A Tiger Changes His Stripes

Hey, folks! Here's our $5 offering this month of Tony the Tiger, doing his thing. This is actually a story that compliments our Tricks the rabbit story, so make sure to check that one out as well!

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Tony rarely felt nervous, but today was definitely one of those times. He had a big contract negotiation today with corporate headquarters, but that wasn’t his main concern. Despite his popularity, it had been a lonely few years for the tiger. After a few weeks of waffling back and forth on the subject, he had finally worked up the nerve to ask out a coworker of his; a cute rabbit he’d had his eye on for a while. He didn’t have too much reason to be worried, he kept telling himself. The famous mascot for Frosted Flakes was, in his humble opinion, the perfect mascot; tall, muscular, a deep voice smooth as molasses, and intensely charismatic, Tony had made friends with every other mascot, so why wouldn’t this work out for him? Who said no to Tony the Tiger?

The Frosted Flakes mascot was waiting outside the boardroom, trying to look casual.  A few minutes later, the door swung open, and Tony got a glimpse of the massive chairman of the board, a mountain of bovine muscle named Mr. Trumbull. He saw his great big mitt stick out, practically ripping the arm off of the cute, white rabbit he had kept his eye on.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Trumbull, thank you!” Tricks said as the door closed. The mascot for Trix cereal had a big, goofy face Tony found adorable, and while he usually appreciated his dates with a little extra meat, well… the fact he was a sweet guy made up for a lot.

“Ah, hey, Tricks!” Tony called out, swinging his thick, striped arm around Tricks’ shoulder in a chummy fashion.

“Hm? Oh! Hey, Tony,” the rabbit looked up, grinning at the tiger, but with a far away look in his face. He seemed happy enough.

“So! What’s the word?” Tony looked the rabbit over, trying to read his expression. He wanted to make sure the time was right. 

“Oh, they were great!” Tricks grinned wide, then sighed wistfully. “Gosh, did you know Mr. Trumbull could be so wonderful? He’s the best!”

Tony frowned, panicking internally. It couldn’t be. Tricks was into that raging stampede in a suit? “Mr. Trumbull? That, uh, doesn’t quite sound like him…”

“Oh, he’s great. Definitely my favorite big bull. He’s just made me so happy, Tony, you wouldn’t believe it!”

“Oh, uh, I’m happy for you, Tricks…” Tony continued to smile, but the gears in his head were spinning rapidly. What did Trumbull say that made him so happy? “So, uhm… what did Mr. Trumbull say, exactly?”

“Hm? Oh-“ Tricks giggled a bit. Tony’s tail twitched irritably. “You know what? I think I want to keep it to myself, just for now. It’s been so long, I just… need to have this for myself.”

“Oh, right Tricks, sure.” Tony’s eye twitched next, but the rabbit seemed to miss it. Why was he being so coy?

The rabbit finally looked his friend over. “Oh! I’m sorry, Tony, I didn’t mean to make you nervous. They’re being really generous today. Let me know what they give you- they’ll be ready for you in a few minutes.” Tricks, looking like he had won the lottery, was practically bouncing off the walls. “Meanwhile, I’ve got to hurry home for a date I’ve been looking forward to for a long, long time.”

“Hah, grrreat Tricks, have fun!” Tony forced on a bright smile as he watched the rabbit’s cute cottontail bounce out of reach, and the smile slipped off with his heart hitting his stomach. He had missed his chance. Tony’s shoulders slumped as he sank into a chair, quietly waiting until he was called into the boardroom.

The tiger barely paid attention as the huge bull and the other board members smoothed over the details of this “adjustment.” It was quickly obvious to Tony what was going on; with the state of technology these days, the board had decided it was cheaper to create CGI models of their mascots, so everyone was going to be pushed into early retirement. After decades, it hardly mattered to Tony; he hired an accountant ages ago to build up a nice little nest egg. Of course, this new situation did mean he had a lot of free time for any… personal pursuits he might want to take part in.

As the talks wrapped up, Tony focused on the huge figure looming over the other end of the table. What did Tricks see in the massive bull? He had always assumed he was just afraid of him. But the more Tony concentrated on the way Trumbull’s arms threatened to blow off his sleeves with the slightest flex of those engorged biceps, or the way his heaving pecs surged out past his muzzle, casting the table in shadow, the tiger was beginning to put two and two together. Of course. Tricks was a size queen.

“Thank you, Mr. Strype, for being as understanding as you were of these changing circumstances. We assure you, we hold you and your colleagues in only the highest esteem,” Mr. Trumbull said as he shook Tony’s hand, his massive mitt engulfing it up to the tiger’s forearm. 

“Ah, come on, Rick, I’ve told you enough times you can call me Tony. Mr. Strype was my father!” Tony chuckled, struggling to reach around the bull’s mountainous shoulders to clap him on his sprawling back. 

“Of course… Tony,” Mr. Trumbull said through a strained smile.

“Ah, listen, I’ve been wondering about something…” Tony put on his best winning smile. “I hope you don’t mind my saying, Rick, but you look grrrrreat! You gotta tell me what your secret is.” The tiger chuckled, punching the bull’s swollen arm. He hid the small jolt of pain; he felt like he just playfully punched a brick wall. “You’ve gotta be benching, what, five hundred?”

“Well, I just do what I can to stay in shape,” Trumbull said with mock modesty, subtly pumping his already swollen chest, making the fabric of his suit creak. “A well-built man in a well-tailored suit cuts quite an imposing figure, I’m sure someone of your stature has noticed. I think my physique left quite an impression on Mr. Rabbitson, let me tell you.”

I’ll bet it did, the tiger thought angrily, his tail swishing irritably. “Oh, well, since I’ve got a lot of free time, I’ve been considering taking up amateur bodybuilding. Think I could make a decent go of it,” Tony chuckled, then flexed his own thickly built arm, making his stripes stretch across his mass. 

Mr. Trumbull arched his brow. “Just so long as you don’t go overboard again, Mr. Strype. You know what happened the last time you wanted to bulk up.”

“Oh, well,” Tony laughed nervously. “I’m not looking to get another… charge as it were, Mr. Trumbull. I just wanted to see if I could match your numbers. Think of it as friendly competition,” he said, gently ribbing the bull.

“Indeed. I’ll have my assistant forward you the details of my workout plan. Ah… let me know how you get on with it,” Mr. Trumbull said, making a note on his smartphone.

Tony grinned, trying his best to return the bull’s iron grip as they shook hands again. “I’ll do that. Maybe I’ll see you in the gym, Rick.”

Mr. Trumbull snorted. “You’re going to insist on a first name basis, aren’t you, Tony?”

“‘Fraid so.”

A couple of weeks later, and after practically living in the gym, Tony was happy to see that Mr. Trumbull’s workout routine was not without results, but he wasn’t sure if it was enough. The tiger grunted softly as he curled the dumbbell, his bicep slowly swelling as the weight rose. Muscle shifted beneath his fur, the black stripes along his arm beginning to stretch and warp as the peak of his muscle bulged. The tiger had already spent half an hour getting into today’s workout, and already he felt like he was hitting a plateau. His tank top was hugging the broad shelf of his chest, pectoral mass spilling out partway as he headed for a squat rack. Shoving several large plates onto the bar he ducked, nestling the metal against his shoulders before setting his stance wide. Forcing the bar off the rack he began to squat, powerful thighs swelling, straining his shorts as he snarled. Calves the size of footballs rippled beneath his pelt as he brought himself back to full height, shrugging the bar off after a few reps.

Shaking his limbs loose, he moved to the gym’s floor length mirror, frowning softly as he looked over his reflection and idly flexed his pumped arm, his bicep swelling up dramatically. He looked big, better than he ever had in his life, but it wasn’t enough. Not on Trumbull’s level. And he couldn’t get a hold of Tricks to save his life. The rabbit was always busy these days, always on “fruity dates,” he called them, and it was driving Tony crazy. Just what was Trumbull doing to keep the rabbit wrapped around his finger? He had to get bigger. If only he could his hands on some…

Tony shook his head forcibly before he could finish the thought. “No. No, that’s not going to work at all. They’d never let me get my hands on it, not after… the incident,” he grumbled. The 90’s had been a volatile time for Tony’s brand. It wasn’t every mascot who got roid rage from their own cereal, after all. Grumbling softly to himself, Tony showered off and stomped back to the office. Lost in his dissatisfaction, he walked right into the sheer wall of beef that was Mr. Trumbull.

“Oh! Mr. Strype. Glad to see you.” The bull gave the tiger a quick look over. “I see you’ve taken to the workout routine well enough.” He poked the stripes on tiger’s still-pumped arm. “I don’t have to worry about any of these being lightning bolts, do I?”

“Haha, no, all natural this time,” Tony forced the laugh.

“Excellent. Excuse me, I’m just coming away from meeting with Mr. Rabbitson.”

Tony’s ears perked up at that, his tail swishing excitedly. “Oh! He’s finally in today?”

“Mhm. We spoke on some business, but I believe he’s free… we won’t be needing him for anything else today,” Mr. Trumbull muttered irritably, already moving down the hallway.

Tony arched his brow at that, but pushed it out of his mind as he rushed for Tricks’ dressing room. When he saw the door slightly ajar, he couldn’t help but push in.

“Ah, hey, Tricks!” he grinned. As he stepped in the doorway, the beefy tiger’s tail was swishing again, excited. The rabbit looked… well, to him, it worked. The rabbit’s round, pillowy soft belly was filling his lap, his round face was sporting some very pinchable cheeks, and the way he filled out his seat with that juicy rear made the tiger almost salivate. “You were looking great out there! Glad to see they can’t-” he stopped in his tracks. The rabbit was crying. “Tricks, what’s wrong?”

“O-oh, T-tony!” The rabbit wailed, throwing himself on the buff tiger, sobbing into his chest. “Tr-Trumbull, he-he-“

“Oh, Tricks, no! Don’t tell me.” Tony patted the rabbit’s back consolingly, wrapping his strong arms around him. He was going through a conflicting set of emotions, hardly able to hide his relief that Tricks was single again, but also, he hated seeing his friend so upset. “Oh, I’m so sorry, buddy. You deserve better.”

“Y-you think so?” Tricks whimpered.

“Yeah, of course.” Tony sighed, resting his hands on the rabbit’s shoulders. He felt himself being bold. Tricks needed someone right now. “Look… I know it may be too soon, but, I think I can make things better.”

“You can?”

The tiger offered an encouraging smile. “Of course.” He hesitated. What if he still wasn’t big enough for Tricks? “I’d… like to be stronger for you first, though. Do you remember the Supercharged Frosted Flakes, back in the 90’s?”

Tricks wiped his nose. “Uhm… yeah?”

Tony bit his lip. This was a big ask, but, maybe with all that experience with trying to get cereal he wasn’t allowed to have, Tricks would have a much better chance than he would. “There’s some still here in the factory. I’m, uh, not allowed to have any… but, if you can get me some, just…” Tony grinned awkwardly. He was puffing up his chest, still resting his arm over Tricks’ shoulder. “Well, I could really make a big impression, if you get what I’m saying,” the tiger winked. 

“Uh… why can’t you have Supercharged Frosted Flakes?” the rabbit asked. 

“Well, let’s just say it, uh… has a similar effect on me like Trix does to you.” Tony grinned.

“Alright, so… I help you, you help me?” Tricks clarified, blushing slightly as the tiger’s hand ran over the crest of his belly. “Scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

Tony grinned, hardly able to help himself. “Among other things.”

Tricks seemed to understand. Tony couldn’t think of how he could put it any plainer. “Right, well… just, uhm. Point me in the right direction, then.”

The tiger had been pacing in his own dressing room. He was feeling bad about sending the rabbit after Supercharged Frosted Flakes. He couldn’t get within five hundred feet of it himself, by contract. But what was he supposed to do for Tricks if he got caught? No, no, that shouldn’t be a problem. For nearly fifty years, Tricks had access to literally every cereal available, just so long as it wasn’t Trix. Maybe that loophole would hold…

His ears twitched again as he heard about a dozen people causing a commotion outside. “What the…?”

He opened his door, only to be met with a plush, white wall of blubber. He gave it an experimental poke, and heard a familiar laugh. “Hee! That tickles!”

Craning his neck and leaning into the white flab, Tony peered up at Tricks’ nearly spherical, blubbery face. “Tricks?!”

The rabbit winked down at Tony, jiggling his belly until a box slipped out of the folds of his fat. The bunny blob was being shoved down the hallway by at least five men, with Mr. Trumbull himself ramming his boulder-sized shoulders into the rabbit’s voluptuous, love-handle ridden backside. When the rabbit was cleared out of the hallway, Mr. Trumbull snorted, turning to Tony.

“There’s just no helping some people, Mr. Strype,” he grumbled, straightening his tie.

“What… what do you mean?”

The bull arched his brow. “Look at him! He’s the size of a whale. We let him have Trix, and it inevitably leads us to losing our entire in-house stock.” He snorted angrily. “Needless to say, I think it’s time to… clear the air. Like we did with Cinnamon Toast Crunch.”

“But… Cinnamon Toast Crunch hasn’t had a mascot in years.”

Mr. Trumbull arched his brows. “I’m told repeatedly you’re one of the smart ones, Mr. Strype.” The bull then stalked down the hallway.

Tony closed the door, his heart skipping a beat. What had he done? He sunk into a chair, staring at the box of Supercharged Frosted Flakes. This, this bit of cereal that might make him stronger, and it was going to cost his friend his job. He had to make this right.

Tony took a moment to collect himself, then tore open the box, pouring the cereal in his mouth. He almost instantly hacked it up, as he remembered that the cereal had been sitting in an underground bunker for almost twenty years. It had gone just the slightest bit stale.

“For Tricks… do it for Tricks,” the tiger muttered, then emptied the entire box. He felt like he was going to be sick at first, but then a jolt of electricity shot down his back, making his fur stand on end. This was followed up by him nearly screaming as one of his black stripes popped off like a peeling sticker, fluttering to the ground. 

“Wait, wait- no, no, that’s right, that’s, uh. That’s supposed to happen,” Tony muttered to himself. Sparks were fizzling off his fur as a few more stripes fluttered off of him, and he cocked his head as he looked in the mirror. He flexed one arm, and as his bicep swelled, the sheer girth of muscle rippling just under his fur. As he flexed, the sparks increased, until an audible zap and the faint aroma of ozone wafting through the air was followed by the appearance of a stripe the shape of a lightning bolt, traversing the slowly growing crest of his arm.

“Hah! Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Tony growled triumphantly. He hunched his back, pumping his limbs into a most muscular pose as his arms jostled his pecs, the hills of muscle forming the landscape of his back blowing his plain black stripes off, and with a few more jolts, his expanding form was dotted with lightning bolts. Sheer energy was rushing through the tiger’s body, from his toes, up his finely sculpted calves and burgeoning, meaty quads, strains of muscle jostling each other and rippling with the slightest movement. Up his long, feline torso, his abs bulged on top of one another, and his pecs blossomed out,broadening his frame, charging inches past his muzzle.

The tiger was now a titan, filling out the space of his dressing room mirror. He couldn’t see the ends of his sprawling, thunderous shoulders, and the sheer mass of muscle packed on his frame seemed to make him taller. Even if he couldn’t see all of himself any more in the mirror, Tony still put on a toothy smile, striking a pose he could only half see for all the muscle filling his vision. “I... feel… GRRRREAT!”

“Mr. Trumbull? Mr. Trumbull, sir?” a nasally voice drawled over the intercom. The voice sounded unusually urgent.

The beefy bull sighed as he leaned across his large desk. “Yes, Ms. Katy, what is it?”

“M-mr. Tony Strype is here, and he wants to speak with you immediately. He, uhm. He’s rather insistent on it, sir.”

Trumbull frowned for a moment. What would Tony the Tiger want so urgently? Still, he looked back to the stack of papers on his desk. “Tell him he’ll need to schedule a meeting for later, Ms. Katy, there’s no way I can set aside-”

Boom! With a faint electric smell in the air, Trumbull’s oversized office door was torn off its hinges as a massive figure lumbered in, a mountain range of shoulders squeezing through the double-sized door frame. 

The bull’s jaw dropped as he hastily groped for the intercom, unable to take his eyes off the slowly advancing tiger filling the room. “Ms. Katy, cancel my appointments for this afternoon, please.”

Tony smirked, the tip of his pecs and his oversized traps pressing up against his chin and cheeks as he leaned across Trumbull’s desk, practically dragging the bull into the orbital pull of his chest. “Trumbull,” the tiger’s deep bass was somehow even more commanding now. “I think we need to talk.”

“How- how did you...?” the bull sputtered, then his eyes widened spotting the tell-tale lightning bolts traversing the tiger’s mammoth frame. “Mr. Strype! Y-you’re in clear violation of your contract!”

“That so?” Tony chuckled. He reached out with his steel beam of an arm, grabbing the bull by the lapel. He effortlessly lifted Trumbull up, pinning the bull to the wall just by leaning in and wedging him between his clefted chest. “I think we can review the fine print, again.”

“P-put me down now, Mr. Strype, or I’ll call security!”

“Ha, Rick, I keep telling you,” Tony let the bull drop, only to swing his arm around him, wedging his face between his pec and peaked bicep as he pulled him off his feet again. “Call me Tony. I insist.”

“Fine!” Trumbull gasped. “What do you want… Tony?”

“Well, first, you’re going to reinstate Tricks.”

The bull scoffed. “What? Why?”

“Because I said so, Rick,” Tony growled, squeezing the bull in his grip. 

“Fine! Alright, alright!” Trumbull wheezed.

The tiger smirked. “He’s gonna get all the Trix he wants, too. And I want another box of Supercharged Frosted Flakes. One that hasn’t been sitting around since 1999.”

“Very well! Fine!” Trumbull grumbled, still struggling to break free. “Is that all?”

“Hmm…” Tony tousled the fur on the bull’s head, before letting him go. “I’ll need it in writing, of course.”

“Of course,” Trumbull echoed through clenched teeth.

“Ah, you’re a good sport, Rick.” Tony slapped Trumbull on the back, making him stumble forward. “I’ll leave it to you, then. If you’ll excuse me… I’ve got a date with a chubby bunny.”

Tony grinned as he looked over his reflection, bouncing his pecs once to his satisfaction, and slapping his thigh to make the sheer girth of muscle ripple. That was enough, for now. He couldn’t keep his boyfriend waiting. A month in, and he was committed to taking care of Tricks. They had called in a favor from Lucky the Leprechaun that had ensured Tricks was no longer the size of a bus, but with how pampered Tony kept him, leprechaun magic was not enough to keep him thin. Which was fine; he was strong enough for both of them. The tiger licked his lips as he surveyed the pure, snowy white mound sprawled on the floor. Even at his size, he could prowl quietly enough to sneak up on his prey, not detected by Tricks until he planted his hand on the peak of the rabbit’s belly.

“Snack break’s over, bunny,” the tiger rumbled. He leaned down, his rock-hard muscles cushioned by Tricks’ pillowy soft blubber. “You had your fill for now?”

“Oh, just one more box, Tony,” Tricks pleaded, playfully tapping the tiger with his toe.

“Heh. Open wide.” Tony snatched up a new box, leaning forward to see over the crest of his pecs as it fit so smoothly atop the rabbit’s gut. He poured the cereal in slowly, gently caressing the rabbit’s flabby side. “Silly rabbit.”

Tricks gulped the cereal down, smirking up at Tony. “What can I say? They’re grrreat!”

“Mm,” Tony dug his arms beneath the rabbit’s flab, and hoisted him up, cradling Tricks in his arms, propping the rabbit up with his bicep alone. “What we’re going to do next, it’s really not for kids.”