Commission Story: Nemo

“Ough, my head… haven’t woken up this hungover since the police Christmas party,” Case mumbled. The citra shook his head, blinking away the sleep. When he tried to move a hand up to rub his eyes the police officer realized something wasn’t right. His arms didn’t move, and something was digging into his wrists, hard. The bed didn’t feel right. As the haze in his head cleared, Case understood why: he wasn’t in a bed at all. He was sitting in a chair. It felt like there was a rope around his hands, tied behind his back. He didn’t remember much from the evening before but was fairly sure that a simple night of drinking wouldn’t end like this. Unless it was the office Christmas party; it took him weeks to lose all the weight after that.

He looked around, taking stock of his situation. Tied up in a chair, rope on his arms and legs, sitting in a dark room. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness enough to make out rows of shelves and boxes sitting on them. Probably a warehouse. His memory was still fogged over but that seemed to jog something loose. If it was a warehouse, and he was tied up, then the criminal he pursued probably caught him. Wait, was he chasing someone? Yes. He could remember a sting operation to catch… someone. It was a mob boss. There was a protection racket for the buffets, restaurants, and grocery stores in the city. And this guy was in charge of the operation, shaking them down for absurd amounts of food as payment. The police set up a sting and it went pretty poorly.

That would explain being tied up in a dark room, Case thought dryly to himself. He needed to escape and capture his mark.

A floodlamp directly in front of the citra illuminated the room in a flash, blinding Case just as he was getting his bearings. He instinctively tried to lift his hand to cover his eyes forgetting for a second he was still tied up. Someone stood directly between him and the floodlamp silhouetted by the light. They weren’t tall, but what they lacked in height they made up in width apparently. The silhouette tipped up a fedora with his hand to reveal his face, and slowly walked toward his captive. As he approached Case recognized the ‘NGI’ logo on the fedora. His eyes went wide as dinner plates. Oh no. The shake downs for food suddenly made sense.

“You almost caught me you know. Pretty close in the end, but just one step too short,” the shadowed figure monologued. “It’s a good thing I got you instead. I’ve really been meaning to update my furniture around here, and you’ll make a great addition.” The raccoon finally stepped close enough that he could lean down and get face to face with Case. Boomer grinned, wicked and devious.

“Would it be too much to ask for you to let me go and not turn me into furniture instead?” Case said, gulping down his fear.

His raccoon captor laughed and pinched at Case’s cheek. “That’s cute. How many times have we done this exact same thing before?”

“I lost count and also please stop.”

“Before you ask, your friends are safe. They didn’t chase me nearly as quickly as you did, so they were left behind,” Boomer said, letting go of the citra’s slightly-chubby cheek. “But we’ll fix that so you’ll never run after me again.”

Two more figures approached from behind Boomer, significantly taller and wider than their boss. One looked like a beefy rabbit while the other weighed just as much, except around his gut instead of muscles. Case didn’t recognize them; he assumed they were hired muscle, without the muscle so much in one of them. Bouncers? Bouncers was a better word.

“Take good care of our guest, boys. I’ll be back later to check on his progress,” Boomer said as he turned to walk away.

“Sure thing, boss,” the rabbits said in unison, in a thick New Jersey accent. Now that they were alone Case was able to look around again, frantically searching for anything that might aid his escape. None of his police gear seemed to be in the room right now. That would make things much harder. The rabbits walked right past Case. They pulled a hose and a heavy-looking piece of equipment forward, stopping at either side of him. He couldn’t turn his head far enough to get a better look so he had to settle for using the corners of his eyes. It looked like… a compressor, a hose, and another rope. The citra knew exactly where this situation was headed, but he didn’t intend to stick around and let it happen.

Case tried to lift his body weight and hop forward in the chair, but a heavy set of hands landed on his shoulder to hold him in place. “None ‘a that now. Just open wide,” the beefy bunny chided. He pried Case’s mouth open and stuffed the hose inside, while his chubby bunny companion tied the rope around his muzzle. It took less than a minute as they worked with all the skill of honed professionals; this was not their first kidnapping and fattening.

The heavyset bouncers had him easily pinned down, and as the food started to flow into his mouth it was harder to lift up his body of his own power. Still, he had to try. He tried to yell and plead but all his words were muffled, first by the hose then by the food that blasted straight into his mouth. He couldn’t keep trying to talk or he’d just be forced to eat. Instead the police officer spent his time trying to clamp down on the hose with his teeth to stem the flow of what tasted like fruit smoothie. It was hard to deny how delicious the sweet liquid was. Case mumbled and grumbled, trying to grunt loud enough that anyone else might hear. A few times Case caught himself slipping into a trance. Sweet smoothie pushed past his gums, resting heavily in his lap as his stomach expanded across his thighs. His citra instincts made it hard to resist the fruit flavoring, but the dire nature of his captivity was enough to kick Case back into consciousness. Not before the rabbits had added several dozen pounds with each loss of control though. His eyes were wide and wild, struggling with the bonds on his hands while swaying from side to side on the chair. He just couldn’t get enough leverage to get free.

Time started to blur together at some point; Case wasn’t entirely sure when. He could only remember the feeling of the straps of his bullet proof vest as they popped apart one by one, giving the cop more room to bloat forward. The tank top sliding up over his chest, eventually stretched thread tight by his mass was memorable too. Most of the weight centered on his belly for the moment until his metabolism started kicking in, digesting the smoothie with mesmerizing speed. Seams creaked and burst under the stress of citra thighs and rump. Before his pants could come apart entirely though the chair he was using gave up the ghost. It shuddered once before cracking entirely.

“Eep!” Case yelped when his butt landed. That moment of distraction proved to be Case’s undoing. Without his teeth clamping down on the hose stymying its flow the smoothie was free to rush in all at once. The citra’s cheeks filled with the tasty drink all at once. Before Case could stop himself gallons and gallons had already pushed their way past his gums and into his gut. His mouth wasn’t strong enough to clamp down again now that the increased pressure was flowing through it; the sounds of his struggling ‘mmmph’ was all he could manage. His legs stretched wide apart to make room for the growing tum, while behind him his butt seemed intent on making sure his feet wouldn’t reach the ground. His seat was padded by more pounds of weight, making it plenty comfortable to sit on but not so comfortable for walking or movement.

After some time it seemed the flow through the hose dribbled to a stop. Case couldn’t tell how long he’d been there for. Minutes? Hours? Days? He barely even noticed when the rabbits patted him on the shoulder and walked out of the room. His eyelids felt heavy; the sensation of drowsiness fell over him like a blanket. The police officer wanted to stay awake, to try to escape, but this was too much for him to fight. Maybe a nap would do him some good. Case slowly drifted into a sleep deep enough to put an after-Thanksgiving coma to shame.

When Case finally came to, he was greeted with a wide smile from his raccoon captor. “Good morning, sofa. How are you feeling today?”

“Tired. Full. BWAAAARP,” Case belched.

“Oh good, you’re taking well to being stuffed then. We have some more coming. You’re not quite soft enough for my liking,” Boomer continued.

“What?” Case deadpanned, suddenly much more awake. It was then that Case realized Boomer was laying on his gut as if it were a couch, spread out over it. The raccoon bounced up and down in his seat a few times to test the softness of the police officer’s new body. Even though Case wobbled like a waterbed in a storm, Boomer was apparently not satisfied. He frowned for a moment before hopping down to the ground.

“Yup, better keep this going. Open wide tubs. You’re not nearly ready to be moved into the living directly in front of the citra yet,” Boomer said as he dragged a hose up to Case’s face once more. The citra squirmed to move out of the way, but everything felt so heavy. Partially due to his drowsiness, and partially due to his literally heavy body. He kept his mouth clamped and tried rolling away, flailing his arms behind his back. But there was no resisting as the hose not-so-gently pushed past his teeth and was tied in place once again. Case whimpered as his face turned a light shade of red. He’d spend the next several hours trying get free.

---

Boomer pulled the hose out of his captive’s mouth and bounced off the edge of his massive body. “Unfortunately, looks like I’ll have to come back for you later. Can’t be having the fuzz pick me up just yet; too many other people that need to be made the size of a bed. I had fun though. Let’s do this again sometime.” The raccoon winked at the citra and in a flash, he was out the back door into a waiting escape van.

The police arrived just a few minutes too late. All the doors were locked and by the time the battering rams arrived to help open them, there was no one left to arrest. No rabbits or raccoons could be found, only the remains of an absurdly large tank labeled “10XL Smoothie.” The mysterious boss of this clever crime ring had eluded capture once again it seemed.

Not without leaving behind a victim though. At first the SWAT team assumed the door to the warehouse was locked just like all the others up to that point. But when their battering ram didn’t budge the door a single inch they suspected something else was wrong. It took some creative climbing and a lock picking kit to undo the latch on a window to the warehouse. The officer that climbed through landed on something soft and nearly bounced right back out of the window.

It looked like they found the missing Officer Case. A whole lot of him, in fact.

The citra was filling most of the room. A few feet separated his head from the ceiling still thankfully, but the fact remained that Case was not going to be moving anywhere on his own anytime soon. It took half a day to break a large enough hole in the warehouse wall for Case to roll out; it took another half day to find a dump truck large enough for Case to fit in. The crane struggled to lift the tons of citra up into the truck, and even once he was there his gut and sides spilled dangerously over the edges.

For his part, Case could only moan and struggle to get comfortable. This was the worst fattening he’d dealt with in a long time. And every comment by his fellow officers about his size only sent his face blushing a brighter shade of red. He’d need a very, very… very large treadmill to work all of this off.