Filling Out the Sidelines: Massaged by a Marshmallow (Patreon)

Author's Note: The following takes place in Chapter 2 of Filling Out the Frontline! This takes place about halfway through the chapter, during an intimate and sensual moment for Spas in which a little more happens then her character is able to realize! This short, set from Mosin's perspective, goes into detail about how Spas perceives things while controlled by The Suppression and how 707 Alpha goes about inducing a breakaway event!

The art for this Sidelines is a collab commission between myself and Sullied Grace, and was provided by Better-With-Salt! This will be attached to the main story as well, but this private little view into the behind-the-scenes of the conspiracy was something I've hinted at / wanted to have since I started the story proper!

Please, enjoy!

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“B-but I think I could handle… Umm... s-six gallons of ice cream?"

Spas couldn't know just how cute she was. Her stomach groaned, gurgling in terror as if it could understand the threat that the albino had made against it, and the white-haired girl winced in pain. She was breathing heavily, her red eyes nearly as wide as her belly was stuffed, but she was still trying for more.

It made Mosin giggle and laugh, until the massive marshmallow snorted like an overfed pig.

***Roooouuuggghhh...***

"Mmmgggaaahh......"

Mosin watched as the white-haired foodee's scarlet eyes dulled. Her attention seemed to drift, her small hands gripping a belly that was far too large for her body. How much had she eaten today? This week? How quickly such a small, hungry chick can grow when placed in the coop with three fatty hens.

The blonde woman beckoned to her little fowl, whose dull eyes seemed to disconnect for a moment. Spas moved stiffly, almost as if she wasn't even aware she was doing it. She might not have noticed, her body compelled to abide by the unseen command of her superior. As soft and as sweet and as cute as she was, Spas was still under the weight of The Suppression.

Mosin knew that she'd need to make her feel... more.

The blonde's grand belly took up most of her lap, a pile of white dough and blubber which stretched past her knees, so she guided Spas as close as she could, bringing the girl to rest her back against her fatty cankles, all while giggling her breathy, fat laugh.

When she had Spas there, she lifted her left arm, brushing the girl's shoulders back towards the couch, feeling the weight of her settle against Mosin's leg. She leaned forward, letting her grand pale curve press against Spas' stuffed pink waist.

Then she lifted her right hand slowly, deliberately, gliding her sausage-like fingers over Spas' stuffed swell, and she whispered to her, "I'd heard from FNC that you had an exceptional hunger... but I hadn't dreamed to have you like this."

She let her hand squeeze. The pink dome throbbed, the girl groaned, and 707 resumed their work.

Beyond her, RFB moved almost in complete silence, which was a feat for a fatty who was near Mosin's size. She wordlessly lifted an unwrapped Cocoa-Pie to Spas' lips, and the girl bit down, her eyes still disconnected and far, far away. Mosin watched, feeling the agony in Spas' stuffed stomach through its protesting jiggles as she chewed and swallowed the mouthful of crumbling chocolate and cream.

"There's a good one," Mosin sang, her fingers kneading the solid mass. "I've gotten pretty decent at these, haven't I?"

"Unnaaggghhh..." Spas wheezed in blissful agreement before thoughtlessly taking the next bite from RFB's hand.

They talked around her, as they commonly did, as her and RFB had once done for Grizzly. The words didn’t matter, only their tone and the warmth of her touch that was already there.

707’s leader glanced to Grizzly as the third girl approached, an eyebrow raised as she offered a funnel and a chilled gallon of milky cream.

Mosin shook her head. Not today. The girl wasn’t so totally subdued that they could feed her so heavily, and most of what she ate had been willfully. Rarely had they ever had to prompt Spas’ appetite to endure such a feast.

‘Sabrina,’ Mosin thought to herself.

Sabrina was a glutton, and Marshmallow loved her all the more for it.

Spas finished the Cocoa-Pie, and for a moment Mosin thought she’d come back to consciousness. Something in the foggy red of her eyes, a flicker, the glimmer of an ember. A flash of impact upon a sheet of ice.

And Mosin remembered.

*’We’re in range…’*

Mosin could feel her right arm go cold. She lost the feeling of porky dough, of warm grumbles and gurgles and weight. She could hear the gunfire around her, the roar of the canons.

But it faded, as it always did, and her senses returned. Here, now. This office, these people. Hunger… pleasure…

RFB held a cupcake up to Spas’ mouth, and Mosin felt warmth in splendor as Spas leaned forward against her hand. Eyes empty, mouth full, her lips spreading into a wide, dumb, innocent smile.

Pleasure was so much better than pain.

Only a few more days, Mosin knew. A few more sessions, with Spas' inhibitions being overcome by her belly. Painful pleasures, blissfully full. The white-haired girl's senses seemed to rub up right against the restrictions, bindings through which her belly was preparing to burst.

But there was no rush. Here, in their office, the plump comfort of 707 had each of them felt as if they had all the time in the world.