Bigger Than He Bargained For

By Shalion

Chapter Two

Terry's emotions still felt raw and unstable in his breast as he walked, naked, through the back of the bakery, the ovens now cool for the day though the shop would technically be open still for another hour. Beel was silent, or at least incapable of speaking aloud, but the young fox still felt his weight sitting heavily on his thighs, bouncing just above his knees as he walked; it was still easier to think of all this extra weight strapped to his frame as an "other" though the illusion that this really all was Terry was quite convincing. It did not help that the demon vacillated over possessiveness of the young fox's lard that composed his physical body, and the fact that the weight Terry was forced to wear was entirely the result of his own eating habits. Whatever the case really was, Terry had stepped out of his bedroom with resolve, and he still felt it as he waddled through the empty commercial kitchen that was the heart of the family business and where the fox normally toiled his days away since he had come home from a failed stint at college.

A quick glance through the small window at the front of the kitchen confirmed that there was no one in the shop right now. So much the better because it was not as though he was comfortable showing his naked self to random customers, let alone the damage the sight of 500 pounds of fat-stuffed fox fur would do to the business. If no one was out front, though, that probably meant that his folks were together and eating supper, given the time; eating supper without him that is. Terry inhaled as a stab of pain lanced him at the thought of his parents purposefully excluding him, but he accepted it and moved on, waddling down the hallway and past the much smaller kitchen nook that his mother used to prepare family meals.

"...what to do with..." Terry's mother was the first to look up from her plate and her expression made it clear that they had just been talking about him. "I thought I told you not to come out of your room until after dinner!" she growled, showing her small set of fangs while Terry's father turned his head around more slowly to look at his overfed son.

Terry stood there, mostly filling the passage through the small kitchen, but then took a trepidatious step forward. It was fortunate indeed that Belphegor had strengthened his musculature so much because the obese fox didn't have much mental focus left over for concentrating on keeping the balance of his oversized body. A big part of him just wanted to cower and shrink away under his mother's withering gaze that made him feel like a disgusting grub. His fat torso bounced against the counter, but he kept moving forward until he was in the dinning room proper. Then he finally spoke.

"Mom," he swallowed, "You told me, but I can't just sit there while the two of you are talking about me here."

"This isn't any of your business!" His mother snapped, her fur standing up again on her ears so that even his father shuffled his chair back a few inches from the table across from her.

Terry stood comfortably on his feet as his bulk wobbled to a stop after moving. The weight seemed to steady him somehow; after all, it was not as if even his father could actually move him now if he didn't want to move. He put a hand on his naked, plump breast, his tits now far larger than his mother's were under her conservative blouse and flour-stained apron. "This totally is my business." He said with a calm that surprised him given his emotional outburst earlier. "You guys are talking about my life here."

Terry's father opened his mouth to speak, but his mother beat him to it again, "And obviously, we have to make decisions about your life for you, Terry. Just look at yourself, you're worse than ever!"

Terry's massive body didn't waver, but he sniffed audibly at the fresh emotional stab that seemed to tear right at his heart. Terry wanted nothing more than to just break down, but he had already done that, and it hadn't gotten him what he had wanted. Beel was right. He needed to make a stand here.

"I-I'm not worse than ever." He said in a quiet voice, and then he repeated himself more loudly as his mother looked at him with shocked outrage. "I'm not worse than ever!"

Because Terry's mother seemed completely flabbergasted, his father spoke into the ensuing silence. Turning his chair around to face the obese fox, the man said. "Terry, you have to admit that this weight problem has gotten out of control. I thought you were getting better a little while ago, but even though you've been working the kitchen, the weight's just-"

Terry did something he hadn't done since he was a small child. He interrupted his father. "Haven't the two of you ever once considered that I might like the way I am?"

Now both of his parent's jaws were hanging open. Terry's father started to speak, but his mother snapped, "Frank!" and he closed his mouth. She turned to look at Terry, putting her hands on the table as she leaned forward. "Terry, honey," she said, though her tone lacked obvious warmth, "You have a serious health problem. We have to get that weight under control now."

Terry crossed his arms as best he was still able, his forearms actually resting on the large, ponderous boobs he wore on his chest. And though his face was actually being more than a little crowded by his bulky upper arms, he said seriously, "I feel fine, though."

The vixen gave him an incredulous look. "You weigh more than me and your father put together. That's not healthy."

"But I'm serious. I feel totally fine." Terry's mind raced to think of a way to convince his parent's disbelieving faces. "Look, I know I've changed a lot in the past year." His mother sniffed loudly, but Terry went on, "But I was just being lazy. What my Dad said to me last month made me want to start working again... and I have!" He looked his father in the eyes, "Haven't I been working hard?"

"You have been." His father acknowledged, earning a scowl from Terry's mother.

Thinking, Terry added quickly. "And in more ways than one. Here, come feel this." He lifted his arm up, inviting his father to come feel his bicep.

Frank hesitated, but got up without glancing at the vixen at the far end of the table.

"This has gone on far enou-" she started, but the older fox's exclamation interrupted her.

"Crimeny!" The baker exclaimed as he laid his hand on the thick meat of Terry's upper arm. The fat coated the area thickly, draping far below the upper limb to brush against the flat, smooth surface of the side of Terry's breast, in fact, however, the fat was not nearly so plentiful on top, especially as the young fox lifted his arm and flexed the muscle bulging below. Terry recalled how much easier working in the bakery had seemed in the past month, despite his enormous frame. Lifting the big mixing bowls and carrying two trays laden with baked goods at a time had seemed little more draining than playing with his toy kitchen set as a child had been. Just earlier today, he'd ripped the cotton fabric of his last pair of underwear off of himself without really thinking about it. What Terry's father felt now, hidden before by the dense fat coating was a vibrant, dense bundle of raw strength, a bicep larger than Frank's own fist.

Redoubling his shock, Terry's father seemed to forget his former hesitation in touching his son as he grasped the muscle more firmly in his palm even as Terry flexed a bit more confidently. "When did this happen?"

Scarcely able to believe the display had worked, Terry found himself reaching over his fat chest with effort to grasp at the huge muscle his arm sported under the fat which had so thoroughly hidden it. "Just been working out, I guess..." he said evasively. His mind scrambled to try to explain away the time he would have needed for such a dramatic change in his strength, but he didn't need to. His parents didn't seem to expect much of an explanation from him.

While his father was now clearly reexamining him in a new light, Terry's mother was clearly still not convinced. Now she rose from behind the table and came to walk towards where the two male foxes were standing, one of whom, huge and naked was still taking up a disproportionate amount of space in the room. She paused to again look him up from top to bottom, lingering again on the lack of any sign of his genitals. Frowning, she said, "But the weight." She insisted. "What has that got to do with anything?" She crossed her arms over her chest, "Don't tell me you've been trying to put all... this on over the past year?!" She flicked her arm again at Terry's more-than-plump body before returning it to her chest.

Terry almost told them the truth. But in this tense situation, where he had stood up far more than he ever had to his parents on the subject of his weight, he felt that was going a step too far for now. "No." He said flatly before planting his fists firmly at his waist, or rather his overflowing love handles. "But at the same time, I'm not interested in going on a diet either." He turned his snout towards both of his parents in turn. "Both of you just need to accept me the way that I am whether I'm five-hundred pounds or seven-hundred."

"A diet?!" His mother scoffed, "I was telling your father we need to have your stomach stapled!"

Not listening, and rather looking between Terry's stout-looking upper body and his enormous, sagging paunch, he mumbled, "You don't really weigh five-hundred pounds, do ya, Son?"

Sighing, Terry chose to respond to his father. "Dad, I got on the pallet scale and it said that I'm 503 pounds."

"Jesus!" Frank grimaced, though his reaction was still more subdued than the vixen's still-smoldering rage.

"They're going to have to have you lose weight before they'll even staple your stomach." She said coldly, looking away from Terry now, as if she could no longer tolerate the sight of her son.

"You're not listening to me!" Terry cried, and before he knew what he was doing, he was stepping forward and grabbing hold of the vixen's shoulder. He turned her around, forcing her really as she resisted him and tried to shake off his hand. She looked shocked and affronted that Terry would use his strength on her; Terry could hardly believe it himself, but tonight seemed unrecoverable unless he broke all the old rules. He had to make her respect him or his life with Beel would really become a living hell. "Mom, there's nothing wrong with me."

The vixen seemed uncomfortable being this close to Terry, her own son. The young fox had reached for her at arm's length, but because of how thick his front was now, the distance between them was intimate. She screwed up her face unhappily and pushed herself away, shoving her hands into Terry's soft front. She pushed herself back, the heavier fox's mass immovable. She shook her hands then, as if she could wipe away the brief contact. Terry's eyes began to water involuntarily at that point. She saw, and whatever she was about to say died in her throat.

Everyone stood in silence for a long moment, Terry's mother breathing the most heavily in her suppressed anger while the young fox wiped at the sides of his snout.

Frank took another long look at his son and took a step closer, putting a rough hand on the thick shoulder and turning to face his wife of nearly twenty years. "Look, if Terry isn't interested in losing the weight-"

The vixen snarled, but Frank raised his voice.

"Let me finish," he said sternly, "He's not interested, and it doesn't seem to be impeding his work in the kitchen, and we can't afford an expensive surgery anyways..."

"This is his life we're talking about, Frank!" Terry's mother pleaded, desperation showing in her eyes now. It hurt Terry more than he could say to see how his decision caused her pain, but he'd made his choice a long time ago now.

Terry's father also looked pain, but his face was resolute as he kept his hand on Terry's plump shoulder. "Until it actually starts causing problems for him, I just don't think we have a right to say what to do with Terry's body."

Giving up on her husband, the vixen turned her face to Terry, "It's just because you're young!" She exclaimed eyes watering herself now, though whether from anger or despair was unclear, "You don't feel it because you're young, but the weight is killing you!"

Terry grimaced. Beel had implied that Belphegor could take care of long-term issues regarding his health and how obese he was, but that was only if Terry managed to obtain the flesh god's favor. Diabetes and heart disease were still things he would need to look out for. But right now, health concerns like that seemed like a problem for future-Terry and he was more than fine to leave the matter for later.

"It's my decision." Said Terry, looking his mother in the eyes now. He saw the frozen image of her from the dream world, haughty and cold in his mind's eye, but let go of the image. Now his mother did not seem haughty at all, but desperate now that she was losing control of the situation. "It's my body." He reiterated.

Terry's mother clenched her fists, staring up at her taller son, but Frank seemed to think the matter was settled. Eagerly leaving the situation as well as the remains of his dinner on his plate, he said, "I'm going around front to check on the shop." He left with Terry and his mother still staring at each other.

When she said nothing after a long time, he just went for the next thing that was occupying his thoughts. "I need clothes, Mom."

Releasing her fists, his mother crossed her arms defensively over her chest. However, she did not open her mouth right away. Her eyes said that her reflexive denial seemed unreasonable at this point. Pressing her lips tightly together, she said, "I don't know where, but I'll find you something." She all but hissed the words at him before turning and sitting back at the table where she picked uninterestedly at the remains of her dinner.

Just on cue, Terry's mammoth gut growled and very loudly, drowning out the noise of fork and knife on his mother's plate. Terry's paw flew to his burgeoning belly, his hand small in appearance on the massive spread of white fur. "I'm hungry too." He stated.

Clenching the utensils tightly between her black furred fists, Terry's mother slammed them both down onto the table. "Then go and make something!" She snarled at him before whirling around suddenly and stomping out of the dining room, slamming the door to her bedroom shut an instant after she was out of sight. Terry was alone. Well, actually, he was never alone. Setting his eyes on the still half-full plates of abandoned food, Terry's belly redoubled in noise, the vibrations heavy against his abdominal wall deep inside his thick torso. But it wasn't just Beel's insistence either. Terry was really hungry having missed all of his normal afternoon snacks.

Just seeing food before him, and not the discarded remains of his parents' dinners, Terry walked up and picked up his father's plate, not bothering to sit before lifting it to his snout and shoveling the potatoes and steamed broccoli into his eager mouth. The remaining portion of salisbury steak took two bites, but that was all. As an afterthought, Terry licked the grease and gravy away from the plate with his tongue, savoring the rich flavor. Beel growled in pleasure as Terry did so. He was already moving on his mother's abandoned plate as he was setting the first down, not even considering for a moment if he was "still hungry" or not. The food was simply there right in front of him, waiting to be devoured. He licked her plate clean as well and took both to the kitchen, washing up only an afterthought. His mind instead was fixated on finding out if there were any portions left from when his mother had cooked dinner. There were, in spite the fact Terry's mom had disinvited him to dinner. Terry "cleaned up" in the kitchen as well despite the fact that the remaining half loaf of salisbury steak could have easily made for a family dinner for a second night. Terry did not disdain the remaining pot of broccoli either, granted, he put butter and pepper on the florets beforehand. He might be a glutton now, but he wasn't uncivilized.

Terry was finishing up in the kitchen sink, washing the pots and pans - his mother still had not come out of her room - when Beel spoke into his ear.

"Good job, kid." Said the spirit, vibrating the meat of his shoulder near his ear very slightly.

"Yeah, I know, I licked my parent's dinner plates clean. I'm a disgusting pig like you want me to be."

"No!" Beel cried, "Well, I mean, good on you for that too, but I mean handling your parents like you did. Way to stand up for yourself, Tubbo!"

In spite of the name, Terry heard the affectionate tone in the spirit's voice, and regardless, he still couldn't really believe that he had managed to gain so much in spite of his parents' wishes. Well, okay, he still hadn't told them he planned on gaining a lot more weight, but that was a matter for another day. His mother also still seemed upset, but Terry felt that if she couldn't deal with his appearance, that was her own problem. The important part was that she was going to help him with at least the basics now. Once Terry could go out in public during the day again he could... well, he could do something. Honestly, he had not really thought through things that far yet.

"Thanks, Beel." said Terry appreciatively, and he took his sudsy hands out from the sink and reached down to give his hanging belly a good squeeze where it rested on his thighs. It was easy to think of the engorged gut as the seat of Beel's mind and personality despite the fact that Terry's whole body was thickly padded with fox-lard now. The fat seemed to purr and press gently back against his fingers where Terry's hands were, proof that he wasn't just talking to himself, as if that could be doubted at this point.

Still basking in the glow of his small victory against his parents, Terry finished washing up the kitchen, not caring at all how the thick front of himself became damp and soapy. He was stowing the last of the pots away when Terry's father finally came back from the front of the shop, clearly having closed up for the night. The older fox noticed the clean kitchen and dining table.

"Thanks for cleaning up," he said, giving a slight nod to the obese young fox.

"N-no problem!" said Terry, grimacing slightly because he was terrified of his father asking about where all the food and leftovers had gone.

That fact did not even seem to enter Frank's mind, however. Instead, he seemed to look preoccupied back and forth between the hallway leading to the bedroom and Terry himself who was taking up virtually all of the standing space available in the kitchen nook at the moment. After a pause, he asked, "Did... did you talk to your mother?" He pointed down towards the hallway nervously, perhaps smelling the direction she had gone.

Terry reached an arm as thick around as his father's waist behind his head nervously, shifting his weight despite his thick legs supporting the mass of his frame admirably. "Er... sort of...?" he admitted, "She said she would find me something to wear at least."

Frank let out a breath, "That's good..." his eyes again took in his son from top to bottom, "Though honestly, I don't know where she'll find anything. The department store was out of clothes for you a while ago."

It was clear to Terry that his father also still wasn't comfortable with the way he looked, but this right now was perhaps as much as he could ask for at the moment. At least his father was talking to him like a person, and he wasn't avoiding looking at Terry directly either, a fact that the young fox deeply appreciated given his own mother's behavior. "There's always the internet," said Terry earnestly. "And speaking of that, if I had a bank card, I could just order my own clothes online. Mom wouldn't have to worry about it."

Frank's eyes sharpened at the mention of the bank card. Things had been tense when it had been taken away from him shortly after returning from a second failed semester at college. It technically had been in his parent's joint name, but having it taken away had felt like a major stumbling stone in Terry's life, even more so than having to come back to live in the bakery actually. "Terry..." he started, voice warning, so Terry spoke quickly over him.

"I mean, for my own money." Terry's allowance had been slashed as a penalty for flunking out of college, but he still had a little over $500 in cash sitting in a literal piggy bank on his bookshelf in his room. "I want to open up a bank account."

Frank relaxed visibly. "Oh, well, at your age, you should have an account. I didn't know you didn't have one..."

Terry blushed warmly on his chunky cheeks. "I closed out my student union account when I left Tufts..."

The silence stretched between them into an awkward moment. Frank finally looked away, rubbing the back of his furred head in exactly the same way his son had earlier. "Ah, well, when you've got something to wear, I'll take you to the bank and help you open a new account."

"R-really?" Terry exclaimed, and his fathers words really did come as a shock considering how critical the man had been of him during the past year as he'd put on so much weight and struggled with working in the bakery.

"Yeah, I promise-" Frank chuckled, and before either one really knew what was happening, Terry took two steps forward and embraced his father in a tight hug. The lean fox sank liberally into his son's soft front, pulled in by strong arms. They were the same height, but Frank was surprised as he found his chest and arms being pulled into the gap between young fox's heavy, ponderous breasts. Terry's father stiffened uncomfortably, and Terry let go quickly embarrassed, but not regretting the sudden urge to hug his father, and he was relieved as Frank's expression lightened a moment later. The older fox reached out and patted the side of Terry's beefy arm. "It's going to be alright, Terry," he said before thrusting his thumb over his shoulder. "I'm going to go talk to your mom now, so go and wash down the counters and throw out the stale bread before turning in for the night."

"Alright, Dad." said the young fox as he awkwardly shuffled past his father in the relatively narrow place. His burgeoning ass scraped against a large section of the wall behind him, but that was alright as he regained his stumbling balance around the corner leading back into the bakery.

Terry was halfway through dusting down the counters and removing the unsold pastries and loaves of bread from the display racks - the only time he could actually go into the store proper nowadays - when Beel spoke. "Did you hear what Dad said? We can clear out all the stale bread by ourselves tonight!"

The obese fox grimaced, but only a little. Gaining nearly a pound of body weight per day was no mean feat, even when Terry spent all day around food in the bakery. His chief source of extra calories had been the waste from the bakery, but Terry had to be relatively careful in how he went about it. His father still had no idea how much of the discarded product wound up in his son's growing belly, or indeed how much of the 'spare' flour and sugar as well, and that was because Terry had made a show of throwing out the stale bread out behind the bakery in the alley each night. It had been Beel's idea originally naturally as Terry had simply been stealing snacks from the kitchen constantly to fuel his pre-possession growth. But when he could, he had been leaving out the back door, making sounds with the lid of the dumpster and instead dumping the spare loaves in through the window of his small closet-bedroom. Beel had even told Terry to throw away some of the loaves into the bin just in case his father checked. But tonight, without any supervision whatsoever, that wasn't necessary. In spite of that, Terry was not exactly enthusiastic about cramming yet more stale bread down his throat, especially not right after eating most of what his mother had made for dinner that evening already. Shouldn't reckless gluttony be more fun? Getting enough food into him to meet Beel's expectations for gains sometimes felt more like a second job.

Resigned, Terry hurriedly finished cleaning and piled everything destined for the dumpster onto a wide baking sheet; he'd wanted to use one of the big cardboard doughnut boxes, but there was too much of it. In fact, three or four croissants fell off of the heaping pile on the tray before Terry made it back to his room. Too clumsy now to reach down for them without spilling the rest, he had to deposit his load on his bed and go back. Somehow, the fact that they'd been on the floor didn't really bother him anymore. Terry was losing his former sensibilities around food while hardly realizing the shift in his attitude. He had already eaten two of the buttery, but hard croissants by the time he made it back to his room and shut the door.

As soon as he did, Beel started listing the appropriated booty greedily in Terry's ear. "Let's see, four loaves of sourdough, a baguette, sixteen bagels, eight doughnuts, thirty-six gingerbread cookies! Guess people aren't digging cinnamon right now, eh kid?" Beel jabbed Terry in the ribs, the fox starting to get used to the feel of his muscle walls being poked at directly from beneath his billowing fat layer. Still, Terry exhaled sharply. Beel had not even finished listing half of what Terry had brought into his room. The young fox had never thought he'd know what it felt like to eat so much his jaw ached, but several times over the past month, especially while chewing through stale loaves of sourdough, he'd gotten to know exactly that pain. If only to appease Beel, Terry absently minded tore through the remaining croissant in his hand and reached a chubby mitt towards the dark brown cookies. Deep inside his rotund middle, Terry's stomach growled and grumbled, somehow anticipating a fresh influx of food as it struggled to shove the salisbury steak, potatoes and broccoli into a spare corner. Terry would be up more than half of the night if he really intended to get this entire pile down and it'd be the third time he'd been up so late doing exactly that since Beel had entered into his life.

Stomach churning at the thought of another long night, Terry turned away from the pile on his bed, only grabbing a cookie and a doughnut on the way out. Mouth full of gingerbread, he mumbled, "I 'etter 'ouble check th'sho'." Terry all but ran out of his room.

The cookies only lasted about a minute with the fox taking big, greedy chunks out of them, the way he was accustomed to eating them now, but Terry did not really want to spread crumbs on the counters or floors anyways. He busied himself wiping down the counters a second time and pulling the trays out of the display cabinets in the store to wipe those down too.

"Terry..." came the now familiar whisper in the fox's ear.

"Um, yeah?" said Terry absently as he double checked the ash trays of the great stone ovens his father was so proud of. His big belly was still getting in the way as he tried bending over, so he usually had to get down on one knee to access the low steel slots where the ash collected.

"What are you doing?" asked the spirit.

"I'm, erm, making sure the kitchen is spotless..." said Terry, grunting as he got to his feet. Belphegor had made him really strong, but it still took a lot of effort to lift his mammoth body from a crouch, especially with his recent gains.

Beel was silent for a short while, but spoke again as Terry rinsed the ash away into the commercial sink at the back of the bakery, his tummy pressing hard into the steel basin as he reached forward to work the dangling hose. "I mean, what are you doing here when we have a pile of food to get through in your room!"

Terry shuddered, the feeling of Beel surrounding him utterly and freshly renewed. He should have known his little ploy would not work for very long. Returning the ash tray to its slot, Terry pointed his nose down towards where his chest and gut jutted out in front of him. "I'm just tired is all. Can't I have a night off?"

"There's no such thing as a night off where you and me are concerned, kid." said Beel, poking Terry in the center of his chest.

Terry still reached for the spot, only to find his hand blocked by more than a half foot of moob-fat. "Jeez, Beel, I just half convinced my folks to lay off of me about my weight, and you want right back eating the stuff that I was supposed to throw in the trash!" the fox hissed down towards his front, reaching forward to grab at the mound of his upper belly, which itself had become distinct from his hanging, lower gut. "It's not exactly fun, you know!"

Terry sensed Beel grumbling to himself, could feel it really as light vibrations from inside the rampant fat attached to his abdomen. "Not fun, huh?" Beel murmured uncharacteristically sympathetic. "Okay, okay, I get that stale bread is not exactly a plate of warm sausages, but calories is calories as far as I'm concerned, kid, and I gotta be fed."

Terry rolled his eyes, still gripping the front of himself; at a quarter ton, there really did seem like there was a lot of meat packed onto his front now. "Don't you just eat when I do, Beel?" Terry asked, twitching his large ears in mild frustration with the spirit of his flab, "Or do I have to eat to excess? You never really explai-"

"Don't worry your fuzzy little head about the particulars," scoffed Beel condescendingly. "But if you need extra motivation to get that pile of fuel down into your gut where it can do us both some good, I might have somethin' for ya. Go back to your room, kid."

Curious, Terry didn't even bother arguing with Beel, instead waddling from the spotless bakery kitchen into the back where his cupboard of a room was.

After squeezing his bulk past the frame of his door, Beel hissed, "Shut the door, don't want no one overhearing us by accident."

"Beel..." Terry complained, even as he moved his arm to close and lock the door for good measure, "We can't have anyone know we even talk to each other in the first place."

"Yeah, but this is even more important that that." said Beel seriously. Then, rather than saying something intelligible, he made that hungry growling noise that Terry was increasingly associating with an instruction to eat. The young fox moved to the bed, grabbing a sourdough loaf and beginning to methodically tear it apart with his fangs. The bread was tough and dry without even butter to smooth things along, but once the fox began salivating in earnest, he was able to swallow down large, softened chunks of the stuff. Beel continued once he was finishing the first loaf and started reaching for a couple of doughnuts.

"Okay Terry, listen up because I'm only gonna explain this the one time, but this is important to know for how we're gonna be working together." Terry's ears perked up and his eyes widened in curiosity, but knowing Beel, the teenager didn't pause in his eating to ask the spirit any questions, at least not yet. He reached for another loaf of dark brown bread after swallowing the relatively soft doughnuts, chewing mechanically on the molasses-infused whole grain. His stomach was starting to complain about how much stuff was currently inside of it, but Terry just ate more slowly, swallowing forcefully and deliberately.

"Earlier, when you cleaned up your folks' dinner plates, Belphegor sent us some power, a Bonum."

"A wha'?" asked Terry, his mouth stuffed full of bread.

"A Bonum." Beel reiterated, "Now listen up, kid. A Bonum is a kind of favor. Think of it like cash for us spirits. You can trade in one for a little bit of power, or you can save them up and trade in several for a larger miracle. You can even pay spirits such as Yours Truly Bonums to work for you for a time."

Terry liked the sound of that. He had main-rolled the Necromancer in Diablo II and had enjoyed summoning an army of skeletons to kill creatures for him. The fox swallowed hard, his mouth feeling dry. He'd need to get up and get a tall glass of water, or preferably soda, to wash down all this bread soon. "But Bonums are favors from Belphegor, right?"

"Yeah," said Beel, "When you ain't bargaining with a spirit for something, you're redeeming the Bonum for power from the big guy."

"So I can, like, cast spells and stuff?" Asked Terry eagerly, but Beel didn't answer until he had bitten into the baguette and started chewing. He winced as he swallowed, his stomach a tight, swollen balloon deep under the fat filling his lap where he sat on the bed.

"You?" Beel laughed, "No, no, no. I'll be the one doing that, if it comes to it, kid." The spirit emphasized the word "kid" again, much to Terry's chagrin. The young fox figured he'd just have to bear with Beel's arrogance for now. There'd presumably be more time later to figure out more of this demonology stuff.

Swallowing more carefully to avoid provoking his aching stomach, Terry asked, "So where is this Bonum? Can I see it? How can I check how many I have?" The fact that he had spoken to his father about opening a bank account earlier had stuck with him apparently.

"Just let me worry about that for now," said Beel in a mock-fatherly tone, "Now go drink some water before you choke on that bread and accidentally kill us both."

Terry did what Beel asked, but only because his throat was all but rejecting the crumbs he was trying to swallow now, the pile he had brought in earlier still disturbingly large on his bed; it sometimes wasn't easy consuming all the waste that an entire bakery produced in a day. He waddled out of his room, big belly bouncing on his thick, pressed-together thighs, but returned quickly after drinking at the tap for a solid minute, carrying a liter of Pepsi snatched from the still-quiet kitchen nook; Terry hoped distantly that his parents weren't arguing in their bedroom, but was more interested in questioning Beel further about Bonums.

Terry went for a doughnut, chewing as quickly as he dared on the stale bread given the state of his straining stomach, and asked, "But this Bonum, it is mine, right? I'm the one who licked those plates clean." He said that because it was easier than saying he'd both stolen his parents' dinners and eaten discarded food.

Despite the fact that he was eating dutifully, Beel took a while to respond. "Yeah, it is your Bonum, Terry."

"Then, can I see it?" he insisted. When Beel failed to reply, Terry added, "I get if you're keeping it safe for me, but I want to see it, just so I can know what it is first."

Beel rumbled in Terry's fat gut, pretty far from the fox's abdominal wall, way out in the heavy mass that rested solidly on his thighs like a small bean bag. "Eat some more and then take a nap. I'll show you," he said simply. Terry, ecstatic to have gotten that much of a concession from the confrontational spirit gleefully hoarked down bread and chugged sugary soda until he thought he was going to burst. Barely able to move, he waddled unsteadily to the wall and dimmed the light, not turning it off completely because he knew that he was going to have to get up in a few hours and try to get more of the stale bread down.

Resting on his bed after having moved the baking tray, still half full, to his small writing desk, Terry lay back, filling his full-sized bed with his expanded body. His stomach began to hurt in earnest now, but as he shut his eyes and tried to will himself back to that mind space where he had nearly destroyed the demon possessing him just earlier that day, he thought he felt a gentle pressure against his straining stomach. Not the surface of his bulky torso, mind you, his actual stomach deep inside. Something, or rather someone was massaging the bloated, muscle-covered sac just below his ribcage. The pressure hurt at first against the straining organ, but then rhythmic motion began to feel soothing. Soon, Terry was paying more attention to the massage than to how tight his stomach walls felt...

When Terry next opened his eyes, he was in the dark place again. He looked down, noting again the absence of most of the front of his body. He flexed his claw-like, boney hands before lifting his snout to look at Beel, standing in his clay-golem shape, his obese glory barely lacking for Terry's 70 pounds or so of bone, scrawny muscle, and vital organs. The emaciated fox was already getting used to the routine, however, and crossed his arms, remembering to adjust for the lack of meat on his frame almost in time to avoid looking awkward, almost.

"Seems like a lot of effort to go to just to see what probably amounts to a dollar bill," Terry remarked, trying to sound cool.

Beel rolled his eyes or at least suggested rolling them since his rough-hewn face barely suggested the snout of an overweight fox let alone any finer details. He waddled forward, his thick joints bending bonelessly again, and held out a mitten hand. "Trust me, this is far more valuable than a dollar."

In the hand which was composed of literally nothing but skin and fat, rested what looked like a silver dollar, granted, a rather thick one. Terry wanted to take a better look at the design printed on it and reached out his boney hand, but Beel snatched his back quickly, the fat folding easily over the coin.

"Hey! I just wanted to look at it," the fox fumed, not worried any longer about his voice drawing his parents since he was technically asleep right now.

"Then look," said Beel petulantly, holding out the coin once more.

Angrily, Terry leaned over and examined the face of the coin which at first glance featured a horned goat's head prominently with filigree around the edges that seemed to consist of naked people engaged in explicit sexual activity linked in a chain around the border of the silver coin. But the teenager was still too angry with how Beel was behaving to fully appreciate the artwork. He tried to snatch the coin away, but Beel was too fast, and his stick-like arm moved with stubborn slowness as well, probably due to lack of muscle tone.

"That's my coin, damnit!" Terry cursed. "You don't have a right to keep it from me!"

"Actually, I do," said Beel. "That was part of your contract, or did you miss the 'probationary' part of the deal?"

Scowling, Terry did remember belatedly. It was just like a demonic contract to have drawbacks... besides having to gain 200 more pounds of course. "So, what? You're my keeper, my guardian, or something?" Terry was angry, but more at himself for his lack of understanding as usual than at Beel. He couldn't keep himself from lashing out at the only person he really could, though.

"Or something," Beel sneered. He let his arm drop and his hand relax, but Terry noticed the coin did not fall from his empty mitt. "Just trust me, kid. I keep telling you that, and you're gonna believe me one of these days." The fax fox golem cocked his head on his non-existent neck, "If I gave you this bonum, you'd just wind up spending it on something stupid like forcing your mom to swap bedrooms with ya, or a magical pair of expanding underwear."

"You can do that?" Terry thought aloud by accident. He'd meant to keep the thought to himself but it had just slipped out of him, maybe because they were in his mind-space or something. But it seemed to him like a pair of underwear that would always fit him would be really handy right now. Then, as if to emphasize the point, a pair of Terry's favorite brand of boxer-briefs appeared on Beel's fattened frame.

Beel chortled as he reached down to snap the waistband with a resounding, sharp snap against his lard. The ripple traveled over the fat fox's soft form several times, wobbling the head and ears of the simulated head. "Way to think big, kid." Beel scoffed before proceeding to waddle around where Terry stood in a slow circle. "You'd think something like this would be useful, but I'll tell you now that it's never worth using Bonums for things you can obtain with regular money. All you really need is to order some bigger clothes... and maybe find an accommodating tailor." Beel smirked at Terry despite not having a mouth. "And that's why you're lucky to have someone like me here to keep ya from doing dumb things." He smacked his thickly padded chest with his soft bulky arms, wobbling himself generously again.

Terry still wasn't totally convinced that magical clothing would not be worthwhile, especially considering that he would have to continue getting bigger for the foreseeable future. But he understood enough now that he might not be able to see the whole picture right now. So far, the only drawback to trusting Beel had been the impact on his waistline, so Terry decided to relax for now.

"Alright," he said, tossing his emaciated arms up over his head. He didn't feel like he was going to fall over like he had right after making the deal with Belphegor, but without any muscle on them to speak of, his arms felt heavier now than they did when he was awake, even with all the extra meat attached. "Keep the damn coin for now. But one day, I'm going to want to be able to keep track of my own money."

Beel stopped wobbling and lifted a fat mitt to his chins, seeming to give this statement extra consideration. "Alright, kid, since you're being a good sport about this, let me issue you a challenge. Earn one-hundred Bonums and then I'll let you manage your favors from then on."

"A hundred?" Terry asked, cocking his head. He honestly had no idea if that was a lot or not. But then, he had earned a bonum just for finishing his parents' dinners for them, so perhaps that would not be so bad. "Alright." He said and extended his skeletal hand towards the fat demon. Beel looked at Terry's hand a moment and then reached out to take it. Beel's hand felt like squeezing the frosting bag back in the kitchen.

"It's a deal." Beel chuckled, pumping Terry's arm harder than he could manage with his meek strength. "Now get back to work and feed me, Tubbo!" Sighing, Terry reached across his narrow chest and pinched the loose skin of his arm between two claws.