Bryan's tattered clothes still clung to his frame. Even with the buttons gone, the fabric strained across the back of his shirt. Every seam was struggling to hold on, and it was pretty clear this was a losing battle. Even as fat pooled on his moobs and gut, the taut skin on his back didn't yield in the slightest. As fat packed onto his frame, so did muscle.
And Matt couldn't take his eyes off. He couldn't believe what he was seeing—or now, what he was feeling. The legs of his pants strained against his thighs as his form followed suit. A symphony of seams snapped between them, but Bryan's head start kept showing. Matt could feel his own shirt riding up on his gut, but could only keep staring at Bryan. Just when Matt realized his pants were tight for a whole new reason, he caught Bryan staring at him as well.
He saw that same disgust from before, but now it was...