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An obvious anomaly has taken place. Two Fubukis stood at the bar, one in a relatively classic, beloved, stretchy latex bunny suit, and another in completely different attire; still a "bunny suit" by technicality, the other Fubuki sported the same headband and tail, but a button down tuxedo jacket and dress shorts. The two gazed at each other.
"D-desuhiko, is that you?" the first muttered, gazing into her sharply-dressed doppelganger. She could hardly parse a single flaw on her face; her cheeks, her chins, her mole, her tattoos, all of them were perfect.
"I was about to ask you the same... That's quite a Disguise you've crafted," the second retorted towards the near perfect reflection before her. Both Fubukis slowly strafed around each other... Desuhiko's Forte could work wonders, but could it really make him look like a perfect replica of her? Even her proportions were exact...
"T-tell me something only the real Fubuki would know!"
"W-why would I tell you something only I'd know if you're Desuhiko?"
The two slowly neared each other, coming within only a foot of distance, each looking in the fleshy mirror on the other side. The twin bellies, large as they were, were nearly about to come in contact with each other, each rumbling slightly, only an inch apart.
"I know..." said Fubuki 1, pointing an accusatory finger at the other, "We'll enter an eating contest to determine who's the real Fubuki. You'll prove your fraudulent status when you bow out first, Desuhiko!"
Fubuki 2 angled her head back, leering darkly at her reflection. "I was thinking the same thing; your Disguise won't save you once your gut tears it in twain!"
The two massive ladies quickly went to the bar, ordering as much food as either of them could imagine, barking orders at the staff more aggressively than either of them were accustomed to. It was a fight to prove one's own identity, after all. They had to get serious.
---
In a matter of minutes, the battlefield was set. Both Fubukis stared into each others eyes, flickering to the plates around them. Bowls of ramen, rows of steaming meat buns, tins of fries, milkshakes, pyramids of brownie squares, burgers each as wide as their chubby heads... An utter smorgasboard of food was set between the duo of virtually identical gluttons. In any other scenario, it would be a joyous occasion for either of them, but this was war.
Fubuki 1 made the first move, reaching for one of the ramen bowls, quickly scarfing the noodles down forcefully as she chased it down with the salty broth. Fubuki 2 took one of the fry tins and scarfed it down in three short fistfulls, swallowing the potatoey mass all at once. Each suspiciously eyed the other’s overindulgent movements; could Desuhiko really do either of those things? Neither were sure. They continued, ravenously gorging to prove themselves in front of their other. Burger after burger, steak after steak, glare after glare.
As they fought on, scarfing down at a rate unprecedented, both Fubukis felt a hot sweat creeping up on them. Between the rush of stuffing themselves and the stress of the competition, both grew humid, sweat running down their arms and legs as they quickened the pace. As their stomachs expanded and drooped lower with more food, they felt them both nuzzling into each other; Fubuki 1 in particular noticed the tuxedo button of her competitor jabbing into her, clearly strained on its owner.
Each of the two Fubukis had to bring themselves forward to cram more of the food into themselves, groaning and huffing inches away from the face of the other. Fubuki 2 took a short break from her gorging to set one of her chubby hands upon Fubuki 1’s cheek; surely, if this was Desuhiko in disguise, she could tear his mask off! Fubuki 1 retaliated, grabbing at Fubuki 2’s prodigious chin flab as she sucked down a glass of thick milkshake in 5 seconds flat. Slapping, prodding, and grabbing at each other became another tactic in their fight for dominance, sneaking these stray hits as they devoured more food to fill their strained bellies, knocking a few empty containers over as both were threatening to break into commotion. Before long though, there was little left to reach for. The two fatties had emptied the entire spread into their stomachs, and neither had shown signs of weakness.
“I won’t… ouurgh, let you win… Desuhiko…” Fubuki 1 groaned, nursing her stomach. She could barely move with the tight, churning mass urging her to break it free, tension blazing all over her skin, but managed to just barely muster the energy to exit the booth. Fubuki 2, not wanting to be outdone, did likewise, wheezing and sputtering as she clumsily escaped its confines.
“Haaah… looks like I did… your disguise is about… to break…” Fubuki 1 pointed at Fubuki 2’s stomach. Strain and stress marked paths all across her jacket and shirt, riding up and up over her gut in defeat. Fubuki 2 pushed down her suit onto her belly, struggling to contain her gut, before she felt something pop as Fubuki 1 squealed in in pain, falling to the ground.
Just then, one of Fubuki 2’s buttons shot like a cannon out from her tuxedo, colliding with Fubuki 1’s suit, and a tear on the latex formed across the point of impact. Soon, the broken thread caused a chain reaction, Fubuki 1 gasping in mixed relief, shock, and arousal as her sweaty, turgid boulder of a stomach escaped, but her gaze quickly turned to that of Fubuki 2. As her tuxedo exploded apart, shredded by her bulky breasts and ginormous gut, the shirt underneath also gave way, a fountain of buttons arcing over to barrage Fubuki 1’s gut some more, and working to further undress her accidentally. Before long, both of the gasping, tubby bunnygirls were almost entirely topless. And neither of them were Desuhiko.
“I’m... haaahh... sorry I thought you were... Desuhiko.” Fubuki 1 apologized between unsteady breaths and haggard belches.
“It’s fine... I guess we’re both the real Fubuki...” Fubuki 2 knelt down, barely able to stand anymore with how absolutely stuffed she was. She opened her arms as she scooted over towards her doppelganger. “Hug?”
“Hug.”