Fat and other kinks

Here is the boyfriend currently at 13.5 stone (189lbs) It’s been very slow progress the past few months, with work and other stress slowing down the gains. However the belly is starting to get very big and wobbly, and moobs are developing, so that’s some progress!

All I want is for you to spoil me, fatten me, degrade me as I wheeze for air while hooked up to my oxygen tank. You look at all the food stains and crumbs on my immobile body as I am going on my 10th day in a row without leaving bed, my previous record was 62 days but a heart attack sadly put that run to an end. But don’t worry I plan on beating it, that is, if I don’t die first from another heart attack, or stomach rupture.

God you would love that, jerking off on me as my stomach quite literally pops open from my gluttony YOU enabled me to have. I was practically asking for it, all I did was smoke weed, play games, watch tv mindlessly and, of course, chow down on enough food to kill a horse. But I can’t take all the blame, and I know you don’t want me too, either. You love the idea that you enabled me to death, that you caused this.

You look at me smiling as I sit there mindlessly watching some esports or something else that is killing my braincells as I have my mouth open, shoving another burger or two in, then a pizza, a basket of fries, some weed brownies as dessert, and then a 2 Liter of Dr. Pepper to wash it all down. Of course I only get about 3/4ths of it in my mouth, my dumb hog ass is just getting more dependent on you every second! I belch loudly, not even saying a word to excuse me, you conditioned your slobby piggy well. Now I sit, eat, and way for my gut to split. I hope I can reach my goal! Not like you would mind either way 😈

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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“Eat, fatboy”

He ate, dutifully packing in big forkfuls of whatever was in front of him. Some kind of pasta…maybe boxed mac and cheese? Chewing, swallowing, another forkful…I sighed.

“Eat faster, fatboy”

He picked up the pace obligingly, stuffing the food in slightly faster, chewing it a bit less thoroughly, swallowing a bit sooner, but the difference was only just barely perceptible.

I watched, my mild enthusiasm waning already. He would need another 20 minutes to finish this meal, then “just a minute to rest”, then maybe he would drink a couple beers…all in all, he’d be barely stuffed, and I would be far from satisfied.

“I said faster, fatboy. And use your hands”

He bristled at that, I could see. He was willing to play at getting fatter, at least through the safe medium of skype, but even the most benignly piggy behavior was a step too far for him. I could tell he would gain maybe 15 pounds total, just enough to be visible, sort of, in the right light and at the right angle, and then he would close his account and disappear back to the civilian world unscathed. Or at least that’s what he thought. This time, I decided, would be different. I snapped my fingers.

Instantly, he stopped and looked up, his eyes glazed over and his mouth slack. Through the distance between us, I looked him directly in the eyes. I let him see exactly what I wanted. I let him see his fate. Then I pointed to the bowl.

He looked down and resumed eating. This time, though, the pace picked up noticeably. Then again, and again, and until the fork was a blur moving between his mouth and the bowl. Then he cast it aside and dug his hand into the bowl, scooped up the remaining pasta in one massive clump, and stuffed it in his mouth. He barely even chewed before swallowing, the huge lump visible as it slid down his throat and into his belly. I sat back and smiled, waiting.

Without prompting, he turned his camera so I had a full view of his kitchen, and he raced over to the cupboards. Heaving the doors open, he yanked out boxes of cookies, bags of chips, anything he could get his hands on. He tore open the packages and began stuffing junk food into his mouth hand over fist, packing in one gigantic mouthful after another, almost frightening in what seemed to be absolute ravenous hunger. He ate faster than he ever had before in his life, crumbs sticking in his beard and littering the counter and floors. In no time at all he had exhausted the cupboards and turned to the fridge. As he moved, I could see the curve of his belly in profile, and laughed. He was still pretty small for my taste, barely even rounded out yet, but already he was probably more full than he ever had been. And he was just getting started.

As he opened the fridge, I realized with delight one of his roommates must be a baker. The fridge was loaded with milk, heavy cream, butter, chocolate chips, cookie dough lovingly prepped and rolled in plastic, and more hidden behind the bulk of my pig’s body. Not needing a single word from me, he dug in. I guessed he must have been thirsty from the chips as I watched him grab a gallon of milk and drain half of it in all of 20 seconds, one greedy gulp after another punctuating the silence. He set it down and let out a resounding belch, then launched into the cookie dough without even wiping off his lips. Tearing off the plastic he took a massive bite of the block of chilled dough and groaned with…discomfort? Pleasure? There was no way to tell, and no real difference between the two for him anymore. He was slowed down slightly by the dense mass of cookie dough, but only slightly, and in a matter of minutes had finished what looked to be several dozen cookies worth of dough. He turned back to the bottle of milk, finished it off, and as he let out another piggy belch I could see his gut had truly started to swell. The light of the fridge cast it into sharp relief and I could see the curve was almost shockingly pronounced now, a solid ball protruding from the front of his otherwise average frame. I got up and grabbed another drink as he turned to some leftovers, and smiled to myself as I poured the whiskey to the sounds of him chewing and smacking and grunting. At this point, he was probably nearing his maximum capacity, but I wasn’t going to let him off the hook just yet.

I sat down just in time to see him drop the last of the containers of leftovers, which clattered to the floor in a heap with the scattered boxes and bags and crumbs of his feast. He swayed on his feet for a moment, staring at me, then let out a monumental belch. I couldn’t help but laugh – here he had been, unwilling to even use his hands, and now he was smeared with sauce and crumbs and frosting all across his chest and onto his shocking, obscenely rounded belly. I pointed to the butter behind him, and a pained look flashed briefly across his face. I laughed and pointed again, then beckoned him back to his computer. He waddled up slowly and heavily, rubbing his gut with one hand and carrying the butter in the other. From the bulge in his pants I knew he was ready. He stripped off his pants and briefs and sat down naked in front of the screen. I nodded assent and he pulled the first stick of butter out, unwrapped it, and began to eat. With his other hand he grabbed his cock and began to stroke, but so slowly that I knew he must already be close. He bit off lumps of butter, swallowed them whole, and went back for more, butter glistening on his lips and dripping down his chin before slowly sliding across the tight, painful-looking expanse of his belly. I looked closely and could swear I saw stretchmarks forming like angry red parentheses around his navel, which had flattened to a slit from the pressure in his gut. I let him continue to stroke with agonizing slowness as he worked through the entire pound of butter, until finally he was down to the last few bites and I knew he must be aching for release. I pointed to the butter, and he forced the last of it into his mouth and swallowed, closing his eyes as it slid down his throat and rested on top of a week’s worth of food. He opened his eyes again and looked at me pleadingly, ready to shoot with one more stroke. I laughed and shook my head.

“You absolute fucking pig…you’ve done even butter…er, better than I hoped for. But you’re going to have to do better still to earn that release. Get on at the same time tomorrow and maybe I’ll be feeling more generous.”

The faded wooden sign reading “Booker’s Oddities” trembled slightly as the three young men tumbled into the store, slamming the door behind them. Brick, Lug and Truck were students at the local community college, taking a couple years of cheaper classes before they went off to state school to finish their degrees. On this cold, rainy November day, with finals still several weeks away, they were skipping their studying and wandering around the small town instead. As they stood in the small entryway shaking the rain off their coats, Brick and Lug were arguing away amicably.

“What do you mean you’ve never seen this place before? We walk by here all the time to get to Antonio’s Pizza on the next block. You’re just clueless!”

“I know we walk by here all the time, man! And that’s why I’m saying this place is new! I’ve never seen the sign before in my life.”

“Whatever…this town is full of these little junk shops. They come and go all the time, you’re probably just getting them confused.”

As the two friends bickered in their familiar pattern, Truck wandered into the shop proper, wandering among shelves and tables covered in a bizarre assortment of junk. Mismatched dishes, faded clothes, and tattered paperback were stacked haphazardly around the small store, creating an impression of carelessness and mess. However, as he drew nearer to the main counter, he noticed that all the “precious” things of the shop – old watches, costume jewelry, and outdated accessories like cigarette cases, by the looks of them – were all neatly arranged within the glass display case, gleaming brightly against a deep green velvet background. Truck was so enamored by the glittering baubles that he didn’t notice the man behind the case until a voice rang out.

“Terrible weather we’re having today, eh boys?”

All three young men jumped in unison, caught off guard by the question.

“Uh, yeah, it’s really shitty out today, man. Normally we wouldn’t have come in, we just wanted to get out of the rain.”

Lug seemed oblivious to the rudeness of his reply, and failed to notice the man narrowing his eyes slightly at the implied insult against his shop.

Brick continued in much the same vein.

“What exactly is this place, man? An antique shop? That might explain why everything in here is so old and dusty.”

The two boys laughed together as the shopkeeper gazed coolly. Meanwhile, Truck continued to stare at the gleaming items in the front counter display case, his gaze fixed on a large gold signet ring with an onyx stone in the center. The stone seemed to have something carved into it, but it was hard to make out.

“Could I, uh, see that ring, sir?”

The politeness of his tone caught the other two boys off guard, and sensing he might have found something interesting, they drifted over to the front counter to flank him on either side.

“Since when do you wear rings, man? Especially someone else’s old class ring.”

“Ahh, but it’s not someone’s old class ring, you see. This is something special – it’s a cursed ring that makes you fat.”

As the shopkeeper interjected, all three boys turned their eyes to him and stood momentarily silent, dumbfounded by what he had just said.

“I’m sorry, it’s a what now?”

Lug asked the question, half confused and half suppressing a laugh.

“It’s a cursed ring that makes you fat.”

The shopkeeper replied simply, restating what he had just said.

The three boys looked at each other, unsure of how to respond.

“Uh, is this a joke, mister? Are we being filmed for some kind of show or something?”

Brick and Lug looked around as though an entire camera crew might burst out from behind a side table, but Truck’s gaze gifted back to the ring. This time, he spoke more firmly.

“I’d still like to see it, please.”

A grin spread across the shopkeeper’s face, and he unlocked the cabinet from behind and lifted out the tray containing the ring. Setting it on the counter, he began to speak.

“You have a good eye, my boy. This is quite an old ring, twenty-two karat gold, with an onyx inset carved with the figure of Dionysus, ancient Greek god of bounty. It’s a beautiful piece, as you can see.”

He handed the ring over to Truck, who took it eagerly and squinted down at the stone. There, carved into the jet black face, was a tiny, perfectly etched figure of a handsome man seen in profile, holding a goblet of wine in one hand and a turkey leg in the other, his head crowned with an olive wreath. He also sported an almost obscenely round belly, one that filled nearly the entire stone.

“Well, what do you think, son? I can let you have it for a very reasonable price, what with the curse.”

“Are you actually gonna buy that thing, man??”

“Yeah, it’s kind of ugly, and that carving is super weird.”

The voices swirled around Truck as he stood motionless, staring deep into the carving. In the dim light of the shop, the figure in the stone almost seemed to move, arms lifting up the bounty they held, handsome face smiling, and the gargantuan belly wobbling and swaying.

“I’ll take it.”

That night, the three boys had a party lined up. As they pre-gamed at Truck’s place, Brick and Lug noticed that he seemed to be going harder than normal, eating half a pizza on his own and chugging back beer after beer.

“Gotta have some food in my belly so I don’t get too wasted at the party, right?”

“Uh, yeah, but don’t you think half a pizza is plenty?”

Truck paused as Brick motioned to the pizza box in front of him on the counter. Had he really eaten half of it himself? Shrugging, he grabbed another slice and sat back down.

“I just didn’t eat much today is all. What can I say? I’m a growing boy.”

He stuffed the last of the slice down his throat and belched, and all three of them laughed.

At the party, after a few hours of the usual drinking, mingling, drinking, chatting, drinking games, and more drinking, Truck got challenged to a keg stand. Brick and Lug groaned, knowing it was their job to hold their friend up, and both of them were a bit tipsy already. But they obliged, grabbing Truck’s solid legs and hauling him upside down. As Truck latched his mouth onto the hose and someone turned on the tap, he began chugging in smooth, even pulls, one pressurized mouthful after another flowing up his throat and into his belly. At first the other partygoers cheered him on, but as he continued, seemingly oblivious to the amount he was drinking, the cheers began to falter and the whispers started.

“Holy shit, how is he still going?”

“How much was left in the keg? Is he gonna FINISH it?”

“This guy is crazy!”

As the comments grew increasingly concerned, the keg began to sputter out, and with a few loud gulps Truck swallowed down even the suds at the bottom. Brick and Lug set him down heavily on his feet, and the reversal caused his belly to slosh visibly. The partygoers gasped. Where his typical freshman fifteen pudgy belly had been was now a round, bloated gut resembling the empty keg of beer more than anything else. Truck took a heavy step backward, swayed a bit, and then –

*BBBUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPP*

Partygoers in the next room jumped at the volume of the belch, and Brick and Lug winced at the sound of it blasting out just inches from their ears. Truck slammed his hands up into the air triumphantly, causing his belly to bounce and slosh.

On the way back from the party, Truck was rubbing his visibly swollen gut and groaning. Brick and Lug nodded knowingly at each other, thinking they’d probably be helping Truck up the stairs at his place before he lost the contents of his stomach on the street. However, Truck surprised them.

“Guys, I’m fucking starving. Is anywhere still open?”

Brick and Lug stared.

“Uhh, I don’t know man, maybe Antonio’s? They’re 24 hours, right Lug?”

“Yeah, I think so man. But Truck, do you really want to eat more right now? You look kinds sick.”

Truck looked up in surprise.

“Sick? What? No, I feel fine…I’m just absolutely starving. My stomach feels like it’s about to digest itself or something.”

Shrugging, Brick and Lug turned at the next corner, heading down the street toward Antonio’s Pizza. None of the boys noticed as they passed the storefront that had held Booker’s Oddities just that afternoon, now clearly abandoned and empty.

At Antonio’s, Truck stood in front of the counter, surveying the menu like he’d never been to a pizza place before.

“Uhh, can I have a large meat lover’s, a large pepperoni and black olive, and an order of garlic knots? Then whatever these guys want as well.”

His ridiculous order placed, he staggered over to a booth in the corner and slumped down. From their standing vantage point, Brick and Lug could see Truck’s t-shirt stretched tight over a definite potbelly, one that both of them could swear hadn’t been there before. The two confused flunkies ordered a couple slices each and sat down.

“Hey man, are you feeling alright? You look, uh…different.”

Truck just grunted, his eyes glazed and unfocused.

Brick and Lug shrugged and chattered away as they waited for the food, both of them much too buzzed to be really concerned.

Antonio himself brought the food over, having been forced to work that night due to a lack of staff. He grumbled as he squeezed his substantial frame past the counter, two pizzas and the order of garlic knots stacked in boxes in one hand, with the additional slices balanced on plates on top. He set the slices in front of the three boys, then looked around for someone else.

“Hey, you boys see who put the order in for the two pizzas and knots?”

“Oh yeah man, those are for me”

At the appearance of the food, Truck’s eyes lit up, and he raised his hand to catch Antonio’s attention.

“Oh yeah? Sorry, I assumed it was a family order or something, so I put them in boxes. You can use them to take the leftovers home, I guess.”

Antonio was no stranger to drunk college kids ordering ridiculous amounts of food, but this had to be a new record. He chuckled as he wedged himself back past the counter and into the kitchen. Even he couldn’t eat two large pizzas in a sitting.

Back at the booth, Brick and Lug dug into their slices, chatting away with mouths full, laughing drunkenly at stupid jokes. Across from them, Truck flipped up the lid of the first pizza box and started to eat, hidden from view of his friends as he started to stuff in the slices as though he hadn’t eaten in a week. From behind the counter, Antonio watched in amusement and then shock as the boy crammed entire slices in his mouth, barely chewing them before forcing them down in massive swallows. His throat bulged as each lump of dough and meat and cheese slid down it, and as Antonio watched he worked his way through the entire pizza in a matter of minutes. Sliding the box to the side, he opened the second one, which caught his friends’ attention.

“Get bored of the meat lover’s that fast, huh?”

Brick laughed. Lug’s eyes went wide.

“No man, look! The box is empty! He ate the whole thing already…”

Both of them looked back at truck, bleary eyes focusing on their friend. Truck paused briefly and rubbed a hand across his stomach, smearing his shirt with grease. Pizza sauce and grease covered his face, and as his two friends watched he let out a deep, rumbling belch.

“Ohhh man, I really needed that!”

Truck sighed in apparent satisfaction, then started ripping into the second pizza. Brick, Lug and Antonio all watched in mute fascination as Truck crammed the pepperoni and black olive slices down just as quickly, and then moved on to the garlic knots. Those went down two at a time, crammed into his mouth and puffing his cheeks out as he briefly chewed, then gulped them down. As he swallowed the last two, he waved a hand at Antonio.

“Hey man, can I get something to drink? A two liter would be great.”

Antonio didn’t move for a second, not registering the request, as he watched Truck’s stomach. As the young man sat there, his gut was slowly filling out, rising like the pizza dough sitting back in the kitchen. His stained shirt started to ride up as fat bubbled in seemingly out of nowhere, and in a matter of second it had slid up several inches, revealing a navel sinking deep into soft new blubber. On his side, love handles blossomed and swelled out into thick rings of dough. Truck waved his hand again, causing the new fat to jiggle wildly.

“Hey man, you awake over there? Some soda please?”

The rudeness of his question seemed to be born out of desperation. He had a pleading look in his eyes, as though he had been waiting for a drink for days.

Antonio blinked and turned to the cooler. He slid the door open and grabbed a two liter of coke, and then one of pepsi, not sure which the boy would prefer. Walking over to the table, he set both bottles down. Before he could open his mouth to explain, however, Truck grabbed the bottle of pepsi, twisted the top off, and began to chug it down. For a solid 30 seconds the restaurant was silent except for Truck’s massive gulps, and then –

*Bbbburrrooorrrpppp*

Truck belched, a loud one that rattled on for several seconds. As soon as it stopped, he grabbed the second bottle and repeated the process. Throughout all of it his friends and Antonio just watched, shocked and silent. Truck belched massively after the second bottle, then leaned back against the back wall of the booth, eyes closed as if in pain. He rubbed his swollen gut with both hands now, and as his friends watched, it began to grow again. With an audible bubbling, his gut began to bulge forward, growing rounder and rounder until it pushed against the edge of the table. His love handles thickened as well, and the combined growth forced his shirt up until it had slid entirely off what was now a shockingly rotund ballgut. At the same time, his chest began to fill in, until his moderately defined pecs had solidly crossed the line into tits, sitting soft and heavy on the deep shelf of his upper belly. His face began to fill in too, cheeks growing rounder as a thick layer of fat filled in below his chin. Through all of it, Truck’s breath came shallow and fast, and he rubbed at the new fat as though in some pain. Finally, as the growth slowed to a crawl, bright red stretch marks appeared. They marched in rows across his love handles, and along the underside of his belly until they framed a navel that had sunken several inches into pure blubber. They started pink and quickly turned a deep, angry red, making the poor boy’s growth undeniable. Truck looked to have added a solid 50 pounds of pure fat since he sat down in the restaurant, and no one knew what to say. Finally he opened his eyes, seemingly oblivious to his gains, and went to stand up.

“OOF…what the hell? Did you guys shove the table over onto my side? I’m stuck!”

Brick and Lug just stared, unable to process what had happened to their friend. Truck continued to struggle, unable to push his blimped-out belly past the edge of the table. Finally Antonio stepped forward and grabbed the boy’s hand. Pulling him sideways, he managed to extract him from the booth, and as Truck took a few heavy steps forward, all three watched in shock as ripples spread across his newly fattened body.

“Well, I’m probably gonna head out, guys…it’s been fun, but I’m so tired for some reason! Catch you tomorrow.”

Truck waddled to the door, and from behind his gains were even more obvious. His love handles bulged out and wobbled below his skintight shirt, striped with red stretchmarks, and his ass had ballooned to the point where his shorts seemed ready to burst at the seams. His waistband dug deep into the soft flesh around his middle, and his thighs brushed together as he walked. Rubbing his gigantic belly, he belched again before opening the door and stepping outside. As he turned down the sidewalk toward his house, he passed the empty storefront from that morning. Inside, the shopkeeper watched the butterball waddle past and sighed.

“It’s a cursed ring that makes you fit. How could I have possibly made it any clearer? Ah well.”

The shopkeeper turned away from the window, his hand closed around the gold and onyx ring that had appeared there as Truck lumbered past. He walked to the display case, opened it, and leaned down to carefully set the ring back in its place, brushing off an invisible speck of dust as he did so. Sighing, he straightened up and began to wander off to the back room of the shop.

I opened my eyes and winced as dim light flooded in. My head was pounding, and I felt slightly nauseous. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I began to make out my surroundings – a room, large and tastefully furnished, with wood floors and high, curtained windows admitting only slivers of light. In the far corner, I became aware of a shadowy figure seated in a large armchair looking in my direction. Just before I faded to black again, I could swear I saw the figure smile.

I came to again, and this time the world around me felt much more solid. The room was the same, although this time the figure in the far corner was absent. Maybe I had imagined it? Stranger still, the room remained blurry, my view of it covered in a thin wire grid. It looked as though I was viewing the world through chicken wire, like an animal in a cage. Groggily, I went to stand up, and then froze in shock. Something was holding me down – as I attempted to move, pressure dug into my wrists and ankles, and a clinking noise prompted me to look down. There were heavy, leather-wrapped shackles around my arms, and what felt like matching ones around my legs. Turning my head to try and see behind me, I felt a strange fullness in my mouth, and looked down my nose, squinting my eyes to focus better. A clear tube ran across the floor of the room, through the wire mesh in front of me, and into my mouth! How could I not have noticed it before? Panicked breathing offered me a hint – my cheeks puffed in and out without feeling, and realized some numbing agent must have been used to desensitize my mouth and throat to the tube. Icy fear began to run down my spine, and I began to shout, yielding nothing but choked, muffled sounds that barely reached my own ears. I was on all fours, chained into some kind of cage, with a tube running down my throat. As the room began to spin around me, I heard footsteps coming into the room and froze in terror. From behind me, a voice spoke.

“Ahh, finally awake, I see. Comfortable?”

The query was followed by a short, smug laugh. The man was clearly amused by my condition, and I assumed he was the one responsible for it.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t poke fun. After all, I can imagine you’re probably quite scared and confused right now, which is admittedly how I like my toys.”

At this I began to shake. What kind of horror movie psycho shit had I ended up in? The last thing I remembered was being at some scuzzy local dive bar, relaxing after a long day of driving, then a handsome stranger offering me a drink-

“Trying to remember what happened, huh piggy? Trying to remember my face, maybe, or beginning to realize what was in that drink? Don’t worry – you’ll have plenty of time to think about all that, although I suspect that it won’t be on the top of your mind for long.”

The footsteps approached what I guessed must be the rear of the cage, and as the man leaned forward I caught a whiff of his cologne, sharp and woodsy, the last thing I could remember from the night before.

“Here’s how this is going to work, pig.”

His voiced had dropped lower, and any trace of good humor had vanished.

“You’re chained here for as long as I decide to keep you. Your car is parked in my garage. Your phone is smashed. No one knows where you are. Do you understand?”

I groaned in fear, and he laughed sharply.

“I think you get the general idea, pig. And you’ll figure out the details soon enough. Just one more thing before we can get started.”

He finished speaking, and I heard an odd squirting noise. Before I could even consider what was happening, I felt a finger applying lube around my hole. I froze, realizing what must be coming. Then, after glopping on a generous amount, he began to slide what I quickly realized was a substantial dildo into me. The pressure increased quickly, and I struggled to relax and accept it.

“Attaboy – if you struggle, things will only be worse for you”

He continued to insert the dildo slowly but steadily until the entire length of it had slipped in and I could feel the base resting against my cheeks. The head of it brushed against my prostate, and I shuddered briefly in unintentional arousal.

“That’s the spot, huh piggy? Good.”

The man wiped his hands off and walked across the room to the chair in the far corner. There, he sat down facing me, seemingly considering his options as he turned a small remote control over and over in his hand. Through some trick of the light, I still couldn’t make out his face – he remained in the shadow between two windows, just a vague figure in the shape of a man.

Having reached a decision, he sat up straight, pointed the remote at me, and pressed a button. With a faint whirring sound, the dildo began to thrum slowly, vibrating along its length and sending the head brushing rhythmically against my prostate in maddening waves of stimulation. Against my will I let out a deep moan.

The man chuckled softly at that before pressing a second button. I braced myself, but at first nothing happened. As I waited, I suddenly noticed the tube in my mouth twitch slightly, and looking down its length I saw a thick, white substance rushing up it toward me. Even as I knew it to be useless, I thrashed my head around in a vain effort to dislodge the tube.

“Careful, piggy…it’s not going anywhere. And even if it did, I’d just slide it right back down your greedy throat. Stop struggling.”

I stopped, torn between primal fear of what was coming and a suspicion that displeasing my captor would be truly dangerous. As I hesitated, the substance completed its course and reached my lips. I held my breath and clamped my eyes shut, expecting some awful taste to flood my mouth, but after nothing happened for a long moment I slowly opened my eyes again. Small bubbles traveling through the liquid showed that it was still moving toward me, but I tasted nothing. Just as the realization dawned on me that the tube must run down my throat directly to my stomach, I began to feel pressure building there.

I knew by now that I couldn’t move my head far enough to look straight down, but I tried anyway. The most I could see was my hands, manacled on the floor of the cage. Meanwhile, the pressure in my stomach was building steadily, and as I looked along the length of the tube I began to wonder just how much of this substance I could possibly accommodate. As if reading my thoughts, the man spoke.

“Don’t worry, piggy. You won’t pop. You’ll feel like it, but I promise you’ll survive. I designed this system myself, and it’s perfectly calibrated to fill you to your limits and then stop. It’ll kick in automatically as you digest and fill you back up, and we’ll be seeing results in no time.”

Results? The only possible result of this must be-

I grunted around the tube again, distracted by the growing pressure in my stomach. The weight of all the slop being pumped trough the tube had gone from barely noticeable to feeling as though I’d just eaten a good meal in almost no time at all, and it was still growing. As I breathed heavily, I could feel my stomach starting to grow tight across the top, like I’d overdone it at a buffet. And still the tube was full and pumping. I gasped as the pressure mounted, feeling the mass of slop press against my ribs from the inside, making breathing hard and pushing my stomach out on the sides. As the machine continued to pump, I became suddenly aware of the dildo continuing to vibrate deep within me, the rhythmic flicks against my prostate becoming more and more intense as the liquid filled my stomach. My eyes began to water as my stomach started to ache, swelling out rounder than it had ever felt before, solid with whatever this substance was. I could barely breathe, and my shallow, gasping breaths fell in line with the rhythm of the vibrator as it pushed me deeper and deeper into an agonizing mix of pain and pleasure. Just when I thought I really would explode, the tube emptied its last spurt of liquid into my stomach, and just as suddenly the dildo paused. I blinked, the weight of my stomach hitting me fully for the first time.

“Just over a gallon. Not a bad start, fatboy!”

A gallon?? There was no way! Surely that had to be more than the human stomach could possible hold? I felt waves of nausea sweep over me as my stomach struggled to contain all the liquid, and I wondered what would happen if I got sick.

“Don’t worry, piggy. Your slop isn’t going anywhere – it’s laced with anti-nausea medication, along with a few other goodies to help you keep it all down and turn it into fat for me as quickly as possible.

I reeled. This freak was keeping me locked up just to make me fat? It was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard in my life – but it was also very real. The shocking pressure filling my gut right now was undeniable, as was my cock throbbing with the need for release after so much teasing.

The man arose from his chair and walked to me in even, measured steps. Standing at the side of my cage, he reached down and wrapped a measuring tape around my midsection, the touch of cold briefly distracting me from the sick, heavy ache.

“38 inches! Not bad, piglet. Not bad at all, for a start.”

Without warning, he slapped the side of my overfilled belly, hard. The force of the blow sloshed my whole swollen gut to the side before it swung back, heavily, to rest in place again. I groaned in pain as he laughed.

“What’s the matter, piggy? Overdo it a little, did you? Get a bit stuffed? Well, you’d better get used to it…you’re just getting started, and I happen to think you’d look good at twice your current size.”