Jay licked the last of the pizza grease from his paws, and let out a satisfied belch, as the sensation of fullness finally hit him.

Sitting back in the middle of a box-covered, wrapper-littered, hog-fest of a room was none other than Jay: E.G. the living trash disposal, according to him and his stomach. There he sat, a wolf, gray of fur, and rainbow in everything else. Granted, “everything else” was a mass of food, brown gravies, red sauces, orange, pink, white, and everything else imaginable slathered against the fatty rings of flab where his neck once resided. As it stood, it wasn’t hard to see why he called himself that, fat as he was. As a matter of fact, Living Trash disposal was a phrase--no a title rather--that hardly did justice to just how sizable he truly was. Jay was so large that he was taking up the majority of his couch, fatty sides spilling from side to side. Nevermind the fact that said couch had been custom built for someone of his size...

 There were facts, and they started with his stomach. His stomach which was not unlike an alien mass, a great surging tide of fat that rolled off of his torso as though it were several hundred pounds worth of medicine balls attached to his torso. It bunched up and sat on his legs,  when he sat, and surged past them whenever he got the insane and foolish notion, inches past his fatty cankles, and spared the precious space it would need to touch the ground. And barring that it didn’t actually touch, it was still a stupendous appendage, constantly demanding that more food be dropped into its cavernous abyss, even as said food went to fuel his already lard coated frame. Speaking of which, two pendulous bulbs, rich and heavy in fat, and growing more plump and full all the time, sat upon the aforementioned mountain of a stomach, constantly rising to meet an assortment of chins and wobbling cheeks that sat upon his fattened collars. That. Was the fact. A torso too large and too heavy, with all its jiggling fat folds and the like to even afford the attempt of being housed underneath a shirt. So  there it sat in the air, free to eat up a certain amount of space, widening all around and working to help make the lupine that much wider.

And speaking of wide, there were also other facts to consider. Those being his thighs. Where as his stomach was an almost sentient mass of flab in the way it moved, his thighs were quite stationary. The reason for this being that they weren’t just large, they were excessively so. If he wasn’t actually wide around as he was tall, his legs were the parts of him that made it so, a collection of  pocket flab, ridden with cellulite and lard, made to grow larger and larger every day with another piece of pie, one last fried turkey, or a third cake. In such a way, they widened out from the bottom of him, meeting every inch of expansiveness that his stomach brought to table as it surged outwards, flaring as his hips made to rest just on top of the edges of his couch. It was these legs that made him a truly grand lard ass, these legs, and a backside that refused to stop. A massive bubblish affair--perfectly round, and surging backwards, his backside made it so that even had he not been able to enjoy the comfort of a lounge chair, amidst the ruins of his home, he would have certainly been comfortable none the less with such stupendous cheeks to rest himself upon. Perfectly wobbling and jutting back several feet from him as they were.

He was the living trash disposal. And like everyone else in his city, his story started two years ago.
Lardworks City.

Lardworks was a relatively simple place in the modern world. A solid economy, a surprisingly (relatively) low amount of criminal activity, and all in all? Just another one of your typical happy southern cities. However, it did come with something of a catch, in that in this modern world it was one of the fattest cities on the green planet earth. The average, AVERAGE citizen couldn’t have weighed less than 350lbs, and of course it only got worse from there. Everywhere you went there wasn’t anything but sloshing bellies, and jiggling backsides as people waddled from place to place. Why everyone was so fat here, no one could actually discern. It wasn’t that there was an unusual amount of fast food restaurants here, although they did eventually move in. (It was after all, a prime place for real estate, of a fashion.) It wasn’t anything in the water as local scientists had run tests on it time and time again, comparing and contrasting it against normal water. The food served here had been tested time and time again for some kind of drugs. Nothing. Once even someone had called in a “mage” apparently to come check it out. Once crazy had been ruled out, well, there wasn’t so much as a single traceable answer or reason for everyone being so hefty. Jay as far as he was concerned, couldn't care less. He’d never been able to  actually afford the food in general, and had spent most of his life in the city as the odd ball, a meager and skinny wolf, who was more ribs than fat, and was lucky if he got one meal and three on a day to day basis.

At any rate, time and time again, tests had been run. WIth no results, the city government had decided that if they couldn’t figure out why everyone was so large, and growing larger they decided to take it upon themselves to simply accommodate the growing waste lines of its citizenry. Law after law passed. First off to allow for a minimum amount of food to be delivered to those who couldn’t afford it, as they seemed to have more than they ever needed apparently, and then a clause to allow people to put in a request for more per weight capita. It started there, and the situation only got worse--or better, depending on who you asked--after that. Mobility scooters, customized housing, the works. Protests aroused of course, not form the actual citizenry of Lardworks, but from neighboring cities. People who “Deplored this sort of abominable encouragement from the city government for unhealthy lifestyles” and several other things Jay honestly couldn’t care about if you put a gun up to his muzzle. Because for the first time in his life, Jay could afford to eat. Jay could eat all he wanted. He didn’t have to worry about bills this and bills that, the city was taking care of it. Of course if he had thought to question that for even a second, he might have seen something was horribly off about it all, but he didn’t bother. He was the first one to sign up on the bill, and get his “minimum” amount of monthly food. The minimum, he thought. Hah!

See, the thing about the minimum made it so that you actually didn’t have to eat all the food the city gave you. All you had to do was drive into the city at any one of the newly created Food Stations littering the golden city landscape, pick up your groceries for the month, and drive off, or walk off, one of the two. Jay had done so, and when he’d finally got home what he saw that day was far more than he could have ever expected. Food, food, food! And not a single ounce of it was “healthy” either. No, it was all donuts and snack cakes,  pies and chocolate treats, gummy bears and gallon bags of doritos,  litre upon litre of soda of every kind and pre-packaged meals of every imaginable kind. In all honesty, this wasn’t a months worth of food. It was several months, and Jays let out a hungry growl then. Because he soon knew he would be eating it all. That day he’d decided to stick with a simple meal of fried chicken. Or rather it was suppose d to be simple. Yet, when he took the meal out of his grocery bags that day it was less a meal and more a feast, easily able to feed a family of five for a night or two. What had possessed him to put it in the oven, and then to attempt to eat it that night was still a fact that was lost upon him. Maybe he was tired of starving. Maybe he deserved to gorge himself as much as he wanted. Either way, he would have that meal. And he did, surprisingly enough. An hour later he was sitting at his table, nomming away at his food with a delirious sort of fervor not even he knew he possessed. What the reason was that had allowed himself to gorge himself into a food coma, he would never know or understand. In the end, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he could finally eat as much as he wanted. Whenever he wanted! He had food now. The housing was being paid for by the city! All he had to do was eat...

And eat he did. The next day was a day all about snacking,  the usually large meals he would have had being supplemented by snack cakes that he shoved into his greedy muzzle, bags of chips that his paws didn’t leave until they were empty, and his stomach was round and full, only to be stuffed fuller first breakfasts of pancakes and waffles and syrup by the litre,just like the juices that sloshed down his ever expanding gullet. That was his life then. One where he readily gave himself over to food each and every day, and took the consequences that came with it. With the diet he had assumed, his formerly waifish figure vanished in a smattering of days. By the end of the first month what had been a waifish amount of wolf totalling in at eighty pounds had been replaced by someone else. A more pudgy, healthier one clocking in at around 140lbs, a soft amount of pudge just barely hanging off of his frame. Ah,  yes. For once in his life the wolf was at a decent weight. Granted, decent wouldn’t last long. The month had flown by and it was time for him to get his minimum, plus an additional half-again on his usual. All the eating he’d done had left him with a cavernous hole where his stomach should have been, the poor thing being constantly bloated and stretched to the point where it was a miracle the the lupine hadn’t burst yet. Once again, the lupine was given his groceries and left to his own devices, where he could happily gorge himself to his greedy heart’s content. And of course he did just that. Growing larger and larger on a week to week basis...

And that wasn’t the only thing that changed. See when all one did was eat and sleep on a day to day basis, not only did your waistline start to suffer, other elements of your life began to suffer as well. Ah, but that part came later. For now, there was nothing for him to do was eat and grow. From 140, to 200 in the blink of an eye; two weeks, soon he wasn’t just a “healthy” lupine, he was fat. He could look in his mirror, and he would see nothing but fat: starting from his shortened muzzle, where his cheeks were swelling, the beginnings of a double chin forming, and swelling into his growing man-breasts, small lumps of fat that sat upon the swell of his gut resting between his soft and fatty arms. The lupine was turning into an utter butter ball, barring of course the softening of his own legs; chunky thighs replacing the swift legs he once had, and his bubble butt swelling and straining even the new clothes he was issued by the city. Of course none of that mattered. Anytime he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t help but see the small and scrawny wolf he had once been, slowly being swallowed by fat. That whelp was being devoured. Being replaced by growing and healthier wolf. Someone who would grow strong, who know one would keep food away from! At least that was what he thought. WHether or not that was truth, Jay didn’t carried. He fueled his pudgy bulk with more delicious, calorie-laden foods, promising to keep that skinny wolf buried under pound after pound of luscious fat no matter the cost, no matter the problems that would bring.

So it was that he continued to gorge himself with reckless abandon, afraid that one day he might run out of food. It was strange, really. He was afraid of losing food, so he ate more food, which in turn made him fatter, which in turn made him eat more food, even though he would still be afraid of losing the very food he wanted to hold onto so desperately. It was a strangely escalating cycle that left him anxious whenever he went through the food he’d been given that month. Eventually he had to start making trips during the month to the Food Stations in the icty. Fortunately for him he wasn’t the only one, several overweight furs standing in lines long, while their hefty bulks sweated and panted, no matter the weather conditions. If he was ever worried about becoming too fat or eating too much, those worries were quickly dissuaded by sights of other fattening furs. He was just eating to maintain a healthy weight he told himself. It was a comfortable lie and one that served to keep him well and sated as he started blowing through weights in record time. 200 lbs was passed in the blink of an eye, just like 240, and 260, 280, 300, and so on. Every month was just another hazing. Another month put between the skinny him, and the healthy him. He could live with that. Even when if it meant he was slowly becoming a butterball. When it meant that he started getting winded from just eating, he was fine. When it meant that the short walk from his car up to his second floor apartment was too much, he just applied for a mobility scooter with baskets on either side so he could carry his groceries without exerting himself. He was undernourished he told himself. That was why it was so hard for him to do all of this. Next month he would be feeling better and up to carrying the groceries himself.

Of course “Next month” brought no new vitality, only more poundage. His thighs were soon brushing through doors, his stomach sagging over his knees, his arms becoming too fluffy to do anything but sit at a forty five degree angle as his array of folds running along  the circumference of his body jiggled and rippled with even the slightest hint of motion. His chins becoming caked, not only in sweat, but soon in coats of grease and cake. He was turning into an utter fat ass, and  honestly didn’t care. He was “healthy” in his mind. A delusion which he was comfortable to live under even though he was so utterly unhealthy it was a wonder he didn’t drop dead on hot days. Still, those were the facts. And that was his life. All he did was eat and eat again. Before long he was stuck in his apartment, unable to leave, for even if he could get up, he could no longer fit past the door, his bloated bulk simply too large to move. For awhile, he’d been able to get his food delivered to him, and the city had shelled out the money needed to hire a maid. However, when all this wolf in particular wanted to eat more and more, it was hard to keep a nurse between the constant eating and the new array of, ahrem, scents that rose off his musky unwashed body.  In the end, for the good of one of its many citizens, Lardworks had decided that the wolf was to be transported to a new home. One more size friendly for the poor thing. Hence, the current state of affairs in his home, with nothing but an army of wrappers and trash littering the floor. Our friendly wolf was in hour twelve of his celebratory eating. It was a feast to end all feasts, because tomorrow, or today, rather, he didn’t know, he’d been eating for so long, and it was hard to tell, he would be in a new home. With all new food, and a bed he could sit on, and all the comforts he could imagine.

There Jay sat, grinning at the fact, as the last of the food slid down into his throat, and towards his belly, where it would go to make even more lard for his healthy body. He was a hog in all forms, and it was wonderful. The wolf sat there, rubbing at what parts of his body he could reach, namely his heavy breasts, which sat atop his great belly; heavier and more defined than most women could ever hope to have naturally, they were there for the wolf to fondle, as he could hardly be bothered to even try reaching towards the great dome of a gut he had, far as it was outside of its reach. Just as well. Packed with food as it was, he could hardly be bothered to try and massage the poor thing. Even now, with all his hundreds upon hundreds of pounds, spread out over the couch, he could feel his gut the most, sagging and now touching the floor, and churning incessantly with its meal. He let out a belch, sending bits of spittle and the like flying everywhere, as he began to drift off to sleep. Today was going to be a good day.

The wolf wasn’t awake when the crews came to get him. Crews, being those task forces specially put together by the city for the purposes of moving such overly burdened beasts like Jay here. Specifically, this crew in particular had decided the best way to move the fat wolf was to break in one of the walls, and then lift him out with a crane, load him up onto the truck afterwards. Not an elegant plan, but simple. Of course, when the crews proceeded to do this, they were met with a visage of just how large the wolf was. He was far too fat to live in one of the regular homes they had designed for him. At least on his own anyway. So there was just one question, to be answered by a lone hawk, lithe and clad in a simple white coat, whom was putting in a call while they hauled the wolf out of his apartment.

“Nrn. Pick up..pick up--yeah. Hey, hey. Blah blah. I know I’m not supposed to call you.  But if you’re gonna make me do your--oh? What’s that? Oh, you want to listen to what I have to say now? Good. One of the butterballs we picked up? Yeah. Needs a machine. Send one down...and bring one of the tanks!” The hawk jammed the end call button on his phone, and looked towards the wolf,  fat piling out  of even the crane, as they transported him. The hawk shook his head. Why did he always, always get stuck around the fatties? He sighed. It was going to be a long day....
---

	Jay awoke to the sensations of having something in his mouth. Granted, this wasn’t unusual in and of itself. Back when he’d had help, and briefly, a nurse who'd’ been willing to help feed him, the wolf had been used to eating in his sleep. Such was what was required to keep the poor beast sated. No, what was awkward about this in particular was that: Well, what wasn’t awkward about it? He woke up in a place that wasn’t his home--granted, he was prepared for that. But to add to what was now a place of soft yellow walls, casual lighting, and clean, smooth floor, upon which is overly bloated backside spread out in all directions, not unlike his stomach,  he had a metal tube in his mouth.  He might have tried to remove it, but the strange contraption was held down against his face, strapped onto his chubby muzzle via two leather straps, and held in by a plastic apparatus, none of which his under-used arms could reach--too encumbered with fat, and too weak to do anything that didn’t involve shoving food into his mouth. For a moment Jay began to panic, wondering what was going on and why, when out came a body--somewhere someone, a woman perhaps judging from the light steps of her feet, and the way her voice gently careened around the room. Yes, definitely a woman’s voice began to speak.

	“Hello, there. No, don’t bother getting up.” The woman remarked, letting a glibe chuckle fly. “Mr. Jay, I’m here on behalf of LArdworks City, here to personally thank you for all teh work you’ve done. Hm? What’s that? Oh, right. You haven’t actually done any work yet. Well, you see. There’s a simple explanation for that. The world as you know it is a place that is slowly changing. Thin is out. Nobody wants to be thin anymore, and the person who really runs the show feels its high time that the true colors of the world show.  Furkind was meant to be fat and happy. Lazy slobs that don’t do anything but eat and eat. We’re thanking you, because all eating you do, will be our showcase around the world. You’ll be our We’ll take the Lardworks projects from city to city, state to state, country to country. And at the end of the century, the whole world will be nothing but fat slobs. Right underneath our paws. So once again. Thank you. You’ll be our golden fatboy lupine. Our flabship into the future.~” And with that the voice retreated, leaving Jay to wonder about his fate. Or rather, to wonder about his fat. IN all honesty, there was a reason that voice was so confident in telling Jay what was going on. Because the truth of the matter was simple: He was too fat to do anything under his own power, and even if he wasn’t? He didn’t want to go back to the world where no one could eat, where he was a skinny wolf, starving with his stomach grumbling and growling at him all the time. He was big now. And happy. If that was the way the world was going to be, well, he couldn’t complain.

	And he wouldn’t have time to, either. Not with the other end of the tube fitting on. It became clear, between his weighty thoughts, and quiet monologue, that the tube attached to his muzzle was actually a feeding machine. When it became clear, he wasn’t exactly sure, actually. It could have been when he heard a faint rumbling shoot throughout the entire workings of his   new home, however large it was. It could have been when he heard a sludge, thick and heavy beginning to pour down the workings of the tube, or even when it hit his mouth, tasting of pure sugar and fats, and workings its way into his greedy muzzle. It rolled over his tongue in a wave of flavor--no. Not a wave of flavor. It tasted sweet, true, but that wasn’t it. That wasn’t what delighted the wolf, and made him start sucking on the hose for all the massive lard-lupine was worth. It was how so much of it came blasting down, almost like a solid force, torrenting itself down through his mouth and into his stomach, filling him up in ways he hadn’t felt since the first time he’d over gorged himself. Since the first, and what he’d thought would be the last time he felt full. The wolf was delighted in how much of the absurd food would go into his belly, knowing full well that the meal wouldn’t do anything more than blow his large frame out  even more. This! This was how it was supposed to be. This was how kings were supposed to eat! He guzzled more and more of the sweet fluid, quickly becoming full, and then surging past that in a rushing wave of greed. Not that he would have been able to stop if he wanted to. The machine he was hooked tos seemed to have a mind of its own. Granted that wasn't the case. It just had sensors. It would stop when the owner of said hose was full. COmpletely. WIthout so much as a single iota of space within his encumberance. Then and only then would it stop. SO the wolf went past full. The wolf went past bloated. He moved into such a state, utterly and completely being filled to the brim. It could not, would not stop. The feeding went on like this for five minutes, then ten, then twenty, thirty, an hour, two. It kept on, until the wolf thought he might explode for want of a break. And then, just as he lay on the verge of collapsing, passing out, bursting--the machine stop. And all he could do was let loose a squelching, a loud, a thunderfury “BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURAAAAAAP!” that sent the room around him shaking. Oh. Oh, yes. He could get used to this life. But for now? Sleeep....

	The wolf awoke again to several feedings like that for the next couple of days. It was a strange thing for him to get used to, eating so much more than even he dreamed possible. At one point the fluids all changed into different substances he could tell. One day, he made out with what he could’ve sworn was custard filling. ANd then the next, pure undiluted cka emix, surging down his mouth like a great sugary slurry, that served to fill him up with sweet, strawberry-mixed bliss. It went on, eventually leaving the wolf with no sense of time or day. Just time between feedings. He ate, and then fell asleep. When he awoke to the great churning beast that was his belly, screaming and crying for food, he knew it was time for him to eat again. Just like that. Add that to the way his fat continued to build up--how he knew he’d grown a few...feet, when his belly started overlapping  his legs, or how his arms had finally become to blubber enriched that they sunk into the rest of his body, or chins spilled out from underneath the mask that kept the hose--his friend--permanently attached to his muzzle. It seemed these days, Jay did nothing but measure time passed in the way he grew, and how he ate. How his backside bunched up--a swelling sea of rolls that turned into a pillow for him to rest upon, as he lost the ability to move his neck, as his butt--billowing cheeks in the distance, overlapped against one another, and met with the rising hills of his fat in order to cushion him--that was how he measured time. The wolf was a slave now. A slave to his hunger, the only sensations left to him besides warmth and fullness.

	In all honesty. He wouldn’t have chosen to live his life any other way.