HOME | DD

Description
"Hold on... let me... just take a breath..."

Caleb panted, as the solid-forged steel plate on the front of his leather armor strained back against the swell of his belly with every heavy breath the fox took. Even the soft fur lining did little to ease how he felt utterly squeezed into it. And yet, ravagers and glinthawks roamed the area; he'd need all the protection he could get.

It made him blush all the more to watch Sandra beside him, shrugging off the cold and falling snow, dressed by comparison in luxurious Carja silks of pure sky blue, sunlit golden, and tasseled hip-scarves of crimson inlaid with gold thread whos precise, geometric pattern gleamed in the moonlight. The rest of her was every bit as soft and lush as her raiment, too.

"Ah, come on now, Pitchcliff's just beyond this clear cut..." The coyote gestured to the valley they rested in, where few trees still stood that weren't reduced to sawed-down stumps. Beyond the murmur of the mountain river, Caleb could see the Oseram settlement's forgefires, each like miniature volcanoes. Amid the sharp brisk snowy air, he could still smell the charcoal.

"Just one minute... or two..." Sinking down against a tree stump to take some of the weight off of his feet, Caleb groaned as he stretched out muscles whose aches and soreness all seemed to add voice to how snug and ill-fitting his armor had become. Ever since he'd met Sandra, and she'd first invited him to Meridian... fifty pounds ago, his armor fit flawlessly, but even now, after countless alterations, lengthening of straps and reinforcing of rivets, he'd have to get a new custom set forged. A much bigger set. It seemed like only yesterday, he was scrawny apprentice at the forge, his pumpkin-orange fur holding all the char and soot from days feeding lumber to the fires. Now, he was the one doing the lumbering, fat as he'd grown.

One fateful day, he'd traveled to Meridian to deliver a shipment of machine parts, when the most beautiful Carja noblewoman he'd ever laid eyes on asked if she could see the flawless sawtooth lens among the assortment of machinery. All it had taken was her asking the fox if he'd been the one to take down the sawtooth himself, and he'd replied in the manner of every flustered young man looking to impress a girl. Impressed, she'd decided to 'sponsor' him with the hopes that he could make a name for himself as a machine hunter, and she'd have the bragging rights of reciting his dashing adventures and displaying his gleaming treasures to every one of her friends. That she could be brave enough to join him in his hunts, get her fur and silks dirty for the thrill of victory in the face of certain danger...

"Don't tell me you're embarrassed to have all your Oseram friends see how well you've..." Sandra's eyes roamed happily over the ball-round swell of Caleb's belly, "...embraced the prosperity of the Sundom?"
"Surely, they'll be impressed that you've come to have new armor forged for how stout you've become?" Sandra knelt down at his side, then in one swift motion, straddled what part of his lap his belly wasn't occupying, her hands sliding to frame that round armor plate. Through even the thick leather, he could feel how his gut's sheer girth and roundness swelled out against her palms. Every leather strap, every rivet-reinforced eyelet strained as taut and firm as the skin across a drum.

For at least two years, she housed him in her private apartment, where the only soot and embers came from fireplaces or braziers flanking the doorways. Two years of constant spoiling, affection, and most of all, feeding. Where he'd been used to forge-blackened sirloin, or a meager mashed roots with boiled greens, with the Sundom's flourishing agricultural development, he could look forward to the choicest cuts of meat seared to perfection, and glazed with herbs and wine, or maize dough stuffed with savory meat and spices, or plump turkey wings rubbed with fiery spices and roasted crispy and golden. There was hardly a night where he didn't drift off to sleep on a belly so stuffed, Sandra would help ease him back atop pillows and blankets almost as soft as he was, sliding in alongside him to rub and massage and stroke her hands over every taut, aching inch, until the sting of overfilled discomfort melted into a pleasure that left him helpless beneath her palms.

He whimpered as she tried to slip a finger or two in between the straps that held that breastplate on, but no matter how hard she tried, not the slightest bit of slack could be sought. "I don't know if even their strongest hammers could pop you free from this, now." Sandra teased, leaning in closer to press her bared, chubby belly right against the lower curve of his own. "But I think I know how..." Her whiskers tickled his ear, as her thighs splayed along the underside of his belly. Every hammer-forged strap and buckle from his shoulders, down to his thighs gave a groan that spoke for the fox, stretched to the very limits of their craftsmanship. "Half a loaf of mesa bread, with a side of sun-seared ribs ought to burst you right out of it."

Artwork by twitter.com/BlizzieNoms

Description
"Hold on... let me... just take a breath..."

Caleb panted, as the solid-forged steel plate on the front of his leather armor strained back against the swell of his belly with every heavy breath the fox took. Even the soft fur lining did little to ease how he felt utterly squeezed into it. And yet, ravagers and glinthawks roamed the area; he'd need all the protection he could get.

It made him blush all the more to watch Sandra beside him, shrugging off the cold and falling snow, dressed by comparison in luxurious Carja silks of pure sky blue, sunlit golden, and tasseled hip-scarves of crimson inlaid with gold thread whos precise, geometric pattern gleamed in the moonlight. The rest of her was every bit as soft and lush as her raiment, too.

"Ah, come on now, Pitchcliff's just beyond this clear cut..." The coyote gestured to the valley they rested in, where few trees still stood that weren't reduced to sawed-down stumps. Beyond the murmur of the mountain river, Caleb could see the Oseram settlement's forgefires, each like miniature volcanoes. Amid the sharp brisk snowy air, he could still smell the charcoal.

"Just one minute... or two..." Sinking down against a tree stump to take some of the weight off of his feet, Caleb groaned as he stretched out muscles whose aches and soreness all seemed to add voice to how snug and ill-fitting his armor had become. Ever since he'd met Sandra, and she'd first invited him to Meridian... fifty pounds ago, his armor fit flawlessly, but even now, after countless alterations, lengthening of straps and reinforcing of rivets, he'd have to get a new custom set forged. A much bigger set. It seemed like only yesterday, he was scrawny apprentice at the forge, his pumpkin-orange fur holding all the char and soot from days feeding lumber to the fires. Now, he was the one doing the lumbering, fat as he'd grown.

One fateful day, he'd traveled to Meridian to deliver a shipment of machine parts, when the most beautiful Carja noblewoman he'd ever laid eyes on asked if she could see the flawless sawtooth lens among the assortment of machinery. All it had taken was her asking the fox if he'd been the one to take down the sawtooth himself, and he'd replied in the manner of every flustered young man looking to impress a girl. Impressed, she'd decided to 'sponsor' him with the hopes that he could make a name for himself as a machine hunter, and she'd have the bragging rights of reciting his dashing adventures and displaying his gleaming treasures to every one of her friends. That she could be brave enough to join him in his hunts, get her fur and silks dirty for the thrill of victory in the face of certain danger...

"Don't tell me you're embarrassed to have all your Oseram friends see how well you've..." Sandra's eyes roamed happily over the ball-round swell of Caleb's belly, "...embraced the prosperity of the Sundom?"
"Surely, they'll be impressed that you've come to have new armor forged for how stout you've become?" Sandra knelt down at his side, then in one swift motion, straddled what part of his lap his belly wasn't occupying, her hands sliding to frame that round armor plate. Through even the thick leather, he could feel how his gut's sheer girth and roundness swelled out against her palms. Every leather strap, every rivet-reinforced eyelet strained as taut and firm as the skin across a drum.

For at least two years, she housed him in her private apartment, where the only soot and embers came from fireplaces or braziers flanking the doorways. Two years of constant spoiling, affection, and most of all, feeding. Where he'd been used to forge-blackened sirloin, or a meager mashed roots with boiled greens, with the Sundom's flourishing agricultural development, he could look forward to the choicest cuts of meat seared to perfection, and glazed with herbs and wine, or maize dough stuffed with savory meat and spices, or plump turkey wings rubbed with fiery spices and roasted crispy and golden. There was hardly a night where he didn't drift off to sleep on a belly so stuffed, Sandra would help ease him back atop pillows and blankets almost as soft as he was, sliding in alongside him to rub and massage and stroke her hands over every taut, aching inch, until the sting of overfilled discomfort melted into a pleasure that left him helpless beneath her palms.

He whimpered as she tried to slip a finger or two in between the straps that held that breastplate on, but no matter how hard she tried, not the slightest bit of slack could be sought. "I don't know if even their strongest hammers could pop you free from this, now." Sandra teased, leaning in closer to press her bared, chubby belly right against the lower curve of his own. "But I think I know how..." Her whiskers tickled his ear, as her thighs splayed along the underside of his belly. Every hammer-forged strap and buckle from his shoulders, down to his thighs gave a groan that spoke for the fox, stretched to the very limits of their craftsmanship. "Half a loaf of mesa bread, with a side of sun-seared ribs ought to burst you right out of it."

Artwork by twitter.com/BlizzieNoms