Mark
The door to the restaurant made a thud noise as the soft furry ball smooshed against it, the owner of the furry gut making a *Wrrf* as he rebounded a bit. The thick fox pulled the door and waddled around it, huffing and panting as he stepped up to the counter. A few short months ago, Mark would have been described as a classic fox, svelte, thin, a little short but otherwise a foxy red fox. Then, unexpectedly, the new McBurgerbarn opened across the street from his home. The fox began eating exclusively at the burger joint, then got a job there to get the seventy five percent employee discount. Of course it didn't help that all his pay went back into the restaurant.
It was like watching a horror movie in ultra slow motion, as he began to eat multiple burgers for every meal (with extra large triple thick shakes and double orders of fries) it began to have an immediate effect on his foxy physique. Every day he'd stand before the mirror, and every day he'd see the inevitable results of his junk food addiction. The lithe, fluffy canine in the mirror began to swell, slowly developing a small belly which swelled into a respectable gut, pressing out from under his shirt and over his belt. Soon he needed a new uniform on a biweekly basis, then it just got to the point he was glad the apron covered his unbuttoned pants and exposed belly.
Taking several minutes to catch his breath the hefty red dog stood smiling at his lovely gazelle coworker; Envy. "Hi Mark." She said with a less than enthusiastic inflection. "Back again in..." she looked at the clock "...less than two hours I see." She frowned as watching the vulpine ruin his body so; happened to not be her favorite past-time. His round gut pressed and conformed around the counters edge slightly as he panted "Yeah... I got... hungry again..." he gasped and grinned up at the menu, still enjoying the almost sport like act of choosing his next meal."I'll have... guh... four number si... *pant*... sixes plain, with double bacon, three number fourteens, with extra mushrooms and mayo... *huff*... and five number elevens without lettuce." The gazelle looked at him with disapproval while she typed it all in.
"None of that rabbit food huh?... You want something to drink with that fluffy?" Mark looked thoughtfully at the board under the menu, the usual chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry were there, joined by the seasonal flavors of blueberry and toasted marshmallow. "I'll have two... no, three large chocolates and a toasted marshmallow... and maybe a strawberry too." He smiled making his chubby cheeks bulge out a bit. The cashier rolled her eyes and took his cash. Four triple bacon cheeseburgers, three double mushroom melts and five double fried chicken sandwiches, all for eight bucks. Grinning like only a fox can, he grabbed up his goodies and made for the exit, drink carriers and overloaded bags pressing into his exposed, doughy, down covered sides.
Waddling across the parking lot, Mark had to slow down, his enormous rump was beginning to cause him to sway wide and he didn't want to overbalance. As he trundled along his lunch bounced and bobbled off of the plump drumsticks he called legs. Already through his second chocolate milkshake, the butterball fox balanced his bag of meat and fried potato goods on his love handle whilst he unlocked the door.
Dropping his keys on the hall table, Mark wobbled into the living room and set the food on the table next to his beanbag chair. "Now for the fun part." He grunted and pulled at his sweatshirt. It slid up over his tummy allowing it to bloomp out a good four inches. "Ahhh..." he patted at the blubbery dome and stuffed a pawfull of fries into his chunky maw. "Bwats bretter..." He said through a full mouth and flopped down into the soft beanbag, waistband creaking as his wide bottom impacted the bag.
Rubbing at his exposed belly with a greasy paw he pulled the lid off the marshmallow shake with his teeth and downed it in four solid swallows. Licking the white goo off his lips he pawed around for the remote and turned on the tube. The overly happy hyena on the TV was hocking some stupid shammy thing, and Mark could care less as he was lost in a world of bacon and cheese, the grease ran down his chins with every bite. Swallowing the last bite of that particular sandwich, he felt his belt getting a bit snug; the specialty elastic item purchased at the local big and tall shop was losing its stretch with every meal. Grunting in discomfort the hefty fox leaned forward, then leaned forward again before rolling into a sitting position where he could remove the offending clothing item.
With a *Bzish*, the tide of vulpine blubber rolled out even further, settling on top of the already open zipper as the fox flopped back into a reclining position while idly scritching his massive girth. Suddenly a red and white mass covered the TV; the thirty six inch pepperoni pizza nearly blinded Mark in the dim room. Suddenly, it seemed mere cheeseburgers weren't going to be enough to quell his grumbling belly. A quick press of *4 dialed the pizza place down the block. "Hey Mario... yeah it's me... how's your mo... oh? Well that's good... yeah okay... the usual please, well, better make it four... okay, yeah, tell you mo... okay... okay... bye."
With a *woof* the bulging fox dragged himself into a more or less standing position before shoving his next burger into his maw, holding it there he hiked his pants up over his thighs, the thick rolls of fat bulging over the top of the triple extra large pants. Reaching up just in time he caught the burger as his teeth bit through, and he barely chewed before swallowing nearly a third of it. Standing there was hard; at least standing at all was hard. A dark, gloved paw ran over his expansive middle, feeling the too tight pelt and the stretch marks hidden underneath the fur. He grabbed a paw-full of flesh as he shoved the rest of the burger in, Why was he so addicted to food? He wasn't sure but what really confused him was the way he was enjoying seeing himself swell to this size, every inch and ounce made him smile a bit more, tail wagging as he watched buttons burst and buckles break in the mirror.
The doorbell announced the arrival of his next course, and he couldn't help but grin at the tiger holding the stack of boxes as he opened the door. "Hey Mikey." The feline grinned but seemed a bit overburdened under all the meat and cheese in the boxes. "Hey... can you give me a hand here? These are..." he grunted and nearly dropped the stack, but Mark was right there to catch his precious goodies. "...Heavy, thanks man" Mike helped the fox carry the pizzas into the kitchen when Mark noticed three extra containers. "Hey Mike... What are these?" he held up the aluminum containers, their cardboard lids thoroughly stained with sauce. "Oh yeah... someone ordered three family size lasagnas, but cancelled at the last minute... so Mario figured you'd like them rather than let them go to waste..."
Mark's tail stared wagging slowly. "No charge of course." Added Mikey. Mark's excited wagging tail nearly killed the coffee pot. He tipped the tiger nearly 30% and sent him on his way before turning to the four extra larges and the three lasagnas. "Oh, my milkshakes!" He wobbled into the living room and retrieved his tasty beverages before returning to the kitchen. When he sat down, there was a creak from his jeans, the tortured material was digging into the overfed canid's thighs. "Mrrf, time to get a bit more comfortable." He stood up again and began to peel the tight denim off, nearly falling over as he forced it off his calves. Standing there clad in his creaking boxers and too small undershirt, he flopped into the seat. Panting for a moment, he could feel how fat he really was, his round ass was hanging off either side, pressing between the metal posts holding the chair back, just above his tail, and was beginning to swallow the great fluffy thing itself.
Mark reclined a bit and his back fat rolled around the chair's short back. He scritched at his belly and tugged at the undershirt, smirking as it didn't cover his belly this morning and it surely wouldn't now. He rested his elbows on the single rolls of his love-handles, which were working to swallow the boxer's waistband. Mark reached for the first box and set it on his doughy belly, the waistband complained as it dug in just beneath the divot of a bellybutton and created a fold the whole way around. Chewing noisily on the pizza, he hardly tasted it, his pointed muzzle chewing autonomously while his cheeks were filled with carbs and calories. Slice after slice he swallowed great mawfulls and as each slice hit his gut. It bulged outwards further into his lap, or beyond at this point. The doughy balloon pressed into the table now, pushing the empty boxes and cup back. There was a creak and a rip as the waist of his drawers finally gave way and the table bounced and spun on one leg to make room.
"Erf..." the bloated fox reached far as he could around his belly, rubbing were the table had hit as well as the overstretched bits of pelt not yet too far beyond his artificial horizon. Sagging between his knees and swelling over his thighs his gut forced his legs askew. The full feeling was wonderful, he rubbed at the tight dome and relished in the start of a stomachache, it was starting to turn him on but he needed more. Overburdened and slightly ill, he placed a shaking hand on the chair next to him and forced himself up. Legs still akimbo, he twisted and set the ball of blubber into the chair, taking a minute to breathe. On the other side of the chair lay his next goal: the fridge. Thinking of the brownie cheesecake ice-cream within sent torrents of drool down his chins; he grabbed a double paw-full of fat rolls in anticipation, and then rubbed at his blubbery breasts. Panting deeply in his upright position caused his boxers to rip even more, popping a seam on the leg. Mark slid the chair across the floor, pulling up a bit on his gut so he didn't ruin his house anymore.
Opening the door he gasped, there were nearly nine gallons in there. He felt dizzy and at the same time his stomach let out a growl of discontent. The fur on his front, particularly around his belly button was growing thin, letting way to angry red skin, but all the same he picked up the first tub. His tail wagged furiously thumping against his fattened ass and sending all sorts of ripples though his flabby back rolls. Marks cheeks and chins slid and rolled over the cardboard tub's lip as they were lubricated by the butterfat mixture he was eating like a pig. He could easily be mistaken for a porker with the way he snorted when he came up for air, and the mess he was making on his shrinking shirt wasn't helping. The sleeveless shirt was wrapped under the vulpines flabby arms, covering only the top portion of belly and the swollen man boobs.
As he finished the third gallon his stomachache was now full blown. He was grinding against the heavy swell that was his over-packed gut. He panted, wanting to eat more but not wanting to puke. A small part of him wanted to eat till he burst, but it hurt oh so much. Another rip indicated the further conversion of food into luscious blubber, and the conversion of boxers to loincloth. Keeping one hand on his gut to rub, he reached back and squeezed at his fat ass, hanging out from under his tattered boxer's remains. Rubbing his stomach with both his hands and his fox-hood, he reached for another container, as he digested and made room., it appeared he was swelling by the minute, though one could easily attribute it to his labored breathing.
Shoving his maw into the soft creamy cold, he didn't chew, just swallowed whatever his tongue deposited in his mouth. The further swelling of his taught paunch forced him to take a step back, and he licked every crevice of the container. He tossed the carton aside and turned his attention to his stained shirt, Grunting and pulling managing to get it halfway down his chest before grabbing another carton as he continued to gorge he felt the boxers cry their last and deposit themselves around his meaty ankles. Wanting to bust out of the shirt a bit too much, Mark tore it simply in the struggle to cover his doughy mass. He closed his eyes and grinned, one hand fondling a role on his side while the other tipped back the melted remains of the ice-cream. As the container emptied, he dropped it and yelped, hugging his swollen girth as best he could "Oan... done..." he panted.
The food bloated butterball rubbed and squeezed at his marshmallow like flesh and grinned at his progress, he was still grinding against his heavy girth. "Huff... I wonder how... "He pushed himself and the chair towards the junk drawer, pulling out the tape measure he was panting lustfully in anticipation, it didn't reach all the way around, nearly a foot away from each other, he let the ends slip from his paws, and that was all he needed. His soft fur rubbing his hard erection combined with the thought of being too big for him to measure himself he let loose his load, spraying the sticky goo into his moist, sweaty fur. Falling off the chair he landed atop his firmly stuffed gut and rolled helplessly onto his squishy sides. "Now that was some good desert..." he sighed and snuggled into his blubbery softness drifting of too sleep...