FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Pricilla rattled off an easy, though long list of foods that might sate the hunger she'd worked up merely floating around in the pool for a few hours. The stoat asked for Fredrick's fine pot roast which she adored, complete with vegetables and trimmings. The carbo-haulic side of her nature demanded mashed potatoes, macaroni with cheese, and alfredo pasta as well. She also wanted fresh butter rolls; and of course, the kind she preferred came out of the oven literally dripping. Because Pricilla could not imagine an evening meal not ending with something sweet, she asked for the house chef to also thaw out a whole cheesecake while he was preparing her dinner.

"And make sure he also gets that raspberry sauce out as well." finished Pricilla without the slightest hint of embarrassment.

Denise catalogued away the order in her head to relay to the chef, showing no signs of her own personal thoughts nor her opinion of the huge order she was about to burden the plump labrador in the kitchen with. "Very well, I'll tell him." she said with a slight bow and walked away.

Pricilla sat innertly until Lorenzo came down the stairs, carrying several towels. Gingerly, he helped haul her ass out of the couch long enough to help dry off her back and posterior while the stoat herself pushed the plush fabric against her chest and belly. Lifting a heavy arm into the air, she slid the towel under the sagging arm flesh which still sat atop the side of her breast. She repeated with the other arm, then used a fresh towel to get under her expansive chest. Lorenzo assisted her by handing her the corners of yet another towel so she could slide it up the underside of her massive paunch until the fabric rested against her crotch. Then placed down several dry towels on the couch against which she would rest her more than considerable bulk. By this time, the heavily fattened ermine was ready to sit again, this time until she was forced to make the trek back to her bedroom.

By flicking on the television, she signaled Lorenzo to leave. Sharp clops of his hooves against the wood floor faded as he vacated the room to await the next time he would be needed. As images flickered blandly before her, Pricilla wondered, not for the first time, where the strong, steadfast horse went when he wasn't serving as a pillar or a shunt for her to lean on. There's probably a staff room around here somewhere. she thought, not truly caring one way or another. Does he have a girlfriend, maybe? I wonder what she would think if she knew the sort of woman he served and the things he had to do for her. That thought came with more canter, the corners of her eyes squinting a little in deviousness. Trouble for the sake of trouble, pain for the sake of pain. What else had Pricilla to do? She decided she would ask Lorenzo about his personal life the next time she saw him.

Denise returned then, taking a seat on a recliner, but perching lightly at the very tip of it, as it expecting to be quickly sent somewhere else. "Dinner will be ready in about an hour."

"Typical." Pricilla grunted in mock dismay. It would have been perfect for her distended stomach to let loose one of the outrageously loud growls it was known for just then, but it didn't feel like cooperating either. She looked at the uninteresting weasel to her side. There were no games to fathom with Denise, who had lasted longer on her staff - now going on three years - than anyone else. The girl seemed to have no life outside her college work, and she spent all of her excess time here, with Pricilla herself. That was what she was paid for, of course, but did she have to seem so... so committed all the time? Her father had asked her why she seemed to delight in driving away the people she relied on for such basic tasks that she was increasingly unable to do for herself. She'd mentioned specific faults in each employee and chalked up their resignations to overreactions, but the truth of the matter was that seeing what it would take to make someone resign was something of a game to her. Like chess. She found out a lot about people in that way. What they were willing or not willing to do for money got right to the heart of their values. Every-time she won, she learned something vital about their personality... then promptly never saw them again.

Denise though... She had a personality like vanilla pudding as far as Pricilla Blacklake was concerned. She was not motivated by something as petty as money, however; though the weasel needed it for her college bills. She had kept on for something more obscure, something that Pricilla hadn't before experienced to any real degree. She called it friendship.

After a few minutes, Denise relined, resting her long spine against the soft arm of the couch. Pricilla's assistant weighed 150 lbs, which was just ten or fifteen pounds over her ideal. Pricilla weighed over seven times that amount. So while the long bodied weasel could still flex and contort in interesting ways, Pricilla could only recline back, feeling the weight of her mountainous breasts on her chest while rolls piled upon rolls to either side of her. Seeing Denise move never ceased to fill her with no small amount of envy. That envy, however, did not stop her from longing for the feast to come. "Did you hear about that scandal with Govenor Schwartz?" said Denise, breaking the silence. "I can't believe that he kept a secret family right over the border!"

"Denise, Oregon is hardly 'over the border.'" Pricilla said knowingly, having watched three different news channels cover the story that morning both on television and the internet. "Besides, the real scandel is in the new sale's tax..." The morbidly obese stoat shifted slightly to face Denise, one arm hanging from the elbow to drape casually over the rolls at her flank, the other resting on the generous platform of her white belly beyond the red clothed mounds of her breasts.

The chat came easily and filled the next hour. Talking with Denise was at least more stimulating than the TV or internet videos. Even if she does have a personality like vanilla pudding, Pricilla had to admit.

When the food came, it was laid before her on portable tables, however, these hardly helped since her gut flowed to such a length in front of her that she would not be able to reach it without knocking the flimsy things over. As such, her meal was separated into large plates, each containing some of each of the items she had ordered. In all, there were six of them, plus the cheese cake to come. Fredrick was pretty sour-faced for a usually perky labrador. Maybe he is being kept late from something... Pricilla wondered absently as Denise handed her her first plate and a fork. She couldn't say. She and Fredrick did not speak much besides the constant food orders. It was probably why he was the most senior member of the house staff.

The fattened stoat, having been robbed of the capacity for normal eating experience due to the depth of her surging belly, rested the plate on her ample chest. Half of the plate was supported against the twin curves of her female endowments, the other half steady by one hand, with the hot middle suspended above the plane of her belly. She ate thusly with her free hand - quickly and with great gusto that she rarely showed for anything else. There was no more talking, though Pricilla still watched the flashing images on the giant television screen. It helped occupy her mind while she was busy giving into the demands made by her cavernous stomach. The quantity of the food she ingested was always easy to forget when a good show was one though...

When she emptied her first plate, she passed it to Denise, who rose out of the recliner easily and quickly, as if she had a spring in her back, and traded it for another heavy full one. Pricilla stuffed her face again until there was nothing left but grease and Alfredo and cheese stains on the porcelain. The sensation of food passing down her gullet was primally satisfying for Pricilla. It was pretty much the only thing that she felt she still excelled at after all these years of watching her waistline grow and grow past anything she could have expected back when she first started hounding the kitchen staff for snacks when she was at the tender age of seven.

Or course, that was a different time in a different house with different people, none of whom she saw anymore. The memory did not arise as Pricilla ate, but the old pleasure did, as it always did. Something simple in its construction, but continuously enjoyable in its execution. Pricilla polished off a third and then a fourth plate. Then commercials interupted her train of thought.

The heavy dull pain in her midsection alerted Pricilla to the fact that if she continued eating, she'd not have any room left for the muchly desired cheesecake. Thus the last two plates were thrown out. Denise left with the plates and was gone for sometime as Pricilla heard the sounds of washing float across from the other room. Then more time passed. The front door opened and closed with the usual automatic, opulant chime as Fredrick departed. Denise returned shortly after, carrying the heavy weight of the cheese cake in one hand, a salmon salad for herself in the other. The cake was passed up into greedy paws and both girls settled down to watch the end of "Two and a Third Men."

Pricilla needed help getting off of the sofa, but from there, she was able to hobble, one step at a time, to hallway, to rest a pink skinned hand on the wall to steady herself. With her belly a 400 lb pendulum affixed to her front, it was important in the extreme not to lose her balance. After quickly folding the towels on the couch left carelessly behind, Denise followed as Pricilla made her slow way into her bedroom.

To the half ton stoat, there did not seem to be anything terribly unusual about her near lack of mobility or the effort it now took just to get from the couch to her bed. The difficulty had been mounting slowly for the better part of two decades now. The weight creeping into her lifestyle the way adipose slowly crept onto her burgeoning frame.

Although things seemed to be reaching a head point, where the effort of merely moving about the house was nearly beyond her, the stout could not find any strong motivation for change within herself. With a heavy sigh, she let go of the steel handrail affixed to the wall beside her bed and aimed her massive buttocks at the edge. Springs creaked and the surface of the bed deformed like a physicist's model of a black hole as she lowered her weight onto it. Her belly sank low, touching the insides of her thickened calves and she rested her arms on her more than ample breasts, wrists dangling to the roll just underneath. If there was one thing she felt, glancing at all of the bulk contained within herself, it was contentment. Pricilla was content with life and saw little need for change.

Denise followed into her bedroom and shut the door behind her. The mild expression on her face told that she was ready for the primary functions of her position here at the estate.

Ever since Pricilla's weight had slowly nudged up and over the 1,000 lb mark, nothing ever seemed simple. Oh sure, hiking and jogging had been beyond her since pretty much elementary school, but a certain ineptness just kept creeping into her life as her weight grew. Beginning with an inability to tie the laces on her shoes and escalating to dozens of little tasks that one would normally take for granted. That's why Denise had been hired by her father to be Pricilla's personal body servant.

Aside from pulling on a loose t-shirt, Pricilla was unable to dress herself. She couldn't reach behind her to undo her top, nor could she manage her bottom piece which had to be dredged forcefully out from the trench between her thighs. The white bellied ermine slept in the nude. "Get this would you, Denise?" said Pricilla, offering a back broader than three of her thinner assitant's.

"Of course." said Denise, as if she had a choice.

Afterwards Pricilla went through the annoying business of arranging her bulk on the wide bed. She rested on her belly - to help with her sleep apnea - but of course, she was still supported fairly high due to the sheer width of her torso. Pricilla rested at the foot of the bed, her elbows on the very edge. This was so she could use her laptop computer; a misnomer as far as Pricilla was concerned, her 'lap' having ceased to exist many years ago.

Her chin resting on the swell of her breasts between her arms, Pricilla opened the lid of the suddenly brilliant screen. As the stoat, her body spreading very widely over the surface of the bed, waited for the computer to warm up, Denise came in from the adjacent bathroom. "I'm just going to apply the moisturizer and powder now, Pricilla."

The stoat grunted, impatient with her computer. When it started, she was barely aware of Denise's slim hands sliding ointment and powder into her various creases. With the skin folding into unnatural airless crevasses all over her long torso and over her limbs, Pricilla needed a lot more skin maintenance than the average person, and not only that, she needed someone else to do the task for her. Other people might have quailed at the prospect, but for Pricilla it was merely 'normal.'

And that was besides the issue anyway. Pricilla was currently diving into an other world where she was free of the burden of her weight. Her sausage-like fingers were clumsy in general, but the keyboard was no hindrance to them. On paper, or in text files, Pricilla found an eloquence that escaped her tongue in real life. Perhaps it was that she simply cared more about what went into the computer than what spilled out to those around her. But at any rate, Pricilla's passions all lie behind the softly glowing screen.

In cyberspace, Pricilla was actually popular. She had accounts on a dozen different art sites and e-mail poured in every day, eager for more stories, more poems, more of her recent dabbling into digital art. Working under the assumed name of "Alice White" Pricilla shared her thoughts and feelings with a world that would surely feel betrayed should they ever learn the truth behind their beloved online personality.

This night, Pricilla was kept busy between answering e-mails and making forum posts and writing in her blog. She announced that her current drawing (a raunchy affair between a fox and a young otter which had appeared in one of her short stories) would have to be delayed another week. But she did post a new poem she had thought of while drifting in the pool. She called it, "Scents of the City."

Below ocean breeze is blowing Across the Darkening Sky I See lights below calling softly I wish I were there...

The poem continued to describe the scents wafting up from the valley below to the isolated narrator. Undoubtedly her audience would comment on the metaphysics of the human psyche, stranded alone in the universe, never having any idea of the very literal meaning of the poem. Really, Pricilla hoped they never guessed the truth.

When Pricilla grew drowsy, her gut churning the food she'd generously dumped into it, she had to close the screen. By that time, Denise was long gone, but was never far away. The buzzer she kept under her right breast along with her cell phone during the day would summon Denise in no more than a minute should she need her. Lazily the ermine yawned widely against the pushed of fatty breast tissue under her jaw. She rested her cheek against the generous swelling and mantled her elbows against the bed's edge.

Just another boring day, Pricilla reflected after she closed her eyes. I wonder if anything will ever change around here... She wondered idily. Fat chance of that happening. Her father was mortally embarressed of her and her half ton ass. He even went out of the way to get her a house of her own, the place only serving as something of a bed and breakfast for him, his wife and Pricilla's other siblings when they were not away on their many travels or even at their own family's houses.

Pricilla touched her thumb to a finger for each absent family member. Her father, Richard Blacklake: away on business in Florida. Her mother, Diana: 'accompanying' her father on his business trip, undoubtedly preparing their vacation home for their anniversary following the conclusion of her father's business. Her older sister, Siera: married to a rich fox and inheritor of a vast wine and alcohol firm in France. Her oldest brother, Bernard: stayed for two weeks last month, now gone in search of investors for his newest invention/scheme. Her youngest brother, Warren: still in college and blissfully ignorant of the world around him.

She was the second oldest sibling of the bunch and, by all rights should have been married off by now like some medieval bride between competing merchants. At least that had been her father's intention. I sure put a wrench in that plan, didn't I Daddy? She thought vilely before consciousness left her.

That night, she dreamed of the sea and the smells floating to her from the mainland. But the odors were not of foods or flowers or spices, but rather smoke. She would wonder if the city were burning down, but she could see nothing beyond the horizon.