The fattened bratty catboy [commissioned]

chapter 4 – happy birthday, catboy

Oliver jumped up, nearly dropping his sweatpants, pulling them up to his waist. They were pushed down slightly by his soft gut, still a little full from his early burger binge. His fingers lightly stroked the bottom of his gut, impressed at how visibly fat he looked now. All this new weight, and it was from over the weekend? Jeez. He felt a twinge of guilt, idly wondering for a moment if he should stop eating so much… but then again, why did he enjoy knowing he was getting fatter?

“Come on, Oliver, or the food will get cold!” his mother called up, his ears twitching toward the sound of her approaching footsteps.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he quickly grabbed a shit and pulled it on. It felt a little tight on his round middle, and Oliver found himself needing to take a few deep breaths to keep his arousal in check, his tail twitching in annoyance. Going downstairs with a noticeable bulge in his pants is certainly not an experience he wanted to have.

“I’m coming, Mom, sheesh!” he called back, quietly grumbling to himself. She didn’t respond, he only heard her turn around and start heading back downstairs.

Oliver tugged at the bottom of his shirt, both enjoying but still feeling a little embarrassed at how tight it’s fitting now. He’s definitely going to need to buy new clothes soon, the way his weight’s been piling on all of a sudden. With a sigh of defeat, and a hint of excitement, he shuffles out of his room and downstairs, admittedly curious as to what his parents were planning on. Or was it… planned on? Meh, whatever, he wanted to know what’s up.

Coming down from the 3rd floor, he passed the 2nd floor when the aroma hit him first. The distinct smell of fried food, spices and… wait, is that fried chicken? Excited, Oliver rushed down the rest of the way and towards the kitchen. He even started to jog down the hallway, but had to stop to catch his breath only a few yards later.

“Why is our house so damn huge?” he asked aloud to no one, leaning with one hand against the wall. “Or am I just getting too fat..?”

After allowing himself a moment to catch his breath, he quickly made the rest of the way to the kitchen. Before him were several serving dishes and plates with a variety of food: mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, some vegetables for good measure. Of course, the most prominent was his favorite, at least as far as non-desserts go: fried chicken. Not just any fried chicken either, but the very brand he helped make!

Or, so he tells himself. Really, he insisted on doing taste testing and threw a fit until his parents let him do it. Then, it was just an excuse to stuff his face with chicken and criticize it, and Oliver somehow convinced himself he was the main driver for the successful launch of the restaurant. No one dared to confirm or deny it, either.

In truth he was a major player in it, but with his bratty attitude no one dared to inflate his ego, and refused to hurt his feelings by lying. So, Oliver instead gets vaguely acknowledged, and the subject is changed, leaving him to assume… correctly, but assume none-the-less.

The brand was aptly named after him, too, further convincing him of his role in the food: Oliver’s Fried Chicken, or OFC. (Oliver ignored the obvious comparison to the Internet-based expression, “of course.” Pun intended.)

“Oliver, there you are!” his mother, Molly, looked relieved to see him, though he didn’t understand why she would be worried. It was just his parents and the staff… and all this food…

“Yeah, I, um, had to get dressed… are we having a party or something? I don’t want to be ” he asked.

“O-oh! N-no, nothing like that, we just felt bad for leaving you along on your birthday like we did, so we wanted to surprise you with your favorite food! Think of it like a… well I guess you could call it your personal feast!” his mother gives him a warm, albeit apologetic smile. His father was standing next to her, nodding in agreement.

“Now, son,” his father speaking up now, “I know this is a lot of food, and we thought this would be something you’d appreciate, so I picked this up earlier today.” and walked over to Oliver, handing him a small bottle of pills. Looking down at the label, Oliver saw the familiar name and appreciated the descriptive text that came along it.

“Digestion boosters?” Oliver asked, “I.. I don’t understand.”

His father’s squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. Thankfully, they already knew these would be safe, Oliver recalling his mother even trying them a couple times. Something the small pudge in her middle reminds him of, made her seem warmer, more motherly somehow.

“We got all this food for you, my boy,” was the answer he got, looking back at his dad as he continued, “Remember when you said you wished you could eat almost non-stop? Well… this costs more than we normally budget for your.. appetite, but consider this a treat. Another part of your birthday present, along with your favorite foods.”

As his father finished, someone from staff move to the fridge as if on cue, opening it to reveal not ONE but FOUR boxes of cheesecake. Oliver could only stare in disbelief as she closed the fridge door. His stomach growling knocked pulled him back to attention, his eyes wandering back to the pills.

With a pat to his back, his father let off a small chuckle. “Have fun, kiddo. I need to attend a meeting in my office, but your mom will help you out here, okay?” and strolled on out of the room.

With a shrug and taking a seat at the dining table, he checks the label for instructions as someone sets a glass of water before him. Twisting the cap off, he quickly taps out two pills, and chased them down with some water just in time for a plate piled with food to be set in front of him. Looking up, the cute servant averted her gaze as she stepped back and away.

“Oh, well thanks…” he tried to offer to her but no response. With a shrug, Oliver grabbed a napkin and tucked into the neck of his shirt and started to dig in. A big spoonful of mashed potatoes, followed by a mouthful of chicken, and some mac and cheese. His stomach bulged ever so slightly as he cleared the plate, only for another one takes its place, and the process was repeated.

One greasy hand reached down to rub his firm gut as he cleared his 2nd then 3rd plate, leaning back with a . He just spent a weekend being stuffed, how was he already feeling full now?

His mother appeared by his side, her fingers brushing against his belly catching his attention.

“Looks like my kitty cat needs some help already,” she lightly teased, the 4th plate set down alongside another with a couple slices of chocolate cheesecake.

“I’m fine,” Oliver replied, his inner brat was coming out again as he pouted. Her fingers gripped his belly now, not too hard as to hurt him, but enough to get .

“Aw, my growing boy needs some help eating? Don’t worry, mama’s here to help.” she cooed at Oliver, making him blush as she reached over, grabbed a fork, and shoved a large bite of pasta into her son’s mouth. Surprised at her sudden aggression, he didn’t fight back at all. In fact, he was impressed, and continued to eat whatever she decided to pass into his mouth.

Further adding to his surprise was how he didn’t feel full! Just a moment ago he was feeling stuffed, and suddenly he had room for more. Or, so he felt, as his mother watched on with delight and a firm grip as he accepted every bite of food, every morsel of fried chicken or potatoes. As the pills started to kick in, his digestion kicked up a couple notches, giving him more room to be stuffed further. Which, in turn, has the added benefit of making Oliver grow even fatter, and less waste to worry about later.

It’s still in the prescription phase, considering the implications.

“Mmph!” the sudden taste of chocolate cheesecake hit his tongue, his hands resting on his volley ball of a gut. He didn’t expect dessert so soon, not with so much food still left over. Not that it changed his reaction, a soft moan around the food as he chewed and savored the flavor as it washed over his tongue. His hands reached up to rub his full stomach, only to be surprised it didn’t feel as taut as he expected. More so, it somehow felt softer?

Was he digesting his food that fast?

“There we go, my kitty,” his mother cooed, gently kneading and rubbing Oliver’s softer belly, “Aren’t we glad we took those pills? Now you can eat a lot more, and it fuels my growing healthy boy.” That was enough to elicit a pleased moan from the catboy, prompting more food to fed to him. She did her best to ignore the sudden bulge in the crotch of his pants, grinning instead as his fingers stroked and rubbed over his full stomach.

Pleased with herself, and her son seemingly willing to eat more now, the feeding only sped up. Making their way through the rest of the mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, and especially the rest of the chicken, he was left moaning and rubbing his basketball-sized middle. Intermittently, Molly would slip in a slice or two of cheesecake as well, much to Oliver’s delight every time.

Leaning back, he groaned, feeling truly stuffed. If he recalled correctly, the pills were still active, he just ate much faster than his heightened digestion was kicking in. It gurgled and groaned loudly, working to quickly digest his massive meal. His mother, Molly, was still nearby as she helped him to rub and soothe the aches. Her touch was a welcome one, hands and fingers soft and gentle, gliding over his tightness that had just a little bit of squish.

“Damn,” Oliver whined, despite the heavy and intimate attention. He eyed the last two full cheesecakes, unboxed and set onto the table before them. “Mom, I can’t finish the cheesecakes.”

Molly