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Story / Fat Furs
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More from furrific1
Starring:
dracosyndrome's character Boulder
Also staring:
furrific1 as himself
I sat at my dining room table and looked confused.
T still angrily glared at me. He yelled, “Do I have to tell your fat ass again?” He then roared, “GIT!”
I stood as quick as possible and nervously asked, “Get what?”
He calmly clarified, “GIT showered and GIT dressed.”
“And then what?” I questioned.
T looked around my apartment. Apparently, he didn’t see what he wanted, so he answered, “Then, GIT to my car.”
“Why?” I suspiciously asked.
“That’s none of your concern,” my tiger friend replied, “I’ll be in the car.” T then walked to my door and leaves.
Curious as to what his plans were, I got to showering then dressing. I went to his car where I saw him talking to himself, no doubt planning what’s to come. I opened the quickly passenger door. He immediately stopped talking. He said nothing to me as he drove away from my apartment building.
T noticed the sweat suit I wore and said, “That’s a good choice in clothes.”
“It’s the only choice I had actually. I can’t fit anything else in my closet,” I told him.
“That will all change soon,” he replied with a half smile.
“I’m guessing for the both of us,” I wondered.
“Maybe, but you need not worry about that,” T said, “Your only concern now is to get back in shape and return to modeling.”
I don’t respond. I sat quietly as he drove. My belly growled loudly. I looked at the tiger. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead. I kept wondering where we were going. T drove for nearly 5 miles. He then stopped in front of a track.
T looked at me and said, “GIT out of the car, Fatty.”
I stepped out of the car, looked at lengthy track, and asked, “How many times do we have to run around that?”
“We?” T replied, “What’s all this ‘we’ business?”
I looked at him and finally get it. I then wondered, “Okay. How many times do I have to run around that?”
“None,” my new fitness trainer replied, “We’re not even using the track, but you will be running.”
“Running where?” I asked.
“Back to your apartment,” T answered, “And I will follow close behind you. If you stop, I will shove my car up …”
“Alright. Alright. I get it,” I said, “But don’t you think that this is a bit too extreme.”
“Like your weight gain?” T replied. He then told me to, “Stand in the middle of the street.”
I waited for the traffic to clear then did what he said. I looked over to Ts car and I saw him eating a big bag of chips. “Ready,” I shout.
“You better be,” T responded with his mouth full. He started the car and drove right at me.
I turned around and started to run for my life. I ran around a corner. T followed. I ran onto the sidewalk. T followed. I ran into a park of kids at play. T honked his horn repeatedly as he followed. I ran for my life for nearly a mile. Fatigue started to set in. My running pace then started to decrease. T still followed. He tapped me with his bumper when he finally caught up to me. I didn’t care. I fainted atop the hood of his car and dented it. T stopped the car.
He got out, walked over to me and said, “See, that’s what you get for not owning a treadmill. Now, I bet you’re going to buy one tomorrow.”
I wearily nodded.
T helps me to get inside his car and said, “And you’re paying for denting my hood.”
Tired, I nodded then fell to sleep.
The next day, I didn’t want to let T into my place, but I then remembered that I gave him a key. My new treadmill was still yet to arrive.
That didn’t stop T from conducting his training. He gives me a new pedometer and says, “A healthy fur does 10,000 steps each day; however, you’re not healthy anymore, so you need to do 100,000 steps each day. Until your treadmill gets here, you will run in place here in the kitchen while I cleanse your refrigerator and cabinets of any confectionary temptation.”
“You’re gonna throw away all of my junk food?” I asked sadly.
“Who said anything about throwing it all away?” my tiger friend grins, “I’m just gonna, how you say, repossess it.” He patted his belly. “Now start running.”
I jogged in place. I made a loud thump with each step. Luckily, my neighbor downstairs had already left for work. Meanwhile, T opens all of my cabinets and fridge and placed everything onto the table. I could not believe I had that much junk food. Then again, I don’t think some of it didn’t ‘qualify’ as junk. Anywho, I began to sweat as I jogged, with every part of my flabby frame jiggled. As the perspiration poured, T moved on to emptying my cabinets. I never realized I had so much junk food and snacks. T finally emptied the cabinets. A huge pile of junk food sat atop the entire table.
T sighed, rubbed his belly, pulled up a chair, and sat to the table. He reached for a pound cake and devoured it in seconds. He then grabbed my remaining loaf of bread and began to make luncheon meat sandwiches, eating one as he made the next. I couldn’t help but watch in awe as to how much this tiger puts away in his gut. I never really saw it, since he was more focused on feeding me.
An hour passed and he was still steadily stuffing his stomach. I continue to jog in place, even though I was dog tired. I continued only because I wanted to see exactly he would eat before he gave up. I thought that after he quit, then I would too. That was a bad idea, for T kept on eating as the hours passed. His belly grew and grew. The round massive gut pushed T back about a foot in his chair from the table. Yet he still managed to show pawfuls of food into his greed maw. As the table emptied, he started to slow his eating pace. With his gut now touching the floor, I knew he’d surrender soon. Watching this feasting feat finally distracted me from jogging. I stop altogether when I see that he only has a dozen of glazed donuts left.
“I don’t hear your paws hitting the floor,” T said with his maw full.
“Oh,” I said as I resumed jogging in place. My tongue now in a constant pant.
He turned his flabby face to me and said, “I see that you’re getting tired.”
I nodded.
“Okay, after I finish eating, you can take a break,” T told me, “Besides, I’m gonna need a nap after this.”
I continued to jog.
T opens the donuts and begins to eat them. One by one, he slowly chews them.
“Would you hurry it up?” I said angrily.
“Oh yeah. My bad,” T apologizes as he increased his eating speed. After he finished, he belched really loud for about ten seconds. He went to stand and instantly fell to the floor from his belly’s weight. He shrugged his shoulders and instantly fell to sleep right there.
I stopped jogging and joined him on the floor, resting against his gargantuan gut.
We wake the next day when the treadmill finally arrives. To both of our surprise, I look to have lost a few pounds while Ts gut has nearly returned to its regular size, now only slightly bigger than the day before. After we set up the treadmill, Ts stomach growls. We then realized that T had already eaten everything in the house. We decided to go to a local market. T drove while I jogged ahead of the car. We buy some healthier foods, like I used to buy before I got fat. T purchased more snacks. We then take the long way home, to make me exercise more and t could eat some of his snacks.
While working out under Ts guide, I found myself losing more and more fat. After a week of train, I lost 20lbs. Weight loss only increased as time went on. After 2 weeks, T decided I need to cut to so he reintroduced me to my weights and his new regimen plan. I tell ya. For a fat guy, he knew his stuff.
After 3 months, I was nearly fit enough to return to work. I showed my progress to my agent Lenny and it dumbfounded him. He demanded to meet my trainer. It bewildered him more to see that it was a guy now way fatter than me. T just sat in a chair. He now weighed over 600 pounds. He clothes struggled to contain his girth.
“This is your trainer?” Lenny wondered.
“Yes he is,” I replied.
“Hi,” T said while struggling to breathe.
“You have got to be kidding me,” my agent goes, “How is this possible? No offense, but you look as if you have no understanding for what exercise is.”
“May I?” I asked T.
T mustered the strength to nod.
“Ya see Lenny, T here did something that I had thought was impossible,” I explained, “He inadvertently transferred my overweightedness to himself.”
“WHAT?” goes Lenny, “I mean, how is that possible?”
“Haven’t you been following along?” I said to my agent, “Anyway, you can see that it’s is working. I’m almost at my fighting weight of 200lbs.”
Lenny turned to T and asked him, “Do you know how much you had to gain?”
T breathfully responded, “I think I put on about 350 pounds.”
The number shocked my agent and he said, “So Boulder had to lose 350lbs?”
“Not exactly,” I said, “It seemed that watching him gain weight was motivation enough for me to lose my weight.”
“Huh?” went Lenny, “You’re weird, but it’s whatever works that matters.” He pinches a bit of flab that remained on the midsection of my massive musclar body and said, “You just tighten that up some and I’ll see if I can get you to working as soon as next week.” Lenny then left my apartment.
Ts belly howled and he asked, “Got anything to eat?”
Nowadays, I have returned to posing in front of cameras. I also started an acting career, so to speak. I starred in a few television commercials, which may lead to something bigger. Speaking of something bigger, my best friend T had got sick of being virtually immobile. He decided to lose some weight too, thus returning to being the happy fat guy, not the depressed one. I trained him almost like he trained. Unfortunately, I did put on a few pounds. Fortunately though, T joined with me and we launch and ad campaign for huskier guys modeling plus sized swim suits. Lenny supported us 100% and it was success. It increased greater acceptance for the fat fur community.
THE END!
dracosyndrome's character BoulderAlso staring:
furrific1 as himselfI sat at my dining room table and looked confused.
T still angrily glared at me. He yelled, “Do I have to tell your fat ass again?” He then roared, “GIT!”
I stood as quick as possible and nervously asked, “Get what?”
He calmly clarified, “GIT showered and GIT dressed.”
“And then what?” I questioned.
T looked around my apartment. Apparently, he didn’t see what he wanted, so he answered, “Then, GIT to my car.”
“Why?” I suspiciously asked.
“That’s none of your concern,” my tiger friend replied, “I’ll be in the car.” T then walked to my door and leaves.
Curious as to what his plans were, I got to showering then dressing. I went to his car where I saw him talking to himself, no doubt planning what’s to come. I opened the quickly passenger door. He immediately stopped talking. He said nothing to me as he drove away from my apartment building.
T noticed the sweat suit I wore and said, “That’s a good choice in clothes.”
“It’s the only choice I had actually. I can’t fit anything else in my closet,” I told him.
“That will all change soon,” he replied with a half smile.
“I’m guessing for the both of us,” I wondered.
“Maybe, but you need not worry about that,” T said, “Your only concern now is to get back in shape and return to modeling.”
I don’t respond. I sat quietly as he drove. My belly growled loudly. I looked at the tiger. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead. I kept wondering where we were going. T drove for nearly 5 miles. He then stopped in front of a track.
T looked at me and said, “GIT out of the car, Fatty.”
I stepped out of the car, looked at lengthy track, and asked, “How many times do we have to run around that?”
“We?” T replied, “What’s all this ‘we’ business?”
I looked at him and finally get it. I then wondered, “Okay. How many times do I have to run around that?”
“None,” my new fitness trainer replied, “We’re not even using the track, but you will be running.”
“Running where?” I asked.
“Back to your apartment,” T answered, “And I will follow close behind you. If you stop, I will shove my car up …”
“Alright. Alright. I get it,” I said, “But don’t you think that this is a bit too extreme.”
“Like your weight gain?” T replied. He then told me to, “Stand in the middle of the street.”
I waited for the traffic to clear then did what he said. I looked over to Ts car and I saw him eating a big bag of chips. “Ready,” I shout.
“You better be,” T responded with his mouth full. He started the car and drove right at me.
I turned around and started to run for my life. I ran around a corner. T followed. I ran onto the sidewalk. T followed. I ran into a park of kids at play. T honked his horn repeatedly as he followed. I ran for my life for nearly a mile. Fatigue started to set in. My running pace then started to decrease. T still followed. He tapped me with his bumper when he finally caught up to me. I didn’t care. I fainted atop the hood of his car and dented it. T stopped the car.
He got out, walked over to me and said, “See, that’s what you get for not owning a treadmill. Now, I bet you’re going to buy one tomorrow.”
I wearily nodded.
T helps me to get inside his car and said, “And you’re paying for denting my hood.”
Tired, I nodded then fell to sleep.
The next day, I didn’t want to let T into my place, but I then remembered that I gave him a key. My new treadmill was still yet to arrive.
That didn’t stop T from conducting his training. He gives me a new pedometer and says, “A healthy fur does 10,000 steps each day; however, you’re not healthy anymore, so you need to do 100,000 steps each day. Until your treadmill gets here, you will run in place here in the kitchen while I cleanse your refrigerator and cabinets of any confectionary temptation.”
“You’re gonna throw away all of my junk food?” I asked sadly.
“Who said anything about throwing it all away?” my tiger friend grins, “I’m just gonna, how you say, repossess it.” He patted his belly. “Now start running.”
I jogged in place. I made a loud thump with each step. Luckily, my neighbor downstairs had already left for work. Meanwhile, T opens all of my cabinets and fridge and placed everything onto the table. I could not believe I had that much junk food. Then again, I don’t think some of it didn’t ‘qualify’ as junk. Anywho, I began to sweat as I jogged, with every part of my flabby frame jiggled. As the perspiration poured, T moved on to emptying my cabinets. I never realized I had so much junk food and snacks. T finally emptied the cabinets. A huge pile of junk food sat atop the entire table.
T sighed, rubbed his belly, pulled up a chair, and sat to the table. He reached for a pound cake and devoured it in seconds. He then grabbed my remaining loaf of bread and began to make luncheon meat sandwiches, eating one as he made the next. I couldn’t help but watch in awe as to how much this tiger puts away in his gut. I never really saw it, since he was more focused on feeding me.
An hour passed and he was still steadily stuffing his stomach. I continue to jog in place, even though I was dog tired. I continued only because I wanted to see exactly he would eat before he gave up. I thought that after he quit, then I would too. That was a bad idea, for T kept on eating as the hours passed. His belly grew and grew. The round massive gut pushed T back about a foot in his chair from the table. Yet he still managed to show pawfuls of food into his greed maw. As the table emptied, he started to slow his eating pace. With his gut now touching the floor, I knew he’d surrender soon. Watching this feasting feat finally distracted me from jogging. I stop altogether when I see that he only has a dozen of glazed donuts left.
“I don’t hear your paws hitting the floor,” T said with his maw full.
“Oh,” I said as I resumed jogging in place. My tongue now in a constant pant.
He turned his flabby face to me and said, “I see that you’re getting tired.”
I nodded.
“Okay, after I finish eating, you can take a break,” T told me, “Besides, I’m gonna need a nap after this.”
I continued to jog.
T opens the donuts and begins to eat them. One by one, he slowly chews them.
“Would you hurry it up?” I said angrily.
“Oh yeah. My bad,” T apologizes as he increased his eating speed. After he finished, he belched really loud for about ten seconds. He went to stand and instantly fell to the floor from his belly’s weight. He shrugged his shoulders and instantly fell to sleep right there.
I stopped jogging and joined him on the floor, resting against his gargantuan gut.
We wake the next day when the treadmill finally arrives. To both of our surprise, I look to have lost a few pounds while Ts gut has nearly returned to its regular size, now only slightly bigger than the day before. After we set up the treadmill, Ts stomach growls. We then realized that T had already eaten everything in the house. We decided to go to a local market. T drove while I jogged ahead of the car. We buy some healthier foods, like I used to buy before I got fat. T purchased more snacks. We then take the long way home, to make me exercise more and t could eat some of his snacks.
While working out under Ts guide, I found myself losing more and more fat. After a week of train, I lost 20lbs. Weight loss only increased as time went on. After 2 weeks, T decided I need to cut to so he reintroduced me to my weights and his new regimen plan. I tell ya. For a fat guy, he knew his stuff.
After 3 months, I was nearly fit enough to return to work. I showed my progress to my agent Lenny and it dumbfounded him. He demanded to meet my trainer. It bewildered him more to see that it was a guy now way fatter than me. T just sat in a chair. He now weighed over 600 pounds. He clothes struggled to contain his girth.
“This is your trainer?” Lenny wondered.
“Yes he is,” I replied.
“Hi,” T said while struggling to breathe.
“You have got to be kidding me,” my agent goes, “How is this possible? No offense, but you look as if you have no understanding for what exercise is.”
“May I?” I asked T.
T mustered the strength to nod.
“Ya see Lenny, T here did something that I had thought was impossible,” I explained, “He inadvertently transferred my overweightedness to himself.”
“WHAT?” goes Lenny, “I mean, how is that possible?”
“Haven’t you been following along?” I said to my agent, “Anyway, you can see that it’s is working. I’m almost at my fighting weight of 200lbs.”
Lenny turned to T and asked him, “Do you know how much you had to gain?”
T breathfully responded, “I think I put on about 350 pounds.”
The number shocked my agent and he said, “So Boulder had to lose 350lbs?”
“Not exactly,” I said, “It seemed that watching him gain weight was motivation enough for me to lose my weight.”
“Huh?” went Lenny, “You’re weird, but it’s whatever works that matters.” He pinches a bit of flab that remained on the midsection of my massive musclar body and said, “You just tighten that up some and I’ll see if I can get you to working as soon as next week.” Lenny then left my apartment.
Ts belly howled and he asked, “Got anything to eat?”
Nowadays, I have returned to posing in front of cameras. I also started an acting career, so to speak. I starred in a few television commercials, which may lead to something bigger. Speaking of something bigger, my best friend T had got sick of being virtually immobile. He decided to lose some weight too, thus returning to being the happy fat guy, not the depressed one. I trained him almost like he trained. Unfortunately, I did put on a few pounds. Fortunately though, T joined with me and we launch and ad campaign for huskier guys modeling plus sized swim suits. Lenny supported us 100% and it was success. It increased greater acceptance for the fat fur community.
THE END!
Category Story / Fat Furs
Species Mammal (Other)
Size 50 x 50px
File Size 16.2 kB
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