I'm back again! Just to submit this guy I've been working on. I found out you can feed a bag of a 100 turnips to Dr. Shrunk at once, and admittedly, it got my mind flowing. Plus he's just so sad and adorable, somebody's gotta give him some love, right? I tried to make the feeder as vague as possible so you all can insert yourselves in if you so want ;) Please enjoy! And know that I'm not dead at least!

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"How much can I eat?" The axotol crossed his arms, his gill-like mustache seeming to twitch as he thought for a moment, "Well...I can't say I've tried to eat a lot! There has uh...eheh...been some binge nights after the divorce. B-but they were purely accidental! I assure you!"

Dr. Shrunk had been the best mayoral decision you'd made. He was a smaller axotol and his jokes sent the crickets away. But there was a word for guys like that: cute. With his dad bod, tacky jacket and the nervous look on his face, you found him absolutely adorable. You'd filled your joke book front to back and there was always one aspect that drove you to keep coming back for more. Not only for this adorable little amphibian but more importantly, for his appetite. It had started small of course-an apple for him, apple for you, and an apple for whatever neighbor of the day wanted one. But things had changed.

Maybe it was curiousity that got the better of you when you brought that first basket of apples to his club one morning. The way his eyes lit up in surprise and delight, how that energy went into his joke. Okay, maybe you were a bit attracted to him. He was cute in that dad sort of way. Nothing more, nothing less.

But something else had kept you coming back with more after that. Even with more fruit, his appetite didn't waver. You might have stuck around to watch him scarf down all three apples in one sitting waiting for the club to open. How he seemed to savor every bite of the sweet fruit. Or maybe it was arriving the next day with another basket and seeing the slight bit of pink poking out from the bottom of his vest.

So you experimented. Always a basketful, mixing up what types you brought and what he preferred. Turned out he liked just about anything. Lemons, durians, coconuts (shell and all sometimes, which gave him the most adorable indigestion.) But after a while you'd settled on peaches. They were pink and sweet like he was, and most importantly, each basket seemed to pack a little more onto him.

But you could only give so many fruits at a time. The tiny potbelly he had wasn't enough for you. No, something inside you had awakened and you'd wanted to see just how much he could fit. "Why do you ask?"

You figured out a way to feed him more then a basket. Digging into your bag, you revealed your prize: two hundred fresh turnips, spicy and crisp, ready for consumption. From the corner of your eye, you saw his widen. "Tw-two hundred turnips???" He blushed, "Goodness...this is the most you've ever brought me!" Dr. Shrunk laughed, "Call me old fashioned, but I can't resist a nice fresh one like this."

The white turnip looked huge in his small hands as he pulled the first from the bag, licking his lips and biting in with a sharp chrunch. Like cracked ice. His face lit up pleasantly from the flavor, finishing it off in another bite and glancing to the pile, "Well...Thank you very much! They're delicious! But I don't really know if I can pay you ba-" You wave a hand.

"...Huh? No charge??" He grinned, "Well this is my lucky day! Least I can do is offer some er...friendly conversation then! Have a seat!"

The club chairs were sturdy, metal with a bit of vinyl covering the seat, turnips almost overflowing the table as the two of you sat down to chat, leaving him to munch turnips as you talked. You didn't say much, mostly enjoying the show. The look of satisfaction on his face as he ate each bite, that crisp crunch echoing through the empty club. Still as fast as ever, he had gone through thirty of the crunchy vegetables only ten minutes into your conversation. He should have gone into a career in speed eating, honestly. But the more you talked, the more oblivious he seemed as he kept on eating turnips.

That cute little pot belly had begun to fill. At first just a small bump on him, barely noticable with that black slimming vest, but it was growing as time went on. Forty turnips, fifty, sixty. His buttons had started to look a bit tight. You could see a faint sliver of pink poking out from under his shirt. And he still had an appetite it seemed, tackling turnips in one bite as number seventy land in his belly. A low gurgle rumbles up from it, Dr. Shrunk looking embarassed, "Oh! EHeh...excuse me."

You wave him off again, and he seems content to go back to eating, occasionally talking about something or other here and there, but the laze of fullness is starting to get to him. When he's swallowed number eighty, he has to pause for a moment, face scrunching up, before a quick belch comes out. "Hoof! Ahah...you really did bring a lot, didn't you?" He eyed the bag, his hand rubbing his belly for a moment, another churning growl echoing from it. His laugh got a bit too awkward, "I might have er...indulged a bit..."

"Maybe I should save some for later..." Oh no. You didn't come this far not to watch him finish the bag. Even if that belly was cute now, you were set on seeing this through. So you coax him, teasing just a little, dangling the turnip in front of him. His stomach rumbled. You could see something in his eyes as he stared, transfixed at the turnip, drooling slightly. He couldn't possibly...still be hungry, could he?

"Well...A-a few more can't hurt, right?" He said, gingerly taking it from you. His fins wavered, staring at the turnip, licking his lips. His belly gave a wet-sounding grumble before he stuffed it in his mouth, chewing and swallowing the whole turnip in one bite. And god was it hot. His belly grew just a few inches, before with a sudden ZING!, a button flew off, pinged against the wall and clattered to the floor. His face went beet red, but after a moment, he picked up another, making up his mind.

Turnip after turnip disappeared into that mouth. And the rest of the buttons followed the first, Dr. Shrunk beyond caring as he stuffed his face. When his vest had gone slack, his suit shirt was next to go, the flexible fabric already strained by his binge, belly almost quivering with each gulp. It was more then just a simple potbelly now, looking like he was almost pregnant when he'd swallowed turnip 100. He had to stop to catch his breath, patting the sweat away with his tie, "G-goodness...what's come over me?" He looks over the turnips still spilling from the bag, grabbing yet another, "T-this must be a good harvest or something...eheh..." He bit in with another sickening crunch.

He swallowed, his face contorting for a moment, hand going to his mouth, a button flying off his shirt, before a much louder belch echoed out. You could really see it now. The pale pink of his stomach had gone to a darker magenta the more he ate, trapped in by the extremely tight shirt he wore. You didn't say a word as you reached over, patting his firm belly. He jolted, "Er...hello? What are you-ohh..." He moaned suddenly as you undid one of his lower buttons, popping them off one by one. His tortured belly spilled out more and more, forcing buttons off till it was finally freed, still a bit of give left to it without that awful garment. His face heated as you stroked its surface, "O-oh my, that...that actually feels pretty good..."

Dr. Shrunk grabbed another turnip, swallowing, "Keep that up and...and maybe I can finish this..." He bit in. With every rub now, you could feel every turnip he added. The churning of his stomach to digest so much vegetable goodness, the mass of it when you felt under, rubbing the underbelly, lifting it and letting it sink again. All the while those cute little moans and grunts of his began to come out between pauses to pant and belch, gulping down turnips like he was famished.

All the while, his frame just kept filling. With more room, it was starting to fill out into his love handles, his belly a constant concerto of noise with so much food crammed into it. You could tell he was feeling a bit more of the strain too: his eyes squeezing shut when he swallowed, the frequent breaks to gasp for air, the sheen of sweat that shone on his pink skin. As he bit into turnip 130, he struggled to gulp it down and leaned back with a heavy sigh, gingerly rubbing his bloated gut, "Eheh...I definitely overate, didn't I...?"

He winced, a rapid fire series of belches coming up from him, and he looked horribly embarassed, "E-excuse me!" Once again, your hands went to his swollen belly. This time he didn't seem to mind, letting you caress it. It was firm to the touch, grumbling with indigestion. His face slowly relaxed as you worked over his stomach, kneading around the harder spots, moving the load along. His stomach grew less firm as you massaged it, your hand reaching back and grabbing another turnip. Dr. Shrunk looked apprehensive this time, swallowing, "I-I don't know...I don't think I can fit anymore." In response, you just rubbed his belly, giving him an encouraging smile.

"Y-you think I can?" You nodded, trying your best to hide how eager you were. "Well...you've believed in me so much already...I-I'll do my best!" He ate the turnip right out of your hand, feeling the slight swell when he swallowed.

You kept passing him turnips with one hand and rubbing with the other, trading off from time to time as his belly started to grow anew. His whole middle was filling out, those lovehandles stretching to let his sides grow out, his grumbling stomach growing firm before it began to stretch. Little pink stretchmarks had begun to pop up along the bottom of his belly, and his face contorted again on turnip 150 before you swept in to deftly massage. He groaned, giving a hiccup, "I-I've never eaten this much...in my life..." He chuckled, "It feels kind of nice...Keep going like that, would you?" He struggled to reach over his stomach to grab the bag.

You pulled it over so it rested on the top of his stomach and got back to your massage. Even you were starting to recognize he was becoming well and truly stuffed, so full his little legs wouldn't carry him, but your curiousity still kept you going. You had to know. You had to know if he-no-that he would finish the bag.

His pace had slowed, but he was determined to keep going. You were sure he'd stop the instant you quit massaging him, as it was the only thing giving him enough room to keep going. With each turnip, the sounds of his growling, groaning stomach began to grow quiet. When he'd choked down 170, they'd ceased entirely. His belly had become so stuffed it refused to digest anymore. Dr. Shrunk was looking green around the gills, panting softly. "Ulp...m-maybe...maybe we should stop now..." He laughed nervously, "I-I can hardly...breathe..."

You glanced at the thirty turnips left. So, so close...You couldn't give up now. But he looked ready to puke. But he also couldn't escape. Maybe you just had to give him some incentive...

Taking one of the turnips, you pressed it to his lips, "H-hang on! I-I just said, I'm full!" He trembled as he gripped his stomach, his mouth shut. Drool creeped from between his lips, "I-I...I'm really...really..." A gurgle too faint to hear came from his belly as you cupped his chin, smiling oh-so-sweetly to him. He trembled, but opened his mouth. Such a good little comedian. He ate them right out of your hands, at first chewing but eventually horking them down whole, stem and all. His stomach quivered as it was forced to grow again. The bumps of whole turnips showed on his firm gut as he gulped, stopped to breathe, and gulped again.

The stretchmarks grew like lighting bolts and he gripped over his belly, as though hoping to hold it together like that. There was so little give left... His bowtie slid off as he swallowed a stubborn, larger turnip, his face bright red from the strain. You could see the swell had grown up into his chest, his body almost spherical as he kept on eating and eating, rounding out his back and filling out his sides. It looked like he'd swallowed a yoga ball, ready to burst at the slightest poke. Yet still, he let him feed you, looking at you with such trust in his eyes despite how sick he must feel.
You'd soon reached the very last of it. The last ten turnips. They looked so sad sitting in that once huge bag. He shivered as you put the first to his lips, but he opened wide and choked it down. He did the same for the second. And the third. And the fourth. At the fifth, his eyes popped open when it stuck in his throat, tiny arms flailing while you massaged his throat, getting him to coax it down. His stomach was making strange, strained noises. Almost like an overfilled balloon. It had gone red around his navel. His mouth hung open to wheeze.

Almost done, your eyes said, as you fed him the sixth. Then the seventh. He turned his head as much as he could on the eighth, but you got it in him eventually. His belly felt drum tight. By the ninth he'd seemed to realize he couldn't do much to struggle. Or maybe he'd just finally given into that stretching ache going over his body.
But you decided not to push it. By all accounts, you'd gone far enough anyhow. Just one last finishing touch, as you set the last turnip atop his massive belly, like a cherry on top, leaning in to massage his gut as he let out a small, strained laugh, "W-well...I guess I can eat exactly that much!" He gave a wink, "That's all folks!"