After many failed attempts, the sluggish body of the over 800 pound fox comes online, pulling her out of the warm, comfortable clutches of sleep. The TV she fell asleep to was still on, almost certainly because her spouse wanted to make it as easy as possible for her to just continue gliding through her cozy life with as little thought as possible.

Her spouse coos, “Good morning, lardgut. Want some coffee?” The loose clock on the caravan’s table reads, “4 PM.” The demon dog grabs a carton of heavy cream without waiting for a reply, brings it over to the bedbound body of his wife, and begins forcefully pouring the carton down her muzzle. The fox just lays there chugging the creamy, liquid, animal fat, her spouse’s paw digging at the underside of her sweat-drenched overhang and enjoying the overflow of belly. Expressionlessly, he says, “Wait, sorry, that was heavy cream”. The fat fox waits there, staring at the TV, as her spouse returns to the kitchen portion of his caravan. The next thing she feels is another carton at her muzzle, a paw groping her belly fat, and the cold drizzle of cream continuing to fill her stomach. Before the fox can even pant out a single word, the demon dog is already making her drink a third carton, a malevolently adoring look growing on his face. Through aroused breaths, he coyly says, “Hold on, I think this is heavy cream again. This isn’t coffee at all.”

With the fox’s buried stomach full of thousands of calories worth of fat, the demon dog coos, “Good boy, fatty. I love you. You’re mine.” After another grabbing at her utterly huge belly, he goes right back to the kitchen, fills a cup with ice, and pours in some of a pitcher of cold brew he made last night. With a cup of cold brew in one paw and a carton of heavy cream in another, he returns to his wife, saying, “Hey, lardgut,” then proceeding to pour as much cream into the coffee as he can before pawing it over to her. “Enjoy, beautiful. I love you so much.” As the overencumbered fox drinks her coffee, taking breaks to get more air into her exhausted body, the demon dog grabs at a box from the caravan’s nearby  table. “Breakfast,” he says, laying a box of donuts down on the sprawling gut in his wife’s lap, using her body like a table instead. Without hesitation, he opens the box and begins cramming donuts into her  muzzle. Looking into her spouse’s eyes, she sees nothing but the unabated urge to feed and fatten his precious fox. Cruller, jelly-filled, Boston cream; her favorites, one after the other, entering her fat-engorged body. His wandering paw gropes and caresses her chest, admiring her moobs without his piercing, red eyes breaking focus.

Halfway through feeding his wife, he pauses for a moment, staring her down. He puts his muzzle against her ear, takes a pawful of fat, and whispers, “Your cock should be buried deeper. Your fatpad should be an undraining pool of cum, not even a drizzle able to escape. Your balls should have to settle for dumping into your own fat for the rest of your life. When I go to make you cum, not even my paw is gonna be able to take the load. I’m gonna make you weigh over 1,000 pounds, beautiful.” Without even a moment passing, he’s returned to aggressively filling her with donuts, intent on forcing the entire box into her stomach. Under his breath, he just repeatedly growls variations of, “Good boy...fatty...good boy...fat lardgut...I love you...mine...”

His way of showing his love and commitment is unique.

– Fox (they/she) 💙 & Demon Dog (any pronouns) 🤍