Your Night of Expansion

Tom wasn’t ready for the night ahead. He wasn’t ready to chase strange spirits, to be knocked out, or to be mind-bogglingly transformed by the time dawn would crest the horizon. He wanted to go home. But a voice in the back of his head kept nagging at him, spurring him on.

It was dark out, not pitch black but close. A deep, raven blue blanketed in stars and spotlighting the moon peered over the rooftops. It was a gorgeously clear night, but the orange and ash-grey dragon was only fixated on attaining the sliver of violet ahead of him.

‘C’mon Tom! You’re so close! Just a couple more twist and turns, and we’ll be there!’ The voice echoed with a strange familiarity. Like an old friend. Tom was maddeningly close to recognizing it, but just like the sliver of violet, he couldn’t quite reach it. Which left pursuance as his only option.

The chubby drake’s grey middle heaved and rolled from exertion. Pants punctuated the air as the butcher leaned against a brick wall for a moment. A breeze rustled his mop of brown around a pair of slate grey horns; giving the tubby dragon some much needed relief.

‘Awww, no resting now, yah big lug! You’re so close!’ That infuriating voice again. It seemed to dance in front of his eyes, a lure of light in the mounting darkness. Just out of the corner of his green eyes, Tom spotted the violet light zip into a side street.

Hurrying along after it, he stumbled slightly from a soft stitch developing in his side. ‘Don’t let a little stitch get in your way, big guy! We’re so very near!’ The drake grumbled as he chugged on. Heavy dergs weren’t meant to run like this. A short sprint for a break room perhaps. Or even the kilometer or so down to the local bakery. This, however, was utter torture. Still, Tom forged on.

He chased the violet sliver around another corner, almost skidding into a couple of crates. The cursing drake was beginning to verge on a breaking point when he saw the tail disappear into a large, brick structure a little ways down. Finally! Tom trotted over to find a modest, oak door before him.

It looked like the side entrance to a warehouse, but the drake could’ve sworn he’d been down this way before. All the running and chasing had disoriented him, but now it was growing eerily familiar. And that voice. Tom was scrabbling at this point. Tired, confused and suspicious; he wanted answers and they lay behind the door. Taking a deep breath, he went in.

The dark blue from outside became a distant memory as blackness overcame Tom’s senses. It was almost impossible to decipher the contents of the room. Judging from the airy quality of his breathing and soft creaks afforded by the wind, it was quite sizeable.

To his left, that violet light suddenly loomed into view. Its faint glow outlined a smooth wooden wall leading up to a wide doorway. Edging forward, Tom focused on the light and nothing else. He passed into the next room, where some illumination peered in through display windows.

Outlines of tables, booths, and a counter running perpendicular to him formed the initial layout. A restaurant? Then a rather unnatural shape melted from the square furniture, and with the movement, the light vanished.

Tom gulped and clung to his tail, eyes now orbs of emerald in the dark. They traced the new shape, which shifted like a ribbon, winding down and along the floor. Closer and closer, until the drake realized where it led. His breathing flat lined as a dry rasp of something brushing the wall behind him trickled down.

Beginning to turn, Tom yelled out suddenly when the shape enveloped him in its grasp. Coils sliding around him and the figure illuminating itself fully. A big, five-eyed face grinned down at him, coils squeezing his middle more affectionately now.

“Surprise!” Aaron called out, tilting his head to one side.

The lights around the bakery suddenly flipped on, revealing a blubbery slab of silver dragon leaned on the counter. Smirking up to the bewildered dragon, Callum slid one hand along Duncan’s belly, the gryphon currently snuggled under the baker’s chest. Neither seemed tired, or even excited for that matter. Just a bit smug.

Tom felt his mind reel in a flurry of emotions. Exasperation, fear, relief, tiredness, and most of all, confusion. His shocked face drew a laugh from Aaron, who nuzzled the orange dragon’s middle comfortingly. “We didn’t pull it off too well, did we?”

His captive could only shake his head mutely.

Across the counter, Callum laughed, “No, you know how these butcher types are. They can handle just about anything.”

Still silence. Tom was beginning to succumb to the effects of running for so long while sporting a considerable paunch. While the butcher drake wasn’t as large as the obese baker, he still enjoyed a soft lifestyle. And now it showed. A single, heavy sigh escaped Tom’s muzzle before he slumped forward in Aaron’s coils and went limp.

The snake checked the unconscious dragon in concern, while Callum and Duncan chuckled. “He’s passed out from too much exhilaration,” Aaron concluded as he ran a medical spell through Tom’s physique, “A couple hour’s rest is all he needs.”

“Splendid,” Callum waddled out from around the counter, his gryphon padding close behind, “Gives us ample time to set everything up. Then he can enjoy all the rest he wants as a living cushion.”

***

What felt like eons later, Tom finally began to stir. Callum sat on a bench opposite him, sharpening a sinister looking cleaver propped on the drake’s silvery gut. The sight was enough to jolt the orange dragon into an alert state, causing the baker drake to giggle.

“Don’t worry, Tom, we wouldn’t use this on you. Or at least Aaron wouldn’t…” the lingering tease elicited a disapproving cough from the snake, who glared at Callum through narrowed eyes. Sighing, Callum simply continued, “We’re here for a different reason. Or at least, you are. You might notice that you can’t move.”

Tom widened his eyes, before attempting to tug his arms and legs. Both were restricted by some sort of invisible restraint, pinning them to the booth bench. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it certainly didn’t help the butcher’s state of mind. He struggled against the tethers, eyes dilated in fear as Callum continued snickering and sharpening the cleaver.

Aaron opted to take the reigns at this point, hoping to inject a little calm into the tense situation. “It’s just a bit of magic Tom, you won’t be harmed. Though your waistline might suffer a bit,” the snake drew his coils comfortingly along the drake’s soft, ashen plates, easing a bit of tender magic into the gesture.

It seemed to do the trick as Tom finally found his voice. “W-what do you mean ‘my waistline might suffer’?” he stuttered.

This time, Duncan provided the response. The fluffball had been sitting dormant against his owner’s pillowy girth and lounging on top of the booth, but now he

chirped to get Tom’s attention. With exaggerated flourish, the gryphon grabbed a cupcake from a nearby tray and plopped it into his beak. He then spread his wings over his soft middle and spread them out further and further, providing additional emphasis by puffing out both his plumage and cheeks.

“O-oh, that’s one way to describe it.’.” Tom giggled at the display, his initial fear beginning to melt away.

“Yes, that’s precisely right,” Aaron chuckled, tickling the avian’s tummy with one paw and getting a squeal in return. “This is a night of feasting for you, my friend. Like it or not, we’ve decided that a friendly face like yours deserved some good-natured feeding.” The snake patted Tom’s belly with a gentle contortion, “And you’ve already displayed a prodigious appetite many times over, so tonight we’re going to test it.”

Callum chuckled and joined in on the theatrical discourse. Tossing his cleaver into the far wall, the bountiful drake stood and leaned forward, “We’re gonna test your capacity, bud. See how big, soft and round we can get you before we have to open tomorrow. This is your night of expansion.”

With deceptive speed, the heavyset dragon promptly waddled into the back room of the bakery. As he did so, Aaron coughed to get Duncan’s attention, nodding to the far side of the counter. The bird, who’d hopped onto Tom’s stomach and climbed into the drake’s belly pouch, popped his head out guiltily. He pawed at the comfy slit, nuzzling into it and chirping longingly.

“You know, if you get me a bit of food, it’ll be much softer,” Tom confided with the plump avian, grinning down kindly to Duncan.

The fluffball returned the gaze, cocking his head in thought as he considered abandoning the pouch for the possibility of additional comfort. Aaron helped by holding one hand sincerely over his heart, “And I promise neither I nor Callum will steal it from you...on account of us being the same size as the owner of said pouch.”

That sealed the deal and Duncan hopped out of the pouch, before dutifully scrambling over to the counter to acquire whatever Aaron had gestured to.

Given a moment of respite in his predicament, Tom looked around the bakery curiously. He noted that all of the other booths and tables had been stacked neatly against the far wall, while the one he sat in took center stage. He was facing the counter, but the glass of the confection displays reflected the deep blue light

peering in from the front windows. Looking closer, the orange drake also noticed something different about the booth itself.

The thing was composed of deep brown teak wood, shot through with red cedar. It was complemented with a soft red cushion, which supported his butt with remarkable comfort. The surface gleamed with an impeccable sheen, framing a looming Aaron perfectly.

“It’s for special occasions,” the serpent explained, coiling around the booth and laying his torso in the other bench. “Reinforced for heftier occupants, though that hasn’t stopped Callum from breaking it once or twice.” Aaron giggled when a muffled snort came in through the wall, accompanied by grumbles from the doughy baker who was working hard at prepping the fattening courses. “Which he completely denies, if you haven’t guessed.”

Tom drummed a paw on the armrest, eyeing the portion of his wrist covered by the spell. Looking closer, he realized he could see the air shimmering, like a force-field. “And did you have these...things holding him in place too?”

“The Manacle Divination? Ah, maybe once or twice,” Aaron turned a light purple as he rubbed his neck sheepishly, “Understandably, it was him who came up with the idea of using them on you.”

“You don’t say,” Tom quipped as he tested the integrity of the bonds.

Aaron made to reply when a chirp caught both of their attentions. Duncan wagged his tail happily as he stood amid a large setup of ornately-decorated cupcakes, cookies, donuts, eclairs, and other, smaller confections.

The serpent relaxed and patted the drake’s round, ashen tummy. “It appears the appetizer is here, my friend. Which means I must repair back into the kitchen for the time being to prepare.” Before he did so, the serpent concentrated for a moment and transported both Duncan and the surplus of sweets onto the booth counter. Once everything was in place, he bowed deeply and retreated.

Now Duncan stood before the drake, his cuddly demeanor replaced by a more devious one. The gryphon was on a mission to soften his coveted pouch, and he’d been given free reign to do so.

Tom could only stare back as the gryphon tossed a cupcake from one paw to the other. They held one another’s gaze, with Tom’s wide green eyes meeting Duncan’s sly smirk. Then the avian hopped forward and stuffed the cupcake into the drake’s slack jawed muzzle. The feast had begun.

The gryphon’s style of feeding was unique. Whether it was the lack of talking or the bird’s endless snuggling of his paunch, Tom found Duncan’s style endearing. “The...umph...the derg hash shertainly taught shoo well…glumph.” Two cupcakes were forced into the drake’s maw during that sentence alone; a testament to the avian’s speed.

Duncan only chirped in return, his feline feet kneading Tom’s ash-colored middle gently. With each cupcake, his belly grew rounder. The feathery ball of fluff alternated between the derg’s belly, neck and maw, paying each their fair share of attention.

In the beginning, Duncan primarily focused on maintaining a constant stream of food into Tom’s gullet. Frosting, sweetened breads, sugar, and sprinkles piled into the reptile’s stomach. The drake could feel his middle begin to tighten after a couple dozen of the rich foods. He’d reached the point where his pudgy form would declare itself comfortably full.

A pleasant, two-foot protrusion filled Tom’s lap, squashing gently against his orange thighs. Duncan paused for a moment to hook his taloned forepaws into the under curve of his subject’s paunch. It squished pleasantly in his claws, drooping over them with pronounced softness. The gryphon appraised the lardy material for a moment more, rubbing his feathered neck against it and briefly burrowing into the drake’s pouch.

“H-hey now!” Tom giggled softly as the fluffball’s feathers tickled his sensitive gut, “That’s mine!”

Duncan poked his head out once more, evidently pleased by the generous squish compressing him against Tom’s sagging middle. Wriggling out, the gryphon grabbed the next tray and set to work.

This time it was éclairs, each practically bursting with custards, frostings and jellies. Duncan made a point of pressing a claw between Tom’s rounded plates and squeezing one of the pastries. Pale orange flab seeping between his scutes made an apt comparison to the tangerine marmalade overflowing the éclair.

“Yeah yeah, very clever you little donut.” Tom smirked and nodded to a chocolate éclair, “That’s you over there.” The bulging drake’s jab was short lived when the bird puffed his feathers and crammed the éclair home. Copious amounts of tang and fruit bulged within Tom’s cheeks, resembling tangerines themselves.

With an ominous grumble, his gut drooped another inch. It was beginning to separate his thighs, yearning for additional space to fill. Duncan giggled at the sight, one of his feline footpads tickling the blubbery bottom of Tom’s overhang teasingly. A forepaw found the drake’s neck rolls, which had gathered into a handsome collar that framed his chin.

Tom’s rolled form quivered in smooth undulations as he shuddered from the tickling, his gut sloshing to and fro with the prodigious amount of food accumulated within. “S-stahp! You can’t do that, you little feathered devil!” The protests were only met with additional tickling, but Duncan inevitably returned to pillowing out his new pouch.

The éclairs dealt the most notable damage to the drake’s waist, issuing quiet groans and gurgles from Tom’s bloated middle. He could feel thick, juicy rolls accruing on his sides. Ones that began to rival the baker who’d trapped him. Then a cool, liquid sensation blossomed along the under curve of his belly, causing Tom to shudder. A smile spread over his muzzle as he realized his blubbery middle was pooling on the bench between his legs.

Chuckling to Duncan, the kind-hearted prisoner nodded to his domed belly, “You do your work well, dear doughball.” Indeed, the leonine avian had done an effective job, as the cool feeling was quickly absorbed by the tire of fat encompassing Tom’s waist.

Several chirps and chitters formed the bird’s response. Duncan padded over and pushed a paw into his victim’s belly. His plumage puffed up in delight as it delved six inches deep without a lick of resistance. The bird nibbled the drake’s blubbery rolls experimentally, as if checking the quality of a cinnamon bun. Apparently the quality test gained the avian’s approval as he moved onto the final portions of the meal.

Tom could feel a distinct heaviness mounting in his midriff as he consumed several hearty portions of sponge cake. Each was saturated with caramel and entombed in a chrysalis of sugar, making them additionally weighty.

Even Duncan handled the sponge cakes with some difficulty, staggering under their heft as he traversed his victim’s voluminous gut.

They seemed to possess a distinct presence upon entering Tom’s cavernous middle. His scutes stretched and creaked, sagging ever lower with each bite. The drake began to feel like he himself resembled a sponge, soaking up additional water and bulging out wider with each moment.

Duncan helped by providing ample rubs to his quarry’s middle, which had now been dutifully bulked to a lavish three feet. His talons prickled the tightened skin, before easing it into a more relaxed state and allowing for the copious layers of flab beneath to settle.

By the time the gryphon shoved the final portion of sponge cake into Tom’s maw, the drake was panting from exertion. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep the feasting up.

Fortunately the end of the feast’s first stage meant a short break. Duncan hopped onto the lizard’s swollen girth, getting a flinch and mewls from his overstuffed victim. Smiling approvingly at the wonderful mound of flab he’d created, the gryphon puffed up his feathers and applied a silk-soft massage to Tom’s middle.

The groans subsided, the panting eased, and the tightness relented as the stretched deposit of flab encompassing the drake’s gut was assuaged. Slowly, Tom found his drum-tight middle relaxing. It was a gradual, but heavenly process, with the exposed under flesh between his scutes softening and bulging around the ashen bands. Duncan’s own pudgy middle squished and circulated over Tom’s own, drawing a warm spot of feathery down with it.

Soon the drake’s gut was reduced to a glorified cushion. One that Duncan took full advantage of by padding around and nibbling with happy squawks. Where before the bird barely sunk an inch into Tom’s middle, he now struggled not to be overcome by pillowy pudge. It came quite close to walking on a cloud.

Tom smiled gently to the bird, his paws yearning to be freed so he could knead the avian’s belly. Instead, he made do by leaning forward and nuzzling the bird’s soft sides. In turn, the drake’s own chest, which had melded into a handsome pair of moobs, squished luxuriously against his swaddled chin. The usual chrome studded collar that Tom wore had been replaced by one composed of rich, orange rolls which warmly merged with the avian’s feathery form.

“You certainly know how to spoil a derg,” Duncan squealed playfully as the drake pressed his snout into the gryphon’s middle, “Even if it was to comfort your own feathery butt.”

Those words caught the avian’s attention as he recalled what he was owed: a plush, dragon pouch to nest in. With an impish chirp, Duncan nuzzled Tom’s neck rolls once more, before turning and burrowing lovingly into the drake’s pouch.

His presence added an extra foot or so to the blubbery reptile’s waistline, but the drake didn’t mind. Duncan curled up and chirped in bliss, kneading the warm,

doughy scales and humming in euphoria. For Tom, it felt like a fuzzy heat source had been applied directly to his middle, squishing against endless rolls of fat to provide generous comfort.

Once the pair were settled, a nearly imperceptible swoop of the kitchen doors sounded. Tom looked up to see a friendly-faced Aaron slither over. The serpent carried nothing but a single, glass goblet filled with viscous, golden liquid.

As he approached the table, the serpent noted the extra bulge in the butcher’s pouch and chuckled. “I doubt even Callum’s could coax that fluffball out,” Aaron sighed, setting the chalice on the table. He rested one violet hand on the curve of Tom’s gut and rubbed it softly, “You holding up well?”

The drake nodded softly, a wide grin spread over his muzzle. “Duncan did a wonderful job, and I’m more than happy to provide a bit of comfort for the little derp.”

“Excellent,” the snake murmured, his coils already beginning to sift around the drake’s voluminous form, “Because the next stage of the feast will induce a substantial amount of additional padding.” With those words, Aaron muttered a brief divination and the concoction within the cup writhed to life, forming a seamless, thick trail of golden-brown liquid. The next stage of the feast had begun.

Slowly, the snake’s coils kneaded and shifted over Tom’s belly, squeezing it tenderly as the length of caramel slithered through the air. It was incredibly hypnotic for the blubbery rebel, weaving its way toward his muzzle while Aaron hummed melodiously. Soft rolls of scales accordioned seamlessly with the violet cables, lulling Tom into a dazed state.

Then the caramel graced his tongue and began slithering down the reptile’s throat at a loving pace. The orange dragon purred and wobbled gently, his ashen scutes jiggling as Aaron effortlessly maintained the flowing ribbon of caramel. Within his heavy stomach, the golden molasses began to coil up, enjoying the cushy support afforded by Tom’s lard-laden midriff.

As the enchanted length of caramel continued coiling inside, Aaron’s sinuous form assuaged the outer layers of his heavy middle. In the cushiony pouch, Duncan could feel the caramel begin to press heavily against Tom’s sides, making his overhand sag even lower. The bird chirped happily and buried his face in the succulent rolls of fat swelling around him.

Each passing moment was dreamy for Tom, whose form dipped and swayed with the tune of the melody. He was lucky the shackles binding him in place were

magic, as his wrists and thighs began to pad out with their own definition. Aaron expertly ran his tail along the length of the orange drake’s swelling legs, which had begun to squash together with added volume.

Underneath his swollen physique, Tom felt his rear round out and bulge with the ripeness of dual, prize winning pumpkins. They cushioned his everlasting expansion, supporting the now abundant coils of caramel snuggled up in his gut.

Aaron gently lifted the drake’s overhang with one coil, gauging its heft with a quick, comforting sway of his coils. ‘Five feet in diameter. A foot and a half of blubber. Approximately 62 pounds of caramel and counting. 189 pounds added altogether. Very lovely definition along the lovehandles and hips. Legs and arms rounding out nicely.’ The serpent placed his paws on the drake’s thick collar, pressing them in deep and squishing the spongy pudge to get an adorable ‘rawr’ from the round-cheeked derg.

A blissful grin struggled to find its way through the grapefruits now forming Tom’s cheeks. He could feel his pillowy middle surge lower, his sides forming abundantly thick rolls that cascaded over his waist. And still more caramel kept coming, curling up within the soft cavern of his gut. Duncan’s feathery presence was almost lost in the pillowy rolls of belly, his purrs swallowed up by the marshmallowy flab engulfing him.

The caramel serpent pressed warmly against the walls of the butcher’s gut, coaxing it to a respectable six feet in diameter. Tom’s lap and legs were now buried under his middle, only supported by Aaron’s coils, which ringed lovingly around the doughy dome. They pressed deeply into the ponderous bulk, finding more and more pale under-flesh swelling through overstrained scutes. The gentle hum provided a luxurious ambience for the fattening reptile, as if easing him deeper into the expansive experience.

With each passing moment, the thick ribbon of caramel curled more and more of itself up within Tom’s gut. His bulk was reaching heavily for the ground now and gentle creaks sounded from the sturdy bench.

Amid his expansion, the drake had begun to notice two circular divots in the bench’s seat. They were faint, but still present. His butt efficiently began to fill them out, and he chuckled to himself upon realizing their origin. Callum had spent a lot of time working on his figure. And now Tom was broaching a similar state. His globular cheeks filled the indentations with ease, suffocating the cushion with their heavy presence. The drake was quite close to overflowing the ruts, but he couldn’t tell as his side obstructed his view. Relaxing once more, the swelling

drake hummed and allowed the caramel to snuggle up in his gut while Aaron’s coils manipulated the malleable bulk from the outside.

From the snake’s point of view, Tom had effortlessly doubled his weight. Now they were close to tripling it. Aaron warmly constricted around his companion’s spherical physique, before gently laying his torso across the curvature of the drake’s belly.

Both purred softly as the spirit indulged by spreading his arms over Tom’s gut and making lardangels over the swollen scutes. The remainder of the caramel entity began to coil itself up within the drake’s stomach, pushing his belly out to a heavy 8 feet. Aaron sighed in contentment as his coils pressed against the staggering weight pushing back at them. Despite the initial softness, gentle creaks and groans could be heard within.

With one final flourish, the serpent ended the caramel spell. “I need to use that more often,” he chuckled, smirking at the dazed and dopey expression on Tom’s flabby muzzle. “It was certainly effective on you.”

The bulging butcher made to nod but found his head weighed down by the tire of flesh anchoring his chins to his chest. Almost no neck existed in the fattened facial features, conveying an exceptionally plush appearance about Tom. His arms had also grown plump with pudge, squishing gently into his ash lovehandles. The same could only be presumed for his legs, but they were currently buried under..

“538 pounds of flab, my dear derg.” Aaron whistled as he poked Tom’s middle, jiggling the cauldron of corpulence approvingly, “Not bad for a night’s work. You’d make an excellent advert for Callum’s confections.” The thought turned his grapefruit cheeks pink, causing Aaron to giggle again and pat his overripe overhang. “Just have to be a wide shot.”

Tom rolled his eyes, “And here I was thinking you were the kind one.” That only caused the snake to laugh harder.

“I am, dear doughball, but I’ll never refrain from good-hearted teasing.”

As Tom made to retort, a ticklish sensation along the underside of his gut cropped up. Duncan wiggled within his pouch softly, now thoroughly buried by the upper shelf of his belly folding over itself. The bird looked ridiculously pleased by the amount of padding surrounding him, a wide grin scrawled along the avian’s beak.

Aaron smiled at the sight, scritching the gryphon’s ears from where they poked out of the hefty nest. “Or perhaps you’ll be our new pet handler. Duncan certainly approves.” The avian squawked in agreement.

“As flattering as that is, I think I’ll stick with being a butcher,” Tom squeezed his bulk with an extensive sigh, “When I can walk that is.”

Another round of laughs and cackling chirps danced through the air, as Duncan bedded back down in the pouch and Aaron’s coils tightened their loving hold on his orange-grey stomach. “That’ll be awhile longer, I’m afraid.” The snake nodded over the counter, “You still have one final trial to get through, and Callum’s quite dedicated when it comes to following through with a prank.”

Tom took the news silently. Only his gut gave off any reaction as it growled and gurgled from the ridiculous amount of food it’d have to process. He was left with an image of the blubbery baker smirking to him as they disappeared into the back room to begin preparing. And it was almost time for Callum to bring it out.

It was when the faint clatter behind the counter went silent that Tom knew the baker was ready. He kneaded the blubbery deposits under his arms apprehensively. Then a soft ‘thunk’ followed by some shuffling trickled out of the door between the two rooms. Another ‘thunk’ and finally a rolling sound, as if something were being pushed on a cart.

Tom’s paws dug deeper into his side flab, while Aaron effortlessly worked out any tension in the pudge with his coils. All eyes were drawn to the kitchen entrance.

The squeaking wheels of the cart grew louder. A shadow built up around the light cast through the doorframe. No one spoke, though Aaron bore a wide grin. He could guess what the baker had prepared.

Another grunt passed through the walls. Finally Callum and his cart trundled into view. The drake was pushing an almighty cake atop a groaning platter, causing Tom to gasp softly. It was composed of three thick layers, each a foot and a half thick with the bottom being twice that in diameter.

“Holy shhhhuugar cubes,” Tom looked from the cake to its proud creator, “How in the world am I supposed to eat that thing?”

Callum smirked, “That’s for me to worry about.” He slapped his companion’s gut with a soft whistle, nodding to Aaron approvingly, “You did some quality work on this guy. He looks like a jack’o’latern.” The baker jiggled Tom’s rolls heartily, humming from the wonderful ripples it generated.

An imperious squawk suddenly caused Callum to jump. There was much wiggling and wobbling along the under curve of Tom’s belly before a small, feathered head popped out from the drake’s pouch. Duncan glared at his bemused owner, before grabbing a portion of Tom’s gut and pointing to himself adamantly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Callum waved at the bird, “I suppose you helped a little.” Tom felt a ticklish sensation squish within his pouch as the gryphon began puffing his feathers up indignantly. “Alright! You helped plenty! Don’t go getting your feathers all mussed,” the baker grinned to the mound of orange next to him, “Thanks for letting him feel useful for a little while.”

More grumbling drifted up from over the curvature of Tom’s gut, but Duncan disappeared back into the pouch. “He’s not gonna go berserk or anything? The last time I was here..” Tom shivered.

Aaron gently kneaded the orange dragon’s stomach and sides, “I’ll ensure Callum’s the only one stuffing you from this point onward.” He used the tip of his tail to knead the bulge of feathers within Tom’s pouch, causing the grumbling to subside to a mellow purr.

The blubbery butcher smiled in relief, before turning to Callum, who’d already begun to slice into the cake. It was colored endless shades of brown, running from light caramel to an almost midnight-dark-chocolate. Callum smirked as he watched his companion’s wide, green eyes take in the staggering sight.

“Approximately twenty different layers of frosting for you to enjoy,” Callum sliced into the cake with a large knife, grunting from the effort. “And on the inside,” he slid out a wedge of the confection, revealing several inches of frosting that ended in a rich brown middle, “Simple, classic chocolate with accents of orange, raspberry, and strawberry.”

To Tom, the slivers of fruit resembled gems in an impossibly dark earth. With the outer strata composed of ridiculously thick frosting, the entire cake seemed to possess an unfathomable mass. And now that mass was intended for his gut. Callum was already finished prepping the first slice, the baker grinning as they leaned against his blubbery middle to offer the first portion. Tom opened his heavy maw and accepted the dense confection. The final stage of the feast had commenced.

Unlike Duncan, Callum had no intent on acquiring a comfy nest, and unlike Aaron, he had no desire to hum a lullaby. Though Aaron still kept the ambient tune going to comfort Tom’s swollen form, all the baker wanted was to ensure

expansion. He planned to accomplish it by stuffing every last portion of the cake into the orange drake’s maw, regardless of their present size.

Tom worked through the cake, which had the consistency of cement sludge thanks to impressive amount of calories packed into it. His gut presently pushed up high and heavy against the lip of the booth, the overhang spreading further and further across the surface. Callum removed the next wedge, smirking wide as he turned to his captive.

“Open wide, dear drake.” When Tom complied, this portion was offered more forcefully. The baker shoved a triangle the size of his head into the drake’s maw. Tom’s cheeks bulged briefly as they struggled to contain the quantity of cake. His jaw worked overtime, compressing the staircase of chins against a set of prodigious moobs.

As the slab of swollen reptile struggled to get the confection down, Callum gripped one of his lusciously formed lovehandles. The blubber seemed to overflow his paws, sagging handsomely along the curvature of Tom’s butt and framing two very well-padded thighs. “Damn, you’re gonna break my bench at this rate,” the baker chuckled, reaching back to snag the next slice, “It’s a good thing our coiled friend is supporting you.”

Aaron nodded briefly in recognition, offering a warm smile to Tom and shifting the coils around under the warm curves of fat.

The two briefly exchanged smiles, before another wedge of earthen cake filled Tom’s vision. “C’mon now,” Callum chided, leaning softly against his right shoulder, “Only a couple hundred pounds left.”

“Erf...if you say so...mmmph,” Tom’s voice was cut off by the next portion of cake, the chocolate overriding his senses once more. Despite the considerable weight loaded into his belly, the butcher could still appreciate the fruity tang mixed in with the chocolate. It was simple, but ultimately satisfying. Precisely what Callum aimed for in his feeding.

The silver drake sliced winches off the cake in quicker and quicker fashion. He focused more on teasing and slapping Tom’s supple overhang. “I’ll always cherish this moment when you come waltzing into my bakery, chubby and light footed, teasing me with the ‘butcher’s build.’” Callum’s teasing was good-natured, referring to the divergence between the average build of a baker and a butcher.

They’d engaged in mutually warmhearted banter whenever one visited the other’s shop. Tom was notably more mobile, given the physical taxation behind his

profession. Callum was far softer and wider, backed by his claim to maintain a baker’s image. While the butcher teased the baker for being far heftier and slower, the baker promised his was far comfier and vowed retribution on his chubby companion.

And now that day of reckoning was here. Callum was molding his friend into a paragon of the draconic doughball image. Each portion of cake added a little more flesh into Tom’s thighs, bringing his belly lower to the ground and deepening the crevices between his orange rolls. The gradual augmentation of flab was accompanied by endless commentary on Callum’s part as he poked, jiggled, and kneaded his friend’s gut into a swollen mass, 10 feet in diameter.

“We’re getting there, pumpkin, don’t worry.” Callum pinched one of Tom’s cheeks, which resembled a deflated basketball. He shoved yet another piece down the captive’s gullet, “And by then you’ll be the comfiest butcher bed in the province.”

Tom turned a soft red as his cheek squished easily in his friend’s grey paw. No response came with the constant influx of cake, allowing Callum an uninterrupted monologue concerning his weight.

The baker placed both paws on the underside of the round reptile’s ashen side roll and lifted, “Damn, that’s even more than I was expecting. Perhaps it’s the feathered cargo you carry in your pouch.”

A soft rustle followed by a muffled squawk pierced the voluminous layers of dragon pudge. Tom’s gut barely wobbled under the movement. “Or perhaps not,” Callum mused, propping an elbow that automatically sank into the depths of dough, “Aaron, would you mind giving us an update?”

The snake nodded, his coils tightening softly around Tom’s pillowy middle for a moment. Gentle waves of comfort radiated in the layers of scales, before the spirit smiled and patted the butcher’s belly approvingly. “712 pounds of newly acquired blubber, not counting his initial weight. 892 pounds in total. A gut in excess of 10 feet in diameter and…” Aaron trailed off to snuggle the mound of flabby derg, “The epitome of snuggable material.”

Callum whistled, running his paws along the soft, ashen scutes of his companion before tickling Tom’s nonexistent neck. “Respectable weight for any drake, even a baker at this stage,” he turned to find roughly half the cake still remaining, “Let’s see if we can break quadruple digits or, at the very least,” Callum patted the bulbous domes forming Tom’s rear, “This bench.”

Another pink blush cropped up on the hefty lizard’s cheeks, but it was almost immediately replaced by a startled ‘ummph!’ as Callum shoved another portion of cake into his maw. Tom sighed heavily and began working through the rich foods once more.

Deep within the drake’s pouch, Duncan found himself bundled more and more against the seemingly endless layers of flab. A hard, most unwelcome surface greeted one feathered side by the time his heavy host had worked through 3/4s of the cake. The bird squawked softly, before realizing it was the smooth, wooden floor of the bakery. Tom had expanded far enough to apply steady, sluggish weight to the floor with his overhang.

Duncan was annoyed at first, but then stream of cake was marbling Tom’s figure with extra adipose at every curve. Before long, the gryphon was compressed in a wonderful cocoon of scaly pudge over 10 feet thick. Aaron had sensed similar accentuation as his coils were burdened by the mounting pudge encompassing them. The rate of expansion was almost fluid at this point, pushing against the pair softly. As if a very large, phenomenally heavy balloon was being filled by a fire hydrant.

While Tom was preoccupied with the endless chunks of chocolate being crammed into his stubby muzzle, Callum marveled at his handiwork. “Sweet swells of dragon lard, you can put away a cake,” he tittered, jostling the luxurious mound of belly before him. Tom ‘urped’ lightly as his view jiggled softly from the rocking, “We’re gonna need a crane to lift you out of here, because I doubt Aaron would be able to move this much weight.”

The silver baker slapped the bloated behemoth again, before sending another portion of cake sliding down his gullet. Tom could only sigh and groan as his physique was overburdened with the luxurious rolls of lard.

Eventually, the pumpkin mass of a drake was able to sigh in relief as the final wedge of cake was stuffed in. He chewed it methodically, stomach now swollen to such an extent that it managed to envelope the counter with its overhang. The bench creaked alarmingly as Tom’s back rolls and bulbous rear overflowed it. Callum nodded to Aaron with a smirk, the spirit releasing the butcher’s cylindrical arms from their snares.

Almost immediately the flabby limbs popped up to ninety-degree angles, cushioned by the rings of heft snuggled to Tom’s sides. The bench uttered another groan with every minute shift in the colossal mass resting upon it. Aaron could sense the sturdy wooden structure was nearing its final moments of integrity. He

tightened his hold on the blubbery derg, unable to refrain from enjoying the squish Tom provided.

Not a second later, the bench whispered its final goodbye and cracked thunderously down the middle. Tom yelped as his ample derriere was pelted with pieces of wood. Expecting to be sent crashing under waves of belly, the orange drake shut his eyes. (Though his cheeks already blocked his vision quite well). When no sudden descent claimed the drake’s sagging folds, Tom popped an eye open. Aaron smiled back, forming a soft nest for the globe of scales. “You didn’t think I’d allow any harm to come to such a wonderful specimen of suppleness, did you?” The snake continued cuddling the pumpkin of a reptile, while the pumpkin himself struggled to form a response.

Instead, Callum butted in by performing a belly flop that was deceptively graceful for his size. He landed squarely on Tom’s gut, eliciting a satisfying ‘oof!’ “I believe I did plenty of harm, thank you very much.” The baker purred and hugged a rich oval of ashen-scutes to himself, “It’s like a big orange-flavored jelly roll.”

Aaron scoffed at the display, before placing his hands on either sides of Tom’s neck and kneading gently. “Like I said,” he whispered, “No true harm will come to you.”

The dragon giggled, eyeing Callum who was enjoying the novelty of a warm scaly bed that wasn’t himself. “Well, I hardly think any harm can penetrate this much pudge,” Tom hummed softly; enjoying the manner in which Aaron’s hands gripped and rolled his neck.

“Speaking of said pudge, how much does this..” Callum pressed his paws deep into his friend’s belly, smirking as they sunk up to the elbow with no resistance, “Magnificent dollop of derg equate to?”

The baker resumed kneading the butcher’s middle, tracing his claws lightly over Tom’s scutes and tickling at the soft-orange under flesh.

Both drakes looked to Aaron curiously, who focused and sent another wave of warmth through the lardy lizard’s form. Not a word was spoken as the final tally came up, no doubt sporting heavy, magical numbers. The spirit smirked and returned to kneading Tom’s soft shoulders, while Callum alternated between gripping handles of pudge and nuzzling his companion’s chest.

“Approximately 922 pounds of pudge have been added, not including Tom’s initial weight.” The snake sank a finger into the drake’s side, getting a giggle in response. “25 inches of adipose have built up along his sides, twice that in the rear,

and,” Aaron smiled, patting the drake’s colossus of a gut, “A little over 12 feet of girth to the main attraction.”

Callum whistled at the numbers, continuing to sift his arms through the abundant layers of flab. Grinning to the tub of dragon lard, he murred as his own gut sank effortlessly into Tom’s. Both were encompassed in plentiful amounts of flab, but Callum had the advantage of mobility.

Slipping off the mound of derg, he snugged his tail to Tom’s outer curve and gently trailed it in a soft arch. “So you weight 180 on a healthy day, 220 if you cheat which is more likely,” Callum stopped directly opposite his friend, “Congrats on breaking 1,100 fatass.”

“1,142 to be precise,” Aaron echoed.

“Even better,” Callum giggled, drawing his claws down gently to the soft under curve of Tom’s gut. The orange drake shivered and blushed, humming as Aaron effortlessly caressed his heavy upper body. Kneeling on one thick thigh, the baker tapped on the bulge snuggled against the drake’s thick pouch.

A bit of soft wriggling transpired, before Duncan popped his head out of the wavy line now forming Tom’s pouch slit. His feathers were ruffled and eyes glazed.

Callum giggled and scritched the bird’s ears, getting a soft purr in return. “I don’t think it even makes a difference to you, derpy bird.” The gryphon squawked once, and then dove back into the warm, doughy depths. Righting himself up once more, the baker continued on, his tail kneading the butcher’s supple middle once more.

Once he came in line with the point where smooth gut gave way to generously rolled lovehandles, he stopped. With another chuckle, the drake hefted the foot thick handle and rolled it through his paws. “You are one hefty butcher, bud. Perfect for my bed.”

“Is that right?” Tom quipped, before promptly ‘oof’-ing once more as Callum clambered up his sides, using the side rolls as a ladder.

“Yep, get used to it, doughball. You aren’t going anywhere for awhile.” The baker curled up with another wicked chuckle and sank into the layered depths.

Tom looked up to Aaron questioningly, only to be greeted with a similarly clueless grin. “Like the cerulean doughball said, you aren’t going anywhere for awhile.” The snake yawned, “Plus it’s getting quite late and you seem incredibly comfortable.”

“But...I can’t...I’m not…” Tom tried to reason with the serpent, who’d laid himself along the blubbery derg’s upper stomach and buried their snout in Callum’s gut. Then he stopped himself. What was the point in arguing? Why was he even trying too? With a final sigh, Tom rested his head against his neck collar and hummed. It truly was quite comfortable.