Sometimes gluttony doesn't mean the consumption of food, but that of your life.

Kara sighed, her head propped lazily on a paw as the flourescent lamps bathed her in their acerbic light. When the Bridgeway Institute had first approached her with a work opportunity, she’d been overjoyed. Sure, it didn’t pay well, but everyone knew the Bridgeway Institute. These days, they were almost a staple in the papers, helping clean up the mess of unregulated gene modding. It didn’t hurt that many of the more beautiful celebrities came forward and sought treatment when their semi-legal mods started to undergo rogue expression. Nothing helped your reputation quite like saving the cutest members of Solar Flair.
Naturally, she’d signed up in the hopes of being there when the next big thing walked in the door. It was childish, she’d grant, but there was something magical about the thought of being the first thing a scared and lonely pop star saw when they entered the door. It sent a thrill down her spine to think that when they gave the concept of salvation a face, it could well be hers that that they pictured. Maybe they would even ask her to come see the band privately, or attend a fashion show, or even tour their mansion for a romantic candle lit dinner. Or maybe they’d just think of her as the lobby attendant, but some chance was better than none.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t counted on one thing. Most celebrities were night owls, the better to dodge the papparazi. She, by contrast, had been placed on the day shift. The boring, “hey-I-just-stopped-in-on-my-way-to-work-and-I-think-I’m-growing-scales,” day shift.
To be fair, it was as much as she deserved, picking a job out of vanity, but just the same, if she had to look at one more case of psoriasis and rule it “not a mutation,” she was going to put her fist through the desk. And possibly the would-be patient. It depended on how insistent they were about seeing a doctor. A part of her suspected that they’d hired her not so much as a receptionist as a bouncer.
She glanced an eye at her paws, and sighed. She couldn’t blame them entirely. When most folks pictured a girl built like a tank, they pictured something a good bit smaller than her. All the bodybuilding in the world couldn’t give you hands that could crush a toaster one handed, along with claws to match. Still, considering some of the patients she’d seen walk through the front doors, being a bit mis-proportioned was nothing to complain about.
The door rang, and her eyes flicked up. The instant they did, she all but whipped to attention, a smile flashing onto her face. She briefly considered fussing with her uniform, but the sad truth was that no amount of fussing was going to make it fit better. Curse her generous physiology.
In contrast to her own brutish build, the girl before her looked like something spun from quicksilver. Her narrow, vulpine face shimmered with glittering light even in the otherwise pale flourescents, matched only by the soft platinum of her silk dress. As she walked towards the desk, the silk flowed about her elegant strides until she seemed almost to float rather than walk.
“E-excuse me, is this the Bridgeway clinic?” she asked, her voice like gentle bells in the wind.
“What do you think?” Kara asked jokingly, before the worry on the vixen’s face made her feel like a jerk. “Yes, sorry, I just thought… I kind of gave it away.”
“Oh!” The vixen’s expression softened. “Sorry, i suppose you are rather distinctive. I didn’t think it was polite to…”
“To notice? Not at all.” Kara waved it off with her paw, the massive gesture drawing the vixen’s eye. “Kind of hard not to!”
“Are you… modded as well?” She asked softly.
“Sort of. I’m fully custom.” She grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “You can’t mod features like these into a natural body, they put too much strain on the organs and bones. My entire genome is designed.”
“I-I see,” she whispered, obviously fighting the urge to stare. “Has it been hard for you?”
“Compared to some I’ve seen? No.” Kara shook her head, offering a bittersweet smile. “Everything works, my markings are cohesive, and I’m pretty enough in my own way.” She stood a little straighter and smirked, showing off the way her uniform barely held her chest in check. “I’ll never blend in, but I don’t turn stomachs,”
“No, I wouldn’t say you would.” She smiled, though the expression remained tainted with worry. “Is this where I make an appointment with a doctor?”
“Indeed it is, but you might not even need one.” Kara reached over and tapped a few portions of her screen pad. “I see you’ve got an IDplant, so I’m just going to need the details of your condition.” Her eyes quickly read the screen. “Ms. Argent.”
“Please, call me Anya. Argent is just an alias for the records.” She gave a soft sigh, her eyes flicking down. “Recently, I *burrrrp*!” She clapped a hand to her face, an expression of utter mortification twisting her features. “Oh heavens forgive me, I know I shouldn’t have eaten so much for breakfast, but--”
“I don’t mind, really.” Kara laughed. “What were your symptoms?”
“Well, that’s precisely it, you see.” Anya fidgeted from foot to foot, making her dress cascade in soft ripples. “Recently I’ve been stricken by the most terrible hunger. I’m not often terribly hungry, which suits my profession just fine, but recently, it’s like food is all I can think about! Day and night, I find myself fantasizing about meals, meat, sugar, grease--” She promptly flushed to her eartips and clapped her hands once more over her muzzle. “Do forgive me, such a crass display…”
“Hmmm, sounds like a metabolic issue.” Kara reached beneath the desk, and pulled out a small, needle studded ampoule. “If you could please press this to your arm, we can take a blood sample and run a quick analysis.”
“I see.” She gently pressed it against her arm, watching as the capsule filled with red. “I don’t see why they wouldn’t run tests at the normal clinic.”
“In spite of the new regulations,” Kara sighed as she collected the capsule, “A lot of gene mods are still proprietary and protected by trade secret laws. In order to treat them, Bridgeway has various non-disclosure agreements with the holders of the original patents, allowing us access to the details of their operation.”
“I see, so the condition is… treatable?” Hope glimmered in her pale eyes.
“Treatable, yes. Curable?” Kara sighed. “Most mods are fairly deeply ingrained, especially metabolic ones. Some of the more localized ones can be treated with surgery, but in your case, I think the best you can hope for is a steady prescription.” Her computer gave a soft beep, and she glanced down. “Yep, looked like it’s… oop. Sorry, not supposed to disclose the patent holder. But here.” She reached down, frowning as she delicately picked up a sheaf of paper in her massive paws. “This is your prescription. Also, as part of treatment, we do offer therapy programs. We’ve found most long-term treatment plans benefit from some degree of social support.”
“I see.” Anya took the paper and sighed. “I suppose I should know better than to expect some miracle cure.” She managed a weak smile, eyes flicking to Kara’s nametag. “Ms. Kara was it? Thank you. I do appreciate it.”
“Just doing my job.” Kara managed with a soft blush. “If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m in the therapy program as well.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” With a gentle nod, Arya walked out the door.
But not out of Kara’s life.


It was a month later that Kara found herself standing outside the gate of a palatial estate, great marble pillars flanking a wrought iron gate that no doubt was lined with the latest in nano-corrosives. So close, Kara’s nose perked at the scents of real grass and soil, barely perceptible scents wafting through the estate’s air filters. She suppressed the urge to whistle, delicately poking the intercom pad with her claw.
“K-kara…?” She still recognized Arya’s voice, though it sounded weak and frail. “You actually came.”
“Of course!” Kara glanced nervously at the gate before her. “Can I come in? Or will something try to melt me?”
“Oh, yes, please, please come in~” There was a buzz and a click as the gate swung open. “I’m sorry, I really should come to greet you, but…”
“Did something happen?” Kara’s fur stood slightly on end. “Did you slip in the treatment?”
There was only ominous silence from the intercom. Worried, Kara took a quick pace towards the door. She quickly grasped the front door and twisted the knob, wincing slightly as the metal and wood gave under her touch. She cast a quick glance around the main hall, but her nose clued her in first, the rich scent of countless foods teasing her nostrils. Following it like a missle, she quickly strode into what she discovered was the kitchen.
“Quite a *Burrrrrrp* sight, isn’t it?” Arya moaned. She looked pregnant, her silver dress stretched taut around a belly that bulged with nine months of girth. Sauces red and yellow had stained its shining lustre, though they hardly compared to the mess around her. Take out boxes lay scattered around the room, the sauces within dribbling out like blood from fallen soldiers.
“I’d call that a slip,” Kara took a step forward, only to be stopped by Arya’s upheld hand.
“Please, don’t… *urp* don’t do anything.” She slowly leaned back, stroking her belly gently. “I think I’ll burst if I so much as move.”
“Are…” Kara gulped. “Are you alright?”
“As alright as I suppose anyone can be in my state.” She breathed shallowly, her hand constantly exploring that heavy bulge. “I had hoped you’d arrive in time to stop me, but… I suppose my faith in my self control was unjustified.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Kara muttered softly. “I should have been here sooner.”
“You should take your own advice. I called barely twenty minutes past. One could not have expected you faster.” She moaned softly, carefully staggering to her feet.”Now, I suppose all there is to do is help me back to my bed.”
“Would you like me to stay the night?” Kara offered, carefully looping her paws beneath Arya’s arms.
“Only if it would ease your travels. I would hate to impose further after such an… infantile slip.” She sighed softly, the sound interrupted by yet another belch.
“Why did you slip? Was there a problem with the prescription?” Kara gently moved ahead of her to better lead her up the steps.
“They were working too well. I found myself with no appetite. Eating became a chore to the point where I was starving myself just by habit.” She gave a bark of laughter that was interrupted by a sickly gurgle from her gut. “Not that that will be a problem anymore. I thought I might miss a treatment just to settle my stomach. I didn’t expect how hungry it would make me.”
“Physiological rebound.” Kara sighed. “When your body becomes used to a treatment, it loses any resistance to the condition it might have once had. You absolutely must not trip up again in the future.” With that warning, she gently laid Arya into bed.
“Oooohhh,” she moaned briefly as her body sloshed into its new position. “I very much doubt I will forget tonight any time soon. The guest rooms are just down the hall. I would show you but…”
“You rest.” Kara said softly. “I can handle myself.”

A part of Kara hoped that would be the last she’d hear from Arya, while another part hoped she might ask her to stay and help her resume the treatment plan. However, come the morning, she found herself politely excused from Arya’s company. Not sent away to be certain, but Arya made it quite clear in her delicate way that she could handle her own affairs. So it was that Kara tried to put the matter out of her mind.
Until the next call came.
This time, she found herself standing before those iron gates filled with dread. She pressed the buzzer to be let in, and this time there was no question. Simply a buzz and a click as the gate opened. Even this far out, she could smell the scents of sauce and food, and so she prepared herself for what she might find inside.
As she opened the door, she discovered that she’d done so inadequately.
The whole house looked like a disaster area. Discarded food pods lay so thickly over the floor that her very first step crushed a few underfoot. As she advanced, he found her path made evidently apparent by a great swath cleared from the floor of the main hall. Here the sauce had been wiped away into a great smear, the pods piled to the sides like plowed snow.
Slowly, she followed the trail, her ears picking up a deep, slurping, sloshing sound. She felt her fur stand on end as she approached, the depth and frequency of the sounds seeming more animal than anything. She rounded the corner carefully, steeling herself as best she could for what might await. She had some dim idea, but if her journey had taught her anything, it was that she was woefully underprepared for the spectacle before her.
“Hello *BURRRAAAP* Kara~” Were it not for her fur and voice, Kara might never have recognized Arya. Her face was buried within a family sized food pod, from which emitted the sound of that wild feasting. Her body had grown, and grown, and grown, until it resembled nothing short of a heaving blob of fat. Her shelf of a gut heaved and jiggled with every gulp, ripples running up and across her arms, themselves plumped with accordion folds of blubber. As she dropped the pod it revealed a face and neck as fattened as the rest of her, her cheeks bouncing gently as she worked on the feast packed within them.
“Good gods, Arya. How?” Kara took a step back, her brain struggling to catch up. No, she didn’t need to know how. She knew how. “Why?”
“Have you ever…” She paused to swallow that rippling mass of food down her throat. “Have you ever felt something for the first time and realized you needed it in your life?” She reached down and gently stroked her gut, her sausage thick fingers sinking into that great silver bulge. “I don’t think I’d ever been full before that day you walked in on me. It felt… good. Too good. I tried going on the treatment, but it didn’t matter. All it took care of was the hunger, but it was more than that. I loved to eat!” She reached over, her massive bulk shifting ponderously, until she snagged another food pod off the mountain around her. She started to shovel it in even as she talked. “The more I ate, the more I could eat. The more I ate, the bigger I got, and the more I wanted to eat. Every day I looked at myself in the mirror, the way I was overflowing my clothes, and all I could think was of how much bigger I could get today~”
“You need help…” Kara whispered, frozen with uncertainty.
“You’re right, I BURRRRRRRRP do~” In contrast to the worried tone Kara would have expected, Arya’s voice was all but a purr. She tried to struggle to her feet, and while she did raise her butt off the ground, her massive belly couldn’t clear the floor. She looked down and stroked it lovingly. “My baby’s getting too hungry for me to keep up, so big and heavy…” She stroked it in slow circles, her voice dropping to a low coo. “I need someone big and strong to help me feed her. I’ll pay you well, you know…”
“No, this isn’t right~” Kara backed up further, as though the tidal wave of fat could do anything more than waddle at her. “You need help.”
“I just *BURRRRP* said that!” She stopped after only a few feet, trying to lean forward to pant with exhaustion. “Really, what are you going to do? Treatment is voluntary, I read the legal boilerplate.” Her voice dropped again to that seductive purr. “What, are you jealous of a girl even bigger than you? You like being top dog?”
“I… what?” Kara tilted her head nearly horizontal, backing up even further. “You’re not even making sense!”
“I’m hungry alright!” she snapped, the motion of lifting her fatty head making her wheeze harder. “This is so exhausting…”
“You need help.” Kara repeated one last time, weakly.
“Just go…” Arya muttered. “Just…”
Kara took off into the night.

She tried her best, but sure enough, treatment was voluntary. There were no grounds for additictive genetic behavior. The distinction was too slim between what could be classified as gene modding, and what would constitute free choice. If a patient succumbed to inbuilt instincts, there was nothing the clinic could do. And, by extension, there was nothing Kara could do.
It was a month later when she saw Arya for the last time. It was a fleeting thing, a flash of silver between the flicker of news feeds. If she’d seen such silver anywhere else, she’d have never given it a second thought. But she’d only ever seen that shade once.
For a moment, she couldn’t tell what she was seeing. It was square, and rippling like a pool of water. It was only after almost ten seconds of straight staring that she realized that it was in fact a swimming pool. But instead of being filled with water, it was filled with fox.
Below the image was the damning headline, “Magnate spends fortune on food.” A moment later, the image changed to a Bridgeway representative explaining the very legal roadblocks she herself had encountered. But though that first image had switched away, the spectacle lived on in her mind. That rippling silver ocean of blubber, and that sauce smeared face in its midst.
She stared down at her hands and flexed them slowly.
Never before had she felt so weak.

* * *

AAAH!  146tym surprised me with this story a few nights ago on my birthday and I couldn't help but want to illustrate it, there is SO MUCH that I love about it! <3 <3

 146tym completely wrote this story (and has many more on his gallery, some featuring characters of yours truly! <3) so if you enjoyed, please take a look at his other work and give him a watch <3