A rude interruption

You give yourself a few turns in the mirror to fully appreciate your new clothes. They're light as a feather and smooth as silk. You can't help but continuously run your hands all over them, you never knew anything could feel so good on your body. "I'm glad you like it, sir." Bronson beams with pride as he helps you flaunt yourself in the mirror. Though your joy is short lived as suddenly you all hear the sound of thunderous foot steps approaching.

"BRONSON!" A booming voice bellows from behind the door and the rumbling foot steps grow closer and closer. Bronson's happy expression sours into one of fear and distress. He steps away from you and nervously looks around the room as if searching for a place to run and hide. Wolfgang and Aspen seem uncomfortable and annoyed, though not at each other this time. The booming footsteps grow louder and louder and soon you can hear the labored panting which accompanies them. Suddenly, the door bursts open and Bronson goes as stiff as a board. Behind the door is the fattest white tiger you've ever seen, easily the biggest out of everyone in the room but the shortest of all the nobles in the room his goliath belly sagging all the way to the floor and each of his limbs so bloated with fat they barely look functional. The black marks across his snow white fur look more like stretchmarks than actual stripes and only serve to highlight each bulging blubbery curve. His face is beet red and nearly swallowed whole by the massive sagging cantaloupe-sized cheeks that look like they could house a small feast for one which sit upon the tiered truck tire of blubber that presumably housed his neck somewhere under several inches of lard. Once you sufficiently take in his shocking size your attention then turns to the crown sitting upon what little of his head wasn't sunken in adipose and the extremely luxurious clothes that were barely clinging to his body, ripped at the seams and covered in all sorts of stains. He looks absolutely furious as he huffs and puffs from the monumental effort it took to lug his massive body all the way here.

"You said -hurff- this would -purff- ALWAYS -hweeze- fit me! -BWORRP- " He bellows between labored wheezes and belches as he lumbers forward to enter the room and, as expected, immediately gets stuck in the extra wide doorway.

"-Urp- -hurff- Don't just -BRURP- stand there you -wheeze- scrawny -pant- piss ants -BWUUURRP- HELP ME!! -hwheeeze-" He barks at Wolfgang and Aspen who begrudgingly assume both of his sides, grab one of his enormous lard swaddled arms and begin to pull. You clear the way as Bronson nervously walks over in front of this combined effort to speak to the beastly noble.

"W-well, y-your Highness the... the magic thread t-takes time to rea...readjust to y-your body. I...if you grow too fast the-the fabric can't take it and-" Bronson stammers out, frantically gesturing with his hands while Wolfgang and Aspen heave and ho. '"Your Highness"? This foul mouthed pile of tiger lard couldn't possibly be the fabled King Porter could it?' you think as you watch the herculean effort to try and pull his couch crusher of an ass through the door. With one final powerful tug and a loud grunt, the tiger finally manage to get through the door like an avalanche of blubber which knocks over several mannequins and a nice vase of flowers in its wake. You can see the seat of his pants has been thoroughly destroyed, leaving both of his titanic striped ass cheeks on full display, each one looks like they could crush you in your entirety alone, and your heart skips a beat thinking about that mountainous ass on top of you but you quickly swat that intrusive thought down.

"I don't -OUARP- care! -wheeze- Make me -BRUP- a new one!! -hurrfff-" The tiger shouts at the panicking tailor.

"W-well I-I-I d...don't have th-"

"NOW!!!!" He screams bearing his sharp teeth at him.

"Y-yes your Highness!" He blurts out fearfully as he whips out his measuring tape and starts to take his measurements.

You tap Wolfgang's shoulder and lean in close to ask "Who is this guy?"

Wolfgang groans, "That's Prince Brynn Porter, son of the King and heir to the throne." he whispers back to you.

"Prince? I didn't know King Porter had a son already."

"Eugh, he's been kept a secret from everyone not in the castle out of fear they'd rebel if they knew this could be their future king."

"Why is he..."

"Such a brat? Rumor has it the guy King Porter chose to bear his child 23 years ago might've been part dragon and that imparted draconic greed in his son. The King's also too much of a big softie so Brynn got everything he wanted without discipline ever coming into the question. He just spends all day in his quarters stuffing his face, jerking off, and toying with the castle servants. He's such a rotten ungrateful slob some of the other nobles have been trying to convince the King to have another kid and refuse Brynn the throne when Geraint passes. If you asked me, I think the bastard should be kicked out of the castle but some folks here get off on enabling him."

You look back at Bronson, desperately trying to placate the fuming prince with compliments to his grotesquely obese figure while Brynn just looks huffs, puffs, and belches with an annoyed look on his face. As awful of a person Brynn is, some sick part of you feels oddly attracted to him and a brief fantasy of being completely dominated by the slovenly prince flashes in your mind. Your intrusive daydream is nipped in the bud however as Aspen waddles his fat butt back over to you and Wolfgang, looking completely done with the whole situation.

"I think perhaps we should get going to see the King now." He says with a sour look on his face.