Something I did on a whim yesterday while resting between projects. It isn't my best work, but enjoy.

Waffle is  gil

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Waffle felt the warmth of the fire soaking into his bones. It pleased him to watch the gentle flicker of its reds and yellows, and the dance of sparks and embers, to hear the logs crackling in his ears as he sank into a comfortable chair many times too large for himself, while Toriel tended to the ashen wood with a worn down poker. The cat purred softly, his eyelids heavy, his belly full with butterscotch-cinnamon pie.

It was the end of another perfect day – a day that began as it always has, with Toriel coming to his room, tip-toeing to his side, and waking him with a kiss to his cheek. Her heavy feet and the smell of cinnamon were enough to stir him from his slumber, but he appreciated the gesture, and always lay still for her, only moving for her when she finished her daily ritual. He could swear her lips were coming closer to his with each passing day. She smelled so good to him then. She always did. They would then eat breakfast together, sometimes with him in her lap, oftentimes sharing the same hearty meal. Her lap was so warm, so comforting, even if he always sank between her legs, making the task of feeding himself near impossible by the end. The goat mother was so much bigger than him, looming over him, as if she were a giantess. He was sure she was of normal size – if a bit on the plump side – it was just that he was so small. The tips of his ears came only to her hips, his skinny body less than the width of her ample thigh. He did not mind feeling so small; in fact, he relished taking on the role of her child, being led by the hand when they took their walks through the underground, sitting next to her at the table with several books stacked beneath him as she taught him math, purring as she scratched behind the ear with a finger whenever he got the correct answer. Time soared as he spent the day with her, tending to her flower beds; laughing at her puns, and hearing her laughter when he made one of his own; helping her make dinner, and helping her finish off the leftovers. They have just finished dessert. It will soon be time for a bedtime story.

The feline's eyes wavered from the flames to Toriel's backside as she bent forward ever so slightly, still tending to the charred logs. He tried to look anywhere other than the purple frock that clung so tightly to her body, leaving little to his imagination as the shadows danced with her luscious curves. All the butterscotch-cinnamon pies they shared went to the right places, and made her thicker as the weeks went by. He dare not tell her that, for fear she'd take it the wrong way, or worse, she'd let up on the sweets.

She set the poker aside at last, and stood her full height, walking away from the fire. He watched her roll down the long white sleeves of her dress before she took a book from the shelf, turned back to him, smiling her warm, motherly smile as she returned to her chair, that towering body of hers filling more of his view with her every step. One hand was enough to lift him when her fingers grasped his waist and gently pulled up, allowing him to defy gravity for the moment it took her to regain her rightful place in her seat, setting him, and the book, on her lap afterwards.

"Are you comfortable, my child?" asked Toriel, once she settled in and took a breath.

"Yes, mother," Waffle answered, growing embarrassed when the word 'mother' slipped through his lips. His felt the back of his head rising with her chest when she, too, heard that word. Her lips sucked in air, and then exhaled, sounding pleased with him as she sighed.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of, dear. It only means that you love your mother very much." A wide palm touched the top of his head, her thick fingers grazing his twitching ears and darkening cheeks. "And I love you just as much, my child."

The cat kissed the tip of her clawed finger when it brushed his lips. It felt so soft against his mouth, just like the rest of her.

Toriel donned her reading glasses, and then opened the book. "Shall we pick up where we left off, then?"

Waffle nodded, and let his body sink into the softness of the goat mother's stomach, while his head lay cradled in the warmth of her bosom. His eyelids grew heavier. Sitting there felt better than any bed he had ever slept on. It took all of his willpower to keep himself from yawning, to keep his eyes open, to keep himself from falling asleep in her tender embrace and letting the moment slip away. He would give anything to sleep with her for just one night, lost in her snow white fur, snuggling her softness, stuck between her, and the sheet that was her dress.

He breathed through his nose. He couldn't concentrate on the story anymore, or her words as his mind wandered, eyes glazing over the letters on the pages while he lost himself to her. He couldn't hear the words so much as he listened to the sounds she made while speaking - the gentleness of her speech; her slow, sing-song cadence; the rise and fall of her chest - how her breath didn't stifle the flow of air; the touch of her tongue to her lips whenever she paused to turn the page. She had storytelling down to an art, and he was her audience of one.

His stomach began to grumble. He put his hand on top of hers, pretending to listen to her story, hoping it would be enough to convince her to continue. His looked so small, childlike, compared to hers. It took two of his fingers to match the width of one of hers, yet hers were so delicate in how they handled him. Their fur brushed against one another, black on white, as his fingers slid down her hand, looking even smaller. For the briefest moment, everything about her seemed so much bigger then, so much wider, softer. He couldn't place the feeling as he stared at his hand, and then hers, wondering why hers looked even bigger. Even the clothing that clung tightly to his stomach from all the pies and sweets she fed him felt a bit loose, though not as much as it did on the day they first met. His other hand slipped under his shirt, and pinched his stomach. All the pudgy softness was still there, fortunately.

Toriel's voice trailed off. She stopped reading. "Is something wrong, my child?"

Waffle froze. He pulled his hand from under his shirt, letting it rest on top his stomach as he shook his head. "N-No, Toriel. Everything's fine."

"Call me 'mother', dear. Toriel sounds... formal. We know each other far too well to use our names, do we not?"

The cat blushed again. "Y-Yes, mother."

The goat mother brushed the feline's chin at this, stroking his black fur with deep affection, while Waffle's eyes widened at the size of the finger that grazed his lips. The tip of her finger found his mouth; the dull claw pressed against his lips, nudging them apart ever so slightly, before the width of her digit forced his teeth wide open. To his own shock, he began suckling her claw out of reflex. It tasted of sweetness, of butterscotch, cinnamon, and dough. She pulled from his mouth as quickly as it went inside, and turned the page with it, before he could sample any more of her. Waffle could only huff and lick his lips in frustration as the back of his head came to a rest against her stomach.

Her stomach? That can't be right, thought the cat. Warily, he turned his head to the left, and then to the right, unable to see the sides her breasts. And then he looked up, and saw their twin shadows stretching over him, the purple bulges of her dress sticking out even further than usual, enough to shade his head from the dim light of the ceiling. The doughy mound of her stomach shaped itself as he held onto her, trying not to panic, itself molding to accommodate his frightened groping.
Toriel had to pause her reading when she felt his claws sinking into her frock. She looked down at him, but could not see him from over the heaving hills of her breasts. The goat mother smiled, and closed her book, setting set it on her lap.

"Does this story bore you?" she asked him gently.

Waffle didn't answer. He just stared dead ahead when he heard the loud groan of he hoped was his own stomach, only for her stomach to push out around him with her steady breathing, purple cloth rising, falling, and rising still with every breath. The plumpness of her paunch was quick to climb over and around him like rising dough, spilling over his hands, and his arms, his neck unable to keep his head over the coming tide, his legs unable to kick themselves free. He was helpless, unable to move, utterly stuck to her stomach. His clothing grew loose around his limbs and his gut as he lie stuck to her – he swore he felt lighter somehow, yet so much weaker, the longer he stayed in her lap. Pangs of hunger gnawed at him suddenly, despite having eaten so much earlier. His appetite only grew as his twitching ears were pressed deeper into her depths, as purple fabric rose around his eyes. There, heard a rumble, deep gurgling, coming from inside of her. The goat mother was laughing.

"Ah, I see," breathed Toriel, blushing as she sucked in air and felt him squirm. Her chair creaked heavily as she leaned
forward. "It seems you are getting tired, dear. I think it is time for bed."

A massive hand touched Waffle's face, and buried the feline’s eyes in soft white fur as she pat him and her stomach, shoving him ever deeper into her frock. He could hear her belly churning in his ears, like the roar of thunder. Everything grew louder and darker. White turned black as her shadow grew thicker, and the hand grew heavier, putting more pain and pressure on his head, and then the rest of him as the sounds of her body intensified – her rapid heartbeat; her quickened breathing; her pleasured sighs, and her murmuring became as one over the swell of groans and creaks emanating from her chair, melting into a rumbling storm that would not cease. Jerking his body around in the darkness only earned more amused chuckling from Toriel, before she finally relented, and pulled him free from her stomach. Too weak to move, he could not see anything when she let go of him. He only felt the floating sensation of weightlessness, and hot flashes of searing hunger, before consciousness left him.

When he came to, all he could see was white.

He clutched his pounding head, reeling at the feeling of all the blood rushing to his skull, his view of the world still a snowy haze. Then the weightlessness that claimed him became gravity, only for his fall to be broken by something airy. Warmth washed over him in waves, soothing his pain, while his body clung to softness. It felt like sleeping on a cloud. Was he in bed? That couldn't be right. He couldn't feel any covers on top of him, and his sheets weren't this soft or this silky, let alone white. They were supposed to be blue. When he blinked again, he found himself lost in a forest of white, wild trunks surrounding him, all as tall as towers and impossibly wide. He looked down at himself, and saw that he was naked, and, to his own horror, nearly emaciated, as if he had fasted for months. His paunch was gone; only a bag of skin and fur remained. Even the meat on his limbs vanished, the barest trace of muscle still clinging to his bones. This – This can't be right, was all he could think, his sunken cheeks stuck in gasp of shock. She kept feeding me all those pies. Stuffing me. How...

"Oh, dear," said the goat mother. Her kind voice was the sudden, thunderous boom in his eardrums, her sigh the hurricane
tearing through the alien world of white. "You are exhausted, my child. I should have put you to bed earlier!"

The feline uncovered his ears, and then raised his head. Above the mountainous trunks of the trees, above the massive columns of white stretching to the sky, a wide red eye stared back at him. The iris alone was miles across, darker than night, its every twitch seen in his eyes, yet he could tell in its intensity that it focused on him. The ground beneath him trembled, slow, rhythmic quivering, horribly so, as if the earth beneath him would give apart at the seams and split. The eye pulled away, and for a moment, the sky became familiar. Just over the roof of the towering strands, he saw a bookshelf.

"Come along now, dear. It is time for bed." The eye returned, blinking. Black lashes a thousand feet long swept the air and crashed through the canopy of white, causing the whole forest to tremble violently. "I... believe it would be prudent of me to let you sleep in my room tonight,” she said, before adding, “But just this once!"

Toriel’s finger lowered from her eye as she grunted, straining to free herself from the confines of a chair once comfortable, breathing hard, and fighting to stand upright when she finally did. Her other hand came to a rest on her stomach, now bloated and swollen far beyond normal. She cradled the mound, her fingers tugging down on her overstretched dress for the extra space that didn't exist. "You are skin and bones, my child. That is not good for your health."

Waffle could only agree, but he didn't even know what happened to him. He was plump one minute, fur and bone thin the next. How? He was so tired, so utterly exhausted, unable to string his threadbare thought along any further. Mere thinking hurt too much. He had to let go - he had to let it unravel.

Her free hand caressed her bulging stomach as she began the long waddle to her room, letting her fingers dig into herself, getting lost in all of her newfound jiggling softness. She felt delightfully stuffed, as if she had eaten a grand feast all on her own. Opening her door, she approached her mirror, and looked herself over, squeezing the new folds of her stomach in her greedy hand. Her paunch stuck out and around so far now, taking up so much room on her. She could see it even as she looked down over the hills of her breasts. Toriel licked her lips. She was reluctant to end her massage when it only just began, but she pulled her hand away anyways, and watched the tips of her claws erupting with magic.

And then she pushed down on her bloated stomach, and watched in the mirror as her round mound slowly disappeared. Toriel had to bite down on her lip to keep herself from moaning in delight as her plump body grew even plumper. Her heavy breasts grew warm, quivering in her tight dress as they pushed ever outwards, stretching through the alphabet, and sagging under their own billowing weight. Her nipples hardened rubbing against the silk fabric, her large, tenting nubs causing her spine to light up in electric ecstasy as she groped them with a hand, torn purple frock and white fur spilling from her fingers. Her thighs thickened and buttocks swelled to rival her top, the lower half of her dress splitting at the seams as her hips widened with even more jiggling flesh, everything from the hips below growing ever spacious.

"You'll be right as rain in the morning,” the goat mother whispered to Waffle as her magic dissipated. Her hand on her stomach moved in slow, wide circles along her much smaller, but still plentifully plump gut. “We will wake up early tomorrow, and then we'll bake all the butterscotch-cinnamon pies you can eat. Even those sweets you like so much. And then I’ll teach you how to make me new dress. Won't that be fun?"

The ravaged cat nodded dumbly. He was willing to eat anything now. Even her snail pies. Well, perhaps he was not that desperate. All he could do now was lie down in the softness of her white fur, and let her warmth envelop him while his eyelids closed.

"I love you, mother," was all he could whisper, before sleep took him.

"I love you, too, my child," Toriel said to herself as she looked in the mirror, hugging her engorged bosom with both arms. "I have so much planned for you, dear. After all, mother knows best."