Maple's Story Part 10 (Patreon)

Part 10:

Once she was dressed (and after being tempted by perhaps a few too many unnecessary energy drinks), Maple slowly made her way down to the landing ramp. Slowly was certainly the optimal word, as even managing to squeeze her way through the now narrow doorway to her quarters proved to be a challenge of herculean proportion. Among porters it was a bit of a faux pas to allow one’s AI to dock at a station without at least being in the cockpit to supervise them, but since the massive ball of blubber had crested half a ton in weight she decided she didn’t have much chance fitting into the cockpit itself, much less squeezing her way into the pilot’s chair. It was going to be effort enough to get down to the boarding ramp anyway. Already her knees ached and her legs wobbled as she shuffled along the upper corridor of The Kit, her duratex suit squeaking as her massive rolls of blubber slid across each other. Syn had made approaches like the one to Scylla dozens of times in the past, although it was all very well and proper for a porter to always double check one’s AI, supposedly in case of malfunction, it was simply less practical than Maple had patience for.

Her massive love handles pressed and squeaked against the smooth metal corridor as she walked, reminding her of the sounds made by dragging her finger across a balloon. The turbulance of atmosphere rocked and bucked the ship beneath her and through the viewscreen at the end of the hallway she saw The Kit descending into the chaotic slurry of chemical storms that made up Scylla’s skies. Lightening acred once more off the reflective surface of The Kit’s hull, splintering into a thousand fragments glimpsed for barely a second before sending a shudder through the weaving ship. Despite the way her girl moved beneath her feet, Maple seemed to barely feel much of the turbulence. She felt stuffed in the hallway, both sides of her huge gut compressed against the walls beside her, each shudder and dip the spaceship made sent new and uncomfortable ripples across her bulk but it would take a massive shock to send her off her feet she mused.

“I suppose being this big is good for something.” Maple muttered, feeling like the carbofoam packing included in crates to stop things from being knocked around too much during transit.

“Excuse me?” Syn asked. Her voice sounded almost distant and Maple realised that the AI was probably concentrating on landing The Kit safely.

“Oh, nothing Syn. Don’t worry about it.” A little pang of guilt bubbled in Maple’s gut for a moment, this was the first time in her career they wouldn’t be landing the ship together. It had been Syn’s idea for Maple to start waddling towards the landing ramp and Maple had more than enough confidence in the AI to complete the approach autonomously, but it still rubbed her fur the wrong way. In the end it didn’t matter, if Syn failed in the approach, there wouldn’t be much chance to be upset. The planet-hopper would be crushed to the size of a drone, by which point the vixen figures she’ll be beyond worrying about Syn, her porter’s rep or her ever expanding waistline.

Thankfully, given the looks of the viewscreen in front of her, that wasn’t likely to be the case. Maple grimaced a little as she felt the back of her head compress against rolls of blubber thicker than anyone should have to deal with around their neck, but that was nothing compared to the safety of knowing that The Kit had passed through the worst of the chemical storms and landing lights of René’s aerohab were ahead. Silver towers pierced the browny grey ocean of clouds which seemed to break around a large, ugly metal block with their landing strip on it. The majority of the station was below the clouds, where the valuable chemicals could be caught and channeled through an intricate web of nets and funnels. Electricity visibly pulsed through long cables that were attached to the station’s hull, shimmering like electric eels below the surface of a lake, a testament to the raw amount of power that a habitat like this both generates and requires to sustain itself. As if to voice its own protest, The Kit’s hull gave a quiet little groan. Scylla was one of the many planets less hospitable than the cold expanse of space, where overlooked maintenance or a poorly designed aerohab could mean the death of thousands. She gulped. At least Dr René Lalique was supposed to be both rich and a genius. Surely any hab he visited would be safe. Surely.

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The hiss of pneumatic seals accompanied brief belches of steam as the landing ramp of The Kit began to lower towards the ground. The Kit is in essence a double story planet hopper, with the lower deck occupied by its engines, life support and cargo bay, whilst the upper deck housed Maple’s living quarters, galley, bathroom and cockpit. Given her rapid pulse and heavy breathing, Maple was thankful that the landing ramp extended from the upper deck, sliding towards the cool metal floor of the station’s docking bay. This meant that Maple didn’t have to try to squeeze her way down one of the ladders leading to the lower deck and cargo bay. At her size she didn’t think she’d be able to reliably fit through the hatch, and the only thing possibly more mortifying than having to make a delivery as a morbidly obese butter ball who can barely walk without breaking a sweat, is having to call her AI to put a distress signal out because she’d got her bloated stomach caught in a hatch that would normally accommodate three regular sized adults without issue.

The docking bay was quiet as Maple expected it to be. On the far end of the cavernous chamber another shuttle was being prepped for launch, and its bulbous hull and the many hoses attached to it marked it as some sort of tanker. A few smaller craft speckled the area, but most of the station’s residents wouldn’t own a ship of their own, and those who did would likely have stored them. Probably off world. Drones of various size, shape and purpose hovered about the bay like lazy insects, refueling, cleaning, doing pretty much anything deemed too monotonous or labour intensive for one of the habitat’s residents to do. A small queue had formed up beside The Kit’s underbelly, waiting for Syn to give them access to the cargo bay so they could start unloading her. There were also, Maple noted sourly, a couple of cam drones gliding between ships, providing security footage to the facility that could easily be viewed via the network. Steel towers rose from floor to ceiling, tracing the path that Maple’s ship had taken once it had touched the hull of the aerohab. The atmosphere outside was by no means hospitable, so once she’d touched down on her pre-assigned platform, it had sunk into the station itself and her ship had been thoroughly decontaminated before being drawn down towards the docking bays.

So far there was no visible life aside from her, standing at the very top of her landing ramp, stomach jutting out a couple of feet ahead of her.

“Where is everyone?” She asked her AI.

After a brief pause allowing a ping to the hab’s AI, Syn replied: “Inside. Dr Lalique appears to be at work in his lab, floor 7, quad 4.”

Maple grimaced. She hadn’t even started her waddle down the landing ramp and already the prospect of more walking filled her with dread. Squinting against the blubber of her puffy cheeks, she made out a transit shaft close by. “Will that transit shaft take us there?”

“Yes.”

The vixen nodded, feeling her bottom jaw squishing into her neck-flab. “Alright. Let’s get unloaded then. Make sure the chems are at the lab by the time I get there, I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to be.”

Without reply Syn released the seals on the cargo bay’s hatches and half a dozen basket ball sized drones swooped in to clamp themselves to marked cargo boxes before carefully lifting them out. There were only a handful of crates and every one of them had been marked fragile, which meant the drones were meticulous in their work and made sure not to bump anything as, one by one, they glided from her hold and towards the cargo lifts nearby. Maple allowed herself the time to lazily wish there were drones that could pick /her/ up and carry her to where she needed to go, but the pangs of mutual humiliation and sickly, gurgling bliss that conflicted her mind afterwards quickly snapped her out of her day dreams. Was she really getting wet, thinking of being so fat she had to be lifted everywhere by cargo drones? Unable to hide her own little grin, Maple shook her head and set off down the landing ramp.

Walking downhill, Maple found, was perhaps more challenging than walking uphill. She was thankful for the fact that the landing ramp was textured, and though it had been designed that way to avoid people slipping in wet or muddy conditions it also gave her pawpads something to cling on to with each wobbling, uncertain step. Every time she lifted her leg, struggling to push her bloated thigh against the underside of her massive stomach, she felt her center of balance shift towards the possibility of toppling over. All it would take was a little shove or one misstep, and she would find herself rolling onto her stomach and down the ramp at speed. It was a prospect Maple liked even less considering the keen observation of the security drones, her embarrassment was likely being watched by the twisted badger who started all this!

Despite the fact that she couldn’t actually see much of the landing ramp beneath her, Maple knew she’d reached the bottom of it when her stomach once again pressed against the floor, cool through the stretched thin layers of her duratex suit. With a little huff she felt herself pushing against it, ears folding as she listened to the way it squeaked as she slowly nudged it and her colossal body towards the transit shaft. It only took moments for the thin film of sweat across her forehead to evolve into fur drenching levels of damp, she felt her brown hair plastered against her face and her cheeks flush.

“Current estimates based on available data place your weight at .502 tons, Maple. Despite the augmentations that the nanites have made to you, your circulatory system /will/ become over exerted at the current rate of stress applied.” Syn’s voice echoed, ever helpfully through Maple’s mind, the vixen gritting her teeth at the idea of weighing over a thousand pounds.

“Are you saying that I’m going to die?” She asked, her panting breath forced through clenched teeth, her arms waving and jiggling with every push against her own mass she made.

“No,” Syn replied quickly, “But the undue strain could result in a reduced lifespan for your heart. Consider resting, we’re on time.”

Maple shook her head, dislodging droplets of sweat that splashed against her suit’s stretched fabric. “You’ll…” She paused, drawing as deep a breath as she could and ignoring the way it make her lungs ache. “You’ll just have to buy me another one,” There’s another pause as she grunts and pushes forward some more, the transit shaft seems so close now, the lights of its control panels flickering invitingly. “With all the money we’re supposed to be making from those PEEP shows…”

Syn fell silent, and well enough. It was hard enough just walking without wasting the effort and breath on talking as well. Despite how invitingly close the large transit shaft had seemed, it still took a few minutes before Maple felt her stomach bump up against the structure, a few buttons beside the door bleeping with confusion as her gut mashed against them. She blushed, unable to manipulate the controls front on, as her belly reached so far ahead it obscured the various panels she needed access to, Maple was forced to slowly rotate on the spot. She gripped her love handles, grunted, huffed and did her best to lift the 500+lb of belly fat that she’d accumulated until she was able to reach the controls with her pudgy digits, if only just. The controls had been made for fingers more slender than hers, but after some determined poking, Maple managed to convince the machine of where she needed to go.

Detecting only one passenger, the transit hub rumbled and groaned before opening a door close to Maple to a lift that would comfortably fit one passenger. And one passenger alone. Maple scowled.

“Syn is there any way you could convince the station to send a bigger pod?” She grumbled, peering inside the small cylinder with narrowed eyes.

“I would have to ping administration and have them class you as a class C species. Would you like me to do this?”

Maple’s cheeks flushed. Class D species were creatures like Alma, the massive gator who could wear 300lb of armor and barely be slowed down by it. Typically vixen were counted as class B, small but not tiny. Being reclassed would mean a public ping, an administrator might even have to personally observe Maple to be able to validate the request. It would be akin to demanding five seats on a passenger because she was too greedy /not/ to eat an entire buffet.

“No I… I think I’ll be okay.” The vixen sighed.

“If you’re sure.”

Maple looked at the narrow doorway, it seemed about as large as the one leaving her bunk room and she’d managed to squeeze out of that, although she’d needed the help of the Scutlers. The transit cylinder itself though was much, much smaller, designed for someone a tenth of Maple’s size. Designed for someone like Maple, before this whole adventure in food had been forced upon her. She frowned. Thinking about it wouldn’t make the problem go away. After managing to slowly line herself up so that her stomach would precede her, she pushed forward. Far too soon for comfort she felt the sides of the doorway squish against her gut. Her gut was pushed back against her breasts, which were pushed against her chins, which were pushed against her cheeks and, for a moment, the fluffy grapefruit sized globes of blubber were all she saw before her body levelled itself out again, jiggling profusely. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the creaking of her frustrated outfit, she pushed forward again. Her arms and legs wobbled with exertion as she tried to knead that massive, blubbery stomach into the door with every limb she had. It felt as heavy as dough, but much, much more malleable, jiggling and shoving back with every thrust against it she made. What was more disconcerting was that this massive ball of blubber was part of her. She could feel every finger as she kneaded and shoved, she felt her knees as she tried to push her lower gut forward with her legs. Her suit, as though realising her plight, began to excrete the sweat it had stored up, causing the duratex outfit to shine ever so slightly. That slight lubrication was enough to help her gut along, squeaking loudly as her balloon-like duratex outfit slid against the sides of the doorframe before her stomach began to pile up inside the chamber itself.

Pushing against the far end of the chamber was nearly as hard as getting through the doors, everything considered. Maple felt herself being bunched, her tits obscuring her vision as panting and moaning she managed to cram every last ounce of her into the tiny tube. Every ounce, except her massive bean-bag ass cheeks which hung lazily outside. With a grunt Maple, realised that her arms were wedged against the walls of the chamber. She looked back as far as she was able to and tried to wiggle them out but they were swaddled in far too much blubber. That was when she saw the avian.

Dressed in a professional looking lab coat with brilliant white feathers, the dove girl was looking at Maple from outside the transit station with nothing short of shock, perhaps a little bit of horror thrown in. Her beak, which had been hanging open, snapped shut as Maple’s gaze met hers and a blush formed on both sets of cheeks for very different reasons. There was a lengthy silence as Maple considered what she could possibly say to make this situation any less humiliating, but nothing came to mind and the squeaking and groaning of her suit as she filled the whole tube only added to the embarrassment. Finally, the dove broke the silence.

“D-do you need a hand?” She asked, slowly approaching Maple as though she were an experiment that had gone incredibly wrong and was likely to explode. Considering the way all this pressure was shifting her guts around, the prediction might not be entirely wrong. All the same, the vixen endeavoured to hold in her emmissions. She worked up the saliva to respond.

“Y-yes actually… could you get the doors to shut and send me off? The destination is pre-programmed but I can’t… quite reach the buttons.” Each word felt like a drop of hot wax pouring into her mouth, burning inside her all the way down to her loins where the humiliation condensed into the area between her squirming thighs.

“Absolutely.” The dove replied, sounding as though she was trying to convince herself that the task was possible, more than anyone else. She approached the transit shaft with the sort of grace that Maple used to have, with light, springy steps. A button was pressed and the shaft beeped with annoyance. “Uhm… says the door’s obstructed.”

Maple should have accounted for this, it felt like half of her was still hanging out of the shaft. She would have to ask for even more help, a prospect as terrifying as it was hot.

What was wrong with her?

“Uhm…” Maple started, wiggling ever so slightly where she stood. “Could you maybe help push me all the way in?”

“I don’t think you’re going to fit…” The dove replied, hesitantly looking at the massive globes of Maple’s ass and the sheer amount of her hanging out of the transit cylinder.

“It will!” The vixen insisted. She didn’t much like the idea of feeling anyone’s hands back there but her own, but the idea of having to pry herself out of the lift was worse.

Maple had never really known what a concerned frown looked like on an avian’s face until now. The beak itself didn’t really bend that much, but the area around it seemed to give the impression of a frown all on its own. The dove quickly moved out of Maple’s sight and behind the massive vixen and it wasn’t long before she felt slender, feathered fingers through the sweat-slicked fabric of her suit.

The first shove was weak, barely causing much more than a jiggle to shudder through the vixen. The second was slightly more impressive and with her third shove, Maple could feel the dove put her shoulder into the effort. Now that nobody could see her, she let herself smile a little. How could she be this big? So massive and fat she needed somebody to push her into the lift. And why did it make her smile so? Blush so? She really was a mess of a vixen. Maybe everything would go back to normal once the collar was removed. So concerned was she with repressing her thoughts of lust that Maple didn’t realise the dramatic shifting in pressure that all of this jiggling and wobbling was causing. She could feel the bubbles of gas as they worked through her stretched intestines, sinking lower and lower through her body.

“Oh no..” The vixen breathed.

With one final push, everything happened at once. The dove felt her shoulder sink into the sweaty, morbidly obese vixen’s butt-fat, rewarding her with a beak full of flatulence. The sound and pressure of it was loud enough to cause her to stagger backwards, coughing and spluttering. At the same time, the transit hub finally recognised that at least the majority of the vixen was inside of its cylinder and the door slid shut with a hiss. Maple couldn’t even offer an apology before she was whisked away, pushed by the transit pod deeper into the station, leaving a dazed and slightly befouled dove blushing and finding her fingers at work between her legs.

The stench hadn’t been that bad and, in all honesty, it was just enough to set the dove over the edge, the girl’s legs giving out beneath her as she rushed to masturbate to the strange and arousing situation she’d just been witness to. As she lay there panting and shivering in bliss, not caring the slightest bit about the watchful eyes of the security cams floating about the docking bay, she realised that she’d forgotten to ask for the vixen’s name.

It didn’t matter, she’d find out one way or another.

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