A short story I wrote during my Short Story Saturday stream (3/19/16). This story was won by  brokendestiny, who decided to have some poetic justice befall the cruel industrialist Shere Khan. And what better way to dispense justice than to make him fat? Yeah, I ain't gonna be subtle here, he... he gets fat. So read on to find out how.


.:Rated general for:.
>Gradual Weight Gain
>Dat Ass
>Immobility


TaleSpin & all related material are © Disney (they own you).


Word Count: 3018

If you enjoyed the story, feel free to comment and fave, I'd really appreciate it.

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Hate Mail

“S-so sir, with the current acquisition of the newborn shipping company Tropical Mail, you continue to maintain dominant power in Cape Suzette.”

“Marvellous.”

Reclining back in his fancy chair, Shere Khan drank in the splendour that was he. With that puny little company now under his banner, there was no one to really challenge his company. Well, nobody really could in general, but you gotta crush small problems before they become big ones. One day it’s a small shipping company, the next it’s a worldwide conglomerate. As any skilled gardener would tell you, you need to know when to nip problems in the bud. “You’re excused” Shere Khan barked at his spineless yes-man.

Bowing courteously, the emaciated tiger left the room wordlessly. Well, almost wordlessly, as he just remembered something. “Oh yes, the uhh, mail staff left something in your draw. It was, err, addressed to you” he explained, then left.

“I never would have guessed that something addressed to me would be put in my desk” Shere Khan uttered sarcastically under his breath.

Pulling open the drawer, a small, colourfully decorated box sat amongst some office supplies. Prying it from its position, the tiger found a small note attached to it. “To Shere Khan, as a sign of appreciation” he read aloud, his brow raised at finding no information on who had sent the present.

Extending a claw, he sliced through the ribbon to get at the contents: A thin chain, with a small tiger idol tied to it as a pendant. The business tiger eyed it curtly, the chain draped over his claw. Maybe it was just him, but the idol almost looked like him, almost. There was no way that he’d be as chubby as the pendant was, he treated his body far too well to allow it to fall like that. Still, it did have an attractive air to it, so, he slipped the chain around his muscular neck. It was a perfect fit for the perfect tiger, though it was oddly warm. He chuckled to himself, as he suddenly felt the need to go terrorize some little people. Rising from his chair, there was a slight strain in his voice as he did so. Hmm, peculiar. He must’ve been neglecting his workout, since he arose from his station like a titan, without weakness. Still, Shere Khan shrugged it off as he strut out of his expansive office, a slight cramped feeling around his middle.

Striding through his building, the proud tiger eyed the busybodies that ran by, piles of paper in their arms as they ran this way and that, much like ants. Yes, ants was a good description for them, as while an ant might be a fastidious and excellent worker, they can still be crushed by those much larger than they. And coming along now was one such ant: A schnauzer with an armload of papers far too tall for him to see where he was going. As juvenile as it was, well, one must get their kicks whenever they can. Idly docking his foot out, the cruel tiger tripped up his employee, papers scattering everywhere. “Tut tut my fine fellow,” Shere Khan purred with a toothy grin, “you should really watch where you’re going” he scolded.

“S-sorry, sir” the small canine apologized as he desperately collected the scattered papers.

The tiger snickered silently, a warmth running through his body. With greater subtlety than his wit, Shere Khan’s suit tightened gradually, his muscular features softening ever so slightly as the tiger around his neck slowly but surely fattened. The thin chain keeping it around its owner’s neck likewise thickened as the idol did, growing into a much thicker chain to support the idol. The tiger was none the wiser to this, although he did question why his suit felt so tight around his middle. “I’ll bet those idiots who did the washing used the wrong setting, this is the second suit they’ve shrunk” he thought with frustration as he lumbered along on.

It was beginning to prove a difficult chore to move about with such a tight suit, but weakness is not a thing you present to your grunts. Nor was sweat, either. Despite the warm feeling subsiding, Shere Khan was growing a little too toasty in his suit. When he could the tiger was going to talk about the air conditioning to maintenance. He didn’t honestly care if the staff were sweating, but he’d be damned if he allowed himself to do so. Hiking up the back of his tight pants, the tiger soldiered on, looking for more little people to amuse himself with, not even noticing that those behind him were staring at him. They sniggered as mutely as they could at the fact that their boss, the great and powerful Shere Khan, was sporting a plumber’s crack.

Perhaps the next place to find workers to torment would be shipping, the tiger decided as he dodged past two more workers with some difficulty. Even though they were an elephant and a rhino, it should have been easy to slide past them. This was quite the off day indeed, but it could be improved if he just maintained focus. However, it was proving difficult to focus when his body felt so warm. Subtly, his suit groaned slightly from the pressure building up beneath its fabric. Something was pushing against it, and the fabric knew it. Every fibre of the suit strained to contain whatever the cause was, the suit’s button holes pulled tight as the buttons themselves were slowly being pulled from their roots. The hot tiger dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief, blissfully unaware that the tiger idol around his neck inflated once more, looking quite prosperous as it hung from his neck. His pants contorted tightly around his legs, clinging to them tightly as all space within became suddenly absent, and the seat was extra snug around his rear. He really did need to talk with the washing staff, as it felt like the darn suit was shrinking as he wore it. The thought of losing another suit was a frustrating one, and it brought an annoyed frown to the tiger’s lips, and a slight wobble to his chin.

So lost in his own world was Shere Kahn that he didn’t even notice that many of his employees were eying him as he passed. Well, many of them did anyways, as he was hard to miss, nor was he one you ignored. As a boss and a tycoon, you must always have presence when moving amongst your underlings. If you didn’t, well, you’d be no better than them, after all. Finally at shipping, the tiger was feeling a might puffed. It was honestly sort of embarrassing to even accept the fact that moving across his building had been anything resembling exhausting. Ignoring it as best he could, Shere Khan strode over to one of the shipping gnats, oblivious to the creaking of his pants’ inner thighs as he did. Hovering like a grim spectre, his form looked over the boar that was looking over some shipping details. “Keeping busy?” the tiger inquired pleasantly.

The poor creature seized up the moment his boss had spoken, his body not so much turning as it did rotate around slowly. “Umm, o-of course, sir. I’m just looking over the details for some oil transport to a neighbouring country” he explained timidly.

The tiger grinned as he leant down, a foolish choice. RRRRRRIIIIIIIIPPPPP! For once in a very long time, Shere Khan had frozen up, and he was speechless. Slowly moving upwards, he deeply hoped no one else had born witness to the fact that the seat of his pants had torn open. But on the plus side, his pants weren’t too snug anymore, except around his waist maybe. Still, he could barely hide his embarrassment as he strode away, the rather wide tear in his pants showing off a rather goofy pair of tiger print boxers. His brisk pace hastened as he made his way back to his office, the act of which heating his body up to almost sauna levels. His suit was far too snug now, it was actually painful as it dug into his midsection and sides. His chest didn’t fare any better, his pectorals under pressure from his dwindling white shirt. Every stride he took caused minute ripping noises, the tear on the seat of his pants widening and showing off more of his goofy boxers as they forced their way out of the hole. He was losing breath exceptionally fast, to the point that he had to lean on a wall just to catch his breath. What on earth was happening to him? Did he eat something bad earlier today? Was it some kind of allergic reaction? Why was his body so hot? And why was he running out of breath so fast? It just didn’t make sense.

A sharp pain ran through his midsection, and he growled loudly. Something was terribly wrong, but he was too paralysed to do anything. Onlookers watched with awe as their boss looked as if he was about to give birth, as emphasised by how tightly his face was screwed up in pain. The groaning and creaking of his suit didn’t aid matters; tears ran through the seams, the sides of his jacket splitting as white fabric from his undershirt spilled out. Dear god the pressure was too much for him. Casting his head upwards, the fierce tiger roared loudly as the buttons of his jacket rocketed off, to allow a cream coloured gut to spill out. Oh sweet relief, sweet rapture, sweet… “WHAT!?” Shere Khan roared furiously as he gripped his gut.

This wasn’t him, it was impossible! Jostling it about, he could feel it, attached to him as momentum jostled through his body. How? How had he sporadically gotten so fat? PING! The button of his pants rocketed off, ricocheting off the wall and down the hall, hitting that poor schnauzer from before right in the pile, scattering papers again. With the slack of his pants, the tiger’s prodigious rear was granted license it needed to rise over his ailing waistband. Shere Khan, oh he swallowed hard at his situation, his belly wiggling and jiggling in his claws as his white shirt rode the ungainly beast. A few sniggers came from behind, and as much as he wanted to silence them, he needed to find a way to stop his sudden fatsplosion.

Running as fast as he could, his clothing shredded further from the ill-treatment, the seams of his pants splitting, allowing for his fat legs to press whatever fluff they could through the steadily widening holes. His body warmed up again, and the tiger idol around his neck fattened up dramatically. Lard piled onto his already Baloo-sized belly, and it wasn’t one to slow down as it slapped his groin with every step. His plump rump inflated outwards, his boxers barely containing them as they rode over his pants. PING! PING! PING! Like a machinegun his shirt buttons flew off, striking whatever stood in front of him as the tiger charged ahead. But with every step, his pace slowed. He was getting too big, too heavy to move about so swiftly. His poor aching feet were trying so hard, but very quickly were they succumbing to the blubber, their fine and sharp claws slowly receding into the plumpness. RIP! RIP! RIP! His pants were falling apart from all the blubber poking through it, as well as from the pressure underneath. With one stomp, the left pant leg exploded, frayed fabric hanging from what remained of his pants. With another stomp, the right leg exploded, to match the left. A loud wolf whistle came from somewhere around the steadily fattening tiger, no doubt in appreciation of his thickly adiposed legs. His once fine and angular calves were soft and rounded, and his thighs were nice and soft, with an appreciative amount of girth to them.

The lard, it was growing too much for Shere Khan, whose pace had reverted to a slow stagger. His body was growing too fast for him to keep pace, it felt like it was impossible that he would ever reach his office. The tiger’s tremendous midsection hung past his groin, spilling out over the top of his ragged pants in the most fantastic display of a muffin-top ever. His prodigious gut sagged further down as he was forced to hunch forward due to his tremendous rump. Ruining the back of his pants so thoroughly, his extra-stretchy boxers were all that kept his rump out of public eye, despite their girth being the same as a ripe watermelon. Thankfully, his arms hadn’t put on too much weight, but they were still quite heavy nonetheless, having drowned his meticulous muscle beneath their blubber. He dabbed at his sweat-soaked brow as the final stretch came upon him.

His tremendous footsteps BOOMED! loudly upon approach, the tatters of his outfit swaying around his tremendous body. His suit jacket was so comically small, it was much more suited for a far lither and in-shape body type, unlike his current one. The thickly padded tiger was an eyesore as he stumbled towards his office, with sniggers echoing around him. He wanted to snarl, he wanted to roar, he wanted to show off his claws and show them who was the boss. But instead, he could only pant and wheeze as he held his swelling gut aloft, his soft fur and blubber spilling through his fingers. It was all he could do, and yet his arms could only barely keep his blubbery body up. His body was inflamed as he burst through the doors of his office dramatically, the tiger idol swinging about from his thick neck. The small silver thing was so large now, its belly dominating most of its body, with the mass only being counterbalanced by its large rump. It was quite the obese little tiger, and it was swelling larger every second, just like its owner.

The very out of shape Shere Khan staggered into the middle of his office, his legs trembling from the effort. His belly was too heavy, the weight straining his arms as they desperately tried to keep it up. The shaking and trembling jostled his jelly-like body, and it was too much. His poor legs gave up, buckling and crashing him to the ground. His pants tore apart on impact, leaving him in his insanely stretched boxer shorts. The crash caused his body to rumble, waves of fur rippling up his belly to his thick chest. His fine cream coloured pectorals were well-beyond any kind of moobage at this point, as it was more apt to call them airbags. The morbidly obese tiger gurgled helplessly, his energy spent as his body expanded gratuitously. His tremendous gut inflated, surging out between his splayed and flabby legs. Growing with such evenness, perhaps his muscles weren’t truly gone as his belly evolved into a lovely ball gut, its curves rounding out at the crown of his navel, and growing ever larger as it spilled over the brim of his boxers. And, at least he had comfort thanks to his rump. Stretching his underwear with such ferocity, his enormous ass filled every last square-inch of fabric, as well as all the space behind him. They held such firmness, despite their mass. His body slowly lifted upwards by the strength of his massive rump, the leggings of his boxers dwindled before them, turning them into makeshift briefs from the enormous amber spheres.

Larger and larger did the proud tiger grow, his body swelling outwards with beautiful and delectable lard. His midsection, his once proud abdominals, were long gone beneath his tremendous gut and deeply sunken navel. Pooling out so far, he could have happily housed that foolish bear Baloo within the confines of his striped and creamy belly. Thick creases formed along his sides, running all the way down his belly to the front, crowning off just before his navel. He had such a beautifully big belly, crowned by the generous hat that was his moobs. Each were far larger than his head, and easily softer than silk. You could easily hide beneath the creases that separated moob and belly for a sound night’s rest. And of course, last but not least his rump. The size of a dumpster, Shere Khan’s literal seat of power pulled his strained boxers to their limits, the tiger print as comically stretched as his body was. By their strength and the strength of his porcine legs, they raised the morbidly obese tiger into the air by a foot and half, allowing his belly to sit pretty in his nearly non-existent lap.

Shere Khan was completely out of breath and out of shape, his fat cheeks puffing from his huffing. His arms, his once mighty and muscular arms were now nothing more than fat and slow sacks of lard. They could move yes, but not easily as they dabbed once more at his thick brow, and also against his four chins and practically gone neck. Blubber united chest and chin in marriage, and finally he heard a small clink. Grabbing at his neck, the tiger finally remembered the idol, after all this time. The chain that held it up was thick, easily an inch wide now. And the idol itself was hideously overweight, the likewise obese tiger noted. Despite everything, the idol was still fatter than he was, and growing fatter still now that he noticed it. Hmm, his body was still so warm, how… odd.

What could be considered odder still, if Shere Khan was even aware of it, was that more writing had appeared on the back of the note that idol came with. Lying abandoned on his desk, the writing read: A sign of appreciation for running my brother out of business. I hope this idol shows you just how fat your ego and your company truly is.

Yours Sincerely,
Your Secret Abhorrer