-= The Rendering Pit=-
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Table of Contents


This story features Genevieve as, having overcome her first trial, she sets about the job of filling her hungry stomach. Genevieve learns that this, as well as many things in the school, can be a trial in and of itself, if she's not careful!

This chapter written by rabidbadger , illustrated by myself!

Buy THE COMPLETE Book One of The Rendering Pit HERE

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Genevieve stepped out into the halls, mountains of tension piled between her shoulders crumbling like old limestone. The vixen’s paws twitched a little, her first lesson in Wireless Systems Control hadn’t gone awfully per se, but she had writing cramps from scrawling out notes as fast as she could, and the homework was intimidating. It wasn’t memorization or revision or the like – she had to actually demonstrate fine control over a small bot with an odd pig snout by her next session.

She’d get around to it later – all the station clocks and chronometers told her the cafeteria was open for lunch. Half the displays had it running as a ticker in fact. Genevieve looked about, the hallways were all remarkably similar looking, but there was fairly good signage with labeling on the upper end of each corridor detailing what wings were ahead. A rumble from her stomach confirmed that yes, this was the grand idea she was waiting to come to her on how to make this day less tense.

All the walking to find the place was a bit of a chore, clear signage but large campus. Genevieve was panting and holding her side by the time she saw the hall waiting for her, though she’d smelled it for two halls by then – like the food courts of the best shopping centers back home. She could smell a little bit of everything as far as cuisine went, which should mean quite a decent set of fabricators. Something she looked forward to seeing as she turned the corner.

The cafeteria would’ve served as a great hall in most other places – round tables set up like polka dots all about a grand chamber with a central hub that seemed to be where food was served. Students scattered fairly densely about the place mostly ignored her, all of them dramatically different in terms of species – but with common threads. Everyone had their badge on somewhere, and there was (at least to her mind) a strange prevalence of corpulence among them. Not that she was svelte herself, but as the vixen looked about she saw no shortage of asses at least as large as hers.

She was ambling slowly toward the middle while doing all this people watching – her hunger hadn’t abated any. Tugging at her robes some, Genevieve tried to sort out the smells and the cravings they inspired in her. There was Chinese in there somewhere – glorious noodles and soy and veggies and shaved meat. Now she just had to find the console, and-

“What’re you having hun?”

The vixen blinked, and looked up. She’d let herself zero in on the spread of foods around the large central ring and hadn’t been paying especially close attention to what was behind it. In this case that happened to be a sow.

An enormous, quaking pile of swine. Most of her lower body encased in a shiny skin that seemed similar to what the custodial staff wore, a hose spouting from her backside, and a smile spread across fat swaddled cheeks wreathed in cobalt blue hair. “

“I uh, I was thinking maybe Chinese?”

She couldn’t quite seem to stop staring – not that the pig appeared to mind. The lunch lady busied herself with a couple of virtual consoles in front of her, which caused arms to descend from the ceiling.

“Okay, we can do that. Chow mein? Egg rolls? Something more obscure, maybe?”

Genevieve found herself eyeballing where the pig’s belly hung down, how it swung to and fro when she moved. It delayed her response just a bit.

“…Err, egg- egg rolls, lots of em, and some stir fry, and dumplings.”

The waldos hanging from the ceiling wasted no time in beginning to assemble a large platter at the sow’s direction, their metallic and hydraulic whines not quite managing to mask the sound of all that squeaking from lunch lady’s latex leotard and leggings. The pig blushed a little at that, but paid it little mind – nobody seemed to pay it much attention in fact. And by the time Genevieve was starting to properly wonder about that outfit she found a large dish – center full of dumplings on one side and stir fry on the other – edges lined with egg rolls end to end- thrust into her arms.

The vixen found herself drooling just a little, but also marveling at the sheer portion size. The bowl was the kind of thing one expected to see set in the middle of a table to serve a family – not for one person.

“Now make sure to finish as much as you can dear, but anything that’s left I’ll polish off.”

Genevieve didn’t quite catch herself from acting on her next impulse to speak.

“That explains a lot.”

The sow’s smile withered a little. Her arms folded under her chest, or tried to anyway. The bulky wreathe of flesh around them made it difficult, and it was hard to tell if she was trying to hold an imposing pose or not with her lower body being as wide as she was tall – it made posturing a bit of a pointless endeavor. Still, she made her mood known.

“Seriously? Kid, I am what I am because I love this place enough to be it so I can stay here. I think you need to learn a thing or two about that. You? Are staying in here with me for mid-day cleanup and prep for dinner. So, go sit down and enjoy your lunch, but don’t go wandering off.”

Genevieve winced hard at that, hesitating as she argued with herself about trying to backpedal and apologize or just take her lumps and cut her losses. It only took one look at how busy the pig behind the counter was to rule in favor of the latter, and begin her slow march to the tables. The food was good when she got there, the kind of easy quality you expect from Chinese cuisine where even the dodgy stuff is good, and the good stuff is great. Suffice to say when she made her decision to stop shoveling more into her face she’d long since shed the worst of her anxiety, and there was less left than she’d expected there would be.

The cafeteria was starting to empty too by then, not totally but at a steady trickle. The vixen took her tray up to the reclaiming station, which just closed a panel and then revealed an empty space when you fed the tray in. The whole process left her a little confused as she slowly paced back to her table, only for the lunch lady to stop her halfway – holding out a small can to her. Roughly energy drink sized.

“Here. On the house – you’ll need it by the time we’re done hun. We start in fifteen minutes.”

“What do we s…”

Genevieve trailed off as the sow immediately went back to her panels, directing the mechanical arms to collect everything she could see in the cafeteria that students had left behind, uncollected trays mostly, but also dragging boxes around on a side menu that looked like it was going to be tonight’s dinner.

The vixen lo0ked at the small drink she’d been given, no labeling other than a modular inventory code. She felt a strange swell of concern, but her choices seemed limited at best. A quick snap, and she was imbibing – the slightly bitter, fizzy contents going down quick and settling awkwardly in her stomach. It bubbled and churned, then started fizzing violently – without actually causing gas. Something she was still contemplating when the pig’s voice chimed in again.

“Hey! We’re up. Come on through.”

Genevieve turned her head, finding the pig holding up a panel of the lunch kiosk which allowed entry to the middle. The whole place was cleared out by now, no students or trays anywhere, which left the vixen just a little more confused than she already had been. Her stomach gave a little twist, anxiety starting to get the better of her – or maybe indigestion. Either way, she didn’t want to be here right now – wished she’d kept her mouth shut – but that wasn’t fixable. Genevieve’s pace was reluctant, but she joined the sow inside her little food fort.

She then started as the floor they stood on disconnected from the rest of the room and began to descend.

Fox and pig rode a segment of floor down into a dimly lit, pungent under-room. Genevieve saw automated dish washers and heavy duty cuisine fabricators all working overtime – and one other thing. The trays were all being scraped free of leftover food before going into the wash, and the leftovers were landing on a small circular conveyor belt / buffet contraption.

Genevieve’s head tilted, then winced as her stomach let out a disgruntled yowl.

“Sounds like the digestion enhancer is ready. Dig in hun.”

The lunch lady did exactly that. Tying the cobalt blue hair and then diving in face first, literally. Genevieve was surprised the sow could bend over at all, but she clearly had the means if properly motivated. Tucking her face into the first mass of half-finished food, mashed potatoes next to a mound of cherry cobbler and some half-finished tacos. She did use her hands – mostly as shovels – which left the vixen staring in a mildly horrified awe at how the sow’s latex-wrapped body undulated and shifted with every small motion the pig made to get at the slowly encroaching feast.

Her staring was cut short by a piercing pain right in her belly, and an accompanying surge of instinct in the back of her mind. Genevieve didn’t quite dive in face first, but she did lunge for the nearest hand-sized morsel and grab it messily in her paw – stuffing what turned out to be half a meat bun wrapped in spaghetti into her waiting muzzle which wasted no time hastily chewing it into something she could swallow. By the time she had, her other paw was clutching a fistful of rib meat with the bone removed – barbecue sauce and perfectly slow-cooked meat laced with fat. Each handful quieted the wince in her belly a bit, but only a little – and by the time she was swallowing and chewing she could already feel it trying to creep back.

The answer of course was to just not stop eating, something the arrangement down here made uniquely easy. Genevieve wasn’t getting hold of anywhere near as much food as the lunch lady, ensuring they both maintained a pretty steady intake. It didn’t take long for the vixen to lose track of just how many handfuls she’d taken of the myriad piles – it was far easier to judge by other factors. The mounds were growing slowly smaller yes, she’d started seeing some of them come by for a second run (much diminished, but still), but the first real benchmark she found memorable was the sound of threads popping loose from somewhere around her hips.

A brief shift around her hips confirmed the suspicion that brought up, her robe felt tighter than it should – a glance down at herself showed the garment clinging to her body, steadily losing all traces of comfortable empty space underneath. The next bite in her stomach brought her mind back to the concoction she’d drunk, it had to be the cause of this – and…

Genevieve didn’t manage to finish the thought. The next heartbeat doubled the discomfort and her willpower was a ragged, weak thing. She leaned down, getting her face closer to the food, shoveling in the first mass she could reach. Her stomach never seemed to fill really, it just stopped aching and kept fizzing, but the rest of her was definitely being filled out (if not up). The vixen was actively able to follow the greasy, thick texture of adipose blooming under her skin.

She hadn’t been back into the food for more than four or so mouthfuls when she heard the first split in the seam of her robe, feeling the humid air down in the sub-kitchen against her thigh. Genevieve tried to use that as an excuse to pause again, to take stock of the damage, but the impulse only got about a third of the way through her body before the next hunger pang overtook it, running roughshod over her will and making sure that all her body did was keep feeding itself.

Beside her, Genevieve heard the lunch lady going at this harder than she was – snuffling and snorting, letting out greedy grunts and swallowing every other second. Just as noisy was the sow’s outfit, lending a kind of fleshy, squeaky accompaniment to the entire thing, and out of the corner of her eye the vixen could swear that latex coating that covered three quarters of the pig was actually inflating slowly. Worse still, she was starting to feel a bit uncomfortably bloated.

Genevieve still couldn’t quite make herself do anything but eat, messily loading her muzzle up with the ever-dwindling second-hand buffet. All she could manage was a whimper, vocalized around a full mouth hastily grinding some succulent poultry and deviled eggs, feeling that opening on the side of her robe slowly climb upward like a zipper as her body thickened from the hips outward. Joining the signs of the consequences of her detention was the alien sensation of her belly touching her thighs when she wasn’t sitting down. It seemed to be flowing, feeling like it was growing one for one with how fast she ate – something Genevieve hoped her mind was exaggerating.

The food was dwindling quickly. The sow hadn’t really slowed down, nor had any part of her quieted – but Genvieve was enduring the opposite effect. She pitched forward, leaning against some of the framework of the food belt, letting out a groan that was part gloriously, gutturally satisfied, and part painfully overwhelmed.

One aspect of that pain eased when Genevieve felt a massive shifting of pressure inside, one that promised to come back and bite her somewhere specific later. The biting in her stomach on the other hand was leaving off slowly but surely (and she was still lazily groping for morsels above her head with one hand), but the pressure nestled in her backside hadn’t left – it just formed a queue.

It also adjusted the bloating little, which it turns out was important on some level. Genevieve’s robe billowed out behind her, exacerbating the tear on her left hip even further. By the time it and her hips and belly settled into some kind of equilibrium, by the time the vixen could stand up properly again, the robe was hanging entirely split up to just past her left hip – and she could see her paunch poking out a bit past the horizon of her chest.

The robe she could live with – it almost looked fashionable, like a nice dinner dress. Which was now a size or two too small. It might actually be the indignity of the whole thing that bothered her most, the messy hands and face, the shameless and wanton indulgence and total surrender of control to her base need to stuff her face. Some part of her wanted to know just how much damage to her weight she’d done in the last few minutes, and an equal part didn’t – and both of those options suffered entirely new strata of awkward feelings at the addition of-

“Not a bad start! Same time tomorrow skinny ass. At the end of the week we’ll see if you’ve learned this particular lesson or not.”

Genevieve had to guess she was a bare minimum of ten kilos heavier – the part of her that was arguing in favor of weighing herself ‘helpfully’ informed her that, at this rate, she’d be a full plus fifty by the end of the week – and a faint twinge in her stomach left her doubting the effects of the drink had completely worn off.

The platform they were on began rising again as Genevive used a spare cloth to clean up her face and hands some, still quietly trying to wrap her head around what had just happened – was going to happen. She put her newly cleaned paws to her middle, pushing in, feeling them sink and spread. The vixen wasn’t even full anymore. As she stepped out of the central ring and felt herself wobble precariously more than she had earlier today, Genevieve hesitated – then turned back, sheepishly asking over her shoulder.

“Uhm, ma’am? When’s dinner?”