September 2024 Sketches- Behemoth & Eric

Behemoth finally gets enough to eat, and Eric makes a rival eat his heart out. Enjoy!

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Behemoth had lived long enough that he was fairly certain he had a chance to experience every emotion there was; but now, after the considerable efforts of every major buffet in Tokyo, he had finally struck upon a new sensation. For the first time as long as he could remember, Behemoth finally felt full. The transient had never felt so pleasantly stuffed, and his seemingly boundless, uncontrollable appetite was for the first time fully sated. He sat there, his now immense, whale-like body sprawled out on the floor, and he reminisced on the monumental feast he had just gorged himself on, down to the very last crumb. 

There had been food of every kind; starting with light and fresh salads and creamy soups and chowders, richly seasoned seafood and sushi rolls by the pound, tantalizingly savory steaks, fried dough, exotic meats he had only ever heard of, and then, finally the desserts— paradise. Rich and creamy, dense and chocolatey, or fresh and fruity, he had never had such a complete kaleidoscope of flavor dance upon his tongue, nor weigh as heavily in his body. His usually burly and powerful build had now been smothered by an almighty avalanche of blubber. All that weight swallowed by his maw had to go somewhere, after all, and it was impossible to discern what part of his now whale-like body had suffered the most for it. 

Behemoth belly alone was a great, white mountain, made up of several folds and sheets of heavy, gelatinous fat that pooled across the floor in all directions, smothering his legs thick as barrels that now laid out splayed in either direction, his feet propped up by his calves now rounder than they were long. His doughy, pillowy chest strained his already fraying shirt, and his once muscular and chiseled arms were now swaddled in reams of flab. Even his tail had grown fatter, an enormous, round mass that laid limp and lazily behind him. He rumbled pleasurably, his bloated chipmunk cheeks wobbling slightly. For the first time, Behemoth couldn't think of anything he wanted— he was content, at long last.
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"You've been coasting on natural strength, that's all."

"You don't have the discipline to get cut and ripped."

"Dude, can you even run? It's called willpower. Put down the fried fish and pick up an apple or something, jeez."

Eric had had enough. The otter had been dealing with what could only be described as a rival at the gym; an incredibly vain and competitive shark by the name of Amado. Eric, an enormously hefty powerlifter with a gut like a boulder, had made the gross insult of being stronger and lifting heavier weights than Amado, who was a favorite for the local bodybuilding competition to sweep first place. So, to put the shark in his place, Eric went on a diet. It was a miserable few months; nothing but white rice, chicken, steamed broccoli, and unseasoned fish, but the results were impressive— the vast wells of strength and burly swells of muscle buried under his thick, blubbery hide surged up, and the otter looked like an absolute beast.

Which is what brought him here, a first place medal draped over his bull neck and sitting comfortably in the cleft of his sculpted canyon of a chest. His bicep peaked and split as he curled his mammoth arm, grinning toothily out to the crowd— every part of his sculpted, musclebound form was tensed and flexing, a model of immense self-control, from the fine, detailed burls of muscle that made up his sprawling valley of a back to the fluted columns of his legs, Eric had, by all accounts, earned his first place prize— but the real prize was the look of pure seething on Amado's face as he looked down at his second place medal. He couldn't take his eyes off the otter; maybe Eric would invite him to his celebratory meal. The otter had made his point, and swore he would never eat a bowl of dry chicken and white rice as long as he lived. He hoped Amado got a good look at every diamond-cut muscle group on his bulging frame, because they would all be buried under hundreds of pounds of bulk soon enough. Revenge was a dish best served cold, but Eric preferred his smothered in cheese sauce.