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Thicker

Chapter Thirteen

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1129

At his largest size and weight yet, Gehart tossed and turned in bed, the sheets wrapped around him, closing in on his body as if he was trapped somewhere. Something pulled him down even in the throes of his night sweats, gasping and panting, Khen sleeping soundly, the soundest sleeper out of the two of them. The deer could sleep through anything at all, it was true, but he would have been there in an instant to comfort Gehart if he had at all had any kind of inkling that he was needed.

Gehart's chest was barely discernible from how it had been, rising up so much in bed that Khen had been forced to get another bedspread for the two of them, sheets barely covering his mass. The sides of the sheets were left gaping if they tried to use just one for the two of them but that only meant that there were more sheets there still to twist around him, trapping him in a nightmare from which he could not escape from, even while his lover lay right there on the edge of the bed.

And his dream ensnared him like the twisted coils of a viper, tightening its grip on his fat, bulbous body...

He fucked Khen hard and fast, right out there in the open. No one looked at them but continued along their way as the carnival fountain sprinkled and danced merrily, water splashing down in a glittering fall. The day was perfect, brilliant and sunny, the sort of weather that made one glad to be alive.

_ _

Harder and harder, while the fairground rides squealed and ground around them, a Ferris wheel playing tinkling music, he slammed into the buck, nearly pushing him over as he gripped the edge of the mountain. As summer mounted, it was good to have it to cool the air on their muzzles, however, slamming in over and over again as the hefty, wobbling stag mounted closer and closer to climax.

_ _

But...that climax did not come. Maybe it was never destined to come as his stomach pushed out and out, bulging obscenely, swelling as if in a perfect round - at least, to start with. Nothing would ever be that simple as he tried to spread his legs apart for a little extra bracing, hoping it would go away. Maybe he was climaxing already? Maybe it was his thrusts that made it look only like his stomach was getting larger and larger?

_ _

Oh, but that would have been too easy as he realised with a cold shock of horror, the kind that felt as if it was pulsing through his body along with his blood, a seeping, icy chill. For it was not just his stomach that was bulging out and out but his arms that were swelling too, puffing up as if he had been stuffed with the tip of a helium hose, the kind that they used to inflate balloons at the carnival, and was swelling up like a balloon, puffing out and out and out.

No! That couldn't be right! Better to keep thrusting, yes, keep fucking Khen and everything would be alright. His stomach didn't even groan or grumble, however, as he grew thicker and thicker, barely able to stand or move as his thighs plumped up tenfold, flesh bulging, though it was a smooth bulge, skin drawing tauter and tauter as his body strained to contain whatever "it" was that was causing him so much trouble.

_ _

And yet it was a foolish endeavour indeed to imagine that he could keep right on thrusting as his buttocks grew and grew, the fatty lumps becoming larger and lighter than ever before. Even his tail puffed up in a fashion that may have been cute under other circumstances, fur slicked down to his hide as he squirmed and fought, the bulge of his stomach pushing him back and back and back from Khen.

_ _

Khen...

Oh, Khen!

Khen was the only one who could help him, the only one that would ever be able to help him. No one else understood how his weight affected him, how embarrassing it was to get stuck in chairs, to have to get back off an elevator because of a weight limit. He was the only one who could help him even as his cock slid from that tight behind, leaving his deer-tail twitching as if his body didn't quite understand what had happened.

_ _

"Khen!" He shouted, or at least tried to shout, throat tight and arms straining to reach him. "Khen! I can't stop! Please!"

_ _

His deer looked around but it was too late as his stomach blew up, growing before his very eyes, shoving him back and away from his deer as if he was being propelled by another force. And, all the while, Gehart could feel the eyes of other carnival-goers on him, locking onto the fur who couldn't even keep their weight under control. What were they saying about him? The whispers were all the same in the horrors of his mind, mocking disgust intertwined with annoyance that they were forced, at least in some way, to work around him.

_ _

But his deer wasn't there! Why was he so far away? Gehart tottered and staggered so as not to fall back on his buttocks, though those would have been a soft landing for him as he plumped out and out, twice his usual size - at his highest weight yet, that was! His arms could not even pin back down to his sides as his shoulders inflated out too, stuck out and waving helplessly, calling out for his deer over and over again as true fear set in.

_ _

"No! No, Khen! Khen, help me! Heeelllp meeeeee!"

_ _

Khen ran after him, arms flailing, but he was larger than ever, bouncing along the ground as his arms and legs waved manically. He couldn't get a grip on anything, bouncing off a lamppost, as helpless as a fawn's balloon that, tragically, they had let go in the middle of the carnival. His swollen stomach seemed lighter than air too as he tried to grip anything, cheeks chubbier and chubbier by the second, neck fat and heaving, hindering both his breath and his ability to speak.

_ _

He was a balloon, a fat balloon, floating away even as Khen chased him. Yet his deer was further and further away when he should have been catching up, Gehart's bulbous bulk twisting and turning, unable to control himself even as he tried, so very desperately, to stop himself from floating away by clinging to the railings. But it was his round mass that was his undoing, plump and growing still, bending the groaning metal until they too slipped to the side, allowing him along his bouncing, straining way, his belly by far the largest part of him.

_ _

"Kheeeen! Khen, I'm going to burst! Oh, god... Khen! Kheeen!"

_ _

He had to shout, had to thrust away his fear that people were staring, that his weight was, once again, hindering everyone around him. It was dire, so very dire, fear holding his heart in an iron-grip that was, at the same time, as tender a hold as one may hold a balloon, for fear that it would pop. And Gehart was that balloon, his skin so fragile that just bumping into the wrong thing as he balanced on his paws, upside down, gripping at tufts of grass, that he feared just what would happen if he came up against something the very least bit sharp or spiked.

_ _

_No..._No!

_ _

"Help! Oh, god, help me! Khen! Khen, please help me!"

_ _

The words were not all that clear as they burst from his thickening lips, devolving into grunts and squeals that perhaps better befitted one of his size. Like that, floating along, he may as well have been another carnival attraction for everyone to gawk at, people clapping and squealing to see him, the masquerade of a fur, the blimp swelling and swelling. He towered over the buildings, a tiny head shrunken into the mass of his fat, bigger and bigger, screaming and blubbering and begging for help from the only one who truly mattered, ever, to him.

_ _

Tighter and tighter, his skin strained, heart pounding. That was it, it had gone too far! He was going to...

_ _

With a gasp, Gehart floundered in bed, arms flailing, swinging around him as if he was fighting off an invisible assailant. Khen slept as soundly as ever beside him so he could not have been moving around too much in the throes of the nightmare, gulping and heaving, sweated up in the night terror.

"Fuck..."

A swear was understandable under the circumstances and Gehart sighed heavily, though he could have done with catching his breath rather than sending it away from him. At least he didn't have to explain himself to Khen, being that he was still conked out, sound asleep. That would have been awkward. Even repeating the dream out loud in the waking world would have been too much...

Fitfully, he slipped back into a restless slumber, waking the next morning more tired than he had started the night. The dream clung to him like a layer of fat, weighing him down as he staggered onto the elevator, licking his lips anxiously, hoping against hope that he was still under the weight limit. He didn't want to know the truth of it, not after seeing his belly bloat and bloat out like a blimp in the dream. Was it possible for a fur to pop? Could that happen? Trembling, he strove to push the thought from his mind. It wasn't real, a dream like that should have no bearing on him in real life, the real world that he spent his days in.

Yet it was still there, the need to find the food truck overcoming even the need to go on his brief trip to the mall, struggling to get up the stairs while the elevators didn't support him and other mall-goers at the same time. He couldn't even fit into the dressing rooms, his clothes barely fitting, the humiliation of it all growing and growing as he kept tugging his shirt down, his belly and the fluff there peeking out as if it wanted to highlight just how desperately fat he was becoming. Puffing, Gehart leaned against a wall, closing his eyes. As if he could ignore it...

The food truck. If he found the food truck, the one with the crow, everything could go back to normal. He could find out just what had happened, apologise, reverse it, do something about it. Anything was better than nothing and, god damn it, he had to try. There was nothing else he could do, the lingering sensation that he was about to burst out of more than his clothes following him wherever he went, nipping at his heels like a persistent dog that only wanted attention.

A friend had driven him to the mall, a fox who went by the name of Ty who he didn't see all that often. He couldn't have said that he knew Ty all that well but the fox had been willing enough to come and anticipated catching up with an old friend, his size blessedly smaller than Gehart. He tried to make small talk but the stag was uncommunicative as the fox drove him around and around, having to take the wheel as Gehart's license still wasn't sorted out after the debacle. Ty's chatter fell on deaf ears as Gehart pleaded with him to try different spots, different places, saying that he just had to find the one truck, the one place, the one thing that would make it all okay again.

He was fortunate that Ty was indeed a kind soul, although he was more worried about him than he had any right to be, considering just the lack of consideration Gehart was affording him. Maybe one day they'd make up again after it, Gehart explaining something of what made him act in such a rude manner, but that still remained to be seen. All Ty wanted to do was to help.

And then he saw it. He almost missed it, the taco truck with red and yellow paint boasting a new awning of white that didn't really match but, there it was, as clear as day. As if in a daze, Gehart screamed at Ty to stop the car, jolting him forward, though his belly was already pressed against the dashboard, legs squashed into strange shapes underneath him, gut swollen on top. It was all he could do to squirm out of the car, straining and struggling to pop himself out of the door like a sardine packed too tightly into its tin, the seat belt still catching on his stomach. As much of a struggle to free himself as it was (it was a wonder he could still fit into any car, really) he knew he had to get out, had to move, the dream of the night before weighing heavily upon him as he sought out what could just rightly, be the solution to all his problems.

Her fault... Yes, that was it, the crow standing in the window, passing down food to customers as she clacked her beak impatiently for payment. He may well have been attributing emotion to her demeanour that was not truly there but Gehart was too far gone to concern himself with such matters as he grunted and snarled, the world shaking and shuddering around him as if he was watching through a screen, locked into his skull and piloting his lumbering body by a series of cranks and pulleys. Would anyone else notice the monster in their midst?

It didn't matter. Nothing else mattered - just getting to her. Only getting to the crow, through any means possible.

Barging through other furs, he forced his way through the ground, using his gut to get his way, though it was mostly accidental. All he could see was the looming truck, his vision dipping and swaying as if he was drunk, sweating heavily. It was there, there at long last, panting breath rasping against his eardrums, grunting as he heaved his mass forward with more energy than it really should have ever taken to move a single body around. He barrelled over even a young wolf pup who howled and clung to their mother but Gehart was deaf to their cries, seeing only the truck. Up against it, he howled like the pup himself and slammed his paws into it over and over again, though his antlers could not be used to rap and rattle against it for the rise of his gut kept him far back away from the actual side of the truck.

"Hey! You!"

Not the most eloquent demand but it would have to do. The elderly crow lifted her beak in what he thought was defiance, which only infuriated him further as he worked his jaw, striving to force out the words, any words, something that would do to get his point across. But just how was one stag to say all of that so quickly, the pain she'd caused him, how she'd affected even the relationship with his partner, his drop-out from work on sick pay... There was just too much to work in there!

Sometimes though, the words were due to come whether one was ready for them or not.

"You fucking put a curse on me, you...you...you...witch!" He howled, stumbling over his words as he fought to find the ones that most aptly described her, everything she had done to him. "Look what you've done to me! You're going to kill me, you're going to kill me - you are! Is this what you wanted? Ruining my whole fucking life over a fucking taco? Are you goddamn fucking happy now?"

The curses streamed from him though they were anything but fluid, one tumbling after the heels of the one that went before, the crow all the while smirking down with him with a smug little glint in her eye. That bitch!

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing going about putting curses on people like that!" He growled, balling up his fists as if he was going to strike her, but the corvid was too high up for that. "You're a witch, you... You know what you're doing! And you've set yourself well out to ruin my life all over a goddamn drunken taco!"

He lunged for her, hopping and wobbling as the crowd backed away, no one willing to get in close to the crazy fur that knocked others out of his way with his belly. But the crow knew too that he could not reach her, set up as she was from her perch in the truck with the window to deliver food down from, clicking the edges of her beak together as she rumbled a single word that sounded as if it could have been a song in her native language.

"Thicker, thicker, thicker..." She crooned, flapping her arms, a stray feather drifting off. "Thicker, thicker, thicker, thicker, THICKER, THICKER!"

"You! You did this to me! Take it back! Undo it! Your fault! All your fault!"

He wheezed and gasped, hopping and leaping although he barely managed to even get his hooves off the ground as he sweated profusely, screaming and panting for something that was never due to come to him in that moment. And yet he pushed himself on and on, trying to claw his way up at her, desperate for anything, anything at all, that just be able to end the horror that he, so very unduly, had found himself in.

"Gehart! For fuck's sake!"

His outburst startled even the sweet and kind Ty into a swear that was most unlike him, though they all liked to consider themselves to be the perfect, very best, images of themselves. Ty was not infallible either but it was Gehart's infallibility that was being taught a lesson, justice in the lines of Ty's arm as the fox put every last bit of his strength into dragging his friend away from the truck, even if he could only get them back a few steps. It was enough, however, for the old crow to look like she'd won, cawing and crossing her arms, shifting with a cheery yet devious jig that told a darker tale than even her nightly shaded feathers.

"Let me go!" Gehart hissed, fighting tooth and claw to get loose. "I'm gonna get her, get her for what she did to me! That whore!"

"Thicker!"

"Yes, thicker! What you did to me, yes, thicker! Wait, no, no, that's not what I want, no more thicker, no more thicker! I don't want to be thicker!"

He barely even knew what he was saying, snarling and elbowing Ty in the jaw, the crowd around backing away further, even though they had gathered quite a number with the spectacle he was putting on. Truly, who could blame them? He was the freak show, the one on display, fat jiggling, belly poking out of his shirt as it rode up, exposing him in all of the most humiliating of ways.

"Thicker, thicker, thicker!" The crow chanted, jabbing a feathered forearm, tipped with her hand, at him in what he could only perceive to be a purely taunting fashion. "Thickerthickerthicker_thicker_!"

Her voice rose to a screech as Gehart launched a barrage of insults back at her, many of which didn't even make sense. He couldn't find it in himself to care anymore, all that took up his attention, day and night, being his ever-expanding waistline, the rise of his stomach commanding more and more and more attention than ever. It was all he could think about, dominating even every breath he took, and the crow leaned triumphantly down, her wing raised as if she was about to strike down justice upon him, the final blow that would render him the blubbering, round mess that he'd always been destined to become.

"No!"

And then her son was there - no, he was too young for that, her grandson, that was it - dragging her back even as she scrambled and scrapped to get to him. Her grandson wrestled with her, speaking rapid-fire Spanish back and forth, but she flung her arms out and forced him back, the power differential in their squabble easily noticeable as even her grandson quailed.

"Take it away!" Her grandson cried. "You chase our customers away! Take it away - leave the stag! He means no harm!"

But her shake of the head and stubborn squawk told Gehart all that he needed to know, even though he did not speak a lick of Spanish. Even if he'd practised more in school, it would not have served him very well then, though maybe a touch more empathy would have rendered him in a better situation. Even then he did not consider the notion that he had been in the wrong, working his mouth like a gaping goldfish, even if those standing in the truck above him seemed to have well enough forgotten that he even existed.

Well... He'd see to that!

"Oi! Look at me! Pay attention to me! You can't just stand there ignoring me!"

As if Gehart was hard to miss there, blubby and bulbous and gawping with a chubby face that almost swallowed up his muzzle in the thickening fat. They stared at him, the grandson's beak parting, though it was the elderly crow that drew herself up tall and smug. Perhaps she knew too when she had won.

"You punish enough," she proclaimed with a haughty jerk of her head. "But you only be thicker. Thicker, thicker, thicker. You be thicker and thicker... Forever!"

Whatever that meant was lost in a screech from Geahrt as he lunged again, but Ty caught him off-balance, huffing and puffing as he did his very best to drag Gehart away. The crow flounced off into the back of the truck where she could not be seen, leaving her grandson out there to deal with the crowds and one very angry stag who didn't know when to quit.

"So sorry, everyone!" He cried out, fumbling his words as the stress of it all got the better of him, placating all the best he could. "So sorry, very sorry! My grandmother has taken ill, very ill! No more tacos today! Goodbye - and sorry!"

The crowd voiced their complaints but the food van was already packing up to leave, not even pausing to roll up the awning as the engine rumbled into life. They were off even as Gehart snarled and fought, energy failing him, his squirms and wriggles no more than that of what a toddler could produce. His fat belly betrayed him and he collapsed down onto the ground with a strangled groan, heaving and panting, the weight of fat around his lungs even preventing him from taking in a full, wholesome breath.

He wheezed, paws on his thighs, trembling and coursing with energy, though it felt quite as if it was that very energy that was set on deserting him right then and there. He'd found the taco truck but the curse weighed as heavy on him as ever, if it even was a curse. The crow hadn't had anything to say about not cursing him and no observer, not even Ty if he'd thought to ask him, could have denied the smug look on her beak, how she had looked quite as if she had the stag wrapped around her wing and back again.

It was a lost cause. She'd gone. Gehart groaned, bowing his antlers down to the ground, Ty hovering, fluttering his paws as if he still thought he could do something to help. Bless Ty. Bless his heart. He didn't know that the only one that had ever been able to help Gehart was himself.

Yet now he had the name. Oh yes, the venture had not been entirely ill-advised as Ty backed away from him, wide-eyed and staring. Why was that, Gehart thought? Oh, but he had not even realised just that he was laughing, wheezing and coughing, maniacal bursts of the giggles rolling from his lips over and over again, a drama that could not be stopped.

He had the name of the taco truck.

"Tacostan-d."

The stag sighed. Really. But he'd find them again.

He'd have to.