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"Come on! What's so wrong with getting free exposure? I'd show your pic around to the right crowds and get you hundreds of more watchers!"

Rita fell back in her chair, arms thrown up in a cry of total exasperation. The nineteen-year-old chipmunk was learning fast about the many wonders of the internet. Especially the unspoken rules involving idiots and cheapskates wanting commissions. If one did not feel entitled to free handouts than the other tried anything to swindle a deal. Sometimes they even tried both prize-winning trains of thought at once

Christ, why did she ever listen to her friends? It was fun making doodles left and right during high school, but then along comes college with its crushing tuitions. Everyone was quick to suggest taking her skills at artwork to the internet. They said there were plenty of niche audiences willing to shell out fortunes for a few hours of photoshop. All Rita needed was to keep an open mind, or sometimes a strong stomach, for some of the more 'creative' kinks people had.

That was six months ago. And so far Rita had collected more followers trying to coax free fap material than the balance number resting in her Paypal. The current jackoff in question being Bitrol348 flooding her with so many personal messages Rita felt the need to shut off her stream within minutes of its broadcasting. Otherwise, she might have punched a hole through her monitor in the hopes it would somehow dislocate the leeches jaw.

Shame she was stupid enough to have her skype handle publicly available too. Not even ignoring several lines of texts seemed to falter this person's constant begging for digital scraps.

“Listen, you son of a…” Rita paused typing a very eloquent text to adjust her round glasses. After consideration, she hit backspace a few time. “Listen, Mr. Exposure, I just took out a five figure loan for law school in the fall. Much as I’d love to do tons of art for free, I can’t eat gratitude and attention.”

“But you’d have complete freedom to use my character however you wanted. I’d let you keep all the money he would generate in ads.”

Rita was, sort of, grateful she did not work out. If she had squeezed any harder, her entire keyboard might have snapped. It is awe inspiring how much futility could be found in arguing economics to potatoes. Forgetting that, simple logic often needed a sledgehammer to get the point across to sentient life.

Like, how the flying heck does drawing some no-nothing character get monetary gain when it’s free? What 'freedom' did she actually have with this guy? Legally there was no way to resell or redistribute such things without that ungrateful prick popping back to demand compensation. ‘Helping her out’ Rita’s slightly chubby rodent rear.

Might as well upload the one piece of art she did get done before going out to cool down. Ten whole bucks for some linework. Freakin whoopie! That meant Taco Bell for dinner again. Bless the corporate scum that invented those cheap meal boxes. At least her commissioner had actually liked it. The bits of praise for perspective work helped distract Rita’s eye immediately from spotting three errors while watching the picture upload to her F.A.

Make that four errors, she discovered with a curse once the upload finished. She clicked to log out, which brought her back to F.A.’s front page. Just as Rita was about to close down the PC something on the new submissions display caught her emerald eyes.

“What the frick is a growth drive?” she said as if the screen would just pop an answer back.

A quick click on the thumbnail was needed for those results. Rita looked over the image unable to hold back a giggle. The mouse man being portrayed waving about to keep his balance due to his body being gargantuanly swollen. Poor thing was fatter than most cars, making Rita suddenly less embarrassed of her own ‘healthy’ waistline. It was almost cute the way his gut and ass jutted out completely unfit for once loose clothing.

Curiosity got the better of Rita, and she began to skim through the artist's gallery. Hunger could wait a little bit longer as she read that this was actually the third image of an ongoing series. All the explanation was actually back on the first stage. It depicted the mouse as a much more reasonable size, and in much baggier clothes. He looked even more adorable all nervous about the concept of ‘growth,’ which seemed to be warranted concerns. Reading over the guidelines for the artists little event, Rita could not help whistling in appreciation at the figure of income it was getting.

“A dollar makes him gain a pound, huh? Damn, that’s one way to make bank on kinky...GAH COME ON!”

Of course, she had forgotten to sign out of Skype. It was no mystery why the tab was flashing before even switching over. That dumb bastard had flooded her window over the course of a few minutes somehow sinking to lower depths in such a short time span. First going for more fail logic compromises, to questioning if she died, ending with vulgar insults sent one word per text.

Rita started pounding out a large wall of text stating exactly where they could stick their character’s free art. Then she looked up to observe the word ‘Growth’ still visible in the back window of her Chrome browser. An incredibly evil, yet potentially hilarious, idea wove together in the young chipmunk's mind. Her front teeth bared in a wide smile of renewed joy.

“Sorry about that. Our fish caught fire.” Was what she ended up typing back. Doubtless, this blockhead would accept any excuse she gave. “But hey! Listen! I have a perfect idea that can probably make us both happy.”

“Wait, serious? You’ll finally take my commission for all the awesome exposure it’ll get.”

“Trust me. There’s no way we both won’t be famous after this.”

“Awesome! What are you doing?”

“Check my twitter in a few hours. You’ll see what I mean.”

Rita shut down her PC without waiting for a response. The rumbling of her belly pudge was too much for another distraction to come up. She tucked her shirt in, sliding into her walking shoes before taking the stairs down two at a time.

“Hey Val!?” she called upon hitting the landing with a dull thump of her weight. Whipping around she could see her Vixen room mate sitting cross legged in the living room as per usual afternoon routine. They had a long standing agreement about Valerie's passion for witchcraft that Rita enjoyed partaking in for the occasional art piece. When the vixens ears twitched in Rita’s general direction, it was a sign her calls had been noticed. “Can I borrow that book on hexes again?”

Valerie smirked. The only movement she made out of her firm meditative stance. “Are you going to burn my fish again?”

“No. No. Just want to mess with some jerk ticking me off on the internet.”

Silence blanketed the cozy little condo for several seconds. Rita just got uncomfortable enough to consider walking out when Valerie spoke up.

“I’ll leave it on your bed for when you get back. Can you get me a chalupa?”

Rita scoffed. It was an annoying habit the Vixen always knew what Rita was doing, often before she did. “Bitch, I’m not made of money.”

They shared a laugh before Rita made her exit.

Elsewhere in the world, around the Ireland area, Sam could not believe his luck. The middle-aged wolf was one among a small group of canine buddies sharing rounds of drinks at the pub. While not related, so much as all Lupi, regular bar flies still jokingly referred to them as a ‘pack.’

“Dude, you got a hard date tonight or something?” said a collie a few chairs to Sam’s right. “You’ve been checking that phone every couple minutes.”

“Oh, sorry.” Sam looked up while his ears went down slightly at becoming the center of the tables of attention. “Guess you could say that. At the very least I’m waiting for something important to pop up.”

There came a few expected jabs or questions about his new ‘girlfiend.’ Thankfully their attention did not linger on the subject for long. Sam was soon able to go back to staring intently at his phone, playing Exvius to pass the time waiting for new tweet notices.

In spite of excitement, he was only half convinced this newest artist had been sincere about doing anything for him. This would not have been the first time such bums messed with him for trying to be legit. One of the reasons he tended to press at the younger, less known, talents of a niche audience. People like that always got an ego just because a handful of fans threw money at things they did not need. And Sam did not spend all day hauling cement and lumber across sites just to hand off his pay to some kid that can not be assed to find a real job.

Speaking of whom, Sam was elated to feel his phone vibrate. A new notice flashed across the top of the screen letting him know Psycosoda had just tweeted a photo. Two taps and he was waiting for the Twitter app to flash with tail wagging feverishly.

“...the fuck is this?”

Of all the things he had expected to load up, this was not one of them. This was not any of the ideas he had pitched before her stream ended. Hell, she had not even drawn his badass character.

Instead, she had drawn...himself?

”Did your date turn you down?”

“Wha?” Sam slammed his phone on the table face down so hard it was luck the screen did not crack. If the question had not turned heads, that certainly made him the center of attention again. “N-no! I don’t have a date, I told you. It’s just some dorks sending me old Jojo meme’s again.”

Some Sam’s drinking buddies nodded in disappointed understanding before going back to their own discussions. Sam himself took a large swig of his ale mug before picking his phone back up.

Psycosoda had indeed drawn Sam up in his own piece of art. The gray wolf flexing semi-fit muscles back at him had all the details down. They even wore the same clothes Sam had on; a button up dirty shirt and jeans. She even got the scars on his left ear and belt buckle perfectly.

The only thing that spun Sam’s mind faster than how some young scrub across the ocean knew who he was was the text she plastered along with the image. Apparently, he was to star in a ‘growth drive,’ whatever the fuck that was. There was some explanation about how sequential images would be drawn based on donations. Each stage would affect Sam’s likeness based on the current sum at such-and-such times.

Every dollar given equals one British pound given to Sam? That made absolutely no sense, but he almost felt like forgiving her for drawing the wrong character if it meant he profited. Sam was still going to have some harsh things to say about misinterpreting his meaning of ‘total freedom’ with his properties. It should have been obvious he was talking about legal distribution for exposure and not literal freedom to do anything outside his ideas. Those pages worth of detail took hours to carefully write to just be ignored after all.

Oh well, he was getting several free pictures and money. That was worth a second pint...and a third.

There might have been a fourth mug of sweet brew involved, but Sam was a bit too tipsy to care about the count. A lot of the ‘pack’ had dispersed back home after hours of drinking banter. He was thinking of going home for a good hangover nap as well when his phone beeped. Sudden remembrance of his prior deals came back in a rush that had him ecstatically swiping screens.

That emotion died seconds upon processing the image that loaded. Whatever swear Sam wanted to say only came out in a loud burp that got a pair of tipsy terrier ladies giggling at him.

The image of himself had been drawn considerably different this time. While still Sam in distinct appearance, his physique had grown upwards by two feet...and outwards by at least triple that. The once proud figure of chiseled fitness now resembled something more of a pear shape. His strong abs were drowned under a pot belly barely covered by a work shirt. Even so, it sagged out over the bridge of his pants in an apron, both belt buckle, and zipper undone by the strain. Not helping was the way his hips ballooned out into pathetic love handles, giving rise to one hell of a massive ass. Their combined pressure on Sam’s pants was probably the only thing keeping them completely being pushed off such a round blob.

Overall the text remained the same, save now there was a counter stating Sam had gained 234 pounds within just the first hours of his drive starting. The wolf had no idea why that meant his cartoon counterpart had become obese beyond normal levels, even for American standards.

Some of the comments of other twitter fellows said Sam looked cute, especially with how he was trying to pull up his jeans to cover the wobbling crack of fat wolf ass. Others gave cheers of enthusiasm to see how big Sam was going to get, which had the real one seething through clenched fangs. With a few swipes, he was bringing up phone numbers for a lawyer friend. It may get them upset for a late night call, but he was more pondering what legal action could be taken over this mockery.

“Urragh!?” Sam growled from newfound discomfort instead of anger. The phone slipped from his clawed fingers as they shot to his stomach. Something suddenly pinched his waist tight that he eventually realized was his belt. That should not be possible. He had this one for months and always wore it on a loose notch.

Such momentary confusion only served to make the situation worse. Sam failed to notice the tightness around his torso was rapidly getting worse until it broke into outright pain. Ignoring glances from remaining barflies, he fumbled frantically with the belt buckle. By then the poor thing had become too tight for the notch to get undone leaving the wolf to break it off in a rush of immense relief.

So much so that Sam needed an extra second to realize his stomach fell out into a noticeable bulge the moment said belt had released its grip. That was wrong on so many levels. Years of work on construction and home repair had always left him with a six pack of abs. Pressing hard against the soft furry pudge found only few trace remains of his pride and joys. The rigid outlines of his hard-earned muscles vanished right under his fingertips, making Sam gasp in the realization that fat was still pushing out his poor midsection. His shirt stretched in round ways he found disturbingly unfamiliar, especially starting to strain around the bottom three buttons where his stomach fell in an apron over his pants.

“You okay, dude?” A Doberman was leaning in close enough to remind Sam where he was, inciting new kinds of panic at his situation. Thankfully, the younger dog’s eyes were examining Sam’s face. “I’ve never seen you look so flush befo…”

“Gonna puck! See you tomorrow!”

In hindsight bolting for the bathroom should have taken some consideration before execution. Sam only managed to grab his phone before getting maybe four steps away. The offset gravity of his newfound mass quickly caused him to stumble into a chair and catch himself on a table, startling the pair of foxes that had been sitting at it.

SHRRRPPP!

Before Sam could even bark out an apology, all their ears shot up at the ripping noise that broke the awkward silence. While the foxes looked around trying to find the source, Sam’s tail dropped in a desperate covering for the split that just formed down the back of his jeans.

The wolf still ended up flashing them his plaid boxers wrapped tautly across a rather wobbly buttock when he ran for the bathroom. It was a horrifying signal that his belly was not the only thing swelling up. Hips and rear pushed down his pants with every step taken, while an increasingly plush muffin top spilled over from the waist. Meanwhile, his thighs were pushing together hard when he walked, forcing a waddle that made his rear wiggle.

Sam almost collapsed into the bathroom, barely managing his balance to slam the door shut and lock it. He fell back against the wooden portal gawking at the incredible changes overtaking his body. It was no longer possible to see his feet thanks to the round sphere swelling out from his stomach. White wolf belly peeked out to say ‘hello’ from the hem of his shirt after it had been forced untucked. More fur ruffled through gaps formed by the shirt's buttons pulled taunt to keep wrapped around such an impressive beer gut. To add insult to injury, even his former hardened pecs were falling atop his belly, becoming a sad pair of man tits.

If not for the pants hugging his hips so hard, Sam’s stomach apron would have flowed seamlessly into his thighs. Reaching back to feel his rear provoked a bark of alarm at how deep his fingers sunk into the flesh back there. The fluffy tail looked almost comically small flicking across two glutes bulging over their denim prison trying to escape over its hem.

Sam rushed to the mirror and let out a distraught whine at the pathetic furry pear staring back. Arms had not been spared much, swelling into a loose sack of flab with barely any muscle definition when he flexed. At least his face still looked relatively chiseled as usual. Although he did note his cheeks looked fuller. If he rested right, there were even the makings of a double chin forming.

To say he was unhappy about this rounding development would be an understatement. Confusing disquiet quickly turned into a boiling rage at the spontaneous ballooning of his once perfect form. Of course, being considerably inebriated did little to help figure out what the high hell was happening. All the pacing around was making Sam's wide rear slosh about, his hands absently pulling at his pants before such motions slid them off completely. The pose that made him strike in the mirror caused a hiccuping chuckle. He almost looked just like…

...that bitches artwork…

Sam had no rational explanation as to how, but some angsty teenage artist from the other side of the world had to be behind this. Of course, when drunk and angry it was also possible volcanoes spewed mac and cheese. That was no reason not to at least swipe on his phone and send a polite inquiry just in case.

“Bnitchj wSAht hASve yuou dopne to m,e?”

It was only after Sam had sent the garbled, barely coherent, text that he noticed another problem. His fingers had swollen to such sausage degrees that a single tap hit at least three keys at once. A response came surprisingly fast with a tone that gave Sam the feeling his hunch was correct.

“What’s wrong, hun? We’re both already getting some great exposure. Did you check out how much we got in just a few hours?”

“I’m a fucking whale!” Sam said, having been forced to switch to voice texting after a dozen more typos. “I don’t know what the hell you’re deal is, but why the hell am I ballooning up like this? I can barely see my toes.”

“I doubt you'll see them again for a while after tomorrow. I’m thinking of running this all week.”

“WHAT!?” Sam clamped his muzzle after the outburst. He took a deep breath to regain some composure. “How the fuck are you even doing this? Why are you doing this? You agreed to us my character in free art.”

“It’s magic silly. I thought that would be obvious. My best friend and roommate has been teaching me a lot of fun spells since we met in high school.” There was a bit of a pause from her. All Sam could do was snort at his phone screen impatiently. Perhaps she was waiting for some kind of denial to such an asinine explanation. If anything, Sam wished he had another beer to forget how much sense everything suddenly made. But eventually, Psycosoda continued, “And I’m doing exactly what you said I could do; the complete freedom for whatever I want. Isn’t this a great idea though? I wish I had known about these donation drive things a lot sooner. There are tons of people I could set up with that. Every dollar donated you gain one pound, meaning more pictures every day you get bigger. It’s genius because everyone wins.”

“A..gain a pound?” No one would ever be able to explain how it took Sam being in his current state of half-delirium to realize she was talking about units of measurement and not currency. “But...I don’t WANT to gain pounds!”

“Hey just think of the exposure you must be getting over there now. It’d be a crime not to include you directly, so now we’re both getting paid. Bet you won’t be complaining when tomorrow’s pic comes out. Word of advice, buy some yoga pants on your way home.”

“W-what!? No, you stupid cunt! Change me back right now or so help me…”

“Hey, you might be onto something. We can change you easily.”

“Oh thank you so much. I really didn’t mean…”

“I should add a boob counter to the next pic.”

“...what?”

“A boob counter. Or better yet, let’s get side donations for your junk too. People might donate more if we give them options on what part of you to grow. Maybe even add a herm bar that makes you look girlier with each dollar.”

“N-no, please not that.” Sam had no idea what a fucking ‘herm’ was, but after the last ten minutes he really just wanted to be done with this girl.

Her texts seemed to have the opposite sentiment.

“Okay, I’ll add additional body parts too. Maybe every fifty bucks I give you a new arm or leg, maybe throw in some tails. I might make it random.”

“I WILL END YOU!”

A loud banging on the bathroom door made Sam drop his phone in a startled yelp.

“What the holy hell you doing in there, Sam?” came the voice of the bouncer, a surprisingly lanky cheetah. “There’s a line forming ya douche.”

“S-sorry! Be right out!” Same bent down to retrieve his phone only to whimper. The sight of its fractured screen from its fall did not hinder his ability to read its last message. And in doing so both tail and ears dropped hard.

“Sorry, got to sleep now. We can plan later since all the donations for the third pic might make it hard for you to get out of the home. Lol.”

Sam had just enough time to read that before his attempts to reply broke the screen completely. The expensive Android frizzled instantly into dead weight resting on his thick palms. A mounting dread overtook the wolf while he processed the meanings of her last words. There were still more donations to be added to his weight, which had somehow become insanely popular.

Slowly his attention turned back to the door and the handful of people that must be angrily waiting for a piss. With a ping that made him jump, the lower most button of his shirt fired off. Unable to contain the pressure of his gut, the belly fell forward into a deeper apron with plenty of its soft white pelt on display. Sam’s tail wagged unable to completely curl between his thunder thighs. It’s fluff brushing against his exposed butt brought a reminder of the large gash showing off his underwear back there.

Would he actually have anything to wear if his body got even bigger? Would he really not be able to leave the house when she was done with him?

More importantly, how was he supposed to get home unscathed!?

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[url=https://www.patreon.com/Vault72]Stories can be read months in advance over on my patreon![/url]

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Art credit: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/robertge

Thanks for reading! Would love to hear your thoughts on it. >^.^<