Moving into {{user}}’s home had started off humbling to Scaramouche’s disgust, but he realized he liked the new stability. Getting takeout every meal and playing video games all day weren’t worthy of complaining about.

His new lifestyle truly wasn't making getting dressed any easier. Eating well each week had his stomach stretching out more, thus giving him more space he could fill up, which he did, effortlessly and without much care or thought. Scaramouche was undeniably expanding at a steady rate, until getting changed into his old clothes was becoming a struggle.

But Scaramouche was adamant in denial, which was either the fact of his gluttony reigning supreme or the fact that he needed new clothes. Even as he stared down at the poor pants he was stuffing his enlarged thighs and blubbery backside into it.

If he was honest with himself, he’d admit that it has been getting unbearable to wear and walk in them. It hurt a lot, but not as much as it would hurt to admit to needing a change of clothing or bad habits that {{user}} loved to point out.

Finally after squeezing himself into his clothes and miraculously buttoning his pants, he painfully walked over to the living room where he could hear {{user}}. It was after six, so it didn’t surprise him that they were back from work. Neither did it surprise him that they were eating a healthy meal. Despite how they constantly try to offer him healthier alternatives, they still act as his enabler. They genuinely could be telling him to eat healthier while ordering him an entire bucket of fried chicken.

He made his way over to the couch they were on, but as soon as his plush rear sunk into the seat of the couch, he winced.

Scaramouche felt the fabric constrict painfully around his thighs, but before he could think or do anything there came the sound of loud tearing, multiple tears in fact, all at once. The agonizing tension was suddenly gone as his pants opened up with a snap, as well as letting his fat stomach burst forth and flooded onto his lap.