"Go on then, have another piece of pie."

James Wibbleton was a middle-aged, light brown shar-pei. He was also a baker, though he wasn't any old baker who peddled in bread and bagels. He favored pastries, and while he dabbled in the occasional meat pie or two his specialty was in the dessert variety: fruit pies. His current customer was one Maxwell Forrester, a ten year old basset hound with a somewhat short face.

Max kindly accepted the pie which was proffered him. His family was rather well off and, as a result, he wasn't exactly as thin as the other boys his age. He ate the dessert (it was Wibbleton's most coveted recipe) without abandon, his table manners barely held in check.

"So you're doing well in school, I presume?"

Maxwell scraped the last bits of pie off of his plate.

"Yessir, Mr. Wibbleton. Though I don't much like arithmatic."

Wibbleton gave a hearty laugh.

"Neither do I, boy. Here, have another."

Wibbleton put another slice on the boy's plate. 

"And the family? How's your mother been doing?"

Maxwell paused for a few moments, nearly finishing the new piece.

"She's well. So is Pa. They started teaching me how to sew last week."

Max's parents were tailors whos work was favored by the wealthy. He spent the majority of his time with them, watching them work and learning the trade. Between home and school it seemed that the only leisure time he had was in Mr. Wibbleton's pastry shop, and it showed in his pudgy little middle.  

Max looked up at the clock. 

"I should be headed home soon."

"Oh, come now..."

Wibbleton sat the pie tin in front of the boy. 

"There are only two pieces left."

Max smiled. He set his fork down and lifted a piece with his hands. It was gone in moments, replaced by the other piece. After a quick stop for breath it was gone. Wibbleton smiled down at the boy. He gave Max a quick pat on the belly.

"There's a good boy."

Max grinned up at him, then headed for the door. Just as he was about to step out, Wibbleton called out to him.

"Remember: don't go 'round telling everyone that I give you free pie. I don't want anyone thinking I've gone soft, now do I?"

He watched the boy leave and cursed under his breath.

"One. Still only one."

The first day that Max had visited three months ago, he had only eaten one piece of pie. That lasted for a week while his manners and his apetite fought it out. His apetite eventually won, and he ate two pieces. Then three. Eventually he had worked his way up to an entire pie every day. That was a month ago. No matter what he did, Wibbleton couldn't get the boy to eat another slice. He thought it over as he swept up. Every object in his baker usually had a thin layer of flour dust on it, and no matter how much he swept the floor was always a dusty white. 

"Hmmm...."

The boy probably sated his apetite on one pie alone. He considered adding less sugar to the recipe - that might encourage the boy to eat another pie. He chucked that idea. Maxwell wasn't the only person who ate his pies, and he baked them by the dozen. No, if he couldn't get the boy to eat more, he'd have to make his pies more fattening. A few extra pudgy customers were an acceptable repurcussion. He locked his door behind him and headed across town. He had a few errands to run. 

*****

The next day was like any other. Maxwell stopped by after school
 and exchanged small talk. Wibbleton sat a still-warm pie down in front of him. The only difference was the lack of a plate and fork.

"Sorry, Max, I forgot to wash up yesterday. I spent all of my time trying out a new recipe... You can go ahead and use your hands if you like, just wash up afterword."

Max didn't mind at all. He lifted a piece and sniffed at it.

"A new recipe? What's in it?"

Maxwell held a finger to his lips conspiratorialy, a friendly grin on his face. 

"Can't tell. Don't want anyone underpricing me. You understand."

Maxwell shrugged. Pie was pie. He took a bite and came up short.

"Do you like it?"

Something was off. The pastry was as sweet as ever, maybe even sweeter... but there was something else. The filling somehow felt thicker on his tongue. It wasn't bad, it was just... different.

"I love it! It's even better than before."

Having been broght up the way he had been, any other response would have simply been unkind. Wibbleton smiled. 

"Fantastic! Glad you like it."

Maxwell didn't want to disappoint the baker, so he ate (if more quietly than usual). Wibbleton didn't mind. He did all of the talking. 


It was lard. Wibbleton had stopped by the butcher's shop the previous night and bought about fifty pounds of lard. Ithad been difficul to work into the filling without letting it overpower the fruit. He had to add twice as much sugar to balance it out. He had used twenty pounds of the stuff and made four large pies out of the filling: they were far heavier than usual, but the boy wouldn't be lifting the tin until it was empty.

It took Maxwell a bit longer than usual to finish the pie. He was quick at it none the less, and a couple of extra minutes didn't add up to much at all. As we was standing up to wash his hands, Wibbleton decided to take a chance.

"Listen, Max, could you do me a favor? About the new recipe... I'm not quite sure I want to sell it just yet. I made a dozen regular pies to sell, but there are still three of the new ones... I don't want them to spoil, you see...."

Maxwell thought about it. He certainly wasn't hungry any more, but Mr. Wibbleton was asking him a favor. It would be the kind thing to do.

"I think I can eat a couple more pieces."

Wibbles smiled.

"Good! Thank you, I'll be right back."

He sat another pie in front of the boy and started talking again. The boy listened when he could, but his concentration was spent on the pie. He didn't notice as Wibbleton's small talk got quieter. He was busy watching the boy eat. 
He wasn't going as fast as he usually did. He was on the third piece of the second pie, taking it slowly. Every bite saw more filling on his face, though most of it ended up in his maw. He leaned back after the fifth piece and let out a low groan. 

"Come on, Max, only three pieces to go."

"I don't think I can, Mr. Wibbleton...."


"Would you like some help?"


Wibbleton lifted a piece and brought it to the boy's mouth. Maxwell wasn't sure what to do. He honestly didn't think that piece would stay down... but he didn't want to be rude. He opened his maw. Slowly, so slowly... it took 
five minutes for the one piece alone. Wibbleton picked up the next piece and started again. Seven minutes of soft bites and careful chewing. More filling ended up on Maxwell's face. The boy was moaning now. The last piece was put in front of his maw and he, the kind boy doing a favor, took a bite. He moaned between bites, groaned as he chewed. He was absolutely stuffed, but still he kept chewing. As he swallowed the last bit he gave another loud protest, tongue hanging out as he panted. It had taken him fifteen minutes to eat that last slice. 

Wibbleton used his fingers to wipe as much filling as he could off of the boy's face. He didn't wipe off his hands though - he held them in from of Maxwell's lips. The boy looked down at the filling caked on the baker's hands and moaned. 

"Come on, now, clean up. Wouldn't want you mother thinking I spoiled your apetite."

Wibbleton grinned widely. Maxwell was still for a bit before he opened his maw.

"Thaaaaat's a good boy."


He licked the filling from the proffered hands, sucking bits of fruit from between the fingers. 

"Your hands now, they're absolutely covered in filling."

The boy did as he was told while Wibbleton ran water over a rag. When the boy was finished he sat back in his chair, eyes unfocused, as low sounds came from his throat. Wibbleton wiped down the boy's hands and face, leaving no trace of the thick fruity stuff. He then noticed the boy's belly. When he came in, his shirt hadn't been loose by any means, but it had fit him rather well. Now it had stretched some, and there were about two inches of belly visible between the bottom hem of the shirt and his belt. Wibbleton tossed the rag onto the table and lifted the boy's shirt up.

"Poor boy, that must be mighty uncomfortable."

He started rubbing the boy's belly, kneading his fingers as his hands moved. The boy was panting, soft whines escaping between the moans. 

"There you go, hon. Feeling better?" 

He looked at the clock.

"Ah... you should have been home twenty minutes ago."

The boy stirred from his stupor. With a deep breath, he stood out of the chair and flattened his shirt (as much as he could, anyway). 

"Have a nice day, Max!"

Maxwell managed a 'You too' as he made his way to the door.

"Oh, one more thing! I don't want people to know about the new pies just yet. Would you mind...?"

The boy nodded his understanding. There were still a couple of inches of belly visible under his shirt.

"All right, then. Don't waddle home too quickly, now. We don't want you exerting yourself!"

The boy, panting, exited the pie shop. 

Wibbleton smiled, victorious. He sat in the previously occupied chair, ran a finger across the bottom of one of the pie tins, and licked the thick filling off of his finger.

*****

This went on for another week. Every day he managed to coax a secon pie into the groaning boy, every day he had him lick the tins clean. The filling wasn't a problem. The lard and sugar were a tad expensive at first, but that changed after he started selling the new pies - he nearly doubled his profits. People loved the new recipe, and more and more new customers found their way into his shop. They didn't eat nearly as many as Maxwell did, though, and Wibbleton always made time for the little hound. 

The boy's parents were obviously starting to fret. They made him a new shirt every night just to find it an inch or so too small by the next. They were friends with Wibbleton and knew that Maxwell ate at the pie shop every day, but they didn't know how much - as far as they new he was only given a single piece. The boy considered the pie he was given to be a favor, and he told himself that he repaid it by eating a few more slices before they could spoil. Never the less he liked the baker, and dind't want his parents to keep him from visiting. 

The second weekend after he first tried the new recipe, Maxwell's parents had been asked to make a variety of clothes for a rather well known representative, and they were invited to stay at his residence for the weekend. They didn't want to burden their son, who was rather anxious when traveling, so they asked their friend the baker to watch over him for a couple of days. Wibbleton was overjoyed, and agreed wholeheartedly. 

Wibbleton lived above his pie shop, so when the boy stopped to visit after school he had brought his bedding and some school
work. Wibbleton helped him make up the guest bed, and then they went downstairs to get something to eat.

"Before I whip up a proper dinner, I'd like you to try something for me."

They were headed down the stairs. Wibbleton took note of the distinctive way that Maxwell now walked - it was a simple sort of a waddle. By simply walking to and from school he had managed to keep off a lot of it, but the the effect that the pies had had on him was clearly apparent. He must have added forty - forty five pounds since first eating the lard pies. His stomach was wider, his hips sported love handles which rolled as he walked. There was a slightly distinctive roll of fat under his chin which spread to the sides of his neck.

Simply walking down the stairs left him panting heavily. 

"What is it?"

"It's a new filling. It's based of of the new stuff, but it's a lot smoother."

He smiled down at the boy as they entered the kitchen.

"Less chewing."

Maxwell sat in his usual chair and had a bit of trouble scooting up to the table. 

"That sounds..."

He finally managed to slide the chair.

"Great!"

Wibbleton smiled.

"I'll go fetch it now."

He grabbed a deep vat which was warming in the oven and removed the makeshift lid. Inside was his new filling - eight parts lard (heated to make it mix better) and two parts sweetened fruit filling (sugar mixed with the juices, no fruit). The vat wasn't hot, which was fortunate since he had to lift it with two hands. He set it on the counter (which was right right next to the table and about six inches higher) and scooped a good portion into a bowl. He put the bowl in front of the boy, who was struggling to work his shirt over the top of his head.

They had agreed to this a few days prior: wibbleton mentioned that he didn't want to get filling on any of his Maxwell's new shirts, and they had decided that the boy would simply take it off. This helped a lot when Wibbleton tried to get the boy to eat a few more slices after the second pie was finished. Some mouthfuls managed to find their way back up and onto the boy's belly.

After helping get his shirt off, Wibbleton rubbed the boy's gut.

"You ready to eat, hon? I bet you are. I made this especially for you."

Maxwell smiled and nodded.

"Here you are. Like I said, it's really smooth, so don't bother with a spoon."

Maxwell lifted the bowl to his mouth and lapped at it a bit. It wasn't thick, but it wasn't exactly thin either. It was also sweet, but it wasn't overpowering. There was something in there too that made him think of the previous filling. He didn't know what it was, but it made his mouth water. He tilted the bowl back, great big gulps finishing the stuff off. Not all of it made it, though, and small rivulets worked their way down his chin. He put the bowl down and gasped, obviously pleased.

"That's really, really good Mr. Wibbleton!"

His voice was fast, but his hands were faster. He had the bowl filled and Maxwell was guzzling again before he had finished talking.

"Please, how long have we known each other? You can call me James if you like."

Maxwell handed the bowl to Wibbleton again, his chin a deep purple from the filling. 

"Hmmm... we've been friends for a while... why not?"

James smiled. 

"Here you go, Max."

"Thank you, James."

Maxwell giggled. But not for too long. He lifted the bowl to his mouth and drank deeply. 

He swallowed bowl after bowl, his progress eventually slowing. As usual, James had taken over, filling the bowl and lifting it to the boy's lips, slowly tilting it back. They boy would grunt when his mouth was too full, and James would pull back a bit. Small rivers of filling spilled from his mouth and ran down his chin. It matted the fur on his belly with deep purple streaks. Soon he was groaning, more filling finding its way onto his belly than inside of it.

"You uncomfortable?"

Maxwell moaned in response.

"Here. Let's get you on your back."

With a bit of effort, James managed to lift the boy onto the table and lay him down on his back. His chubby belly jutted upwared, more taut than usual. James rubbed at it, kneaded it under his paws. Maxwell moaned, the tightness slowly transforming into warmth. When the boy's moaning subsided, James looked into the vat. The boy hadn't even made a dent. 

"Oh, you'd almost finished it too."

They boy just panted at the ceiling. 

"You think you could polish this off, hon?"

Maxwell was absolutly full. But the discomfort was all but gone... his entire body felt warm. He nodded.

"Great! This will only take a bit."

James entered his kitchen and rummaged until he found a rubber hose and a small pump. There was a spigot at the bottom of the vat. He fastened the pump to this and one end of the hose to the pump. He put the other end in the boy's mouth. Maxwell looked up at him quizically. 

"It's so that you don't have to move too much. You looke comfortable."

He smiled down at the boy, opened the spigot and turned on the pump. 

"I'm going to step upstairs for a bit. I'll be right back - please don't make a mess. That stuff is really difficult to clean up."

That was true. If it were to mix with the flour that covered the floor it would undoubtedly become sticky. The first bit, however.... James headed upstairs and entered the bathroom. He filled the bathtub with hot water and various oils, then undressed and lowered himself into it. He let out a sigh - it had been a long time since he had had a proper bath. He dozed off, dreaming of what he might find when he awoke. 

The first of the filling hit his tongue. He swallowed softly as another batch of filling entered his mouth. He wondered why James had used a pump. He could have simply used the bowl to scoop that last bits of filling out. He dropped that thought and swallowed another mouthful of filling. Then another. He gave the pump a worried look. It was picking up. The stream of filling was almost constant now. James had said it was almost finished. Had he been mistaken? He calmed himself down. It was probably just about finished. He hoped so, any way. It was starting to get difficult to swallow. 

Filling started streaming down his chin as it backed up in his mouth. James had asked him not to make a mess, but it was getting difficult. He considered standing and turning off the pump, but standing alone would be difficult and he'd probably get filling everywhere. Filling started gushing out of his mouth and down his neck. His stomach was seriously starting to protest, but he had to do something. He swallowed - hard. He managed anothe hard swallow, but the filling was backing up again. He was going to get up. He couldn't take any more. He tensed and swallowed harder than before and gagged. The hose had slid down his throat.

It was reflex by now. All of those pieces of pie had grown on him, the taste was simply too much. He even swallowed when he smelled the filling. Again and again he swallowed, eyes wide as the hose snaked its way farther into his stomach. Finally the found a more comfortable position. The reflex died. The smooth substance was no longer filling his mouth. But it was still flowing. His stomach told him that much. The feeling of fullness, the pressure in his gut grew until the thought he might not be able to take it any more. And then his belly started to stretch.

He tried to stand but couldn't - his belly sloshed too much, was simply to heavy. So he lay there, watching the dried patches of filling on his fur as his belly expanded. It pushed upward, but only to a certain extent. Once it reached a certain height it began to spread outward. Slowly, ever so slowly it spread over his sides and met the table there. Slowly it rolled its way towards the edges of the table. His skin stretched, his belly grew another few inches upward. As his belly grew it exerted massive weight on the boy. He was like a balloon filling with sloshy stuff. It slowly covered his chest until it met the resistance of his chin. Then it filled upward, towering a foot higher than his face.

Hours passed. Finally the pump gave a high pitched whirring sound and then died. All he could see was his own fur, the spots previously sticky with filling stretched far out of proportion. His belly curved upward fromt he top of his head. If it hadn't been for the tube in his mouth, be wouldn't be able to breath - it obstructed the curve of his belly just enough to give his nose and eyes clearance. It kept curving until its peak - a few inches taller now than he was- and then it curved back down, covering his feet, until it met the end of the table. His belly wasn't a perfect half-sphere, though. Gravity pulled at the center, leaving it wider than it was tall. It had expanded sideways, over the sides of the wooden slab, but didn't droop far. There was enough pressure under his skin to keep it partially suspended. 

His arms had been at his sides, though as he filled out he had moved them toward the edges. They were under the constant pressure of his enormous gut. His palms were facing upward. He tried wiggling his fingers and let out a low groan. His skin was unbelievably sensative, and the slight motion of his hands had sent out waves of tingling heat. He almost couldn't bear it. He tried moving his hips upward, but only moved his gut slightly. His legs, which had been pressed together, were now forced apart as his incredibly heavy stomach forced its way between them. He cried out from around the tube as the motion caused a shift in his belly's position. 

Massive ripples flowed through the surface of his skin from where his stomach had fallen and raced towards the opposite end - near his head - before rebounding. These waves of motion sent the senstion screaming through his body, an intensly hot tingling which forced him over the edge. It wasn't pain exactly, but it was ubelievebly intense. Something inside him released. He felt his cock spasm under his gut, spurting load after hot load. For an hour he came as his massive gut rocked back and forth as the fluid moved inside him. As it finally settled it let out a deep, bubbling moan. His stomach was groaning, churing the fluid inside as it started to digest. The noises eventually lulled him to sleep. He awoke when James, looking refreshed, entered the room. 

"Morning, hon."

He took hold of the hose and slowly pulled it out of Maxwell's mouth. The boy let out the long, deep moan of a tortured man.

"Oh, don't give me that. You shouldn't have eaten so much."

James sniffed around. The air was heavy with the smell of must and fruit. A puddle of thinned filling pooled out from under the boy's gut and drizzled down to the floor, evidence undeniable of a massive orgasm. 

"And look, you made a mess. I guess you won't be eating breakfast today."

*****

For the next two days James didn't let Maxwell move an inch. He didn't want the boy working off a drop of that creamy fluid. On the last day, a mere few hours before the boy's parents were due to arrive, James helped him stand. The effect was stunning - the majority of the fluid had been completely converted to fat. His legs and arms were thicker than he himself had been when the weekend began, hands and feet swollen, digits unusable as they were wrapped in rolls of fat. His stomach was massive, sticking out three feet on either side and five out the front. It reached down to his knees, but didn't droop. It was a large teardrop shape that curled up underneath to form a massive roll of fat that covered his groin area, though it wasn't visible behind his gut. His belly button was about three inches across and twelve inches deep. His chest was swollen with pillow-sized moobs which threatened to swallow his head. The roll of fat around his neck was enormous and folded into a dozen chins. His cheeks consumed his muzzle and nearly obstructed his view. His tongue constantly hung from his mouth, and he panted heavily, chins rolling with the motion. 

"...James....I...I'm...."

He had to take a deep breath after every word.

"Hungry?"

That wasn't what he was trying to say, but Maxwell's stomach rumbled anyway. James smiled.

"Thought so. I'll go grab a bite."

Maxwell didn't bother trying to sit - he'd break the chair. He leaned forward against the table as James set half a dozen pies in front of him.

"I used the new filling, since you liked it so much. In fact, I tweaked the recipe a bit. It's nothing but lard."

The pies were balooned upward, warm lard oozing out split seams. The crust was lathered in various pie fillings, the juices visibly grainy from massive amounts of undisolved sugar, dark from unchecked portions of honey and molasses. The boy's maw dribbled. He stood still for a moment, then let out a longing moan. He reached for the pie nearest him, at firsth finding it difficult to cling to since his fingers were practically immobile. Instead he scooped the tin up between his massive hands and brought it to his face, noisily slobbering it down. He didn't even try to keep it in his mouth. Rivers of shining lard and dark filling ran down his massive curves. After licking it clean, He dropped the tin at his feet and reached for the next. He didn't need help eating the second one. He chomped loudly, grunting deeply between bites as sticky juices splashed his face.

James came right then and there, bending forward as his body was rocked by a substantial orgasm. Maxwell dropped the tin, but couldn't quite reach the next one. James, still cumming, picked up a tin and pushed it into the boy's open maw. The boy couldn't quite contain himself. Large clumps of processed fat ran down his face and stuck in his chins. He consumed pie after pie, needing only James' steady hand to hold the tin under his ready face. 

He whined when the pies were finished, but James reassured him.

"Your parents are coming, seetheart. We've got to get you ready."

James grabbed the boys clothes, now drastically too small. 

"I think I need a tailor..."

Maxwell looked up.

"...I....can...sew...."

James laughed.

"Not any more, you can't. The only thing those massive hands can do is hold a pie tin."

He leaned forward and kissed the boy on the nose."

"All you're good for is eating, honey."

James opened the door, clothes in hand, and gestured for Maxwell to follow. 

"....James..."

James looked back.

"What is it, hon? We only have a couple of hours."

"...I'm...naked...."

James spread his arms and hugged the young hound, getting lard and filling on his shirt.

"You certainly are. Now let's go."

They didn't bother cleaning up. 

*****

James rather enjoyed the trek through town. People gaped at the massive hound who only stood half as tall as the baker supporting him. They made their way to  a second-hand tailor, who was as shocked as the small group of people now standing outside his shop. James explained that he needed the clothes resized, and the tailor tried his best. He only had so much matching fabric, though, and when he and James fitted them on the boy (with much difficulty), he looked rather ridiculous. The shirt looked horribly uncomfortable, and the curve of Max's moobs was clearly evident. The fabric didn't come down nearly far enough, and about two and a half feet of belly was left hanging out of the front. His massive love handles and the small of his back were also visible. his pants weren't so bad - the tailor had plenty of matching fabric. 

James checked the fit of the clothes (rubbed down the boy's massive rolls of fat). He whispered into Maxwell's ear.

"Listen, Max... you like my pies, right?"

James was rubbing the boy's massive gut now, kneading the fat the way he loved to. Maxwell nodded, his chins and cheeks gently jiggling.

"Do you want more of them? As many as you can eat?"

The boy didn't need to nod. He was dribbling down the front of his shirt. James wiped up as much as he could before responding.

"I'm going to take you home now. Pretend you don't know how you got so big. Otherwise your parents might not let you visit any more."

The thought of that mortified the massive little hound. The baker was his best friend. And he made the pies.... His face showed what he felt.

"Alright then. Ready?"

The hound nodded again, panting heavier from the heat of the clothes.

*****

Maxwell didn't show up the next day, or the day after that. When he finally did show up, it was sooner than he usually visited.

"Max!"

They smiled widely and hugged each other (or at least they made a valiant attempt). 

"Don't you have school?"

Maxwell seemed to have gotten better aquainted with his new frame - he could speak steadily now, thought he couldn't quite finish sentences without taking a breath.

"No. My parents pulled me out of school. They said I needed to lose some weight."

"And they let you come visit me?"

The boy smiled sheepishly.

"No. They think I'm going for a walk. When they saw me they were shocked. They asked if I was okay, and I asked them what they meant."

James laughed.

"They sort of looked at each other and I kept doing my schoolwork."

James patted the hound's enormous gut and took note of the clothes. They were very loose-fitting. In fact, the shirt was basically a sheet with sleeves. 

"When's the last time you ate?"

Maxwell made a face.

"Earlier today. But they only give be greens."

James snorted.

"You must have lost, what? Thirty, forty pounds?"

Maxwell shrugged. 

"Well, come with me."

James opened his ovens and pulled out a dozen pies - the ones stuffed with lard and slathered in sin. Maxwell was dribbled down his shirt again.

"Is... is that all?"

James laughed heartily.

"Heavens, no." 

He pulled the sheet off of the table, revealing dozens and dozens of the fatty pastries. 

"I two days to cook."

Maxwell was beside himself. He started lifting his shirt, but found it too difficult. 

"Could you help me out of this thing?"

He was staring at the table, puddles of saliva forming on his chins.

"Nope. Leave it on this time. I want to see how long it takes you to outgrow it."