vr

“I can’t believe how much you’ve put on since last week!”

My avatar is a raccoon with bulging eyes. Those eyes are trained on your belly, which balloons out in front of you as far out as you can reach. You look down and see it stretch away from you, your tits balanced precariously on top. Close-to they’re a little pixelated but you’ve loved watching them get higher and higher as each meal made your belly larger and larger.

“I can’t help being an expert hunter!” You swing your hand at your overstuffed gut. Though you don’t feel the belly in real life there is a slap sound when your avatar’s hand passes the surface. You are rewarded with an expanding network of ripples, enhanced when you swing side-to-side to watch your tummy swing along, delayed by its incredible virtual bulk. “Anyway, it’s not all fat. Some of it’s these twins I scarfed down over lunchtime.”

“Glad the meal tracking is working,” days the raccoon, with a grin. I’m walking around you, inspecting the mesh. “Ready for the next toy? Touch here.”

A glowing dodecahedron appears next to me in space. Blocky letting underneath advertises it as PSEUDO AR.

“Is this why you had me dress up first?” Your hand travels through your belly to pat the prosthetic gut that wraps you in pleasurable warmth and weight.

“Yep. Go on, touch it!”

You’re so intrigued you don’t even make the obvious “that’s what she said” joke. The crystal disappears without ceremony when you swipe your hand through it, and a 2D loading screen briefly occupies your whole vision.

There is a moment of dislocation, then your avatar snaps back into focus. Your belly has shrunk, to your disappointment. Nothing else had changed: same pale skin, same voluptuous thighs. Oh, as you’re looking down your hair falls either side of your vision. That’s new.

“I don’t get it. I’m smaller. Has it broken the weight tracking mod?”

“Slap your belly again for me?”

You comply. This time the fleshy slap sound comes precisely when your hand hits your fatsuit middle. You watch jiggles ripple out while your brain processes the visual input. It’s like: loading… loading… please wait— HOLY SHIT I’M HUGE.

You slap again, to the left. Same thing. Some part of your hindbrain is convinced you are 25 stone heavy and spilling out of your trousers.

Grabbing your fatsuit and lifting your belly is mirrored almost perfectly in the simulation. You cup flab and turn it towards you. For the first time you see your belly-button, lovingly rendered as you flop it towards you.

Your fingers, when they trace the surface of your fabric belly, dimple the pale rendered belly. It’s not just that. Your thighs, too, deform under your touch.

“I’m big!”

“Yes you are. You’re gorgeous.” The raccoon has switched for a slightly cartoony anime boy, spikey green hair and slender body in red Gym clothing. “If you’re hungry rub your right flank, uh, clockwise.”

You comply. A deep, bassy rumble emanates from deep within your twice-virtual gut.

“Good!” I say, clapping my hands together. “That’s—”

On a whim you close the distance to me with a twitch of the controller and headbutt me from above. An ~aaouUNG~ sound plays—you remember recording it for me—and the lower half of your field if vision is filled by a struggling red wife beater.

It’s natural to toss your head back. My legs rag-doll around as I’m lifted above you, gripped between controller-articulated hands.

Fist over fist you feed me into your waiting stomach, each move accompanied by a swallow and a haptic-feedback buzz from the controllers. If I’m speaking it’s muffled in software, no audible words escaping your simulated oesophagus.

The legs disappear from your field of vision, converging below your nose. A final head-bob and I am gone. You force an rl burp, relayed to me via the mic.

“Hammmph,” says a sound somewhere below your rib cage. My voice is distorted in software. Somewhere, you know, I’m seeing only cramped red darkness, hearing your heartbeat, and knowing whatever I say can’t quite penetrate your fat.

Your belly isn’t actually any larger right now but that’s okay, you think, as you rub it affectionately. It’s as big as if you swallowed a person. “You did good work,” you say, knowing your voice will boom in my ears until a timeout where I pass out and am blocked for until you let me back in the simulation. “As a mod and as a snack.”

“Mmamph hmaph aaaamamamph,” I reply.

You aren’t really paying attention. You’re waiting for me to digest and wondering about hunting down others. Surely you can add another blanket to the fatsuit for each prey you digest. And you really need to ask about a scat mod.

VR isn’t going to know what hit it.