Ultimate Tips for Beating any Escape Room:
1. Don't just 'spectate' the puzzles. Always make sure to keep contributing, so keep moving to make the most of the time allotted to you.
2. Wear comfortable clothing! Escape rooms often involve physical challenges at certain points; wearing loose, breathable clothing will do a lot to ensure minimal restriction when physical activity is necessary.
3. Never be afraid to lose! The experience is the most important part of any escape room, failing to complete the objective shouldn't ruin the journey you had leading up to it.
Robin sighed and closed the article, placing his phone back in his sweatpants. Sure, they were perfectly fine tips, but they weren't going to solve the one glaring issue the lavender cat currently had: namely, how to look cool when you're heading to an escape room by yourself. The fur didn't mean to go alone, but when half of his friends didn't care about escape rooms and the other half didn't care about this kind of escape room... well, it was pretty much a given that he'd be walking the cold streets at the crack of dawn by himself.
Done up in a baggy, long-sleeved tee, the feminine feline's appearance brought to mind a half-melted snowman, what with all the pastel fabric hanging off of him as he trudged on down through the industrial part of town. Not that Robin cared; if the business up ahead was going to deliver on its promise, then he was going to need every free inch of space in his outfit that he could get.
Was the business up ahead even the right one? The name on the front of the building matched the one on the website, Billow Out Escape Experiences, but the place certainly didn't look the part. As a drab storefront taking up the majority of an even drabber strip mall, Robin wouldn't have been surprised if he were about to walk into some sort of family-owned Chinese restaurant instead.
Robin's collar jingled alongside the front door as he went in. Nope, this very much was the place. A brightly colored reception area stood next to a hallway filled with doors, no doubt the pathway to all sorts of amusing scenarios. This was it, all he had to do was get outfitted and through one of those doorways! Robin tried to ignore his heart thumping in his chest as he went up to the receptionist, a chubby gray quail of minute stature.
"I'm... here to inquire about an appointment?" asked Robin awkwardly, unsure how to speak about the current matter.
"An appointment?" replied the Quail, before chuckling. "Oh, you've made a reservation, haven't you?"
"Well, not really," said Robin sheepishly, "The ordering menu was actually really hard to navigate on my phone. I came early to see if I could... y'know, order now?"
The Quail laughed louder this time, his slight jowls jiggling subtly in a way only the cat could detect.
"Why, of course! Here," the receptionist said, slamming down a booklet of services on the counter, "Take your pick. Don't dawdle too long, we've got a couple coming in at 9:00 that could take precedence over you."
Robin didn't need to be told twice. He fumbled through the booklet, ignoring the majority of the packages offered as he scanned the paper for the package that had captivated him several nights prior. This scenario had it all: a mischievous kidnapper as the host, mock-life and death situations, and the kind of punishments that the femboy was too jittery to even think about without practically squealing with joy. The only other package on the page that came close was the "Forbidden Candy Factory Tour", but that, of course, was out of the housecat's price range. Robin didn't need too many extra frills for his first time, anyway.
"This one," the feline declared, now becoming the one to slam the open booklet down, "Treats and Traps, specifically the one-player version."
"Excellent choice. I'll get the waivers set up for you. Now, if you could just turn around while I do that..."
The kitty obliged, letting the tubby bird pull out forms and objects from filing cabinets full of otherwise-confidential information. Of course, that wasn't why Robin needed to turn around. Just like the website said, this was the part where-
*SHKKK*
-the apparatus was going to be placed down his collar and on his furry back. The feline didn't know how it worked and didn't care how. All he knew was that by simply having the small, spider-shaped device latched on his back during the escape room, Robin would have a hugely different kind of time limit imposed on him. From the game's start, the device would be secreting a special kind of chemical solution into him, one that would punish any lollygagging with consequences that could only be described as... big.
Robin shuddered a damn good shudder as stray fantasies began to enter his head. He breathed a sigh of relief as the quail tapped him on the back, a sign for him to turn back around and reset his thoughts. The papers Robin had to sign did a good job of that, forcing him to analyze where exactly to put his signature down inside a field of legalese (a task that prompted a different kind of escape reaction to form within the housecat).
The task was done both quickly and shakily, and suddenly the nerve-wracked cat was being led to one of the mysterious doors.
"Your adventure's about to begin!" announced the quail, going through a memorized spiel that was clearly made for more than one fur at a time, "Ahead of you lies a mysterious trickster that will try to outsmart you at every turn with his devious traps. Get into the correct headspace, and get ready to fight for your waistline!"
A door was opened, one that led into a seemingly pitch-black void. Given the scenario's startup, it wasn't a surprise to Robin, but he still had to be hastily pushed through the door anyway.
"One more thing," the receptionist said as he closed the door behind the purple housecat, "there's an extra charge if we end up having to roll you out of here."
Now deep in the unlit void, Robin could feel his long furry tail begin to wag uncontrollably. If the resulting adventure was anywhere as good as he had imagined, then he'd pay that surcharge a hundred times over.
----
The darkness continuing to cloak around him, Robin could hear ambience flooding into the room. Suddenly the scene had changed, he was no longer in some odd room in a two-bit recreational business, but instead thrust through space, deep within the catacombs of a chamber secluded, the sounds of heavy rainfall beating distantly against walls that only continued to look more like thick stonework as the fruity feline's eyes adjusted to the dark.
Torchlight flared. The room was, indeed, a dungeon of some sorts. The door behind him had vanished, while a new, heavier wooden one sat locked before him. Fake moonlight poured in through a high up window, one confirming that for the time being the cat was indeed trapped, a slim prisoner kept for some nefarious purpose. And what purpose was it to be?
On cue, the sounding of a shrill voice rang out above the rainfall to answer that purpose, conveniently delivered through a speaker set deep within the stone above the wooden door.
"You dare lay opposition to the Gamemaster?" declared the unknown voice. "I'll have you know that nobody who challenges me gets out unchanged! I have more than enough devious tricks and traps lying before you to ensure that a fur of your build will be completely perplexed by the end of it. Accept my trials if you desire to leave this castle in one piece, but beware: your failures will weigh heavier on you with each mistake!"
For a kidnapped captive, Robin was giddy to proceed. "I accept!", he shouted to the speaker.
"Very well," replied the Gamemaster somewhere deep on the other end of the line, "your foolishness will be nothing short of sweet." A massive lightning flash lit up the room, forcing the lavender cat to shield his eyes. Lowering his paws, Robin found that the scene in front of him had changed, the old gate of a door opening inward to showcase a stairway upwards, out of the dungeon. The climb wasn't going to be a hard feat, but jitters still got the best of Robin as he ascended. Was the apparatus connected to him sinking in even tighter? In the poor lighting of the stairway the cat couldn't tell, but with each step he swore that he was already feeling his early morning hunger dissipate...
The top of the staircase held not another door, but a simple wooden panel connected to a lever. Putting one and one together, Robin had flipped the lever almost immediately after seeing it, watching in delight as the panel, connected to a similar one on the floor, then proceeded to swivel around in a circle. Standing on said circle, Robin followed the moving floor behind the panel, moving into the first true room of the castle to explore.
So, the panel was a fake bookshelf! That's what it had to be, considering the room the lavender feline had found a way into was absolutely covered in the racks, a combination of a study and a personal library looking gorgeously antique in the synthetic light of the ongoing thunderstorm outside. In the middle of the study sat a large work desk, sparsely furnished with only a nearby sofa and a chair to keep the furniture company. A fairly sized set of double doors, smaller than the dungeon door yet comparatively modernist in design sat quietly in front of it all, an empty panel carved into the doors' respective middle.
A similar speaker was placed above these doors, one that a familiar announcer soon began voicing his own anticipation from as soon as Robin's eyes laid upon it.
"So, you weren't bluffing, captive," chided the Gamemaster, "It's been a while since I’ve had a willing participant like this. Your first task is to find a way to properly fill the middle panel of these doors. Make haste... or your middle will soon fill out to join it before long."
The sound of a buzzer rang out through the room, and before the feline could react, a wet press had formed on his back, liquid chemicals secreting down into him in order to register the formal start of the game.
With the first trial being a scavenger hunt, Robin immediately did what any furry adventurer worth their salt was one to do and looted the desk, pulling open the drawers and combing through them. Two of the drawers held simple props, books that wouldn't open and boxes that were more crudely painted cubes than facsimiles. The third was different; this drawer was empty save for a wooden block, one with one-fourth of a pictogram drawn onto it. Running across the room, Robin slammed this block into the panel, noting easily how the block's length and width meant that it took up a fourth of the panel perfectly. He was on the right track, now all he had to do was-
*PHWSHH*
Another trail of the chemical cocktail began to ride down Robin's back. It was enough to make his body cringe, though the mind in control of that body was having very incomparable sensations instead. This feels absolutely therapeutic! thought Robin, quickly falling in love with the wet touch that was slowly soaking his shirt with serum. The feline's hips wiggled awkwardly as he tried to run back around the room, trying to ignore his feelings by shaking off the newfound energy building within him. Perhaps if he was slightly less embarrassed, he might've noticed that the fabric his hips were grinding up against were growing just a little less loose, his ass plumping up just a tiny bit tighter.
There was no time for that, unfortunately for Robin. He was on an enzymatic deadline, and he scanned the room with all the eyesight of a champion archer as he searched for clues. A deceptively pink book hid on one bookshelf, noticeably less prop-like than anything else built onto the case. The tomb was unceremoniously plucked from the rack, and inside it hid the second piece of the puzzle. Shoving it into his sweatpants' pocket, Robin resumed the prowl, now setting his eyes on the windowsill. The panes of glass illuminating the study had many intricate, gothic designs adorning their visage, and as his eyes wandered Robin began to notice that those patterns all seemed to converge on a small square in the middle of the framework. Fiddling with that center proved fruitful; suddenly he was holding piece three, its backing cleverly painted to match the glass that had surrounded it.
So where was piece number four? Robin had already found prizes in every point of interest worth scouring, where did that leave room for a fourth one? The grumbling cat cased the bookcases a second time, then a third, not finding another book to open nor a clue that would solve things just as well. Slowly he could feel the jitters return, nerves taking over as his body brushed against the shelves for what felt like the millionth time. Was it nerves, though? Robin stifled a small belch, wondering where the need came from and soon realizing that there was a stuffed feeling in the pit of his gut that hadn't existed five minutes ago. Robin was suddenly acutely aware of how well his clothes fit, a fact he could not attest to several minutes ago either. They were loose when had entered the library, now he could feel his stomach, his hips, his supposedly flat ass, all of them pressing up ever so slightly against the waist of his sweatpants. There was damage to inspect down there, and sitting down on the sofa, Robin had no choice but to fight the urge to explore himself.
Wait, the sofa? That's it! Jumping off as quickly as he laid down, Robin squatted deep by the drab furniture. Sure, the seating seemingly had nothing more to it from surface level, but by lowering oneself down...
Bingo. Attached to the underside of the couch was piece number 4, its presence almost lightly mocking Robin for managing to solve the window puzzle faster than it. Robin ignored the mental heckling, what mattered was he had every piece of the puzzle he needed. Approaching the door panel like a feline freight train, it was a mad, skittery dash to assemble the pictogram in its proper orientation. Luckily, only so much flailing about could lead to incorrect results, soon a pristine little image of a cake had been formed on the door, the simplistic drawing still making Robin hungry just looking at it.
The buzzer rang out again, disrupting the chubbening cat's thoughts.
"Excellent." called out the Gamemaster, "You'll put up a fight."
An opening once again sprang up at the commencement of the announcer's words, with the study's doors unlocking into a short hallway covered in both mirrors and torchlight, a similar pair of doors bookending the other side.
"Why not have full view of how your imperfections have ruined you? Continue onward- or stew in your lethargy."
Doing as he was told, Robin stepped into the hallway, leaving the study behind as the doors closed with a resounding thud. He was alone in the hall now, without even the image of the outside world to accompany him. The mirrors were clearly placed there for a reason. Did he dare break down so early?
He absolutely did. Pulling his tee-shirt upward, Robin stood there in the mirror, staring directly at the chubby gut now in his vision. *His* chubby gut. A few good dozen pounds had clearly slid onto the cat's waistline in the span of the last trial, turning the skinny kitten into quite the chunky cat as his thighs and hips slowly swelled outwards, holding his sweatpants in an increasingly tighter grip with every passing second. Even through his t-shirt Robin could feel his sleeves brush up against newly fattened arms, a shirt once a size too big for him sliding into "comfortably tight" territory, and just as quickly going beyond it.
He was growing fat at an absurdly rapid pace, and the sight alone had driven the filling feline's hands to different places; one gliding across his gut to accurately assess just how much fat the game had packed on to him, and one feeling up his suddenly-not-so-flat asscheeks in an attempt to understand how those spheres were properly expanding. The self-groping session continued for some time, Robin lost within himself not due to lust, but through sheer curiosity.
The loudspeaker system once again interrupted that curiosity.
"Captives should take some care in making their way to the living quarters," huffed the Gamemaster, "Namely by not playing with themselves until they've successfully escaped."
Blushing profusely, Robin pulled his shirt back down across his increasingly expanding bulk. The Gamemaster's right, he thought as he trudged on towards the next room, the payoff's gonna be much better once I'm huge!
The jaunt through the next room's doorway was thankfully a short one once the mirrors were ignored. That didn't stop Robin from taking a second detour to marvel at his rapidly plushing self (or a third), but if you really squint at it you could say he arrived in the castle's living quarters in a timely fashion.
The second room certainly fit the description of a living room- rigid chairs and couches sat around a weak-looking coffee table, while a fish tank droned on silently on a counter along the backwall. An unlit fireplace completed the odd, abandoned scene, though its inherent strangeness was rather bolstered by the fact that all of the furnishings were painted a solid brown color, far more uniform than anything the library's study had to offer. Robin could only stop and stare at how out of place the carved wood chairs seemed to be in the candlelight, lit up in a way that suggested that had some sort of matte finish on them. Even the water in the tank was colored to match the abstract theming, with deep hazel water obscuring any fish that might've been unlucky to be used as props for the room. What kind of weird puzzle is this stuff for? wondered Robin, but not for long. His gazing was interrupted by yet another chiming from the Gamemaster, the speaker this time coming from within a marked brick in the fireplace.
"This next trap can only be escaped with the help of a secret key! Don't waste too much brainpower trying to find a clever way out of here; the only aspect of you this challenge will test will be the endurance of your guts!"
My guts? thought Robin once more, before an audible *SHKKK* decided it was its turn to shuffle the growing feline's thoughts. The apparatus had begun chugging away at his waistline again, and by extension that meant the game had begun again, as well. Wasting no time at all, Robin made his way over to the center of the room, overturning the armchairs and the sofa in an attempt to re-create the stroke of genius that had solved the last puzzle. No dice; all he was rewarded with was the disheveled furniture practically shattering as it hit the castle's rock flooring. Huh, when did wooden chairs get so brittle?, the housecat wondered.
And then the smell hit him. Chocolate, somewhat fresh and very much still keeping its flavor, wafting from inside the seating. They couldn't possibly be made out of...
A cursory grab of one of the armchair's legs broke it right off, revealing its true insides. Rice-puffed chocolate spilled from the ends of both the chair and the leg like sugary viscera, a sight that inspired no revulsion and much desire from Robin. This room was furnished with chocolate! Not only that, but puffed chocolate like this was meant to be eaten in large quantities without sitting dense in one's stomach. This was the true endurance test; seeing how much of this room Robin could fit inside him!
In seconds, the chair leg was gone, it's rectangular bulk sailing past Robin's fangs and adding to *his* bulk. A second leg followed, and then another. It was obviously bulk chocolate flavoring, but all the same the ever-filling feline couldn't get enough of it. It was pure comfort food, and at the moment all Robin was concerned with was stuffing himself with enough of it to turn himself into a living comforter. The back of the chair was immediately torn off, turned into fodder, and demolished in well under a minute flat. Robin was playing to win, though in an ironic twist his quick times were arguably filling him out even faster than had he just waited.
Robin's belly was swelling like an airbag as pound after pound of sugary goods made its way into it. The housecat could already feel the curve of his t-shirt begin to stretch and warp as it struggled to contain the pillow-sized stomach underneath, and the influx of sugar only worsened the fabric's hold on him until it finally gave up, rolling upwards and showcase his bump to the world. The lavender curve billowed forth into a rotund sphere as Robin chowed down on the chair's seat, his hunger rapidly fading but completely ignored as the cat failed to find a key within the armchair's remains. He gave his gut a small slap as he made his way over to the overturned sofa, his stomach wobbling like a beach ball in a swimming pool to confirm that yes, he had eaten the whole thing and it wasn't going to simply disappear inside him.
The sofa was almost immediately dismantled in the ongoing search for the key. The couch's legs were practically sucked down like licorice, while giant parts of its fake cushion were torn into as quickly and easily as rice krispy treats. While Robin's stomach held steady at a curve that made him look pregnant with a whole litter, the rest of his body was keen to pick up the slack. His arms and legs were growing tight in their fabric confines, once-loose sweatpants beginning to chafe as thighs that could put any hussy in the city to shame began to vibrate against one another. Two solid mounds began to jut out inside of Robin's increasingly strained t-shirt, a pair of fresh moobs that were happily growing with each bite the fat cat shoved down his throat (to say nothing of the results of the chemical cocktail injected into him). Robin was a fat cat, far beyond it, even. Armfuls of chocolate were interspersed with armfuls of freshly squeezed dough as he refused to keep his hands off himself mid-snack.
Despite the distractions, the living room had fallen. The sofa, the chairs, even the coffee table had at some point been reduced to chocolatey crumbs. Robin laid flat on his back amid the sugary carnage, his gut swollen even further outwards into his lap, making a earnest pass to meet his knees. In the back of his mind the filling kitten knew he couldn't afford to dawdle, yet the tight sensation of his payload pushing against him drove the cat wild. Already he felt about to blow up like a firecracker, happily filled with nothing less than at least 20 pounds of light-as-air chocolate inside him. It had all made the race for the key more than worth.
Wait, the key. The one he still didn't possess. Robin scrambled back to his feet, the lavender boulder and his added flab making the process a decisive struggle. Nevertheless, he still made it upright, and so the gluttonous feline forced himself to scan the room, taking in only scraps. Where could that damn key be? There wasn't anything left in the room standing this time, it couldn't hide that well. Had he eaten it? Unless...
The fish tank. Robin reproached it, having a much better idea of what that brown water could actually be. A finger dipped within it's wet confines proved quickly it's real contents: chocolate milk. The glass case was quickly lifted over his head, his muzzle pressed to the rim of the tank and ready for it to be poured directly into him. Robin obliged himself hastily, practically spilling the gallons of drink on to him as he quickly funneled it down his maw, Thick, hearty gulps echoed throughout the castle as glass after glass of cold milk made its way down his gullet, his throat bulging obscenely as he binged. Robin's belly began to sag down even further, finally meeting with his knees just as the fish tank was drained dry. There, at the bottom of the case was the key, taped to the tank's glass to prevent the poor housecat from accidentally sucking it down alongside all the milk. With a bloated waddle, Robin made his way to the other side of the room, to a third set of double doors. These had a blatantly large keyhole attached to them, one that Robin wasted no time jamming the key in and turning.
Success. A buzzer soon sounded throughout the room, symbolizing the end of the second leg of the feline's weighty journey.
"You've done well so far," said the Gamemaster, stumbling over his words. Even behind the kayfabe one could tell that the voice on the other end of the speaker wasn't putting on an act; there were signs he was legitimately amazed at how fast the cat had singlehandedly demolished the living quarters. "I think another round of 'self-reflection' is in order. Do not disappoint me now, come to the kitchen, where a *real* trial will take place!"
The kitchen: surely a place that would only facilitate growth. Robin continued his awkward waddle down a second hallway, one that echoed the first in all of his favorite ways. Mirrors broadcasted his image every step of the way, his now chubby cheeks sloshing for all to see. Perhaps they were supposed to embarrass the escape room's players; for Robin, the only thing they were making him feel was lustful.
After all, why wouldn't they? He had transformed into an obese fatass in the span of an hour; the only self-reflection he'd be doing in this room would be flaunting. About halfway through the fat cat spun sideways, taking a good look at himself in a mirror large enough to be called a full-body. The body it reflected was very full indeed, with Robin's second chin coming on strong amidst his growing dough. His stomach, the largest element by far had completely covered his crotch, a fact the feline knew well by how his growing erection was bulging up against the lavender orb through an increasingly thin layer of fabric. Combined with his thickening sausage limbs, Robin was irresistible to himself. In no time at all he was rubbing up against the mirror, the glass fogged with his panting as tried to rub against himself. It was an honest goal; Robin realized quickly that he wouldn't be able to touch himself through his overpacked gut, so he opted for the next best thing: squishing against his gut, instead. The narcissism only grew as he digested the contents of the living quarters; his paws flooded with newfound dough that made his movements against the mirror more awkward and padded. Despite it all, he still managed a few hard thrusts against his image, warm and tired from the attempt at making love to himself.
It wasn't going to last. Another loud buzzer blared as soon as it was clear what he was doing.
"MOVE TO THE NEXT ROOM IMMEDIATELY!" blared what sounded like a very flustered Gamemaster. Robin sighed as he pushed off of the reflector, his silhouette greasily stained against the glass. Lovemaking was going to have to wait; there was at least one more challenge awaiting the fat feline, and judging by the location it was sure to be a doozy.
Initially, it wasn't. Stumbling through the latest set of double doors belly-first, Robin wasn't through catching his breath before he'd realized how... immaculate this final room was. It was less of a kitchen in a traditional, homely sense, and more of a bakery's backroom, with vintage machinery softly droning on under what might've been the oldest bulbs the cat had ever seen. This must've been where the servants were meant to cook for the castle's residents, but for Robin's chocolate-drunk mind he just assumed he'd wandered into a bakery segment until the speakers started back up, from a place Robin didn't even try to decipher.
"This chamber is a favorite of mine," said the recomposed Gamemaster, "the room where my servants cook everything this castle's residents desire. Today, though, it is you who'll be filling the role of servitude. Fill no less than fifty cream puffs without stopping, and then you'll meet me in the dining room for a proper feast."
The speaker clicked off, Robin's apparatus flared once more with a proper shkkk, and the game had resumed into round 3. The antique lights grew in luminosity, subtly pointing out the points of interest necessary for the new trial. One lit up a bin of freshly made cream puffs, unfilled and ready for plugging. Another lit up one of the machines, the tool springing to life as it revealed itself to be a kind of frosting appliance, hose filled even more to the brim than Robin was with the puffs' namesake dessert. It was nothing more than a simple task of dexterity, but as Robin waddled his way to the bin he knew full well that the task was asking a continually taller and taller order from him. Could he even finish up before the weight of his own ballooning body became too much?
Robin shoved those thoughts out of his head, although they came back in full force as he realized how hard it was to grab the puffs with his ever-fattening fingers. His digits were rapidly approaching the size of overfilled sausages, a detriment that made holding a single one of the small pastries in his hand an awkward, clumsy process that left at least three puffs irreparably squished before the fat cat had the epiphany to just snatch an armful of them and rush to the machine.
Taking the hose in his other doughy hand, Robin fidgeted with the pastries further as early attempts to cram sugar into the treats only led to freshly frosted pancaked puffs instead. Those failures were disposed the only way the feline knew how: slamming them down his throat without a second thought, especially not thinking about the protests of his over-encumbered stomach. The mistakes only continued to pile up, Robin swallowing them nearly whole until unfilled cream puffs started to find their way past his lips, as well. Eventually gluttony won some internal brawl within the cat's mind, giving up and downing the rest of the pile of puffs as if they were skittles.
The airy treats had little effect on the growth of the absolute wrecking ball of a gut Robin now possessed, but each and every one of them found a home as quickly digested fat regardless. Soft pops quickly overtook the sounds of the housecat's feast as stitches began to burst open on the sleeves of his t-shirt, soft lavender fat poking out of the newly made holes and only continuing to protrude further. The crackling only continued to motivate Robin's eating, slugging back pastry after pastry until everything he'd carried to the machine was gone, even the crumbs greedily disappearing into his muzzle. It wasn't enough; his stomach, even as brutally overpacked as it was, was of two minds as it practically begged his for yet more stuffing. Robin desperately wanted to fulfill those pleads, yet the thought of spending as much energy as was required to traverse the room again was beyond him. He was too immensely bloated, too extremely overstuffed to make the walk back to the bin. What he needed was instant nourishment, and the only way to get that was...
Robin wordlessly shoved the frosting hose into his mouth and slammed the flow back on. He let the sugary creme pack his doughy cheeks until they were swollen like tight melons, basking in the sensation until the need to swallow was overpowering. Pint after pint of frosting was drunk down without remorse, not towards the challenge, not towards waistline, not towards *anything*. Maybe Robin was bowing out of the escape room by slugging back a seemingly endless frosting pipe, but hey, the tip sheet said not to be afraid of losing.
The popping noises accelerated as the leggings of Robin's taut sweatpants began to spilt apart at the seams, warm kitten fat becoming a tidal wave that the garment could no longer bear. Soon the waistband gave out with a thin twip, snapping like rubber as the deceased pants feel down to the floor. Robin's t-shirt, now functionally a bra with how much it had ridden up, became next to go as the fattening cat's expanding neck and breasts tore through the tight fabric like a bag of snack cakes. Robin's boxers, an unsung hero of the kitten's modesty, was the last slain as a firm erection rose through the clothing, a lengthy white flag as the undergarment's waistband exploded several times more dramatically than the sweatpants had ever dared to try. Robin was a fully nude tank of a feline, weight blimping past a quarter-ton and advancing further past that with every gulp of the cream hose. He was more worthy of the title of "big cat" than any panther of lion was, a fact that his limbs loudly broadcasted as they begged him to stop carrying all of that heavy weight for so long, to let them sit down for once.
Robin obliged, collapsing onto a truly titanic ass, taking the frosting hose with him as he fell down. Could he even get back up? The living food balloon couldn't care less about the possibility of immobility as he continued to force pure sugar into his system. Nothing mattered anymore beyond pure gluttony. He was going to drink until he filled this damn room, became this business's entire floorplan, became a landmark far more enticing than any escape room could hope to be!
From deep within the fat of his crotch, Robin's erection slammed across his belly in a series of nervous throbs, building pressure that the cat couldn't even register in his stuffed daze. That didn't stop his cock; his dick continued to beat like a fire alarm against his flesh until the sensation was too much to bear. Robin's erection then proceeded to frost the bottom of his stomach with about a dozen thick ropes of a considerably more bitter flavor of syrup. Robin himself may not have processed the cumshot, but his throat erupted into waterlogged moan after moan all the same. He was locked into immobile bliss, drinking away as his limbs practically lost all form, his entirety evolving into a large, taut blob of pure cat fat.
Escape was impossible for him, but who was to say that was ever the goal?
-----------
"No, servant, get back up and- AUGH! He's never going to listen at this rate."
The Gamemaster's façade was crumbling as he gradually lost control of the plot. The tiger had to wonder how things had failed so horribly. The guy he was supposed to entertain was now little more than a helpless frosting tank sucking down company property by the gallon, and to make matters worse the escape room's scenario wasn't even halfway over. He had an entire actual appearance to make as the owner of the castle, he even had a period-accurate suit to perform in! Now it was all going to waste (and waist, admittedly). Firmly deciding to stop dwelling on the failure and instead attempting to take the loss gracefully, the only-in-name big cat called an assistant into the room with him.
"Get the forklift," he said to the unamused quail, "we've got another one stranded".
"Gee, that's the second time this month," the bird replied. "I'm starting to think we need to stop admitting single-person parties into Treats and Traps."
The Gamemaster sighed. "I know, we'll talk about it when the day's over. Right now, just hurry up with the forklift..." he said, watching a camera screen as the growing blob of cat on it began to knock over the accompanying machines in the 'kitchen'. The tiger let out another, deeper sigh as he realized how much it would cost to repair the props. "Though at this rate, we might just want to order a crane instead."