted each handful to his friend's mouth and pecked tenderly at his hair and ears.

The pressure built and built in Tyson's wrists and finally, whether from the fattiness between his forearms and hands or from his arms pulling up and up, the handcuffs burst apart. The chair took this opportunity to give, letting his ass flop to the carpet in what felt like a much shorter distance than anticipated. Jarvis giggled as he bobbled atop the sloshing flesh and pecked tenderly at the particularly fluffy patch of fur that rested at the base of Tyson's sixth chin. Tyson and been peering tenderly at his friend or closing his eyes in the slow ecstasy of his eating, but now as Jarvis climbed down to reload he took a moment to glance around and take stock.

He must have been twelve feet tall seated. It wasn't like he could stand any longer, his legs reduced to comically plush hooved sausages splayed out beside his massive, gurgling belly. His jiggly arms, tipped with his fat-fingered hands, laid similarly useless against his gently rolling grey bulk. He felt warm and heavily, immobile with bounty, and he could feel his body undulating with the efforts of his system to utilize all he'd eaten somehow. Twenty tables had been cleared, but it was only a fourth of the room's bounty. Somewhere waaaay down below the rolls of his gut he felt his dick still pulsing hotly. He felt only the briefest remorse that he may never reach it again. Jarvis came climbing back up, bouncing happily with a trough of eclairs in one hand and a bottle of rye whiskey in the other. A picnic blanket was tucked under his arm.

Jarvis placed the bounty atop one of Tyson's jiggling man-tits and shook out the blanket. He laid down atop it and roughly tugged out the cork of the bottle with his beak. "Drink?" he giggled, and when Tyson nodded as vigorously as he was able with his head encased in his fatty neck folds the rooster held the bottle to his lips. It burned and his eyes watered (it was the only thing he'd been fed thus far that was in any way of sub-par quality) but he slugged down a third of the bottle. Jarvis put the bottle to his beak and drank with gusto, spilling amber liquor over his flannel shirt as it slipped out the lipless crack of his mouth.

"How you holding up, big guy?" Jarvis asked. He nibbled slightly at one of the eclairs as Tyson replied.

"I'm happy," he said, and sighed. Gurgling escaped with his exhale, and a hot stench was on his breath like soured meat and cream sauce. He blushed slightly in embarrassment but Jarvis giggled and nuzzled his mane with his beak.

"You're a real trooper. I never thought I'd find a friend who wanted something like this."

"I know it sounds corny," Tyson replied, "but this is all I ever wanted."

"Well, best not deny you your wish," Jarvis said with a wink and began feeding the eclairs to him one at a time.

Jarvis had perhaps rendered time as moot as the cooling of all the food. The rooster was now turning his feeding routine into a dance. He'd fired up a boom box with old punk cassettes, bands from Jarvis' hometown back in the anarchist 80s heyday that he'd turned Tyson on to. He headbanged, his waddle flopping about spectacularly, as he mosh-pit danced up and down his friend's growing gray slope with one tray after another. One bite at a time a full two thirds of the tables had been cleared.

Jarvis was clearly having fun, getting creative with toting up two trays at a time. A platter of good 'ol hot dogs on his right shoulder and Romano-cheese-spicy-sauce-sauerkraut-and-Cajun-shrimp pizzas on the other. A little condiment bar with everything from hot sauce to pickles came with the hot dogs and he glued the slices and franks together with all manner of wild relishes. Chomp after chomp the mass of food inside Tyson grew. And he grew with it.

Philly Protein sandwiches were dissolved into pails of gazpacho soup. Charcuterie plates with sweet dates and spicy mustards were melded in with home-style hot frybread. Tyson gobbled and gnawed and smiled. Jarvis fed him more liquor now and again, and somehow it managed to go enough to his head to give the donkey a pleasant low-level buzz. Tyson would glance up every few bites, watching the small black speckles on the ceiling tiles come just a hair more into focus as he grew up to meet them. Jarvis had switched up the music to Japanese jazz and it was taking him longer and longer to traverse the impossibly swollen hill of the donkey's fat belly. Tyson followed his downward and return trips, relishing the tickle of his friend's talons into his wobbly fat. His billowing doughy bulk was pushing ever forward, knocking the tables and carts out of the way. They seemed to be disappearing from the room bit by bit, but he never saw Jarvis push them out the doorways. His belief floated happily suspended somewhere far away. The only anxiety he felt being this big and stuffed was the worry he'd awaken and it would be a dream.

Finally the ceiling was close enough that if Tyson flopped his ears wildly he could feel their very tips touch the tile. It was a hair shy of forty feet, and here he was seated and almost within reach. He was immense, of course, with a belly like a whale curled in the fetal position and stuffed in a gray bag. His navel was deep enough that had in not collapsed shut under all the fat a whole tribe could have lived in its depth. His arms were the size of an obese fur all on their own, and each stubby finger was the size of a bag of flour. His chins were just bands of fat piling on one another down to fat man cleavage th size of trucks.

Sitting, eating and inspiring awe were about all he could do at this point. And that make him happy. If his buoyancy held he would indeed make a fine ocean-going vessel. It was a little hard to make out the last couple tabl all the way on the other side of the ballroom with his gut touching it, but there was only one left and the white and rainbow colors atop it suggested nothing but festive deserts. He watched Jarvis' long hike down his gut, bopping along to an old NWA tape, and to Tyson's surprise the whole last table was on rollers. With little evident struggle the rooster pulled the last meal all the way up Tyson's belly, the small wheels tickling like a back massager.

It was a massive rainbow cake. Jarvis locked the wheels in place and picked two paper party hats from the table top. One with a print of a starry sky he fastened atop Tyson's head, the elastic string snapping in place with some struggle to the underside of Tyson's jowly muzzle and fat cheeks. And the one that looked like a smiling poop emoji he perched on his own head. He cut a massive slice of the marble cake and lowered himself to his own belly, feeding Tyson one forkful at a time.

"You did it, big guy. How do you feel?"

Tyson felt his heart shudder, somewhere deep in the burbling expanse that was his body. He took his time slopping the bite of moist cake around in his mouth before swallowing. "I don't want it to end. I'm not full, and I'm not big enough. But thank you, Jarvis. Thank you so much!"

"Well, big guy, I must confess something," Jarvis said as he fed in another forkful of cake. "This could be the end, but I'm hoping it's not. You've probably wondered how all this was possible."

With some difficulty Tyson managed to nod.

"I've found a way to channel certain powers. Powers of bounty. And the more a willing host that embodies them the stronger they get. And the stronger they get, the more they can achieve. If I, theoretically, had a good friend who actually liked being big and getting bigger, they could be a focal point. They could eat an eat and eat, and they more they ate and the bigger they got the more they could channel power. And I could use their focused energy to create more bounty, and feed more hungry furs. And to get to a point where all hunger would be eradicated the world over, I would need this good friend to want to keep eating."

The slice of cake was gone, and with all the mobility he could muster Tyson leaned in and wrapped his friend in a crushing hug.

"Thank you. Thank you for letting me be the one," he whispered hotly. He felt something warm and whirling begin to spin inside him. Some power fueled by all that mass he'd gobbled putting pressure on itself in his depths and beginning to create energy through fusion. Some fuzzy, sleep-obscured third eye was opening in him for the first time, and he could see furs in need everywhere. Hungry and desperate and calling out to him to be fed. So much need, and now all this energy blooming in him to answer. It felt beautiful. It felt purposeful. And he had the best cleric a deity of bounty could ask for.

"Big guy, I love you so fucking much," Jarvis said. It was the rooster who was beginning to tear up this time. "After your victory desert we can get the second course going. Once you blow through the roof of this place everyone in the city will be able to pay tribute to you."

Jarvis cut off another massive slab of cake and, grinning, began feeding it reverently to the new god.