Your gut gives off a rumble as you lounge on the couch, and you smirk, “Well, I guess my gut’s speaking for
me--how about we get something to eat?”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Jake says, picks up the phone, and you hear him order four extra large pizzas for
delivery, and then hangs up. “And you, my friend, cleaned out my beer supply. Let me go down to the corner and
get some more for us to wash down dinner with, eh?”
“Hell yeah man, I’m thirsty as hell,” you say, letting off another big belch.
“Sounds good--don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone,” Jake said, and slipped out of the apartment.
You light up another cigar, and take the opportunity to go take a big piss, looking at yourself in the mirror,
amazed at how much you’ve changed already, rubbing your big beer gut, puffing on a thick cigar--you’re amazed
at how sexy you look, and suddenly, you wish Jake hadn’t popped down to the store, but had stuck around to
have some fun.
Jake came back a few minutes later, two twelve packs with him, and a small bag with something you didn’t have
a chance to see, and a few minutes later, the delivery guy showed up. Jake obviously knew the guy well--they
were on a first name basis, and he paid the kid and brought the pizzas over to the table in front of the couch
where you were sitting. “Alright, I bought dinner, so you can pay with something else,” Jake said, and fired
the gun at you.
“You look down at yourself, waiting to see what might happen, but nothing changed. “What gives man?” you ask,
but Jake doesn’t answer; he just opens the first pizza box, takes out a slice, and starts feeding you.
Hungry doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel, suddenly. and you devour the slices as fast as Jake can
shove them down your throat, occasionally giving you a beer to chug, and soon enough, you notice that you’re
changing again. The beer gut you were admiring earlier isn’t a gut anymore--it’s growing out and sagging down,
pushing apart your thighs where you’re sitting and becoming a full fledged apron of fat hanging off your body.
Jake takes the occasional break to eat a piece of pizza himself, and as you chew, you explore your growing
body with your hands, feel your massive moobs expand, the flab wrapping around to your back as well, your
thighs thickening, fat packing onto your arms--even your fingers look fatter now.
After two pizzas, you discover that no matter how hard you try, you can’t reach your cock, which is now rock
hard and buried away beneath your fat, but Jake doesn’t stop, he feeds you the last pie, growing you even
more, until you’re certain you’re going to burst, but the hunger never abates--your body demands that you eat,
and when the last slice disappears, you can’t help wishing that there was more. When you finished, Jake picked
up the gun and shot you again, “That’ll stop the growth--we don’t want you too big to move after all.”
“Well, I don’t know,” you say, playing with your soft apron, “that might be kind of fun.”
“Oh you fat fuck--don’t worry, we’ll probably get there soon enough with that new appetite of yours,” he said,
leaning over and kissing you, before grabbing your hands and pulling you up until you’re standing, “Come on
you sexy pile of fat, I want you to see what you look like now.”
Walking is hard--just getting to the bathroom has you wheezing, and the cigar isn’t helping. You’d really
rather just stay on the couch and have Jake feed you some more, but he’s insistent. “Dang Jake, how much did
you make me gain?” you ask as you reach the bathroom.
“Well, it was 25 pounds for every pound of food you ate, and between the pizza and the beer...I’d say you’re
over 600 pounds at this point. Now take a look at yourself, you fat fucking slob.”
You step into the bathroom and your jaw drops--you’re the fattest person you’ve ever seen. Your gut sags out
from your shirt which doesn’t have a hope of fitting any more, and Jake goes ahead and drops the boxers
stretched across your massive thighs, helping you feel a bit more comfortable, but it’s your face you can’t
take your eyes from, the massive, sagging chin you can see even past your long beard, you just look like a
formless blob of fat, and Jake’s right, it’s fucking hot. You’d never liked fat people before, just just
staring at yourself--you can feel your cock hardening into the underside of your gut, and the idea of eating
more...fuck, you just want to get bigger.
“Hey fatty!” Jake called, and you realize he’d abandoned you to go back into the living room, “How would you
like a sundae for dessert?”
Your mouth waters instantly at the thought of eating, and with a growl, your stomach pulls you back into the
living room, where you see exactly what kind of sundae Jake had in mind. Apparently, he’d bought a few other
things at the corner store--specifically, a bottle of chocolate sauce and a can of whipped cream which he’d
dumped all over his body on the couch, and the sight of his filthy, hairy body covered with food sent the most
delightful shiver through your fat, and you start cleaning him off, licking up as much as you can, savoring
the taste of the sweet with his salty sweat and grime. He finishes off the can of whipped cream on his crotch,
and you eat your way through it to his cock which you start sucking eagerly, but you’re in the mood for
something new. You stop sucking him off and sit back on your knees, amazed that your belly grazes the floor
and suggest the two of you do something else.