Creamy fur, stained with food, belly gurgling as it processed the contents of its meal, Anastasia was decidedly content. Well, content wasn’t exactly correct. For Anastasia, there was no such feeling as “content”. If there was more food available, she wanted it. Right now, in fact...
Sitting not five feet away from her was cake.
Rich, delicious, moist, fattening, glazed over pound cake.


The only thing stopping her was...her. Anastasia Harrow, was not what one would call a lithe kitty. Or a skinny kittie. Or a chubby one even. One might be able to loosely get away with “Morbidly obese”, but after a certain point, such terms tended to lose meaning. 
And oh, that had lost meaning some time ago.


Anastasia had been a pampered kitten for the majority of her life. Rich, loved, doted on, by her parents at first, and later on, once they’d decided she was old enough, by her own personally picked wait staff, to care for her hand and foot. She’d never gone hungry so much as a day in her life. To be perfectly frank, it could also be said that she’d never gone a day in her life without being stuffed to her gills. Having been born sickly, her wonderful, caring, overbearing--overzealous-- uh.
Well. One does understand the picture being painted here. Ahrem.


At any rate, it was with this sickness in mind that Anastasia was made to have many a hearty meal as a child. 
“Eat up, dear. You need your strength!” Her mother would cry.


And though her belly didst churn, and pulse with  tightness, her mouth would inevitably open for the next treat her mother would feed her.
 And the next one. And the next one.
        
        A childhood of being stuffed, and looking stuffed in turn. As she grew up, she grew out. At first, it wasn’t anything but a trite few pounds. Nothing to worry over. In fact, that was a sign of health. Mother’s chubby little angel was alive and well, and keeping some baby weight was all. 
        It passed a little bit of “baby weight” soon enough. Eight years old, and unable to so much as sit a desk. Thirteen, and carrying breasts big enough to make women twice her age jealous. Sixteen, and needing help to get out of bed.Twenty-four...
        Too fat to walk.
        Stuck.
        And really wanting some of that cake.
Her blubber was such, that it didn’t flow. It poured. Every bit of her white belly fur, with its folds,  crevices and divots, sagged to the ground beneath her. Her breasts, decidedly plump, and ripened, were so freshly heaving that they spilled to either side of her chest under the onslaught of the force called gravity. While these were two of her greatest features, ignoring her myriad chins, and the cheeks that accompanied them--or perhaps the arms that very nearly sagged towards where her waist might have once been; the greatest of these was left for her backside.
        Description defying.
        Currently touching the ground.
        Nearly four feet backwards, her backside pressed into the cold hard ground, giving her a permanent seat should she find herself wanting. It was quite possibly big enough to seat furs, of the ahrem, larger variety, and spread out several feet in either direction. Per cheek.
        Anastasia Divine.


        A spoilt, pampered, house-kitten, and the only thing stopping her from getting that next piece of cake was her immense poundage. She sat there, resting atop the comforting couch that was her rear, while her arms sat upon the globe of her belly. There wasn’t much for her to do. There wasn’t much she could do. She’d long since been immobilized by her fat. She sat as such in her living room, a complete and total blob, that was spreading slowly in all directions; a furry tidal wave of white fur, stained by islands of discarded food, stains...


        Her stomach growled. Someone really needed to get her that cake.


        She closed her eyes, whimpering to herself softly. Five minutes now.Five minutes without some amount of food being crammed into her gullet. That was just cruel. And then another minute passed by, and then two. Three?


        “You know I’m waiting for you to say it.”


        And there she is, the latest in a long line of Anastasia’s care-takers. Some rabbit, pink actually. Anastasia never really paid attention. Her name might have been Petra? She didn’t know. All she remembered was that Peter, or Patter used to be some huge fatty, and though having lost weight, had instead gained a skill and a penchant for cooking. Some hobby she earned from her wife or something....


        Anastasia didn’t care about any of that, however. There was just the one thing on her mind.
        “Pleeeeease, Peter.” She whined.  To Panara’s credit, she at the very least pretended to consider things. ALl that before a wicked gleam crossed in to her eyes. Striding over and around the blob, fetching the cake, Pandora chose the most generous seat in the house. Anastasia’s.


        “You want this cake?”


        The blob just moaned in response.
        
        “Mmm? I can’t hear you.”
        
        “Yes!” She cried. “Feed me! Stuff me! I’m hungry!” 


        Petra grinned, sinking back into those giant cusions as she  lazily traced her finger around the icing. Chocolate, sugar-frosted, gliterring...


        OH, Anastasia wanted that cake.


        “Please...” She moaned.


        “Well...I can’t let you go hungry, now can I? “ She said with a vicious grin. “But I’m going to make you regret something. You’ve forgotten my name again. And you know the rules for that.”


        Anastasia did indeed. Pannable would feed her. Pannable would stuff her. Pannable would feed her, over and over again, with every food item for perhaps the next hundred miles, for forgetting her name. Long after being full, she’d be being stuffed by that insatiable bunny.


        “Please, Petra....”


The rabbit grinned. “Oh. There it is. That’s what I like to hear. Now open wide. We’ve got work to do.”