September Raffle- Bullying A Champion (Patreon)

“...And then, oh, and senor, this really was the best part, Jose grappled with the monster, and threw him clear across the city with one hand, while catching the bus full of orphans with the other! Truly, they were lucky that someone like El Toro was there!” Jose Bravado, self-proclaimed handsomest and strongest bull in the world, had just finished telling a tale of his latest heroic exploits, with liberal amounts of posing, his mighty muscles almost ripping his shirt as he acted out parts of the story. He was, admittedly, an impressive specimen. He had perfect hair and a winning, shining smile, and his body had won over a sizeable number of admirers, who couldn’t help but fawn over his powerful, bulging arms and his barn door back, all manner of muscle rippling under his glossy black pelt. Or, at least, that’s how Jose told it.

Across from Jose, Brock, a thoroughly unheroic-looking tanuki with a sizeable paunch, drummed his fingers against the table as he arched his brow at Jose. “Uh-huh. Last time you told that story, the bus full of orphans was a little old lady crossing the street.” The tanuki was short, and noticeably wide in the middle, evidence of a life lived for hedonism. His eyes, however, always glowed blue, a sign that he was not to be trifled with, something even Jose knew, on his better days. 

“Oh, no, amigo. It was most definitely a bus full of orphans. Joor mind simply couldn’t handle Jose’s great feats, and needed to, how joo say, bring it down to joor level. It is okay, this happens often when Jose tells stories.” The bull smiled confidently. It was proving to not be one of his better days. The two were seated in the tanuki’s home in an abandoned theme park, swapping stories and sharing drinks. Brock was struggling to remember why, specifically, he invited Jose.

“...Right,” he finally said. The tanuki leaned in his chair, his sizeable belly filling his lap as he rested the his head against his arms, tilting his straw hat back. “Forgive me if it’s a little hard to believe all that.”

“Hah!” Jose smirked, flexing an arm so his bicep swelled up. “Jose is pretty unbelievable, it is true. But do not worry, amigo, Jose does not expect joo to understand.”

Brock arched a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Joo are, how joo say… soft?” Jose prodded the tanuki’s paunch. “Joo could never do the things Jose does.”

The tanuki’s eyes flashed brighter, casting a glow around the dingy room they were in, hidden in the run-down castle of the park. He tilted his head down, casting his face in shadow from his wide-brimmed hat, save for his glowing eyes. “Y’know, I’m not one for social graces, but it’s usually considered a dick move to insult the guy who invited you over for drinks.”

“Oh!” Jose held up his hands defensively. There were some things even he couldn’t miss. “Joo misunderstand, amigo. Jose does not mean to insult. It’s just, joo are so fat and Jose is so strong, there is no comparison. Joo could never do the things El Toro does.”

“Hey!” Brock shot up from his seat. “I can take you in a fight!”

Jose cocked his head for a brief moment before bursting into laughter, his pecs bouncing with each hearty chuckle. “Oh, Jose forgot how funny joo are, amigo!” He smiled innocently. “Jose would never want to fight joo, joo would get hurt!”

“Yeah?” Brock leaned over the table, belly spilling over the surface, ruining his bid to seem intimidating to the bull. “Listen up, El Stupido. I can take you anytime, any place.”

Jose blinked, his mind slowly putting the pieces together. “Oh! Joo are serious?”

“No shit, you dumb ox. Now are you gonna put your money where your mouth is, or are you too much of a momma’s boy?”

Jose snorted, shooting up from his seat. “Hey! Joo leave Mama out of this!”

“Yeah? Make me!” Brock smirked toothily. “I can wipe that smug smirk off your face in no time flat. And I’ll want an audience— nearest wrestling match, you and me. We got a deal?” The tanuki offered his hand.

“Hmph! Joo think to beat El Toro at his own game? They’ll have to peel joo off the mat!” Jose declared, grabbing Brock’s hand in a vice grip.

“Gah— hey!” The pudgy sort-of canine pulled out of the handshake, cradling his crushed fingers. “We ain't starting right now! In fact…” He snapped his fingers, summoning a plate of fresh, piping hot tamales. “Just to show there aren't any hard feelings after I wipe the floor with you, lunch is on me.”

“Oooh! Gracias, senor!” The bull’s eyes lit up as he reached for the plate, then he stopped as a thought came to him. “How stupid do joo think Jose is? Joo think joo are so clever, but Jose knows better! These are cursed tamales! Joo will not get away with that a sixth time!”

Brock sighed, holding up his hands in defeat. “Well, gosh, you caught me. I'm sorry, Jose, I shouldn't have tried to trick you again. Here, to make up for it…” He snapped his fingers, and the tamales were replaced with a plate of burritos. “Brock’s own bottomless burritos, my treat.”

The beefy bull nodded curtly, then slowly sat back down at the table. “Well, so long as joo learned joor lesson, Jose accepts joor apology.” He bit into one of the burritos, and his eyes lit up again. “Oooh! Just like mama makes them!”

Brock tried to hide his smirk. “Well, you just eat up, because I gotta excuse myself… need to see a Cheshire about a favor he owes me.”

Jose nodded, his mouth full as his free hand reached for a second burrito. “Graphiaf, amigho!”

“Hey.” There was a sharp prod in Jose’s side. “Hey, Blubberbutt. Bulloon. El Gordo! Wake up!”

After several hard nudges in his side, Jose groaned awake. “Que…?”

Everything was a blur. Jose remembered what was easily the best burrito he had ever had; he could still taste the sizzling chicken and cheese, the beans, the spices… only, it wasn’t just one burrito. No, it had been ten, then twenty; Jose had lost count after twenty five. But as he focused on the hulking creature in front of him, and his glowing blue eyes matched with that smirk, Jose was shocked back to reality. “...Senor Brock?”

“In the flesh,” Brock declared. The tanuki was a changed man; still just as smarmy, he now had reason to swagger. His body was a mountain of muscle, clad only in his blue vest that was looking even smaller, with a torso like a brick wall and a pair of titanic pecs bulging out past his muzzle. His shoulders, rolling out like a mountain range, supported arms like steel girders, biceps ready to bounce at the slightest provocation. Without his belly to hide behind, his natural tanuki assets were on full display, a pair of beach balls almost as big as his biceps, dangling from legs that, while impressive, were still short and stubby, giving him almost cartoonishly top-heavy dimensions.

Brock flexed his arm, laying a kiss on his engorged bicep. “Got me a hell of a trainer for our match. And you, uh. What. In the middle of a bulking program?” He smiled toothily, punching Jose’s middle, which was a lot more pliable than he remembered.

The bull gasped in realization as he looked down at his body, and all that he was met with was a black sea. “What… what did joo do?” 

His belly was a huge black boulder of furry adipose, cascading over his hips and starting to hang down past his knees. With a grunting effort, the hugely obese bovine staggered to his feet. His thighs, thicker than most men’s waists, sloshed and rolled off each other as his belly bounced against his knees. Resting his fat­-swaddled arms on the plateau his belly formed and desperately reaching out with sausage fingers, he slowly began shuffling towards Brock. “Joo… joo will pay for this, Senor!”

His waddling gait was slow and ponderous, as every single pound of fat churned with every movement. His belly was enough of a blobular millstone that he nearly stumbled, and the tanuki deftly side-stepped him.

“Hah, not so fast, butterbully.” Brock grabbed him, his grip enough to sink into the fat wrapped around Jose’s arm and backed with enough strength to stop the flabby bull in his tracks. “We’ve got a match to get to.”

All Brock had to do was snap his fingers, and in a puff of smoke, the two gigantic mammals were transported into a wrestling ring, with crowds of people surrounding it, cheering for the next fight. “I told you! Nearest wrestling match, and now you’re going to be rolled on out of here.” The tanuki pulled Jose close, his beefy bicep digging deep into his love handles as his cliff-like chest slammed into the bull’s pillowy moobs. Leering, he reached down and squeezed Jose’s overflowing rump. “Here, one for the road, big guy.” Chuckling, he pressed one of his burritos into Jose’s plush hands.

“Joo—” The bull chomped down on the burrito, only too eager to stuff his face one last time. “Joo won’t get away with this!”

“Heh.” Brock bounced his pecs, still pressed up against Jose’s blubber. “Looks like I already have.”

The two were separated by the stadium officials, placed on opposite ends of the ring. Then, one gently approached Brock with an oversized piece of cloth.

“What’s this, pintsize?”

The official bowed. “Miwashi, rikishi-san.”

“Miwashi…?” Brock picked it up. Then, his smirk slipped. “Oh, god. Sumo. Nearest wrestling match…” The tanuki smacked his forehead. In his rush to humiliate El Toro, he had forgotten that he lived in Japan.

With a grimace, he looked up at Jose. Perhaps it was experience, but even with a few extra pounds crammed onto his frame, his multiple chins and billowing cheeks still flecked with bean paste, the bull mustered the energy to drop into a proper stance for a sumo match. True, he had to dig through the folds of his belly to reach his knees, but he made it work, even as the lowest part of his belly was hovering no more than an inch from the ground. The gong sounded, and the match began.

“Alright, you’re going down, El Gordo!”

Jose huffed as Brock slammed into him, half a ton of muscle charging into the bull’s belly. “It is El Toro, senor!” Growling, the bull grappled with Brock. They locked arms, and while Brock easily overpowered the blubbery bovine, no matter how much he slammed into Jose, he couldn’t find the bull’s center of gravity; he was simply too fat.

The tanuki snarled, gripping as much bull fat as he could in both arms, steely muscles tensed and pecs inflated as he took in a deep breath. “I didn’t cheat you just to trip at the finish line!” Grunting, he managed to pull the gargantuan lardball off his feet, if just barely. “I’ll carry you if I have to!”

He took a few steps, quickly losing breath bearing the full brunt of the bull’s weight, even as Jose leaned back into him. “Joo forget, senor. Jose is an expert in wrestling! All kinds! And the most important part, amigo?” He smiled wide, dimpling his cheeks. “For sumo wrestling, lower body strength is muy importante!”

The bull kicked in the air, his thunder thighs wobbling off each other, his hooves scraping against the dirt, and tilting Brock backwards, stopping the tanuki in his tracks. It was as if Brock had gone fishing, and was trying to reel in a killer whale. The tanuki grunted, losing his balance. “What’re you doing, you overgrown dairy cow!?”

Jose smirked knowingly. “Joo forgot leg day, senor.”

Brock lost his breath and stumbled backwards, his legs giving out. He tumbled down, and a multi-ton black mountain of blubber crashed down on top of him.

“Get— get offa me!” the tanuki demanded, his voice muffled by half a dozen fat folds.

“Si, senor,” Jose grunted, rocking back and forth in a bid to get back on his feet, tidal waves of fat washing over Brock. “Just as soon as joo pass out the ring…”

It was a long, grating process for Brock. Helpless under the huge bovine, he could only stew in frustration as the seismic movements every time Jose wobbled, jiggled, and shook his way across the ring. Finally, the gong sounded as Brock’s cheek was brushed against the salt lining the ring.

“Hah! Jose did not mean to rub salt in the wound, amigo.”

“Shut. Up.” Brock grumbled.

“Que? What is that, senor? Joo are sounding a little… salty!”

“When I get out from under here, you’re gonna be the sunday night special at the first steakhouse I can find!” the tanuki shouted.