Zoey's massive frame squeezed through the double doors of a Burger Queen, her horns just barely scraping the top of the door frame. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as her boots clunked across the tile floor. She scanned the brightly lit menu with a focused expression, eyes locking on her prize: the spicy chicken burger. The word "spicy" caught her attention in the most delicious way possible. The sensation of heat that came with it was something that went beyond taste for her; it was like a deep craving rooted in her very core.
She moved up to the counter, her tail swaying behind her. The cashier, a teenage boy who barely came up to her chest, stared up at her with wide eyes. Zoey grinned, flashing her sharp teeth, her serpentine tongue flicking out for just a second before she spoke.
"Ten of your spicy chicken burgers. Extra spicy, the way I like 'em," Zoey said, her high pitched voice thick with a German accent and commanding, but with a hint of excitement bubbling underneath.
The cashier blinked, momentarily frozen. "Uh, ten?" he stammered.
Zoey’s grin widened. "You heard me. Ten. And make sure they’re loaded. I want the sauce, the jalapeños, the pepper jack. Don’t skimp on the bacon either."
"Uh, okay... coming right up." The cashier tapped in the order, glancing back at her every so often with a mixture of awe and confusion.
Zoey paid without hesitation, her mind already focusing on the taste, on the feeling she knew was coming. The moment she felt the heat of capsacin, that special burn that only certain foods gave her, her entire body would light up. The rush of pleasure, the tingle that would start in her mouth and spread downward, almost erotic in nature, was something she never questioned.
She walked over to a table built for six and sat down, the chair groaning under her weight. Her mouth watered as she watched the kitchen crew scramble to prepare her order. Minutes later, the tray arrived, stacked high with burgers wrapped in crinkled paper. The steam from the spicy glaze wafted into the air, bringing with it the intoxicating scent of fried chicken, spiced breading, and the sharp tang of peppers and creamy sauce.
Zoey wasted no time. Her massive prosthetic hands tore into the first burger, peeling back the wrapper with practiced ease. The sandwich was a work of art: golden fried chicken breast, thick slices of bacon, gooey pepper jack, a slick of jalapeños, and a glossy red glaze that shimmered with heat. She bit down, her sharp teeth slicing through the layers like butter.
The first wave of heat hit her tongue, and she shuddered in her seat. The spicy glaze coated her mouth in a delicious fire that spread almost instantly. The breading, crunchy and infused with peppers, added another layer of burn, while the creamy sauce provided a rich, almost soothing counterpoint to the intensity.
But it wasn’t the usual discomfort others described when eating spicy food. No, for Zoey, the sensation was... different. The heat didn’t hurt; it sent a thrill straight through her body. As she chewed, she could feel the warmth spreading not just in her mouth, but down her throat, into her chest, and further down still. Her breathing deepened, her pupils dilated, and an involuntary moan escaped her lips.
The burn was intimate, familiar, but also addictive in a way she couldn’t quite explain. Each bite intensified the pleasure, and as the spiciness built up, so did the warmth between her thighs. Her loins responded almost instinctively, moistening at the sensation. It wasn’t something she ever thought much about, though. To her, the reaction was just part of the experience. Spicy food made her feel good—better than good, actually—but wasn’t that why people liked it?
Zoey licked her lips, chasing the tingling remnants of the glaze, and took another massive bite. The creamy sauce dripped down her chin, and she savored the cool contrast it brought to the fiery jalapeños, even as the burn lingered on her tongue. It was the kind of burn that made her want to keep eating, to chase that feeling over and over again.
By the time she was halfway through the second burger, Zoey could feel her body reacting more intensely. Her breaths were coming in shorter bursts, her massive chest rising and falling with a rhythm that felt... eager. A low rumble escaped her throat, something akin to a purr, though Zoey wasn't sure why. She shifted in her seat, feeling the slickness between her thighs, but ignored it. There were still eight more burgers to go.
It was the perfect ritual for her—biting into the crunchy, spicy, and savory goodness, letting the heat take over, and riding the waves of pleasure that came with each mouthful. Her horns brushed against the hanging lights as she leaned forward, completely engrossed in the experience.
A few tables over, a family watched in open-mouthed disbelief as Zoey tore into the burgers like a starving animal, moaning softly with every bite. They whispered among themselves, confused and a little concerned about her visible enjoyment, but Zoey was too lost in her food to care.
As she finished the third burger and moved on to the fourth, Zoey's breath hitched slightly. The heat was building, and she could feel her body responding even more now. Her inner thighs were damp, and the familiar pulse of arousal thrummed through her lower half. She shifted in her seat again, the wetness between her legs becoming harder to ignore.
She took another bite, letting the spice flood her senses once more, and leaned back, savoring the rush. A moan of satisfaction escaped her, loud enough that even the family nearby flinched. Zoey caught their stares and flashed them a grin, her sharp teeth glinting under the lights. They quickly looked away.
She licked her fingers clean of the spicy sauce, then leaned in for another bite, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. The sensation, the heat, the way her body reacted to it—it was all so good.
Zoey’s drive back to her APC felt like a slow descent into satisfaction. The city lights of Sigma shimmered through the windows as her massive frame leaned back into the oversized seat of her truck, her belly full and warm from the spicy chicken burgers. The heat still lingered on her tongue, a pleasant burn that seemed to pulse through her, making her heart race in rhythm with the subtle tingling between her thighs.
By the time she pulled up to her APC—a towering, heavily armored 8x8—her mouth still tingled, and the slickness between her legs had only intensified. She hit the lock, the heavy steel doors closing behind her with a satisfying clang, before lumbering her way to the back of her living quarters.
The interior of the APC was dimly lit, a cool contrast to the heat building inside her. Zoey stripped off her jacket, tossing it onto a nearby seat, her metallic fingers trailing down the front of her shirt, feeling the slight dampness that had gathered from the drive. The spade of her tail flicked back and forth lazily, brushing against her calves as she made her way toward the bed—an oversized, reinforced mattress that groaned under her weight as she collapsed onto it.
The burn had dulled but hadn’t disappeared, and every time she licked her lips, she could feel that familiar warmth spreading through her body. Her thighs rubbed together, the dampness more pronounced now, and Zoey exhaled sharply. The heat of the burgers had stirred something primal in her, a hunger that wasn’t just about food.
Her hand drifted downward, fingers brushing over her belly and sliding lower, her breath catching as she felt the slickness between her thighs. She spread her legs wider, feeling the wet heat of both of her pussies, her body throbbing with anticipation. It wasn’t the first time this had happened after eating spicy food, but every time felt just as intoxicating, as if the capsaicin lit up parts of her brain that were beyond pleasure.
Her fingers teased the edges of her lower lips, tracing the wet folds, before sliding inside. Zoey groaned, her eyes closing as the sensation hit her in waves. She was soaked, her pussies already responding to the lingering heat in her mouth. Her breath hitched as she worked her fingers deeper, curling them inside, her claws grazing her slick inner walls. The sound of her wetness filled the small space, a rhythmic, squelching noise that only heightened her arousal.
Her hips bucked slightly, the weight of her body shifting on the mattress as she increased the pressure, her other hand reaching up to tease her nipples through her shirt. Zoey moaned, her breath coming in short gasps, each sound punctuated by the wet noise of her fingers moving inside her. The scent of her arousal mixed with the leftover spice on her fingers, filling the air with an intoxicating blend of heat and lust.
She bit her lip, her sharp teeth just barely grazing the skin, and pressed harder, faster, her pussies tightening around her fingers. The wetness dripped down her thighs, the slick sound growing louder as she chased the pleasure building deep inside her. Her tail lashed behind her, the spade twitching with each thrust of her hand.
Her body tensed, her breath catching in her throat as the orgasm hit her like a truck. A sharp, guttural moan escaped her lips as her thighs clenched, her pussies spasming around her fingers, the wetness pouring out in thick, heavy streams. The pleasure rolled through her like an unstoppable force, her entire body trembling with the intensity of it.
For a moment, Zoey lay there, panting, her fingers still buried deep inside her. The pleasure slowly ebbed, leaving behind a warm, sticky heat that clung to her fur and skin. She withdrew her fingers, slick with her juices, and brought them to her mouth, tasting the familiar mix of spice and arousal on her tongue. It was heady, intoxicating, but as the last waves of pleasure faded, a familiar heaviness settled over her.
She sat up slowly, the mattress creaking beneath her weight, and looked down at herself. Her belly hung low, rolls of fat pressing against her thighs. Her reflection in the metal paneling of the APC caught her eye, and for a moment, she frowned. The burgers had brought her pleasure—like they always did—but that satisfaction was fleeting. Now, all she felt was heavy and tired. The excess weight she carried, the constant indulgence in food, the way she felt after... It wasn’t joy anymore.
I’ve let this go too far, she thought, her brow furrowing. Zoey ran a hand over her belly, feeling the thick layer of fat that had built up over years of eating her way through everything that gave her pleasure. The spicy chicken burgers, the grease, the food that dulled her anxiety but left her body sluggish. She could barely remember the last time she felt light, quick on her feet, ready for action.
Her jaw tightened. I’m not happy like this.
With a frustrated growl, Zoey reached for her phone, her prosthetic fingers dialing the number of her therapist before she could talk herself out of it. The ringing seemed to drag on forever, each second amplifying the nagging thoughts in her head. When he finally answered, she blurted out the words.
“I need to lose weight.”
There was a pause on the other end, and then his voice came through, calm, patient. “Zoey, we’ve talked about this. You’ve used food to cope for a long time. It’s not just about the weight; it’s about addressing why you’ve turned to food in the first place.”
“I know, dammit,” Zoey snapped, her voice thick with frustration. “But I need this... I need to do something. I’m tired of looking at myself and feeling like this.”
Her therapist sighed softly. “You’re not going to find happiness just by changing your body. You know that. You have to work through why you’re unhappy, why you’re using food to fill that void.”
His words stung, hitting far too close to home, and Zoey clenched her jaw, her tail flicking irritably behind her. “I’m not using food like that,” she muttered, though even she didn’t believe it.
“Zoey,” he continued gently, “you’re self-medicating. We’ve talked about your trauma, your need to control something in your life. Food is one way you’ve done that, but it’s not sustainable. You know that.”
Zoey closed her eyes, the weight of his words settling over her. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. But that didn’t make it any easier to accept.
“Fine,” she muttered, her voice low. “I’ll think about it.”
After a few more minutes of conversation, she hung up, tossing the phone onto the bed. The frustration lingered, but underneath it, a flicker of determination burned. She needed to do this.
I gotta, she thought to herself. I gotta do this.
Zoey took a deep breath and dialed the number of a dermatologist who specialized in surgical procedures. She explained her situation, her desire to undergo a consultation for fat removal. The mere thought of going back to a hospital, laying on a surgical table, filled her with dread. Memories of past trauma, of being strapped down, of experiments done to her without consent, bubbled to the surface.
Her heart raced, and for a moment, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her hands trembled as she confirmed the consultation, the anxiety building. But she swallowed it down, forcing herself to push through.
Once the call ended, she leaned back against the metal wall, her chest heaving. The anxiety gnawed at her, relentless, and she felt the familiar prickling of fear creeping in. Zoey grabbed a vial of green liquid from her bedside table, her hands shaking as she uncapped it and gulped down the whole thing.
The shot was quick, the cold rush of the substance flooding her system almost immediately. Her breathing slowed, the tightness in her chest easing, the anxiety dulling into the background noise of her mind. It was calming, almost peaceful. She knew she had to do this, had to face her fear if she ever wanted to change.
Zoey closed her eyes, the faint hum of the APC's generator vibrating through the floor beneath her. Tomorrow, she’d take the first step.
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