FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

My contact at the Fairgrounds leans against the front of the game stand we've met in front of. "I'm glad to see you fitting in so well here." He smiles, his ropey tail swishing and curling behind him. He's a short white rat with thick thighs and a pear-shaped torso, leaning one arm on the front of the stall.

I tell him that I'm used to travelling because of my job, and it's easy to fit in somewhere so welcoming.

The Fairgrounds are, as implied, a large sprawling fair out on a flat grassy plain, beneath a beautiful twilight sky. In most directions, the stalls and stands go off as far as you can see, a mixture of entertainment, games, and food stalls. Most of the people I come across are rats, like my contact. But I have seen a few other species, so it's not as though my spotty self sticks out too much.

"Since we're here, wanna play?" My contact points over the counter of the games stand we are still standing in front of

As this is the fifth day of my week stay, I had indulged in most of the pleasures on offer, but this makes me realize I hadn't actually tried any of the games. I turn my head and find the operator of the stall smiling at me. He too is a rat, however his fur is brown, and his stature seems opposite to my contact in most ways. Broad-shouldered with muscular arms and chest straining his button-up shirt, the only thing the two rodents seem to have in common is having prominent bellies. The male inside the stand can't button a single hole below his solar-plexus, leaving his gut exposed.

"Three throws to get the whole stack of jugs. Do that, win a prize." The operator speaks with a deeper voice than the shorter rat, but no less friendly.

Looking up, I see that the prizes are hanging from the edges of the booth's ceiling, each and every one of them a very cuddly looking plush. Not one of them was smaller than arm-filling. I ask if those are all the prizes, as experience has told me that such games attract players with big prizes and then give out something like a plastic ring to most.

"It's not like the fairs outside." My contact reminds me with a squeak. "No tricks, no deception."

Laughing, the brown rat casually steps back to pick up the top three jugs from the stack, starting to juggle them. "It's all just for fun, pup! Why would we scam you? There's not even money here." Deftly, the muscular male catches the jugs and lines them back up on top of the stack.

I can't really argue with that. Nothing to lose, fun to gain. I take the baseball offered by the operator, wind back, and throw.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Waiting at the bar we arranged to meet at, I spent time squeezing edamame out of pods between my teeth.

The sound of seats sliding along the hardwood and muttered 'excuse me's and other such apologies perked my ears, so I turned.

There, making his way through the crowd, was Grendel. The grey rat is enormous, that is the first thing to note. He's not particularly tall, standing only half a foot taller than myself, but he makes up for it in mass. Every thread of his clothes was straining to contain him it seemed. His pants hugged his massive hips and thighs so tight they appeared painted on, belt not necessary to keep the garment in place it seemed.

He wore a black short sleeved shirt under a snug red vest that only covered his broad chest before it could be buttoned down no further, the rest of the material draping to either side of his belly. The shirt itself hardly reached any further down, instead only serving to help frame the main attraction: the resplendent tattoo that covered most of his dome of a stomach. The pattern had a fairly abstract look, a series of what were either horns or tails raising away from a simplistic feral skull in all directions, with two that curled in on themselves before going up alongside the central pair.

Said gut appeared to also be the prow with which he parted the sea of other patrons of the bar on his way in.

Realizing I was staring, I turned my attention to his head. A friendly smile greeted me. His brown hair was fairly shaggy, draping around his ears in a disheveled manner, with a cowlick on top comprised of hair dyed bright red. My eyes met his own, the dye in his hair obviously meant to highlight their coloration.

"Hey there." He said warmly, walking the remaining distance to the stool beside me. "Trixie, right?"

Suddenly regretting letting that nickname get into print, I bashfully say that's a bit... informal.

"I'll call you whatever you like, cutie." The rat leaned one bulky arm onto the bar, turning his head to catch the bartender's attention. He then proceeded to order a large variety of the food offered there, along with a term for a glass of beer I'd never heard of.

When I bashfully reminded Grendel that I was still going to be eaten that night, per the arrangement, he winked. "You're hardly a snack, sweetie. Saving you for dessert."

I huffed, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact.

With a smirk, the rat reached over to pat my flat stomach through my shirt. "We can fix that."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"The purple snake, right?" The brown rat reaches his defined arms up into the mass of dangling plushes, giving me a good view of the side of his pectoral where it strains his shirt along with the curve of his belly. After I affirm my choice, he brings down the desired prize and carefully loops the toy serpent around my neck and shoulders, gently making sure it won't unravel itself without my consent. "Your hips are coming along wonderfully, by the way..."

After five days of indulging on fair food, the skinny dalmatian I was at the bar is a distant memory, though, I assure myself, will return once I leave. I tell the booth operator that it's just the food at work.

"It's your willingness to indulge in the food." The muscular brown rat winks.

With a blush I glance down at my bare spotty fur (clothing optional is the state of yet another place I come to visit, glad that I'm used to it by now!) and the curves beneath. I take a moment to inventory just how much the indulgences have affected my metaphysical body.

Indeed, my hips are the most increased, the width of my pelvis surely having increased just to let my thick thighs close enough for my knees to meet one another at their size! Above that, I've developed a soft pot-belly that helps me fit in with everyone else I've seen. Not a flat stomach to be found in the Fairgrounds, to be sure. No fat has settled onto my chest or arms, just as skinny as when I arrived, just adding to the effect of my southern growth by contrast.

It is then that my contact takes me by the hand and guides me towards a food stand nearby. The rat inside the kitchen with a window offers out a cardboard food container stacked high with five corn dogs, a large soft pretzel in his opposite hand. As we approach, I realize the corn dogs are actually cheese fried in corn dog batter with a stick for more convenient eating.

I find myself proving Pavlov right in his own way.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The clear glass beer stein that Grendel drank out of was larger than my entire head, perhaps big enough for me to wear as a diving bell. The rat's muscles bulged beneath the coat of subcutaneous fat, making his strength quite clear as he raised the massive glasswork.

I watched, transfixed, as his throat undulated and the level of amber, frothy liquid quite blatantly drained away from the clear glass vessel. I was certainly blushing by the time he set it down, empty save for some foam. He licked his lips as he looked to me, before grabbing both sides of his large stomach.

Grendel shook his gut and over the sound of the music playing, the distant strikes of billiard balls, and general bar chatter, the sound of fluid sloshing in a large container was impossible to ignore. My expression must have given away my response to this, considering the way he smirked when I was able to tug my gaze back to meet his face. He slid a plate of fried mozzarella sticks over to me in offering.

I realized I had failed to order anything but a soda. Daintily, I picked one up using my claws to preserve my pads from the heat of freshly fried food. I carefully nibbled at one end, holding my lips away for the same reason, at least until I'd proven it'd cooled off enough to eat safely. Finding it not scalding, I started to nibble my way down it, intent on pacing myself.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I chew along the pretzel, feeling the soft bread underneath the lye-boiled crust yielding perfectly to pressure and the sharp bursts of salty flavor from the large chunks covering the surface delightfully. Balanced atop my snake plush up against my neck is the container of fried cheeses on sticks. This was primarily because on the way towards somewhere we could sit and eat, I had been waylaid by nearly every stand. My arms are now full of cardboard boat containers and cups full to the brim with gyros, french fries, street tacos, a turkey leg, an orange slushy and two bottled sodas with labels that didn't quite match any real-world brand's.

My contact points out a booth for massages nearby, guiding me with a curl of his thick tail.

The grey rat there is a bit more streamlined in build, in that his stomach was significantly smaller than most's around the Fairgrounds. However, it is still quite prominent, and his arms and chest make it evident he can put some force behind his massaging. "Oh, why don't you sit down and I rub your belly... don't want to strain yourself with all that, do you?"

Swallowing my mouthful of pretzel, I nod with a blush, moving to sit down.

The two rats carefully take all the containers of food I had been carrying, setting them onto a table beside the reclined massage chair, well within my reach. Kneeling, the grey rat traces his claw-tips over my stomach, before starting to press with his pads. "And do feel free to keep indulging, cutie."

I reach for the stick of a fried cheese and dip it in a paper cup of ketchup, before bringing the cornbread coated calorie bomb to my lips and take a bite. The molten cheese gushes, pure unctuous flavor without any worry of oil burning the inside of my mouth.

That is when the white rat takes up the role of offering me the next item of food, while the massage therapist really gets to kneading and grinding his paws into my increasingly full stomach. I can't help but moan around my mouthful of breading and cheese, pointing at the slushie eagerly and receiving it from my contact immediately.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"You want in the cauldron while it's this sloshy?" Grendel asked me with a wink.

Blushing deeper still, I picked up the soda I had ordered and took a sip to cover for my flustered state. Once I composed myself, I told the grand rat that I'd never cared for the taste of alcohol, that it is too bitter for my tastes.

Laughing, he dropped his gut and reached to pick up a hot wing from his array of foods. "You don't need to drink any of it." He took a bite, deftly removing all the chicken from one side of the bone in a single swipe. "Just.... marinate a bit."

That sent me fidgeting on my stool to be sure. I asked him if he had any plans for how to do this, perhaps heading back to his home, or finding an out of the way spot near the bathrooms.

Grendel finished his chicken wing, licking his fingers, before he leaned in close to me. In front of the bartender and every other patron he just opened his jaws until my entire view was the fleshy insides of his mouth and gullet, his breath smelling of alcohol and bar food.

I could feel my face burning all the way up to my ears. A weak whine escaped my nose, as my lips were pressed together too tightly to allow sound out, muscles fighting each other between smiling and keeping a straight face in a way that I've been told produces a comical squiggle on either side of my snout.

I felt Grendel's hands grasp my narrow hips through my jeans, and then his powerful arms were lifting me off the stool. I heard a few catcalls from other patrons before my ears were muted in rat flesh.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After my meal has settled from the lovely paw work of the massage therapist, I feel as though I have enough room to hit up the biergarten before dark. Unlike out in the material world, none of the unpleasant sensations associated with alchohol are present, whether during the imbibing or in the aftermath. Intoxication is stimulated to what degree where it would be desirable and no further.

Out in the physical world I could never get past the taste to drink enough to even get tipsy. But at the Fairgrounds...

A rat with a big beer gut thuds a glass the size of my head onto the bar, filled to the brim with the foamy head of the heavy stout. "Here you go, cutie. Looking to top your last count of refills?"

Blushing softly, I tell him that I'll see where the night takes me. I grasp the handle and lift the brim to my lips, starting to drink. I take a few swallows, before setting it back down and taking a look around the biergarten.

The majority of rodentia who spend most of their time here are built like the bartender, the mass they'd gained mainly worn in front. Something I have gathered in my days since arriving is that what you indulge in has an influence on just how you gain. Those who primarily spend their days getting sloshed end up with the pretypical beer guts. Those who play a lot of the more strong-man games put on a lot more muscle, especially in the arms and chest. And the food... well, that just adds weight overall. Though, I have noticed that it trends towards below the belt gains, considering most of my own indulgence was in that direction.

Lifting my glass, I took another long draught of the rich brown, practically liquid bread. The beer guts aren't just big bellies either, chugging yourself taut with alcohol seems to be the fastest way to up your capacity to indulge more. I'm far more capable of packing away food since my first visit to the biergarten, that's for sure.

And then I realize that I've emptied my glass already.

And the barkeeper has replaced it before I can ask. I pick up my refill and chug, eliciting cheers from the rats around me.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I splashed down into the brew of beer and sloshed up food that had filled up Grendel's stomach since he arrived at the bar. As I rolled around and surfaced, I felt the air pressure increase, then decrease with a loud belch from above. The evacuation of gasses raised the fluid around me to my shoulders. Distantly, I heard cheering through the insulative flesh of my predator.

It was clear that the rat was thudding over his gut with the palm of one hand. "With bigger guys it can take nearly a week to melt down." He explained once it had quieted down outside. "But with you, cutie... probably be fully padding me out by tomorrow night."

I called out that I'd been in slow-digesting stomachs before.

Grendel sloshed his belly with both hands. "Well, buckle in. You're due at your destination well before your body fattens me out beneath my tail, after all."

I blushed, thinking about his heavy hips and thighs. In my position my head was out of the way of extra food and drink pouring in from the cardia, so I mostly was allowed to simmer in peace.

After he left the bar for the night, Grendel headed home to start sleeping me off. The first major change was that the stomach drained the alcoholic slurry from his dinner down into his intestines shortly after he fell asleep, drawing the fleshy stomach walls in to squeeze me tight.

Perhaps, I thought, it took him so long to digest prey because his stomach normally had to multitask. A low belch rocked my sleeping arrangements, stealing most of my remaining air. As I faded into unconsciousness, my last coherent thought was joyful. I was suddenly ecstatic to be heading to the Fairgrounds.

When I came back to consciousness, that joy had not faded. I was standing on the hill outside the fair, taking it all in beneath the deep purple sky and the orange horizon of twilight just after sunset. I couldn't repress my urge to wag my tail, running down the grassy hillside towards the entrance bare as the day I was born. Finally, I had gotten to the fair!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sloshing audibly, I make my way up the hillside to a large picnic blanket that's laid out up there. The orange has finally faded from the horizon, indicating that night is finally falling. Despite there being a day and night in the Fairgrounds, it is always twilight. Nighttime appearing as a blue to what could only be called the 'east' and day appearing as orange radiating from the 'west'. The sun never rises or sets, but it still feels complete.

I carefully sit down on the blanket that I have grown accustomed to being my bed.

From outside of my field of vision an enormous claw appears to stroke and rub along my straining stomach. "You're coming along so wonderfully." Grendel croons to me. Turning my head, I see that he's dressed in fine clothes, the sort one would expect from the proprietor of such a wonderful fair, with button down shirt and jacket only making it to the top of his gigantic belly, leaving the tattoo fully exposed as always. When he comes into his own predscape to interact with his occupants he is somehow even larger than in the material plane. His hand can cup my entire belly, and does so as he scoops me up against his bulk.

I blush, but wrap my arms around his opposite arm, bulky enough that it was like hugging a regular person to me.

He chuckles and kneads over my stomach, praising my willingness to indulge in the pleasures he's provided me until I drift off to sleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I awaken on my last day in the Fairgrounds. Like every other morning, I am still tucked against Grendel's side. I feel his lips press between my ears.

"Head to the Fortune Teller's tent when you're ready to leave, sweetie." The rat king rumbles against me. After I indicate my understanding, he gently lets me go and stands, towering and nearly filling the sky from my place on the blanket. "Now it's time that I awaken... See you soon." Grendel turns and walks out of my range of vision, away from the fair.

When I turn my head to look, he's gone. I take some time to lay there alone with my thoughts, though even now I still feel his presence. It took me some time to attune to it, but I can feel him whether I see him or not, always with me... It seems obvious from outside. I'm within him, my body long made part of his, but the understanding below the cognitive... it is comforting.

I stand up slowly, stretching. In the last two days I've managed to stack up even more gains thanks to my drinking spree on day five. I think I've doubled the width of my hips, and even gained some muscle mass on my arms and chest from playing more of the fair games. The blanket is littered with cute plush prizes from various games. Somehow, I even managed to strike the bell with the mallet strength game. The operator playfully jibed that I put my hips into it.

My round belly lets out an empty rumble. Well, one last go around all those booths can't hurt, right?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

By the time I actually get myself to the Fortune Teller's booth, I've expanded further, my taut belly sloshing with a goodbye round of drinks from the biergarten. I can feel the start of a double chin when I lower my head towards my chest, and my cheeks feel so much rounder than before. Even when I go to wag my tail, it feels plumper and a little harder to move.

Pressing the purple curtains aside, I find myself looking at an elegantly lavish tent filled with silken pillows in mounds around a kneeling table. On a ring stand at its center is a large crystal ball, something one would expect to see in such a place. I carefully sit myself down with a loud slosh, before I set my hands onto the table so that my shoulders are relaxed.

After looking around, unsure what to do, I turn my attention to staring at the refraction of light coming through the solid sphere. The glass begins to glow, and once it is so bright as to be opaque to the other side, Grendel's smiling face appears.

"So, ready to come out cutie?" The rat king's voice resonates in my mind as he speaks.

Before I can respond, my gut gurgles and forces a belch from my lips. I'm definitely feeling the effects of that last round of drinks. Blushing deeply, I try to compose myself as Grendel's face just looks... proudly at me?

"Yes... if I stayed any longer I'd never want to leave... and my boss would get upset... again." I reply, blushing.

He chuckles. "May just end up another rat at the fair, at that."

Heat still present in my cheeks, I recall a few of the people I'd met who weren't rats had... well, started fitting in better with the population since I arrived.

"Just close your eyes and focus on being outside." Grendel instructs warmly.

I do so. I expect some kind of vertigo or blacking out... but when I open my eyes again, I am seated on a bed piled high with silk pillows in a big bedroom. Turning my head, I spot the clothes I'd been wearing to the bar folded up and freshly laundered on the side table. I grasped the briefs and slipped off the bed to put them on.

I get them a few inches over my knee before they are too tight to pull any further. My eyes widen. I hadn't felt any change in experience at all from leaving the Fairgrounds. I really should have felt smaller...

I look over to a full-length mirror and see myself just as large and pear-shaped as I had been minutes prior. Up in the corner of the frame there's a note. Letting my insufficient underwear drop, I walk over to read it.

"Yes, this isn't just another part of the Fairgrounds. This is real~" Grendel's handwriting makes his playful tone ring out in my mind easily. "I got you some clothes that should fit the new you, they're on the chair to your right."

When I look down, there's indeed another set of clothes folded up. I can't help but blush about my predicament, but I have to put on some clothes, as the material world isn't nearly as clothing optional as predscapes can be.

Getting the underwear on first, I find it snugly fits, but doesn't bind. The pants similarly fit, but when I get the button done up under my dome of a belly, it looks just as painted on as Grendel's do. They're cut differently, stopping halfway up my calf like capris.

Finally, I grab the top that the rat king left out for me. It isn't until I'm tugging it down that I realize it's cut like Grendel's own, snug and stopping so high hardly any belly was covered up. Looking in the mirror, he was right, it does fit my new body. I wonder how long it'll take for me to get small enough to fit back in my old clothes.

Though, looking at myself in the mirror, tracing my hands over the sides of my belly... do I even want to?