Life Belly

Well, I don't fucking know what to do. You see ... this isn't my body. This morning I was a hairy, obese, 50 year old man. Not, this muscled, latino, bad boy you see now.

You could say my life was pathetically tragic. I grew up in a time and place where I couldn't be myself. I was gay but, stayed deep in the closet. I even forced myself to marry a woman and have 3 beautiful children. I had a decent life and most days I was happy. But, I always knew I was lying to the ones I love. Yet, I knew the truth could never come out. I had to live the rest of my life playing a straight man.

But, there was always one thing on my bucket list. I wanted to have a sex with a man. Just once, and I could die happy. I tried many times, with gay dating apps, but I always chickened out at the last minute.

But, then the opportunity showed itself. I was selected by my boss to go to Las Vegas, for a work related convention. I would be the repsentive for this branch at some booths, panels, and meetings that were going to happen.

It didn't seem to stressful. Working for the company for so long, I knew I would be able to handle it. But, what I was really excited for was the possibilites. "Whatever happens in Vegas; stays in Vegas."

So, I get there and I work at the convention. It was okay. I met some cool people. I networked. But, the long days always left me tired. I had no time or energy to look for a fast one night stand. Or maybe that was just an excuse for me chickening out again. Outside of the convention, I just spent my time eating at th hotels buffet and watching TV in my hotel room.

As the paid trip was coming to an end, I had a free day all to myself. It started off the same. I went to the buffet and ate till I was full. Then I waddled back to my room. Looking through my suitcase, I saw my special clothes I packed. In case I did manage to get the courage to do a one stand, I pack some leather gear. I sighed disappointed in myself for chickening out.

But, a thought popped in my mind. I might not have the courage to have sex with a stranger. But, I could walk around the casino dressed up as a fat leather daddy. I put on the tight leather pants. I put on a plain white shirt and leather vest. I looked at the mirror and smiled. Finally, I could express myself. I put on the rest of my gear and sighed. My heart was racing. And then I opened my hotel room door.

No one was around so, I walked into the elevator. Through the sound of my heartbeat, I was screaming inside my mind. "What the FUCK am I doing." As the elevator went down people started getting in. I wanted to cry, I was so embarrassed. But, nobody said anything. No one laughed or said something mean. Some people even smiled at me. I began to relax. I began to feel happy and maybe even sexy.

It felt like the stars aligned. And maybe they did. I went to see some shows. I ate at the buffet. I got compliments from guys. I got some numbers and some invites to clubs. I even danced with some guys at a leather bar. But, I knew I wasn't going to take the next step. I was still scared. And, it was getting late. With beer in my stomach and altering my mind. I stopped at the slot machines and put a coin in, before going to my room. And, luck really was on my side. As the machine lit up, it announced I won the 20,000 dollar grand prize. I was still drunk. Staff and other people surrounded me. They were cheering and giving me balloons, a crown, and the check to collect my winnings when I was ready.

I got up, still tipsy, and stumbled a little bit. People laughed and cheered little bit. The staff slide the check into my vest pocket. "Don't worry I got him." A hot young man came to myside. He used his strength to help me stand. He had tattoos on his arms. He was wearing a tight shirt and pants. A gold chain hung from his neck.

Everyone dispersed as this Latin stud led me to the elevator. "Okay, Papi, what room are you in." To drunk I just handed him my key card. He lead me to my room and laid me on the bed. He started taking off my clothes. I don't fight back. In my drunk mind this is the fantasy I always wanted. "Okay big boy, it looks like your going to get luck again tonight."

I can't see over my giant stomach but, I could feel him take off my pants then underwear. Suddenly, I felt him push my fat pad and start sucking my dick. He started off slow and I moaned with pleasure. He kept sucking using his tongue to play with the head of my penis. My breathing became heavier and the pleasure starts to sober me up. I felt my dick about to burst with cum. I tried to warn him but he ignores me. And, I shoot my load into his mouth. I gasped in ecstasy.

Suddenly, I felt a dick in my mouth. My mouth is covered with semen, as the dick keep pulsating with cum. I swallowed what I could and then took it out of my mouth. Right in front of me was a familiar sight. I saw my penis surrounded by my fatty pelvic region. From this outside perspective I could see how fat I really was? I look down and saw that I'm in the young man's body. My dick was rock hard and my body was now lighter and stronger. Adrenalin rushed through my muscles. Tattoos covered the body.

My body finally started talking, "Like what you see?"

"What did you do to me ... to us?"

"You see I'm a juggalo and I saw you ... a man who needed to get lucky, if you know what I mean. And, after tonight's big win down stairs I know you have the money to pay me."

"But... but.... I'm in your body and you ..."

"Oh, I have a fetish. I like giving men the opportunity to be me. I mean look at you now you are stud. You are turned on just by being in that body. Just existing in that body is orgasmic for you. So, that makes sex so much better, at least for me. And, then experiencing new bodies is always fun. I haven't been in a person this fat in awhile. And your breast are so sensitive. Oh, and this tight asshole. What do you say do you want to fuck yourself, with my body."

My old body spreaded its legs, revealing its asshole. My dick was raging hard. I slowly inserted my long dark dick. It felt so good. I started going a little faster. I watch as the muscles in my caramel body flexed and relaxed. The whole experience was hot. I started touching my old body the way I knew I liked to be touched.

"Fuck this is so good. Faster, faster, faster." My old body cried out. Feeling the strength of the muscled body, I go full speed. Both of our bodies were sweating, panting, moaning. Then everything stopped, as we both cummed.

We laid side by side, a big smile on my face. My old fat body started kissing my buff chest and then up my neck. "Let me freshen up, and then it's my turn to fuck you." He whispered sexually.

I watched as he struggled to get to his feet and then as he waddled to the bathroom. I laid there exploring my new body. My dick already getting hard from my excitement.

Then, I heard the front room door open. A man with a gun walked in.

"Fuck Enrique! Cover up or something." My heart racing, I grabbed a blanket and put it over my naked body. "Good, now this is you last fucking chance. The boss wants his money and necklace back"

"You ... you ... I'm... um." I try to talk but I can't think straight. The man walked closer and grabbed me by the neck. He started choking me. I tried to fight back. But, then he grabs me by the balls. He starts squeezing them. The pain is intense, I lay still. "Good now talk or I ripped out your prized possessions." He says as he pulls out a blade.

Then from the corner of my eye, I saw my old body enter the room. "Hey! Hey! Hey! Ryan leave him alone. It's me Enrique. He has nothing to do with this."

The man on top of me looks over his shoulder. "Really!? Your in that fatass. I guess it suits you for being such a pig in the first place." He laughed. "So, where's the boss's money."

"Here, I have part of it here. This guy just won it big downstairs. And, with access to his memories, I have access to his bank accounts." Enrique smiles.

The man begins to aim his gun at Enrique. "What ... what are you doing. I ... I have the money." Enrique starts to panic.

"What is your name," the man motions to me. "Andrew," I nervously replied. The man turns his attention back at Enrique. "No you don't have the money. You have Andrew's money. The boss is fucking tired of your shit. God! I've been waiting to do this for so long," with that last word Enrique, in my body, was shot in the head. Blood splattered on the wall and was quickly pooling on the floor. I saw in shock as my old body laid thier lifeless. What the fuck was going to happen, now.

The man walks to me and I prepare for the worst. Instead, he just ripped the golden chain from my neck. "Well it looks like it your lucky day. You got an upgrade on your body.." He said, as he looked down at me. "Don't worry about your old life. There is no going back now. I'll make sure your wife and kids get what you saved in your bank and I'm pretty sure the boss will throw a little extra."

"S ... so your just going to let me go?," I asked.

"Yeah, why not? You didn't do anything wrong., besides cheating. But, we've all been there. Plus, that body has made a lot of enemies so, you won't exactly have a peaceful life. Don't get me wrong the boss will spread the word of what really happened to Enrique, but some people just really like seeing the actual body dead. So, take your winnings and find some small town to lay low and start a new life."

A new life, one that was in constant danger. This seemed more like a punishment, but in a way I guessed I deserved it. I could never go back to my old life. I knew at this point there was no use in protesting. "What about him I pointed to my dead body."

."Oh, he was a pig in life. Now he's being tortured as a fatass in hell. But, if you are talking about the body; well we have people who will take care of that. So, I recommend leaving as soon as possible."

The man patted me on the back and started to leave. "Good luck with your new life. But, if things get to out of hand for you or you are in desperate need for a job give me a call." He places a business card on the desk, before he leaves.

Now, I'm sitting here. Memories flood my mind. I saw every bad thing this body did. Using that necklace, the man took, to rob people of everything they owned, even killing people in the process. I looked at my hands, then my arms, and then my muscular torso. I had my dream body, but at what cost. I look at this memories with disgust, I knew that I wasn't capable of those acts. But, it didn't matter, the memories felt so real.

It was inevitable that someone like Carlos would be difficult to fatten up how Steve wanted. It was also frustrating that he had to start working out more to prove to Carlos that they were bulking up properly. Steve dusted off his unused basement gym and spent 4 mornings a week with Carlos lifting weights. There was to be no cardio, Steve explained, as it would ruin the bulk.

“All you gotta do is lift and eat”. Steve said, almost like a mantra to Carlos.

The effects were evident even after a few weeks. Already no stranger to weights, Carlos caught on quick. Steve might have been out of shape, but he was still a jock under all that flab, and the muscle memory came back to him quickly, as he displayed different forms and exercises that Carlos had not seen before, cementing his image that he was helping Carlos to add more muscle to his tight frame. At first the cuff of his shirt on his bicep seemed to get tighter, a fact Carlos was very excited about. Steve caught him flexing after the workouts and made sure to always comment on how muscular the young delivery boy was getting. What Carlos had failed to notice, however, was that he was growing in other places too, but Steve had seen it starting to take shape.

Steve’s meal plan for Carlos involved massive portions and constant snacking. The poor boy was almost constantly stuffed, or in a state of fullness. After two weeks of workouts and a new diet, there was already a softening to his abs that seemed to fill in the cracks, giving him a flat stomach, and a small roll as he sat down. Carlos was quite comfortable working out with Steve and after a week of the summer heat, he had shed his shirt and elected to workout in his small athletic shorts. Whenever the Mexican would sit to lift, Steve could barely stop looking at the new pudge that had accumulated around his friend’s stomach.

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“6, 7, 8. And done.” said Steve, gripping the heavy weighted bar and racking it, as Carlos panted below him on the bench.

“Damn… I didn’t think I could make those last two reps but I’ve definitely gotten stronger” he replied.

“Definitely. Wont be long until you’re as strong as me” Steve said, flexing his thick arms. The gesture was less impressive considering they were coated in a heavy layer of fat, though there was no denying that Steve was a beefy guy.

“I know I can’t wait until I can get as big as you! Those guns are huge. But I gotta eat to grow right!” The delivery boy said, standing up and heading to Steve’s kitchen as had become their ritual.

10 minutes later, the smell of frying bacon and eggs was permeating the humble space, as one pan, absolutely sopping with grease, cooked up the fried food. The one beside it was a veritable sea of melted butter, bubbling away as the viscous pancake mix was poured over it, staining the usually pale breakfast food with its yellow tinge. And as Steve stood there, expertly flipping and cooking the food, Carlos was already starting on the huge pitcher of gainer shake he was drinking. Very similar to the ones Steve had been feeding the boy before. These were also made with a base of appetite stimulant and mass gainer, blended up with ice cream, oil, lard, and a double thickened chocolate custard which masked the taste, turning the shakes into a deliciously addictive ritual for Carlos. About halfway through the pitcher, Steve served up mountains of the food as the two of them dug in, Steve working on his own pitcher.

If anyone were to observe the two men in Steve’s kitchen right now, they would probably feel sick. They resembled pigs, chugging down huge jugs of gelatinous slop, as small rivulets of thick shake snaked their way down their chins. Carlos was looking very strange, as his post workout pump accentuated his veins as the sugary mix made them pop. At the same time though, his pregnant looking shirtless belly swelled with the mixture of greasy, sopping food and shake. His sweat had dried after working out but already there were beads forming all over him as he exuded a manly musk from the overexertion of stuffing. There were rivers of sweat and grease intermingling across his body, tracing down his pumped chest and down his stressed belly, collecting in his bellybutton and absorbing into his athletic shorts.

Steve on the other hand, was even more shocking to look at. His already tight white shirt had been revealing a good couple inches of hair belly before, which Carlos had watched jiggle from under him all morning on the bench press. Now though, his shirt was stained with brown shake mix, splashes of butter, syrup and flecks of egg. But this shirt had already experienced plenty of feasts before, bearing many other marks. Steve’s thick neck seemed to quiver with every massive gulp he forced down his maw, his thick stubble undulating like a wave. The ex-jock’s furred belly pushed further and further out of his too small tee, and he took the opportunity to rub it with one hand, as he picked up the bloated, sopping pancakes with his other, rolling them up and gulping them down in two bites flat, syrup and ice cream oozing out of them, down his hands and dribbling onto his exposed belly.

Both men now monumentally stuffed, they slowly waddled to the living room cradling their taxed bellies, streams of wet belches emerging with each step. Steve carried in a 2L bottle of chocolate milk, and as he rubbed his belly and released more burps, he sipped on it. Not wanting to be outdone, Carlos grabbed it from him and guzzled half of it down in one go, before showing his own bloated belly with milky spittle from his maw.

“Now this is the life” said Steve, taking another sip, and rubbing his almost completely exposed gut in small circles.

“Yeah man. I feel myself getting bigger every day” replied Carlos lazily, his eyes drooping and he too rubbed his belly.

“You want to get even bigger? Have an even better time?” Steve asked him.

“Dude?”

“Why not move in? We can really bulk up when we motivate each other on the daily” Steve continued. “Plus, it would save me some on rent that we can put into food.”

Thanks for baring with me guys. New job has me working overtime, and I’ve had a lot going on. Anyway you don’t wanna hear any of that! This is an exposition/setup chapter for the next one, so apologies if it’s not a total horny mess :P

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Every night as the dinner rush approached, Carlos would strut in George’s, greeting the servers, cooks and George himself. His model-like looks and easy going personality had everyone swooning over him, Steve included. The ex-jock had known he was bi ever since he saw the other boys changing in the locker room, admiring the thick football players above all else, but he had never actually done anything with a guy. He was too nervous to try using an app to hook up, afraid that some of his gay friends would recognize him. He had no idea if Carlos swung his way or not, but his undeniable attraction was shared by most of the staff at George’s. Besides, his flabby body wasn’t exactly what a stud like Carlos would be interested in. Regardless, the two became fast friends, bonding over women, sports, and most importantly, food. Carlos as it turned out, was quite the foodie himself. He came from a large Mexican family who each looked to be bigger than Steve from the photo Carlos showed him one day. The hunky delivery driver explained that he loved working out though, and despite his family trying to fatten him up, he was more focussed on maintaining his physique. Steve was grateful for both the apron and his overhang in concealing his boner during this conversation.

Steve decided he would make it his mission to fatten Carlos up. He started off easy, building up his confidence with healthier options, vege burgers, salads and variations on grilled chicken. Carlos responded well and so Steve started giving him a shake too “for the road!” he would joke, and the Mexican delivery boy would happily accept it. What Carlos didn’t realise is that Steve’s shakes were nothing more than a sugary mass gainer, an appetite stimulant, heavy cream, and chocolate sauce. It was a slurry of pure fat but Carlos, unaware of this and believing that a small transgression of his diet would have no effect, finally started to succumb to his genetic disposition for fat.

 _________

“Hey man u busy today?”

Steve unlocked his phone to the text from Carlos and felt his heart skip a beat. Replying with a quick “Nah, day off today so just chilling, you?” he anxiously awaited a reply. After a few minutes Steve went downstairs and began amassing his usual “day off breakfast”; a stack of pancakes, a gallon of chocolate milk and a pan of fried eggs and bacon. After completely glutting himself on the immense amount of food, Steve flipped on the TV and noticed he had missed a reply from Carlos:

“Big game on at 5, wanna hang out?”

Steve could barely believe it. At this point most of his interactions with the hot young delivery guy had been at work, or texting about the people they worked with. They had never hung out together, alone, before. He hoped his reply wasn’t too keen:

“Totally dude, come to mine! I have the food, you bring the beer?”

“I’m in bro” came the reply a few minutes later.

  _________

Steve spent most of the day cleaning his apartment for Carlos’ arrival. He hadn’t had someone around in months, and the last girl who had come over had complained about the messy state of the place and that Steve had used photos from his slimmer, high school days on Tinder. Steve then sat down on the couch and began to snack, after rushing around trying to make his home look hospitable. He then realised that he was still in the sweaty, too small clothes that held the remnants of his earlier gorging. Rushing into the bathroom he took a look at himself. The large white t-shirt he wore was a size or two too small, leaving the bottom of his hairy belly was exposed, along with a sliver of flesh around his meaty sides. While it showed off his thick arms, it also did little to hide the moobs he had acquired through his hedonistic gorging. Other than work pants, Steve had nothing that fit anymore, so he usually rocked boxer briefs around the house. At least they were XXXL and were only just starting to get tight around his bulkier ass and tree trunk thighs. Ever since his double chin had settled as a puddle under his jaw, Steve kept up a stubbled beard, though it still revealed the fold at his neck that grew with every kilo. He quickly threw himself into the shower and realised he had little to wear.

He settled on a pair of jeans that barely fit, and did little more than cause the thick fat to bubble up and over the straining waistband of them. He couldn’t do up the top button, but he put on a belt and hoped it would distract from that fact. He also managed to extract a button up shirt he had bought for a family function several months ago. While struggling to get all the buttons done up, he managed to do so successfully, though he hadn’t managed to notice that two of the gaps between the buttons at the crest of his belly were already displaying the flesh beneath the shirt. Hearing the doorbell, Steve sauntered over to let Carlos in.

“Oh hey man! I hope you like a nice IPA.” said Carlos, with his signature smile that had melted the hearts of everyone at George’s.

“Sure do! And I hope you brought an appetite, cause I have plenty to eat.” replied Steve, opening the door and grabbing the beer to put in the fridge.

“This is a nice place man, I’m fucking jealous you get to live alone though bro.” said the delivery guy, shrugging off his jacket.

“Yeah well, I need my own space, and honestly, I don’t think many roommates can handle a guy like me!”

“Well I imagine someone who eats as much as you would need their own fridge and pantry!” the beefy Mexican said, his bicep flexing as he took the top off of his beer. “And I’m getting that way too myself!”

“Oh yeah? Finally gonna join me in the mans club?” Steve said, now extremely interested in Carlos’ statement.

“Yeah man. I’m trying to bulk up right now. We’re going into winter, so not like I need abs when no one’s gonna see ‘em. Thought I’d try and go up a few weight classes.”

“Well you know I got your back on the food front Carlos, and if you need any tips, before I let myself go, I bulked up every football season. This gut is a recent development, but I know my stuff!”

Carlos took a big swig of his beer and looked at Steve with an intense look for a moment.

“Okay bro. I’m in. Teach me the ways of bulking”

For months he continued to gorge himself, understanding now the tenuous connection between his dick and his stomach. The changes were sudden and did not go unnoticed. Steve would squeeze himself into whatever stressed clothes he was wearing that day, and show up to serve customers at George’s. His thicker frame helped with his sex appeal for a time but as his love handles blossomed and his gut really started to strain the buttons, it became clear that he was turning into a fatass. Suddenly the girls dried up, his tips got smaller and so it was one day that George sauntered over after the cash had been counted for the night shift.

“Steve, my boy” he grinned. “How did you fare tonight, any digits from the ladies?”

It was well known that Steve would brag about the girls who would slide him their napkins or cheque’s with their numbers written on it.

“Nah, I guess it’s getting harder the more food I eat here!” Steve replied, slapping his belly and making his cock twitch in response.

“Have you considered the kitchens? I’ve seen you cook and the pay is better, you don’t rely on tips”

Steve pondered this, feeling his cock now pulsing slightly, engorging with blood, before boldly asking, “Would I get to eat more?”

George laughed heartily and clapped the ex-jock on his softer bicep.

“Absolutely”

Steve now served on the weekends and cooked in the week, when it was less busy, and the deliveries were more in demand. George would turn a blind eye to any food prepared for a break and if there were unclaimed or leftover meals at the end of the night, he would divvy them up to the chefs. Steve was unaware, however, that he was receiving the kings share of food compared to his coworkers. After each shift he’d take home containers and boxes filled to bursting with all sorts of food. Anything near it’s expiry would be shifted to Steve too. His schedule often involved him eating on his trip home, then rehearing everything that had cooled on the journey. He would repeat his adventures from in front of the fridge that fateful night on an almost daily basis. He was seeing food and sex as the same thing and it was getting harder for him to even be sexual unless he was stuffed to bursting.

There he’d sit in his shrinking clothes, gorging on the greasy, addictive food. One day when Steve showed up for his shift as a server with a half inch of his belly hanging out from a shirt with more than a few stains on it, George had to send him to the kitchens. He was becoming obsessed with his newfound kink. Eating as much as he could, getting horny from the smell of the lard and grease in the kitchens, it was becoming a problem. He now had a permanent stubble and let his body hair grow out some, covering his belly in a sparse coat that seemed to stretch over his expanding form.

It wasn’t long until the pants he wore became unbearably tight and with his recent permanent status as a cook he just started to wear whatever he wanted to work. Which more often than not was a stained tank top that was a size too small and stressed gym shorts that barely held back his basketball sized ass globes as his form swelled from the sheer volume of food he devoured. After 3 years at George’s, he was now 120 kilos of ex-jock. A 20 year old lardass who was either found making or eating the food, and at this point there was some crossover too.

However things changed when Steve came into work one evening and placed a pizza and shake on the pickup window. A few minutes later, he heard an accented voice asking “Hello, I have a pizza and shake combo for Dan?”

Steve looked up and was floored by the handsome young man talking to him. Donning a leather biker jacket, tight jeans and Doc Martens he exuded a natural bad boy attitude. He looked Mexican and had an accent to boot. His muscular form was shown off in his outfit, his quads and ass looking like they were about to burst from the pants, while his tight white undershirt cling to his cut midsection. Steve could almost make out the cobblestone abs.

Clearing his mind for a moment he showed the delivery guy where the orders were placed and asked his name.

“Carlos” he replied with a crooked smile. “You?”

“Steve”

“Order up” bellowed Steve, wiping his sweat-slicked forehead with a meaty arm. At 26 years old and tipping the scales at 170 kilos, the large man cut an imposing figure in the small pizza kitchen. The chefs apron he wore resembled a tent when it wasn’t wrapped around his massive body. If it weren’t for his trimmed beard, the fat mans neck would be indistinguishable from his jaw, his many chins had softened that up long ago. His thick, exposed arms were a testament of commitment to exercise in a past life, and his massive thighs were no different. His sheer breadth mean that Steve had an entire counter to himself, and it had to be raised up so that it was above the crest of his belly, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to reach around the mountain of fat that resembled a belly. Scratching the underside of his hairy belly and fulfilling a rather complicated pizza order, Steve releases a deep belch and chuckles to himself.

In high school he had been a jock, athletic, healthy, and to most of the other students, handsome as hell. It was especially unfortunate then that a twisted ankle right before the football season had him watch from the sideline as his teammates were set up for sports scholarships while he was left in the dust. Desperate for a job, he joined “George’s Gorges” right out of school. The rather small, family owned diner did a roaring trade in the local area, and people from all over the city came to George’s for the food. In the day it was a proper diner with gingham tablecloths and milkshakes, but at night it became a bar that served calorie rich food, like pizza, burgers and wings, all dripping in grease and sauces.

Of course being in this environment day in and day out had a profound effect on Steve’s waistline. At first he found the time to work out before or after work and maintained his diet when away from the diner. Eventually though the late nights and constant pace kept the poor football player exhausted. It was then that the stud took advantage of the benefits of the job. The free food. George ensured all his staff were trained in the kitchen as well as service. So while Steve normally used his good looks and natural charisma to woo the patrons, he also got to experience the kitchen. Having free reign to cook his own meals for his breaks allowed him to experiment, and it became almost a game, to see what kind of calorific concoctions he could whip up. And his natural talent did not go overlooked.

Several weeks after joining the George’s family, Steve pulled on his work shirt, a slimfit white button down shirt that hugged his large biceps and accentuated his toned chest. The shirt felt small at first but it wasn’t until he pulled his medium, tight skinny jeans on that he noticed it.

He had gotten fat.

Not far per se, but definitely gained a few pounds. His shirt was tight over his midsection and the jeans he was struggling with took quite a lot of effort to pull over his already large bubble butt. After several more weeks, his uniform was unwearable and he resigned himself to buying larges. After a long shift at work one Tuesday night, Steve stripped down and tossed his clothes in the hamper and really looked at himself in the mirror.

He was shocked at what two months at the diner had done to his physique. His square jaw was a touch softer, enough that he noticed it himself, but no one else would. Gazing downward, unable to meet his own eyes, Steve spied his thicker chest with his nipples looking puffier than ever. It looked like the aftermath of a chest day pump, except the hapless ex jock knew the only pump he had going on was due to fat. His arms looked bigger and still as strong as ever, though the veins and slight striations he had when he played ball were fading. Most noticeable were the changes to his midsection. The abs were completely gone, replaced with a slight layer of pudge that seemed to stick to his formerly flat stomach like a living membrane. Turning to the side it jiggled slightly and he got a good look at his ass. It was a sight alright, stretching his tight white briefs to the limit, the crack swallowing a decent portion of soft cotton between its hungry cheeks. Steve processed all this slowly, in awe. The rumbling of his unsatisfied belly roused him though, and like a zombie he made his way to the fridge and proceeded to stuff himself with everything he could find. Leftovers from George’s were devoured, a container of ice cream was licked clean, a 2L milk carton went down the bloated jocks throat, and anything vaguely edible was consumed as though Steve had never eaten before.

“Dude, what happened to your gut? You swallowed a cow, or what?” Steve said, seeing me walk into the bar.

“Nah, I just had a big meal. Got carried away,” I said, giving my belly a slight pat. It was indeed bloated, stretching my shirt by about as much as my pecs did.

“You sure you didn’t start hitting the beers without us?” Ethan teased, giving my belly a poke. To be fair to him, my belly was about as big as it often got after our drinking sessions: round and hard, contrasting with my muscular build.

“C'mon, you know I’d never do that! I want you guys to know exactly how much I drink, so you know when I beat you, and by how much,” I replied.

“Ha! Good luck drinking more beer than us with all that food in your gut,” Steve teased, as we ordered our first round of drinks. 

I smiled. I fully intended to out drink them tonight, and by a lot. I had a plan: since the more food you had in your system, the slower you got drunk, I decided that if I ate a massive meal before going to the bar, I’d be able to drink a lot more beer before I started feeling sick. Of course, the downside was that I’d be starting with a much fuller stomach than usual. I was hoping the food inside my belly would soak up the first few pints of beer, and that my stomach would digest it at roughly the same rate I was topping it up with more beer. And I had a big capacity anyway.

As per tradition, we all chugged our first pint down in one go, then got a second. I felt my stomach expand slightly, but nothing a big guy like me couldn’t handle. And I was drinking at the same speed as my friends, which was all that mattered.

The third pint went in the belly. Then the fourth. My stomach had stretched considerably, sticking out far from beneath my pecs by now, and I could feel it tug slightly whenever I swallowed more beer.

“Reaching your limit?” said Ethan, sounding a lot less sober than when we started.

“Not even close,” I said. Okay, maybe I was starting to get full, but the alcohol still hadn’t taken any effect on me so far. It was like drinking water. All I needed was my stomach to hold, and this was going to be a drinking session for the ages.

“Bro,” Steve slurred, “we don’t want you to burst! We just want to beat you, that’s all!”

“I’m not going to burst. And I’m not going to lose,” I said. I patted my belly, and resumed chugging.

Getting up to order more drinks, I could feel the extra weight push down upon my legs. It wasn’t a problem - I was used to lifting twice my weight in the gym -, but it was a sign of how much I’d packed into the tank.

“Damn son,"  said the bartender, his eyes focused on my belly, "how much beer did you drink?”

“Only 7 pints so far,” I said. “I had a big meal.”

“He’s had as much to drink as me, or Steve,” Ethan said, “we just didn’t eat a whole christmas dinner before!”

“Remember, kids, pace yourself,” the bartender said, serving our drinks. “Even the biggest belly has a limit. I see guys find that out the hard way all the time.”

Steve and Ethan were nowhere near as bloated as me, but they both had prominent bellies by now, stretching the fabric of their shirts. You could even guess the outline of Steve’s abs, his stomach looking like a turtle shell filled with beer.

I was more bloated than them, but by now, I was drinking much faster: Steve was on his 9th pint, while Ethan was still finishing his 8th, but I had just finished my 11th. Over a gallon of beer inside my stomach, and almost as much food. And I was still going strong.

“Duuuuude, how does your gut not explode?” said Steve.

“Because I’m a badass, that’s why,” I replied. I lifted up my shirt to show off my musclegut, but felt a slight relief as my belly was no longer constrained.

“Holy shit,” said Steve, putting a hand on my belly, “ the pressure in here is just crazy! Check it out, Ethan.”

Ethan in turn put his hand on my gut, and said, "fuck, this isn’t a belly, this is a keg!”

“Told you I was a badass,” I said, flexing my arms and pushing out my gut. The fact I could still push it out suggested there was still room for a lot more beer in there.

So, I kept on drinking. The pints were chugged, and each time, the belly made room. My pace had slowed down a bit, my stomach was tensed, I was burping more often, and maybe I was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol, but I had no intention of stopping.

Ordering more beers at the counter, I got an idea. I took one glass in each hand, and balanced the third on the top of my belly. It jutted out at a right angle from under my pecs, and stuck out so far that I could walk back to our table without spilling the beer.

“Dude, we get it, you’ve won” said Ethan, seeing me. He was half splayed over the table, drunk, exhausted, and too full to drink any more. Steve, meanwhile, was sitting back in his chair, one hand resting on a half empty pint glass, the other slowly stroking a very full belly. He was still hoping he’d manage to force down the rest of his beer, I could tell, but there was no way his belly was budging any farther.  

Ethan and Steve were no small guys, and they’d drunk an impressive amount, but I easily had more beer in my stomach than both of them combined. Twice as much, maybe. In addition to a huge meal!

I could have called it a night, and enjoyed both my victory and my very full belly. But I was competitive, high on my win, and drunk. So I kept drinking. And drinking.

With each gulp of beer I swallowed, I could feel my stomach stretch, the pressure mount, and my belly expand. My abs were stretched so far I couldn’t flex them if I tried. Getting up from my chair felt like squatting at the gym, and walking felt like hiking with a week’s supplies in my backpack, except it was all in my belly.

I was burping more often, and I was burping louder. And each time I burped, I felt the extra place open up in my stomach, telling me I could in fact drink more beer.

I’m not sure when we left the bar. Maybe we got kicked out, maybe we left at closing time, like everyone else, all I know is that by then, I had multiple gallons of beer inside my belly.

“It’s funny,” I remember hearing Steve joke, “when you arrived, I said you looked like you’d swallowed a cow! And now, well, you really look like you’ve swallowed an actual cow!”

We crashed at Ethan’s flat, the closest to the bar. I lied down on his couch - or did I fall?-, and Steve and Ethan sat down on each side of me, both rubbing my huge musclegut. I felt great. I was the biggest badass in town, my belly had more beer in it than ever, and I had my two best friends with me.

Then I remembered. The hangover.

I’d made a habit of drinking lots of water during my beer binges,  to lessen my hangovers, but tonight, my quest to break all records had led me to forget about water. I jumped off the couch, and dashed to the sink.

“Bro, what the fuck?” said Steve.

I put my mouth over the tap, and started drinking. After all that alcohol, the water tasted sweeter than pure sugar. Every gulp forced my stomach even larger, compressing the insides of my body, tensing my abs even more. There’s no way my sober self would do this to my belly, even with how competitive I was, but my drunk mind saw things differently.

“Dude, that’s too much, even for you!” said Ethan.

I put a hand on my belly. It was harder than concrete, but somehow still expanding. The pressure inside was so strong it had turned my belly button into an outie.

Then, it stopped. My belly stopped growing, and I couldn’t swallow any more. The water from the tap was flowing straight out of my mouth, down into the sink.

“Guys… I think I’m full,” I said.

I opened my mouth to burp, but nothing came out. There was no air left in my stomach, every inch of available space was taken up by beer, water, or food. It was so heavy that just by standing, I could feel my leg muscles work hard to support my weight.

Steve and Ethan were staring at me, eyes and mouths wide open. Looking equally concerned and impressed.

“Bro, you okay?” Steve asked.

“Never felt better,” I replied. The pain and strain from having drank so much was nothing compared to the immense satisfaction from knowing that my belly could, in fact, hold this much.

I laid back down on the couch, and before I knew it, Steve and Ethan were on each side of me, massaging my gut just the way I liked. The perfect way to finish a night.

“You know you’ve probably permanently stretched your stomach from this?” Ethan said.

Jason was a big eater. “I eat a lot” was half his personality, the other half being “I play football”. At 6ft7 and 250 lbs, Jason left highschool as a beast of a man, with huge muscles and a slight belly that always filled out his shirts, something he was very proud of. Not only was the extra bulk useful for playing offensive line, he viewed his gut as a sign of strength, masculinity, and proof that he knew how to enjoy life. "What’s the point of having a six pack if you can’t eat a large pizza in one sitting?“, he often said.

Going into college, Jason thought he’d have an easy 4 years in front of him: living his best life, being on the team and eating whatever he wanted, without pesky parents to worry about how big he was getting. 

He was wrong, but not in the way you’d expect.

"I need you to get bigger,” Coach told him. “You can put a lot more bulk on your frame. With, let’s say, an extra 100 lbs on you, you’ll be as impassable as a brick wall.”

Jason was surprised, but it didn’t sound too bad. Eating even more? That sounded like just the thing for him.

Then he found out the dietary targets Coach had set for him. 

It was a lot.

A real lot.

Days began with the biggest breakfasts Jason had ever eaten, that left him with a heavy and bloated stomach that weighed down as he made his ways to classes. He’d barely started digesting that lunch time came, with even more food to cram into his poor belly.

And that’s to say nothing about his training sessions. Bloated 24/7, Jason felt like he was exercising with a stack of plates in his stomach, forcing his core and legs to work harder, and more than once, a big impact in his gut area made him worry he might burst.

At the end of the day, despite his belly being so full, Jason would look at the chart coach gave him and realize he was still thousands of calories behind schedule. So, he’d make a big shake, and chug it down, one hand gently stroking his musclegut, hoping to stretch it a bit farther.

Jason didn’t so much lie down in bed as collapse in there, brought down by the huge mass inside his belly. And didn’t so much fall asleep as pass out from a food coma. Sometimes, he’d wake up the next morning his stomach still bloated.

“How does your stomach not explode?” once asked his roommate.

“I honestly don’t know,” Jason replied. 

It was a challenge, but Jason pushed through. When the coach told you to bulk, you bulked. 

And his hard work was not without reward. Soon it wasn’t just Jason’s belly that was straining his clothes, but also his growing muscles. Jason’s already big arms were getting thicker, while his legs were starting to rival tree trunks. Another X had to be added to his clothes size. His lifts in the gym kept going up, and on the field, he had gone from a brick wall to a reinforced concrete wall with fortifications. 

As Jason got bigger, he found his diet was getting easier to stick to. He no longer finished meals worried his stomach might burst, but was now enjoying the sensation of fullness, proudly showing off his big bloated belly to his teammate. Going to bed stuffed to the max became as essential to sleeping well as lying down. Sometimes, Jason would wake up in the middle of the night, his stomach now half empty from digestion. In that case, he’d make himself another shake, chug till he once again got that comfortably full feeling, and go back to sleep enjoying his tightly packed musclegut.

A serious athlete, Jason didn’t go out partying much, but when he did, he would steal the show. Not only did the big lineman attract lots of attention, he was good at whatever challenge came up. Arm wrestling? With biceps that big, no one stood a chance. Actual wrestling? Not injuring anyone took more effort than winning. Beer chugging? Jason’s stomach could hold tremendous amounts of beer, and with all those nutrients in his system, he was well immune against the ill effects of alcohol and could keep drinking for much longer.

***

“360 pounds”, said Coach, reading the scale. “Damn, you’re a big boy!”

Jason grinned awkwardly. That was 10 lbs over their initial target.

“That okay, sir?”  he asked. Jason had gotten so used to his mammoth diet that he wasn’t sure how he’d handle having to cut down on his eating.

“The doctor said all your tests came in fine, and I like what I’m seeing in the field,” Coach said. “I’m keeping you on the same diet for now.”

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