(sorry for the inactivity T_T) Here a bit of a longer one :)
Tyson groaned softly as he sank deeper into the cushions of his worn leather couch, a tall glass of iced tea sweating on the table beside him, untouched. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon—sunlight filtering through the blinds, crickets chirping outside, and the low hum of his ceiling fan brushing across his broad, sweat-slick chest.
Shirtless, in only a pair of loose athletic shorts and black rubber flip-flops, Tyson looked every bit the thick slab of manhood he was. Beefy but muscular, with a wide chest that carried just the right amount of padding, a soft curve to his lower belly, and legs like tree trunks stretched out lazily across the living room rug.
His cock twitched beneath the fabric. Again.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, glancing down at the bulge that just wouldn’t quit. “Again?”
The curse of hyperspermia. He’d cum three times today already. Still swollen. Still aching. Still leaking little beads into his shorts like a faucet that never shut off.
He scratched at his furry pec absently, eyes fluttering half-closed. He didn’t see the shadow that slid across the hardwood floor. Didn’t feel the air grow warmer. Didn’t hear the low, wet chuckle echo behind his ears.
“Mmm... yeah... now that’s a man built for indulgence...”
The voice didn’t come from the room. It came from inside him. Or was it behind him? It was fat and full of honey, molasses-thick with hunger.
Tyson blinked. “What the f—?”
He doubled over as heat slammed into his back like a tidal wave. A sticky, heavy force hit him, sliding across his skin like syrup, pressing down, melting in. His mouth dropped open in a silent gasp as the unseen intruder poured into him—through his back, his chest, his open mouth, his ass—like a full-body enema of ectoplasmic gluttony.
“Yeeeaaahh, big guy... Let me in that beef... Let Fatso ride those muscles from the inside...”
Tyson’s eyes rolled back as his belly inflated slightly—just a little bloat at first, then more, jiggling as if something inside him was slapping the walls from the inside. His already thick pecs puffed up like balloons being filled, veins crawling along his biceps, neck thickening with every pulse of the ghost’s entry.
“Nggh—FUCK—w-what the—?!” Tyson croaked, but it was too late. His limbs spasmed, his back arched, and his cock throbbed with violent, aching pulses. A thick wet patch bloomed across the front of his shorts.
“Ooooh, ho ho ho, ohhh fuck YES,” came a new voice—his voice, but not. Deeper, wetter. Fatso’s voice inside his throat. “I got you, big man. You’re MINE now.”
Tyson’s face twisted into a dumb, lopsided grin, jaw slack, tongue hanging out slightly. He stood up unsteadily, swaying as the possession finalized. His hands—now Fatso’s—roamed over his bloated pecs, squeezing them, thumbing the nipples.
“Mmmnn, they’re so big already… but I’m gonna make ’em heavier. Softer. Just a lil’ bit more daddy fat to jiggle while I stroke this fat fukken cock…”
He yanked the waistband of the shorts down. Tyson’s cock flopped out—a thick, veiny, hyperspermic monster of meat, drooling pre nonstop. It smacked against his belly with a wet slap, already twitching, as if recognizing a new master inside.
“Look at this thing… shit, how were you NOT just jerking all day long?”
Fatso waddled Tyson’s possessed body over to the floor-length mirror, slapping a hand against his newly rounded, proud gut.
“Unfhh, yeah… there he is. Big Tysie. Daddy Cum Tank.” He shook his hips a little, making the fat pad above the cock jiggle, eyes wide, drooling onto his own chest. “We’re gonna flood this fuckin’ house.”
He dropped to his knees with a grunt, flip-flops squeaking as he splayed his thick legs out wide. The cock bobbed in front of his face—his cock now—and Fatso leaned in and moaned, sniffing like a starving dog.
“Smells like cum, sweat, and testosterone—UNHH that’s my new perfume…”
He licked from the base of the shaft to the tip, shuddering as more pre splurted out and rolled down the shaft.
“More… MORE, ya big cum beast.”
Fatso’s hands grabbed the underside of his belly and slapped it, making it jiggle. He tilted his head back and roared in pleasure.
“OHHHHHH FFFFUCK—so fuckin’ THICK—so MUCH MAN—”
He flopped onto his back, cock leaking against his chest, rubbing it with both hands. His toes curled in his flip-flops, one slipping off as he bent forward and moaned loudly at the sight of his meaty feet.
“FUCK I got manfeet! OHHH they STINK! I’m gonna GUNK these sluts up with sweat—ughghghhhh—”
He dragged his tongue along the sole of one foot and came instantly—first load. Tyson’s cock spasmed and unloaded a massive hyperspermic shot across his abs, chest, and chin. Fatso squealed, writhing in the flood of creamy filth.
“HHNNGHGH—YEAH—OH YEAH—FIRST ONE—more to GO, BABY!”
He didn’t stop stroking. Didn’t stop drooling. The possessed beefcake twisted on the carpet, smearing cum across his chest and belly, playing with his slightly soft manboobs like they were chew toys.
“Gotta pump this fat fucking dick again… gotta fill my guts from the OUTSIDE now…”
His tongue lolled, eyes crossed, face stuck in the dumbest goon grin imaginable.
Another orgasm hit. Then another. Tyson’s body was on fire—cum geysering out in long, thick streams, puddling around him. His belly sloshed with ghost-stuff and hyperspermia, a perfect tank of pure masculine filth.
Fatso rubbed his sweaty foot up against his cock and lost his mind again.
“HhhnnfffUUUCK—WORSHIP—WORSHIP THE BODY—FAT—FULL—PERFECTTTT—”
He let out a belching, choking moan and collapsed back into the puddle of his own load, one hand lazily fondling his fattened pec while the other toyed with his nuts, still swollen with cum.
“Mmmmghh… can’t stop… can’t ever stop now…”
His eyes fluttered, tongue hanging out, a string of spit connecting it to his pec. The stench in the room was overwhelming: sweat, ghost, musk, seed. Tyson’s couch had become a sacrificial altar to the new God of Gluttonous Pleasure.
“This body’s mine. This cock’s mine. This life is mine now. All I gotta do is keep leaking. Keep gooning. Keep feasting on every drop…”
He reached for the flip-flop that had fallen off. Held it to his face.
The sun was low and golden as it poured across Tyson’s lawn, catching every drop of cum-slicked sweat clinging to his broad chest. Flip-flops slapping lazily against the concrete path, Fatso waddled Tyson’s thick, shirtless frame toward the picket fence that divided his yard from the neighbor’s. His bloated pecs bounced slightly with each step, his cock still half-hard and leaking down his thigh, leaving faint trails on his loose gym shorts.
“Unhhh… fuckin’ bursting still,” Fatso groaned inside Tyson’s throat, groping his belly with both hands. “And this big dumb meat shell’s STILL hungry…”
He spotted him then—Eli, the twink from next door. Barely twenty-one, lean and pretty, smooth arms, and short gym shorts clinging to his bubble butt. Eli was watering the garden, shirtless, earbuds in, oblivious.
“Mmm, YEAH. That’s the one. Little cum pocket, ready to get filled.”
He strutted up to the fence, dragging a hand across Tyson’s glistening chest, slapping his soft pec, giving it a little bounce.
Eli looked up, blinking in surprise at the towering hunk now standing inches from the fence. “Oh—hey, Tyson.” He flushed slightly. His eyes lingered on the beefy chest… and the very obvious cock print stretching the wet spot on Tyson’s shorts.
“Mmm, better now,” Fatso chuckled. “Need a favor though. Got a lil’ plumbing issue inside. Wanna come give me a hand?”
Eli looked unsure for half a second—then nodded.
“Sure. Just lemme put this away.”
Fatso turned and waddled back toward the house, letting his big glutes flex and bounce beneath the fabric. He knew Eli was watching.
“Hooked the fucker. Just wait, pretty boy. I’m gonna pump you so full…”
Inside the living room, the scent hit Eli immediately.
“Whoa…” He wrinkled his nose. “Smells kinda…”
Tyson shut the door behind him with a heavy thud and locked it.
“Like sweat, cum, and man funk?” Fatso’s voice dripped from his throat, fat with amusement. “Yeah, I been busy.”
Tyson stood there, legs spread, fully erect, the monster cock pointing straight at him, already glistening with fresh pre.
“Shhh… no need for words, baby boy.”
Tyson’s beefy frame surged forward, grabbing the twink by the waist and lifting him like a toy. Eli gasped as he was tossed onto the cum-stained couch, legs flying up, cheeks spreading.
“You don’t get it yet, do you?” Fatso chuckled, stripping his shorts off fully and slapping his bloated cock across Eli’s abs. “You ain’t here to help with plumbing. You’re here to get filled.”
The younger man whimpered, dazed by the scent, the heat, the intensity of the presence pressing against him.
Fatso leaned down, dragging his tongue up Eli’s neck, drooling across his smooth skin.
“You ever been bred by a tank, baby? Cuz this body's a cum silo. And I’m gonna empty it straight into your guts.”
He hoisted Eli’s legs over his shoulders and lined his cock up to the twink’s tight, virgin hole.
“This dick leaks lube, sweetheart. pre-cum and hyperspermia—trust me, it slides in nice.”
With a grunt, he pushed forward—and Eli screamed, a mix of pain and pure overstimulation as Fatso shoved every fat inch inside in one go.
“UNNNHHHHH YEAH—FUCKIN’ TIGHTTTT—”
He didn’t wait. The moment he was buried, Fatso started thrusting like a beast, belly slapping against the twink’s thighs, pecs jiggling, flip-flops squeaking as he railed Eli on the couch.
“Hnnngghh FUCK—you feel that? That’s daddy dick, baby! Bred through and through—FUCK—feel it in your stomach yet?!”
Eli’s eyes rolled back. The massive girth had pushed so deep, his own untouched cock was leaking onto his abs.
Fatso grabbed his own belly, letting it bounce while he pistoned in and out.
“GodDAMN this body’s thick—sweaty—PERFECT. Just made to knock pretty boys up and leak on 'em all day long.”
He leaned down, pinning Eli in a breeding press, cock pounding harder.
“Say it,” Fatso growled into the boy’s ear, “Say you want it.”
“I—hnng—I want it—f-fill me—oh god—Tyson—”
“It ain’t Tyson anymore, sweetheart. It’s Daddy Tank.”
He bit Eli’s shoulder and unloaded.
The first shot was so massive, Eli cried out, twitching as his belly swelled slightly with the pressure.
“THAT’S IT—TAKE IT—TAKE ALL MY FUCKIN’ GHOST CUM—”
More pulses. More floods. Fatso’s cock throbbed inside him as the couch soaked through. Eli convulsed beneath him, overflowing, body twitching like a used toy.
Fatso moaned, drooling onto the boy’s chest, smearing it in with his palm.
“You’re just the first, kid… this tank’s got more loads than days in the week…”
He pulled out, watching with glee as thick seed poured from Eli’s ruined hole. Tyson’s cock, still rock-hard, twitched and slapped against his belly again.
“Don’t go anywhere, twink. We’re not even on load number two.”
The couch squelched as Tyson pulled back, dragging his thick, hyperspermic cock out of Eli’s twitching, overstretched hole with a fat, wet pop. Ghost-goo and cum flooded out instantly, dripping onto the rug in long, slow ropes. Eli was shaking, sweaty, his slim belly softly puffed from the first internal flood.
“Still twitchin’, baby boy,” Fatso cooed, running a beefy hand over the twink’s thigh. “Told ya, Tank Daddy ain’t finished.”
Tyson’s cock twitched—still hard. Still leaking. Fatso groaned, grabbing it and slapping it against his own sweat-glistened gut.
“I’ve never stayed this hard for this long,” he chuckled, eyes rolling slightly as his own hand slathered more cum across his stomach. “GOD, this body’s like a fucking geyser. And I love it.”
He stood, flip-flops smacking, cum dripping off the tip of his cock, and reached down to scoop Eli up with both arms. The boy moaned, too dazed to protest, his head falling against Tyson’s massive chest.
“Gonna take you upstairs, lil man,” Fatso growled low, possessive. “Wanna feel that bed shake while I ruin you all over again.”
He carried Eli up the stairs, each step heavy and loud—thick thighs flexing, cock swaying between them like a weapon. By the time he got to the bedroom, Fatso was already leaking again, a wet trail on the hardwood behind them.
He kicked the door open, dropped Eli onto the king-size bed with a flop, and stood there for a moment in the doorway.
Tyson’s silhouette was obscene—shirtless, thick, bloated, dripping. He rolled his shoulders, let his belly hang out proudly, and rubbed both sweaty feet together, grinning.
“Welcome to the breeding suite, baby.”
Eli whimpered as Fatso climbed onto the bed, planting a sloppy, cum-coated kiss right on his mouth. Their tongues met—Tyson’s thick and eager, stuffed with ghost heat and salty leftover seed—and Fatso moaned into the twink’s throat like a man starved for more.
“You smell that?” Fatso groaned between kisses, grinding his cock against Eli’s belly. “That’s round one… and two’s gonna drown you.”
He licked down the boy’s chest, then bent both of Eli’s knees to his shoulders.
“Gonna fold you up like a towel,” Fatso muttered, lining up again. “Plug you in and drain this tank.”
With one sloppy thrust, Tyson’s thick cock punched back in. Eli cried out, fingers clawing at the sheets as he was instantly stretched wide again, the still-warm load from earlier sloshing inside him as Fatso plowed deeper.
“OHHHHH FUCK YEAH—STILL SO FULL—you’re just built for this, huh, cum pocket?”
The bed creaked violently with every thrust. Tyson’s pecs bounced above Eli, dripping sweat onto his face as Fatso huffed and moaned like a pig in heat.
“Feel that—ngghhh—this dick’s still cummin’ even while I’m fuckin’. Leakin’ inside you the whole fuckin’ time.”
He looked down—Eli’s belly was rising again, slowly pushing outward with every wet slap of their bodies.
“Look at you,” Fatso chuckled, stroking the curve of the twink’s cum-packed stomach. “Turning you into a real load dumpling, huh?”
Eli could barely moan anymore. His tongue was out, eyes crossed, twitching under the weight of the thick slab of man breeding him senseless.
“I want it,” Eli whimpered, barely conscious. “I want it all—please—fill me again—make me yours—”
“You’re MINE, baby,” Fatso growled, leaning down to press his stubbled jaw against Eli’s cheek. “Every hole. Every inch. You’re my lil cum canister now.”
The tempo changed—faster, sloppier, more desperate. Fatso couldn’t hold back. His belly jiggled with each thrust, balls clapping, cock leaking even more pre inside the already-flooded boy.
“Gettin’ close—gonna pump another fucking GALLON into you, baby—FUCK—FFFFFUCKKK—”
He grabbed both of Eli’s ankles, slammed forward once, twice—
“NNGGHHHHH—YEAHHHHHH—TAKE IT—TAKE EVERY DROP—”
This load was even bigger than the first. Tyson’s cock throbbed wildly, pumping in long, unstoppable pulses as Eli’s body stiffened and his belly swelled again, visibly bigger. Cum splattered out around the shaft, soaking the sheets beneath them.
Fatso didn’t pull out. He stayed buried, groaning deeply in his chest as if he could feel every drop pumping from his stolen, perfect, gooner body.
“Fffffffuuuckk…” he slurred, eyes half-lidded, sweat dripping from his nose to Eli’s lips. “Still leaking. STILL LEAKINGGG...”
The sheets were soaked. Eli was wrecked. Tyson’s body was still throbbing, cock slowly softening but never fully losing size.
Fatso flopped onto his back, dragging Eli with him so the twink collapsed on his bloated chest. His flip-flopped feet rubbed together lazily.
“Two down,” he muttered, idly squeezing his own nipple. “...Twelve to go.”
The room reeked of cum, sweat, and something otherworldly—a heady mix of man funk and ghost filth. Tyson sprawled across the soaked mattress, chest rising and falling, thick limbs twitching. He was still rock hard, cock twitching lazily against his belly, hyperspermia keeping him permanently primed.
Eli lay on top of him, limp, bloated, fucked raw. His slim, once-tight body was now visibly stretched, belly softly domed from the flood inside him, hole leaking a slow, thick ooze. His head lolled to the side, eyes glazed.
“Hhhhnnnnnghghgh… ohhhhhh YEAH…”
He’d slipped out of Tyson’s beefy body mid-climax—oozing from the ghost-gorged cock like a reverse orgasm—and slithered straight into the twitching twink.
Fatso blinked through Eli’s fluttering lashes, then stretched his new, slim arms out, wiggling his pale fingers.
“OHHH—fuckin’ LIGHT!” he cackled, voice now high and smooth, but warped by his gleeful growl. “I’m in this tiny lil cum pocket?!?”
He sat up, Eli’s tight little chest heaving, and looked down.
His belly bulged—soft and round, full of Tyson’s earlier flood. It sloshed when he moved. Fatso moaned.
“OHHHhh this is SICK—I can feel it all still in me—warm—fuckin’ sloshing in my guts…”
He palmed his little belly and jiggled it, giggling like a slutty demon girl.
“This body’s so TIGHT… fuckin’ twink hips, stretchy lil hole, and a fuckin’ gut full of me… oh I’m gonna break this bitch in even more...”
His toes curled. Eli’s pretty feet flexed, still sticky from Tyson’s earlier plowing. One flip-flop had fallen off. Fatso slid the other off slowly with his heel and moaned at the sound.
“Even the flip-flop squelch is fuckin’ HOT in this little body…”
Tyson grunted beneath him. Still dazed. Still leaking. Still hard.
“Oh baby,” he purred, rubbing his swollen twink belly, “I ain't done with you.”
He climbed onto Tyson’s lap—grinding his slim ass down against the thick, hyperspermic cock still standing at attention.
“Now I get to ride Daddy Tank…”
He reached back, spread Eli’s cheeks, and lined up Tyson’s cock—still slippery, still glistening with ghost lube. The moment the head touched his twitching, gaped hole—
Tyson’s cock disappeared back inside the twink’s wrecked hole, stretching it wide all over again. The pressure made Fatso gasp and clutch his belly—it jiggled and rose even more, every thrust churning the load inside him.
“UNFFFUCK—YEAH—FEED ME THAT DICK—FEED ME THAT BLOAT!”
He bounced up and down, grinding his ass into Tyson’s lap, moaning loudly with each smack of their bodies. His cock—small and sensitive in this twink form—leaked like a faucet, soaking Tyson’s belly with clear precum.
“I feel like a human balloon, daddy—just pumpin’ more in me—oh fuckkk—YES—MORE—MORE—”
Tyson groaned beneath him, his big hands grabbing Eli’s—Fatso’s—hips and slamming him down harder.
Fatso let it happen. He drooled, eyes rolling back, tongue out.
“FUCK—YEAH—BREED ME FROM THE OUTSIDE—I’M THE CONTAINER NOW—UUUGGHHNNNN!”
He slammed himself down one more time and came instantly, ropes of twink cum shooting across Tyson’s chest—right before Tyson let out a deep growl and erupted again inside him.
Fatso screamed, grabbing his own belly with both hands as it visibly puffed out, pulsing with the new load Tyson dumped straight into his already flooded guts.
“I’M STUFFED—I’M SO FUCKIN’ STUFFED—HHHNNNNNGHHHHH!”
He collapsed forward, belly jiggling, cock still twitching between them.
Fatso drooled onto Tyson’s pec, still giggling like a madman.
“This twink body’s my new toy, daddy… and you’re gonna keep fillin’ it until I can’t fuckin’ walk…”
He reached back, gave his own filled belly a loving slap.
“We’re just gettin’ started.”
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