(FAT, SLOB) DRABBLE - Draco & m!Fujimaru

A shamelessly massive Draco and chubby Ritsuka indulges in food and other pleasures.

Series: Fate/Grand Order
Characters: Draco/Sodom’s Beast, Ritsuka Fujimaru (Male)
CW: USSBBW, SSBHM, Slob, Mutual Gain, Burping, Farting, Femdom, Stuffing, Romance, Partial Nudity, Corruption, Sheer Decadence & Hedonism, Attempted Masturbation, Visible Arousal
All SUBJECT characters depicted are 18+.

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“HWWWUUUOOOOOOOOOOAAARRRRRRRPPPPH!~”

A deep, rumbling belch thundered within the chamber, saturating an air already thick with indulgent scents of roast meats, spiced wine, jasmine, and sandalwood. High above Rome’s marbled grandeur, the chamber—a lavish fusion of throne room, bedroom, and banquet hall—looked out onto a glittering night, stars hanging like embers above endless stone rooftops.

Pillars of white-veined marble streaked with gold upheld a vaulted ceiling crowned with mosaics of gluttonous triumph, silken drapes in bruised violets and imperial reds framed archways theatrically, and velvet chaises sprawled beside a steaming obsidian bath, its gilded surface shimmering with dancing candlelight.

A grand table dominated one side of the chamber, beholding a myriad of foods: game hens drenched in garlic butter, ribs lacquered with plum wine, pyramids of sugared figs and peaches, and whole loaves of honey bread torn and leaking gold onto polished platters. Rivers of sauce pooled beneath bronze trays, meat juices mingling with melted cheese and stray crumbs.

—The spread was so obscenely lavish, so excessive in its unapologetic decadence, it seemed crafted exclusively for the elite whose appetites transcended mere mortal restraint.

A feast such as this could only be served in honor of one whose desires, whose very existence, embodied the zenith of indulgent luxury—a ruler whose cravings were insatiable.

And seated proudly at its head, eager to indulge and expand upon every gluttonous impulse…

“BHHUOOOOAARRRPH!... Ahhh~ The sound of satisfaction…” Draco rumbled with another belch, voice rich and rolling like thunder off the colonnades. “—Brough forth by that ambrosial nectar they dared call wine. Truly—no emperor has feasted better, nor sounded lovelier.”

She licked her lips with a self-satisfied hum, the air still vibrating faintly from the echo of her release. She sagged deeper into her velvet throne—to be more accurate, she spilled across her velvet throne. Her body was vast—immense in every dimension, an avalanche of flesh that flowed over the seat like a goddess poured into mortal form and left to overflow.

—Her face was spoiled grandeur incarnate—cheeks so round they brushed her lashes when she smirked, double chin cascading into a gleaming collar of fat. Her neck had long vanished beneath plush folds that shivered with each breath. From atop her head, two black-red horns curled back, polished and regal—yet given the context of her obscene form, anyone unfamiliar might’ve mistaken her for some shameless, overfed succubus.

Her arms moved with deliberate slowness, each gesture exaggerated by the heavy bounce of her upper arms brushing against her sides—great, meaty limbs thickly ringed in soft rolls that quivered at every shift. Her gloved fingers, stubby and plump, were sausaged in sheen and grease, clutching a glistening hunk of meat with the reverence of a priest lifting a relic.

Her armor long abandoned, Draco sprawled in the shredded remains of her skintight bodysuit—its seams failing against the enormity of her form. A gaping tear split across the crest of her belly, exposing a glossy swell of stretch-marked gut, streaked with old sauces and glistening with sweat. Her stomach spilled outward in plush folds, draping over her thighs and pooling in her lap like a mountain of molten pudding.

Her thighs were thunderous in scale—wide, sweat-slick, dimpled expanses with a rip stitched between their meat and under-curve, exposing the soft darkness where her legs met her seat. One strip of fabric flailed uselessly beneath her rear, where another tear split open and revealed the pillowy swell beneath, the crevice between her butt and thigh.

But it was her breasts that dominated her silhouette—colossal and heavy, the largest part of her by far. They sloped outward and downward in decadent excess, barely restrained by the ruined bodysuit. A tear on the right exposed a flushed areola; the left, shamelessly bare, revealed a swollen nipple stiff from heat and indulgence. Her chest spilled like overfilled chalices, rising and falling in time with her gluttonous, satisfied breaths.

—Just about every inch of the Beast-class Servant was indulgence embodied, shown through the unmistakable glisten of a woman who refused to deny herself anything.

“Come, Ritsuka my love!” she declared after tearing into the flesh with her fangs, juices spraying against her cheeks and dripping down the folds of her chin. “Don’t hold back now—gorge yourself! There’s still a banquet to conquer, and I won’t have my lover slacking while I feast alone!”

Ritsuka sat beside her, less a guest and more a witness to her gluttony. He leaned back in a plush velvet seat, cradling a half-eaten dessert tart as he shook his head.

“I really can’t, Draco,” he groaned, squirming in his chair as his belly gave a low, gloppy churn. “I’m stuffed to the brim… I don’t even know how I’m still upright like this!”

Ever since Draco had been summoned, her appetite had spiraled into something insatiable—feasting until her belly was round and guzzling wine as if it were air itself. No one quite knew why. Maybe it was some quirk of her summoning, or maybe—it was Draco’s way of seizing her second life by the throat and drowning it in indulgence.

But the day she and Ritsuka started dating—that was when the dam truly burst. With him at her side, her gluttony deepened, her sloth bloomed. The affection between them acted like fuel on the fire; his approval made the food taste better, the lounging more decadent, the weight gain more thrilling.

—And the more she indulged, the more she wanted to drag him down with her into the delicious abyss.

And she did.

It had been slow at first. One extra helping here. A late-night snack there. But Ritsuka was too kind, too accommodating, too enthralled by Draco's insistence and joy to say no. And so his trim frame softened, then thickened, until the mirror started lying less and less.

—Ritsuka Fujimaru was undeniably plump now—not fat, not like her—but softened in all the right (or wrong) places.

His cheeks had taken on a plush, rosy roundness—soft curves that framed his face with a cherubic charm. That modest double chin, delicate but undeniable, pooling like a whisper of softness beneath his jaw.

His arms, once lean from endless combat, had thickened into something softer, becoming cushioned at the biceps and gently rounded at the forearms. His fingers were stubby and gently dimpled at the joints, their touch no longer calloused but warm, tender, and unhurried.

But it was his stomach that betrayed him the most. It was round, soft, and undeniably plush beneath his stretched hoodie, bulging in a visible dome that tugged the cotton fabric forward as if craving more space. Every breath made it subtly rise and fall, a constant reminder of how far he'd come from the lean Master Chaldea once knew.

Yet his rear had become a close rival in size and allure. His hips curved into a plush backside—soft, round, and molded like rising dough from countless indulgent meals—each cheek bouncing with the faintest motion. It carried the look of someone well-fed and well-loved, paired with thickened thighs that pressed warmly together, his grabbable ass spread nicely beneath him.

—Even with all his softness, Ritsuka still looked modest compared to the mountain of flesh that was Draco. Plump, yes, but still dwarfed in every dimension by the dark counterpart of Nero Claudius beside him.

It didn’t matter. Not to her. Draco’s gaze remained locked on him, simmering with hungry delight.

To her, he wasn’t small—he was ripe. A meal in motion. A treat worth fattening further.

“Still upright?” Draco echoed his words, licking her fingers with obscene relish before slapping her palm against the meat of her belly, letting it jiggle. “That means you’ve still got room! You’ve begun to bloat properly, and your rear end’s been looking pretty plush of lately, as expected from my lover~”

“W-what about my butt?” Ritsuka choked at that last comment, face flushing hot as he stiffened in his seat.

Draco’s grin widened as she brought the goblet to her lips again, the red liquid staining the corners of her mouth and trickling down her multiple chins like syrup over folds of dough. She drank with the same vulgar elegance she brought to every indulgence, her throat working with audible gulps.

“...You’re still holding back,” she said at last, voice bubbling with mirth as she had the willpower to put her goblet down. “‘For me,’ you say. ‘I’ll eat for you because you want me to,’ you say. And yet, your fingers twitch every time you reach for another sweet, and your back straightens like you’re ready to run. You agreed to indulge… but your instincts haven’t caught up.”

“...I’m trying,” Ritsuka murmured, eyes dropping to the tabletop. “It’s just… I wasn’t raised to live like this.”

Draco belched into her fist at this, following up with an affirmative hum. The red-eyed blonde’s plush stomach gurgled ominously, churning with food and drink and god knows what else.

“No one’s born for gluttony, my lover. They are made into it.” She let her horned head tilt lazily, curls spilling over her shoulder, one hand idly teasing a rip in her bodysuit that bared the undercurve of her left breast. “You’re still young in the belly… You’re not meant to be me—not yet. But love—this kind of love—is about sharing the banquet. Not just nibbling the edges.”

Her voice darkened to a purr, almost like a hymn. “You know why I don’t stop? Because restraint is the dullest kind of suffering. Why would I deny the bliss of being heavy, stuffed, adored?” she said, voice heavy as the rolls over her collarbone.

“Why tiptoe around pleasure when you can dive?”

“What is food, if not to claim and devour?

“What is satisfaction, if not to be bloated with it—bloated and belching, drunk on decadence?”

“This is joy, my sweet Rtisuka—this—”

Draco’s words stopped for a moment, as her stomach squelched even more loudly than needed. The squelching intensified, churning deep within her overfed core as if her gut were arguing with reality itself. Draco transitioned into a low grunt, and her cherubic cheeks twitched with exertion. Her eyes fluttered, one drooping, her mouth curling into a pleased grimace. Then—

BBRRUUAAARRRRMPFFFRRRTTTTT!

The blast rumbled from beneath her throne, a wet, thunderous eruption that echoed off marble. A flushed and perverse smirk was stretched across her cherubic cheeks, jowls quivering as she inhaled the musk rising around her like some decadent incense. Eyes fluttering, Draco basked in the stench, savoring the feeling even as her release petered into a blissful end.

She let out a deep, slow sigh, not unlike a lover sated after a long night.

“—That,” she exhaled, lips curling around a lazy, satisfied smirk, “is the sound and smell of true contentment—thick, heavy, divine.”

Ritsuka had visibly tensed, cheeks burning scarlet. He averted his eyes, eyes flicking down, anywhere else, trying and failing not to react—even as the heady and intimate gas Draco had produced began to ferment around them.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Draco snorted, her double chin quivering with the motion. “Really? All this time beside me and you still flinch when a lady dares enjoy herself?”

The devilish woman giggled, low and syrupy, pressing a hand over her full gut like a queen caressing a prized jewel. “My poor, adorable lover… You really do need a little help, don’t you? Something to loosen those inhibitions of yours. Help you find the pleasure in slacking, in stinking, in swelling~”

With a lazy flourish, Draco raised her palm toward the air, her fingers spread with theatrical grace. A pulse of golden light curled between her fingertips like liquid flame, and with a soft pop—audible only over the gurgle of her belly—a new goblet bloomed into existence. It was regal, its bowl brimming with a velvety crimson fluid that shimmered like molten rubies.

She swirled it gently, watching the viscous drink glint and catch the candlelight like blood mixed with honey.

“I’ve been preparing this for some time,” she purred. “A potion that eases the weight in your gut, opens your throat and belly, and makes you yearn for taste, texture, and touch. A little miracle for those still clinging to moderation.”

The goblet flickered out of her grasp in a quiet flash, vanishing into golden particles—only to re-materialize on the table right in front of Ritsuka.

Draco grinned. “Drink it.”

Ritsuka blinked, caught off guard by the sheer intimacy of the offer. “H-huh? You want me to—?”

“You heard me.” She didn’t flinch. “You said you were full, but that’s only your body speaking. Your heart, your soul—they still crave. This will unbind you. Strip away the hesitations choking your pleasure. Leave you starving—for flavor, for feeling, for me.”

He hesitated, gaze flicking from the goblet to her smug, fat-ladened face. “I… I mean, I’m not really a wine guy…”

Draco let out an exaggerated sigh and gave a mock look of wounded pride, her lower lip puffing forward in a pout. “Not wine. Something more—flavor molded by desire, texture by fantasy. Does it matter what it is, except what you truly want? It is a gift from me, to you. Or…”

She tilted her horned head, that fat-lined smirk deepening. “Are you so drowned in guilt that you’d refuse a gift born of love? Deny your Emperor the joy of seeing you thrive—of watching you loosen, grow, bloom?”

Ritsuka stared at her—at the fatness of her body, the softness of her cheeks, the proudness in her eyes despite her corpulence, the decadent scent of her sweat and flatulence.

Despite the mess, despite the smell, despite the sloth—she was proud.

Alive.

Joyous.

…Maybe she was right. He was holding back.

The goblet sat there menacingly.

He swallowed. Then reached and brought it to his mouth.

The rim met his lips. The liquid touched his tongue—and instantly, Ritsuka froze.

There was no name for the flavor—neither wine, nor juice, nor soda—but something deeper, older, and impossibly right. It slid down his throat as blooming warmth and calm seeped through every nerve as if it had always been part of him. Ritsuka’s eyes fluttered shut, breath catching on a sigh, the drink smoothing through him like oil over stone.

As the final drop slipped down his throat, something inside Ritsuka loosened. The tight, bloated pressure in his gut melted away, vanishing as though the feast had never touched him. In its place bloomed a gnawing hunger—sharp, sudden, primal. It flared through him like a spark to dry tinder; his breath caught and his tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth.

“I... I’m hungry again,” he muttered, almost dazed, his fingers already curling around a dripping lamb shank glazed in fig-balsamic, the scent dizzying.

Draco belched loudly in satisfaction at his statement, her grin dripping smugness. “Good. Now gorge. I want to watch you stuff yourself like a pig~”

Ritsuka didn’t even hear Draco’s full request—his body was already moving, lips parted, teeth sinking into the tender roast as if starved. The moment the flavor hit his tongue, it was as if the food tasted even more divine.

Richer, sweeter, saltier, smoother. Every bite more than the last. A slice of honeyed duck disappeared in three seconds, followed by a wedge of cheese still melting, its scent musky and sharp.

What began as a hesitant bite bloomed into something primal. He moaned, face flushed, chin already stained with grease and syrup. He hadn’t even realized he was making noise until a wet, accidental HUaoorph! bubbled up his throat. His chubby cheeks flushed crimson.

“S-sorry—” he mumbled, half-swallowing a dumpling the size of his palm.

But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The hunger was back, and it wanted.

Another handful of figs. A second plate of oiled meats. Gurgles and sloppy smacks echoed through the chamber, and his stomach, once modest and slightly pudgy, had already begun to rise again under his shirt. Another belch slipped out, and though his face still burned, it was smaller this time. Easier. He grunted, chewed, swallowed, and stuffed himself with widening abandon.

Draco leaned back in her throne with the air of a sated queen admiring her court jester’s finest act. She chewed slowly—deliberately—dragging her fangs along the meat as her eyes followed Ritsuka’s gluttony. Her belly sloshed as she reclined, thick fingers rubbing idle crumbs off the exposed skin poking through a tear in her suit.

She punished her throne with another long and content Prblbrtlblblrbtrblt~!, enjoying the sensation of her buttocks vibrating against her seat and each other. Ritsuka didn’t seem to have noticed, more focused on eating food than his surroundings.

It was more like he just didn’t care right now. Neither did she. Not in the slightest. Both of them were just too enthralled in certain pleasures right now.

Crimson eyes flicked to Ritsuka’s face, which was slowly rounding out more in softness and lips becoming slick with sugar and sauce. His brows furrowed in focus, but there was a sloppiness to him now, a need that curled at the edge of his expression.

Amusement curled Draco’s mouth. It was adorable—her Master gnawing on a marrow bone like a dog with a prize. It was also to see that he was no longer eating out of obligation, but desire—exactly what Draco wanted.

She felt her arousal twist low and sharp.

The pleasure of it—the food, the fat, him—was intoxicating. Draco’s thighs shifted. One plump hand slowly trailed low, drifting just beneath the curve of her belly, fingers brushing the curve of her inner hip.

She could already see the future—her lover, no longer modest, but a bloated, belching monument that waddled with a sloshing belly and gas escaping his ends like vows of devotion. Every pound a pledge, every belch a hymn, every fart a kiss she’d crown with praise and her own gassy rear. He’d be soft, needy, utterly hers—an emperor consort drowned in pleasure, molded by her will until even the air reeked of their joy.

Draco wasn’t one to fantasize or zone out, but the things that possibly awaited in the future were too good not to think about. Watching the plump black-haired Master fatten himself without abandon in front of her had lit a fire within Draco—one that was heating up her body while numbing down her mind.

A soft plblblblbbt! broke from beneath Draco, her body too relaxed to hold it in. She barely noticed. Her cheeks flushed with heat, fingers daring closer to her aching wet folds, her hand trembling just a breath away—

“BUUUAARRRRP—!”

The massive belch shattered that fantasy like a hammer on glass.

Draco blinked, her fingers retracting. Ritsuka was staring at his plate, flushed and panting, a hand cradling his distended stomach. The belch that had come from him was the loudest from him so far—and by the look on his face, entirely accidental. His lips quivered as if he meant to apologize—but his eyes dulled once more in hunger, scooping up the next dish.

Despite having been interrupted, this outburst from Ritsuka did nothing to dampen Draco’s amusement and arousal, smirking at the young man’s steady decline.

The food dwindled steadily, each morsel vanishing into Ritsuka’s greedy maw, sauce and crumbs painting his cheeks as he shoveled bite after bite down his throat. Draco watched with lascivious delight, sipping wine while punctuating Ritsuka’s feast with pleased sputters of gas from both her ends.

Finally, when no morsel remained, the table barren save for stained plates and empty goblets, Ritsuka slumped backward into the plush velvet embrace of his chair, belly bloated like a balloon, swollen and heavy as it squelched and churned audibly.

A soft moan escaped him, followed by a long, syrupy belch, the taste of indulgence thick on his tongue. He squirmed, stuffed beyond any measure of restraint or decency, his body uncomfortably tight—yet somehow blissfully satisfied, a paradox of decadent pleasure he never thought he'd experience.

GRRGGBRGBRGBRGLE…

The groan of his belly swelled into something undeniable, like thunder curling in the pit of a storm. Ritsuka winced, one hand gripping the armrest, the other pressing lightly against the dome of his stuffed gut as the pressure mounted—hot, prickling, insistent.

Bbrruuuurrmmph!

It burst out of him with a sputtering blast, long and blubbery, vibrating brassily against the seat and rippling up his spine. It wasn’t loud and proud like Draco’s—it was thick and clumsy, a soft, flapping exhale of excess that dragged itself out of him in lazy waves.

Ritsuka’s face flushed beet red, his voice catching in a gasp, but he didn’t move—he couldn’t. The lingering warmth of his release spread like syrup, wafting out in lazy plumes around them. He just sat there, panting softly, blinking at the ceiling as if it would offer absolution from the scent he made.

"Oh no," he whimpered softly, his face blazing as he cradled his stuffed gut, embarrassment warring with the undeniable relief he felt. "I—I’m so sorry, Draco, I didn't mean to—god, that was embarrassing..."

Draco’s red eyes glittered with wicked amusement at Fujimaru's apology, her lips curling into a slow, triumphant smirk. She tilted her head slightly, nostrils flaring with curiosity, and drew in a long, deliberate breath through her nose. Her eyelids fluttered, a pleased hum slipping past her lips as her expression melted into indulgent satisfaction.

With a grunt that echoed up from her belly, Draco braced her thick arms against the throne’s armrests, its frame already groaning in warning. Her rear resisted—wedged deep into the cushion’s velvet embrace, surrounded by the ornate silver filigree that had long given up trying to contain her mass. With one final squelch of victory, she heaved herself upright, her thunderous thighs slapping together as her throne wheezed behind her.

Freed at last, Draco's immense body quaked with heavy, pendulous jiggles, sweat-slicked thighs slapping audibly together as she lumbered toward her flustered lover, each step echoing with decadent pride.

“Oh, Ritsuka…” she crooned warmly upon reaching his side, breath syrupy and thick with need. Her hand found his swollen belly, fingers gently kneading the taut flesh, while the other boldly cupped one of his newly softened moobs. Ritsuka flinched at Draco’s touch, but didn’t say anything.

“Look at how splendidly you've filled out, how gorgeously you've softened under my influence. Don't ever apologize for embracing pleasure—your indulgence is nothing short of divine. Revel in it. Let yourself become softer, heavier, shamelessly decadent... Let me spoil you into utter surrender~”

She rubbed his belly in slow, deliberate circles, her touch firm yet surprisingly tender, sending waves of warmth and comforting pleasure radiating outward from his gut. Fujimaru's entire body tingles under Draco’s ministrations, his skin flushed with a cozy heat that relaxed him utterly, making him melt into her heavy, indulgent embrace.

“I just…” he trailed off, voice softening into a hazy murmur.

“You were meant for depravity,” she purred, lips brushing the sensitive curve of his ear, her seductive voice dripping into him like rich, molten honey, driving him mad with craving. “You’re mine—my beautiful, swelling hog. You deserve to feel good. To feel more. Your fat is proof of your freedom, and your gas, the sweet chorus of your joy. There is no shame here. Only bliss.”

Her fingers playfully traced the soft, newly plumped edges of his chest, lightly pinching and teasing his moob before sinking lovingly back into the yielding roundness of his belly, kneading him as she slowly made her way in front of Fujimaru, her massive heft touching his own smaller fat as she was in his face.

“I love you like this,” she breathed warmly against his cheek, her eyes half-lidded and heavy with lust and pride. “I love you even more like this.”

Then, with sensual certainty, she leaned in and captured his lips in a kiss, pouring all her love and lust directly into him.

Draco’s kiss flooded Ritsuka’s senses—overwhelmingly sweet, intoxicatingly addictive, a taste that sent his head spinning and his inhibitions melting away like honeyed syrup on a warm tongue.

Consumed by a haze of lust, he lost himself entirely, wrapping his arms around Draco’s immense body and sinking his fingers deep into her plush, pillowy ass cheeks, gripping the vastness of her flesh without a second thought. Draco let out a throaty moan, vibrations traveling straight through their locked lips as she pressed even deeper, greedily drinking him in.

Fully entranced, Ritsuka's muscles slackened, his entire body surrendering to the decadent sensation.

—And, utterly relaxed and uncaring, he let loose once more, the air rippling freely beneath him.

Draco hummed through their kiss, a deep, approving sound that vibrated against his lips as the thick musk of Ritsuka’s release tickled her nose. She sniffed indulgently, and as if answering his offering, gave a low grunt and released a deep, luxurious burst that bubbled up against his hands—her plush ass vibrating with decadent force in his grip.

Ritsuka let out a dazed grunt of approval, too far gone in the haze of lust and stench to feel anything but pleasure—and the slowly growing strain he felt in his pants.

Their mouths stayed locked, a tangle of tongues and heat thick with indulgence. Ritsuka groaned low in his throat, hips shifting as he groped Draco’s massive rear with shameless reverence, his fingers sinking into the plush, overfed mass like dough. Every time he squeezed a certain way, Draco’s body responded instinctively, letting loose foghorn-like blasts of gas that vibrated against his palms—like a big red button to be pressed.

The effect was intoxicating.

Ritsuka, half-mad with lust and musk, responded in kind—his body slackening just enough to let another round of blubbery, syrup-thick flatulence bubble out beneath him. It mingled with hers in the air, building a haze so dense it felt like a second skin. The pressure in his pants only grew—tight, throbbing, almost unbearable—but it was a discomfort eclipsed by the dizzying pleasure of their cycle: touch, squeeze, release, repeat.

Sometimes Draco would pull back just slightly, lips still brushing his, only to belch hot and wine-sweet right into his mouth before diving back in with renewed hunger. Other times, it was him, choking out a heady burp of his own. Every sound, every ripple of flesh and gas, every moist slap and shudder—it all fed the rhythm, the atmosphere, the decadent dance of their gluttony made intimate.

When at last their lips parted, they remained mere inches apart, panting heavily into each other's faces, eyes half-lidded and glazed with pleasure, the air around them thick and heavy from their shared indulgence.

Draco's plump lips curled into a lazy, satisfied smile, her crimson gaze shimmering with decadent pride as she let out one more pleased belch into his face, who only lightly grinned dopily in lust at this.

“You’re… amazing,” Ritsuka breathed heavily, plump cheeks and eyes glazed with lingering desire as he stared up at Draco’s flushed face. His still-erect member twitched in need, coming close to the high that was right there.

Draco’s crimson gaze glittered smugly as her plush lips curled into a confident smirk. “I know.”

With considerable effort, she rose to her full, towering height, her vast form casting an impressive shadow over Ritsuka, who remained seated—belly swollen and taut with food, gas, and newfound lust. His gaze traveled upward, still hazy, still heated.

“You know,” he began softly, his voice husky with lingering arousal, “I really am trying… to get bigger for you. I didn’t quite get it at first, but—I think I’m finally starting to see why you love all this.”

Draco chuckled richly, her voice dripping satisfaction as she gazed fondly down at him. “Oh, you're already making delightful progress. Watching you bloom into decadence has been a true pleasure.”

Ritsuka flushed deeper, a bashful yet pleased smile tugging at his lips. “It’s strange. I never imagined this feeling—enjoying being full, enjoying being… like this.”

“Strange?” Draco echoed teasingly, stroking the curve of his bloated belly affectionately. “No. It’s simply a revelation. A testament to the pleasures you've denied yourself until now. And,” she added with another slow stroke, “you're only just beginning.”

Ritsuka’s heart pounded as he gazed at her adoringly, his body casually pushing out a decent toot. “You promise?”

“Oh, my Master,” Draco crooned, her voice sweetly ominous as she caressed his softened cheeks, “I promise far more than that. But first…”

Her eyes flicked toward the empty table before returning to him with predatory delight, “I’m still hungry. And I have no intention of eating alone.”

He blinked, heartbeat quickening in dread and excitement, as Draco raised one fat hand and snapped her fingers.

In an instant, the table overflowed anew. Freshly roasted meats glistened under a honeyed glaze, aromatic steam rising thickly. Golden pies oozed fruit fillings, sugared crusts sparkling enticingly beneath candlelight. Creamy puddings trembled, rich and silky, layered with whipped creams and chocolates. Spiced wines, glistening amber and deep crimson, filled goblets and pitchers, their fragrances mingling in a heady, mouthwatering symphony that saturated the chamber.

Ritsuka swallowed thickly, his mouth watering as dread dissolved swiftly into greedy anticipation. His fattened cock throbbed against his pants, something Draco had long noticed during their passionate kissing.

Draco’s grin widened—an ominous, hungry promise, dripping with allure and power.

“Now,” she purred darkly, voice thick with sensual menace, “we shall both descend into pleasure—together…”