(A change in appearance makes a change in perspective. CW: weight gain, light slob, implied possession. Based on ideas explored with my friend Roswell.)
You didn’t even believe the message at first.
left my suit at your place, feel free to try it onnn
im headed back there in a month or two, I can pick it up then
You sighed at the idea that he was somehow doing you a favor by leaving it here for you, when it caught your attention by way of a holographic sticker of a fox reflecting from light of your bedside lamp, your eyes naturally settling to the one item newly placed into your room. A large black crate, adorned in stickers, leaned against your closet.
You tapped at the side of your phone, fidgeting with it by unlocking and locking it a few times before your eyes drifted back to the box. Might as well, you guess.
Setting the crate onto your bed with a grunt and a huff made the rickety frame creak. The container was much heavier than you thought. You realized too late how dirty the container must be, haphazardly skidding through airport carousels, thrown onto old hotel carpets, spilled on by drunk furries or whatever the fuck else fursuiters do. Too late.
You flipped open the black clasps around the perimeter of the box and swung the hinge open, revealing a chocolate-brown fur pile stuffed into the interior. What are you doing.
You pulled it out - a rounded, brown pig’s body with pale-pink accents. Simple, but you found it somewhat charming in its own way. You put both of your feet into the hoof shaped pajama-like bottoms and begun to pull up the suit, shapeless fabric slowly billowing out into a more human-like shape. The fabric held tightly, slightly restrictive against your own body. You were unsure if it felt more like a blanket or a straitjacket. When you got it over your shoulders, you shuffled over to the mirror to see how you looked so far.
Off. You looked off. A large, rounded body with a tiny head sticking out. You didn’t realize the suit was padded, but it must have been, the way your belly and hips had an extra plushy curve to them now. You chuckled at nothing in particular. You looked stupid. You felt stupid. You always thought this fursuit thing was a little goofy, and now, seeing the caricatured figure in the mirror, you still didn’t quite get it.
You gave a little pose to yourself in the mirror and laughed at yourself. Duh, you’re missing the head, surely that will fix everything.
At the bottom of the crate was the head, a gruff looking pig with a prominent snout. You gave a deep, dramatic breath and placed it over yourself.
It smelled vaguely of sweat, but not unpleasantly so. It was darker, looking through its cartoonish eyes, but you had more visibility than you expected. You shuffled over to the mirror again, outfit fully assembled.
Weird. You felt weird. You were staring at yourself in the mirror, but your form was distorted, pulled and stretched at the edges. Your plush belly had a satisfying curve, shading your waist with its volume, hips placed sturdily underneath, framed with a thick additional layer of costume fluff. Strangely, there was a feeling of looking at someone else, breaking the function of the mirror to see the image of the friend you saw going wild over the weekend where you should be.
Well, his suit at least. You thought back over the weekend; come to think of it, you don’t remember seeing him that much out of his suit at all, like he was following some kind of chivalrous code. You chuckled to yourself, a small snort laugh. You saw the pig in the mirror snort to itself too.
Lifting a tentative hand up, enrobed in a soft fur, you couldn’t help but think about how thick it looked, your form rendered larger by the plush, fuzzy layer on top. You placed it on your oversized belly, giving it a slow, circular rub. The pig in the mirror did the same. The feeling of fur against fur had a slight, satisfying resistance to it, and it made your own fur hair stand up on edge. It felt calming, feeling the fabric pressing up against the lining and transmitting those sensations to your own body, muted and amplified.
You placed both hands under the padded belly and gently lifted it, your doppelgänger doing the same. Your the suit head’s dead eyes watched the action with a kind of static adoration, and the fluff bounced slightly as you let it drop. It made you smile, despite yourself. You swear you could see the elation in the body language of the plush pig in the mirror.
He said to try it on. You definitely did that already. But there you were, dirty crate thrown back onto your bed, grabbing the head with your surrogate fuzzy paws to put it on again. Something about it felt satisfying. You looked at your augmented reflection in the mirror, and leaned back slightly, hands cradling both sides of your fuzzy belly, head in a prominent head-cock, more broad and characterful than you’d ever do in your own body without the suit.
Your hands were already absent-mindedly rubbing up and down your enhanced gut, the satisfying stimulation of your its fur against itself.
You wobbled your head back and forth a bit, watching your floppy ears follow a beat later. You felt the material lightly hit the sides of your head, almost like you could feel the sensations of your phantom appendages. You experimented with wiggling your plush thighs and ass, feeling the slight flick of your springy curled tail, rendered in plush detail.
Suddenly, you got the urge. It felt too honest not to try, and before your shame got the better of you, you let out a tentative SNORT. Something about seeing the chocolate-brown reflection in the mirror make that noise felt good. It felt right.
You could hear your heavy breathing in the mask, the way it resonated, sounding fuller and deeper. Like the snort did. You let out a more prominent OINK, feeling the noise almost rattle your head, the way it felt so booming, deep, and guttural.
You noticed the way your twin in the mirror would expand out and then contract with each heavy breath you took. This is what you look like, right now. This is you. You gave your belly a prominent smack and chased it with another OINK.
It had been a few extra wearings before you figured out the mouth could open, and you could even fit stuff in it. You had the idea to try chugging a two-liter - something suitably pig-like - and looking at the proportions of the bottle in your covered hands, it almost looked small, a light refreshment for a big pig like you.
You fumbled with your plush paws on the bottle cap for a moment longer than your other fingers would have managed, and carefully tipped your head back, using the bottle to help open your mouth, and shoved it around your lips.
Gulp after gulp, sweet liquid poured down, and you did your best to let it flow, the burn of the acid almost feeling hot against your throat, the sounds of the chugging liquid accentuated from inside the mask. You caught a glimpse of a brown pig tipping the bottle back, other paw on its belly, and you didn’t want to let it down by not finishing it immediately.
You closed your eyes and let the feeling of sugar calories wash over you, hearing your snorting breath through your nose as you drank. You felt your tongue taste air as the bottle emptied, removing the bottle from your lips with the bottle cracking from decompression. Licking your lips, you let the feeling of sugar and caffeine settle for a moment. You actually fucking-
A thunderous BELCH. A deep, rattling burp spilled out of your mouth all at once, the mouth of the pig opening slightly from the way your mouth was agape. Fuck. That felt good. You instinctually smacked your gut for good measure, and let out another belch to follow it up. You gave a good oink-oink and rubbed your belly covetously.
You found yourself wearing the pig a lot more. The restrictions from the fabric and padding started to feel more normal to you, and even a weird sort of comfort - soft like wearing pajamas in the winter, restrictive like a weighted blanket. it was still too warm, and you were sweating into it more, but you got used to the feeling, and it brought even more familiarity when you realized you were smelling more like it it was smelling more like you.
You don’t even know if you registered it consciously at first, but you had started eating more, too. There was a perverse pleasure in watching you the pig chug something, the sensation of your own belly pressing against the padding, but you wanted to revel in that hedonistic, gluttonous urge more often, so you started making more food, ordering extra, having dessert.
It wasn’t until it was noticeable in the mirror looking at your other self that you got worried. Your formerly lithe, even somewhat athletic build had softened, the shadow of a slight overhang on your boxers, a doughy midsection, face puffy with a hint of a second chin under the right light, the sharp angles of your elbows and calves blunted with a softness, hips thickened and ass rounded out.
Your first, sharpest pang of worry was would you get too fat to put on the suit again? The thought scared you for a moment, but as you slid on that familiar fur, you still felt the taut but supportive edges of the suit conform to you easily. You could feel the way the padding was collapsing weightlessly to make room for your newly added pudge, like memory foam compressing, and you breathed a snort of relief.
You smacked your gut with your paws, feeling a reverberant THUMP and a more substantial wobble undulate in response. You OINKED, your a pig’s natural reaction to something that excites it that deeply.
You kept having a thought, more and more. The pig would be proud.
The elevator was out, and you had to climb a couple flights of stairs to make it to your desk, and you felt a deep lethargy on the last step, feeling yourself breathing heavier than this kind of effort would usually muster, which worried excited you. You thought about the way your breathing sounded more low and heavy in the mask.
You remember how heavy you felt as you set the fork down and laid back in your chair, hearing a slight creak from behind. The buffet tasted so much better than you expected, and you couldn’t really help yourself. You remember getting full a couple plates ago, but you just wanted to keep going. You looked over the messy tablecloth, strewn with dirty plates, knowing it you did that.
You became a bit of a mess. You were sweating more, and you couldn’t tell if it was the weight or the lack of exercise. Your shirts barely squeezed over your gut, and your place was littered with takeout containers you hadn’t bothered to clean up. You imagined the pig in this habitat, completely content.
You were having trouble remembering the cause and effect. You felt like you were acting them out intentionally You felt like they happened to you incidentally It was just what came naturally to a pig you.
Sometimes, late at night, you’d find yourself laying in bed, rubbing your belly back and forth, slowly and deliberately, nursing the big meal you had that day, snorting to yourself, just for the pleasure of it, feeling your plush belly with your paws, though you don’t ever remember putting it back on, just like how you barely remember ordering as much as you do - is that any good for you? Has any human being even gotten this fat, this fast? It feels so surreal to look in the mirror and see a stranger, your own face made unrecognizable, your eyes so dead and empty compared to the pig.
HROINK. You The pig struggled off the bed, which let out a louder creak than it used to. Waddling over to the mirror, you it looked at its pig face, your its eyes filled with life, wiggling the head’s its snout with joy. You the pig hefted the suit’s its belly with both hands paws, feeling the weight.
The pig’s gotten fatter lately, the boundaries pushed out, annexed further, hips spread outward, ass wide and round, fat gut drooping into a deep, smothering overhang of fuzzy chocolate-brown, heavy chest swelled into prominent tits now, fat arms pressing into its sides and hanging at an angle, cheeks puffed out prominently, perfectly framing its large pink snout. It gave its belly a smack, watching the rippling jiggles oscillate from its gut to its thighs and up its fat chest. It squealed in delight.
The pig’s hungry again.
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