So, no, he didn’t have a lie quite ready for Ty in the drive-thru window. “Something…happened to the food,” he repeated. Was it vanished? Stolen? Had it just spontaneously flown out of the car? He gulped. “It’s gone.”

Ty’s grin wrestled itself into a self-serious line that matched Miles’ dire tone. “Yeah, buddy, I know.” And then Ty past Miles’ car, to where only a thin border of trees separated this lot, and the one next to it, which is where Miles had gotten stuffed by the officer. And, to Miles horror, the trees provided almost no cover. The lot of strikingly visible, bathed in the red overhead light of the Burger Palace’s neon sign.

Miles gulped again, unable to look back at Ty. He was determined not to confirm his worst fear—that Ty had seen every single moment of the entire humiliating ordeal—yet that damn smile was audible in Ty’s words as he said, “Same as last time. Park in the lot and we’ll bring the bags out to stuff in your trunk.”

Miles was furious that even this small jab got his cock to twitch. What was going on with him? He pulled up, texted his team an update that he was nearly arrived at the house that they were hanging out at, the ignored their outraged responses while he focused on trying to breath. Was he going to be okay, after all that food? How many calories could a body possibly absorb all at once? If he was worried before about the extra weight that had recently gathered in his ass, he was definitely worried now. If he was smart he would have left the fast food joint right then and there, never letting another morsel of food into his car, but instead he popped the trunk as Ty and his coworkers processed out to him holding up big, heavy bags of food. Once inside, they closed the trunk and slapped it, whooping like they’d spanked Miles’s actual ass, and he drove off with a burning face.

Drove off very slowly. Officer Hunter was bound to be around here still. Or maybe he had vanished forever. Miles wondered if they’d ever see each other again. The wheel began to drift in his daydreaming, and he corrected it with a tug. Tempting fate twice in one night was insane, and plus he had a feast to deliver.

The team had gathered after the game at one of the captain’s frat houses, a usual spot for their late-night debauchery when they didn’t have an early practice the next morning. As Miles entered, cheers went up throughout the first floor, and a seemingly endless parade of massive boys rushed to snatch the food from his arms. They dumped it all out on a large table in the living room that had been an arena for been pong moments ago, sorting through it all like it was treasure until they found what they’d requested. Miles was nervous they’d notice his belly under his crossed arms, but instead the team was delighted that not a single thing had been forgotten. They chanted Miles’ name as they dispersed back to their various activities, and for just a moment Miles forgot his aching gut.

Then, behind him, came an amused voice, “Benchwarmer, do we need to get you a bigger uniform?”

It was Jasper, one of the captains. The one who was a brother at this frat, in fact. He was tall, like Miles, but carved with a wicked sharpness. He looked so striking, Miles had always thought, watching the guy race across the court. Evidently, Jasper had taken his own turn watching Miles back. Right now, his eyes were clearly watching Miles’ ass.

“Left it in the dryer too long,” Miles said with a grin he hoped seemed casual. There was nothing casual about the blush in his cheeks, though.

“What took you so long, Benchy?” Jasper said, poking at Miles. “We almost had to order pizza.” Jasper wagged his phone back and forth, and Miles saw a delivery app with a full cart moments away from being ordered.

“Sorry, I stayed a bit late cleaning up,” Miles offered.

“And?”

“And…shooting free throws?” said Miles.

Jasper’s captain-brain took over, and he gave Miles a slap on the back. “Atta boy. Love the dedication, man, but you almost caused a mutiny. These boys are hungry. Hey, speaking of, you got yourself something, right? You should eat fast. That stuffs no good when its cold.”

Jasper was flipping open his wallet to reimburse Miles with cash, but the captain glanced up when Miles couldn’t answer. Had he ordered for himself again? He’d just repeated everything, mindlessly, but surely he’d know not to bother with those extra few burgers, right?

“Umm, I….” Miles blanched. Luckily, he was saved from answering when a few of the other boys—Kit and Thomas—butted into the conversation to ask Jasp how to hook up the game system below the living room’s massive TV.  Evidently a huge tournament was about to begin. “You play, Benchwarmer?” they asked Miles.

“I’m good,” Miles muttered. He rarely turned down a chance to prove himself, but he was genuinely worried that if he sat down, he’d just fall asleep. The sooner he found an excuse to leave, the better.

“Go figure, he wants to just hang out here, ogling at Jasper and picking at all the fatboy food,” Kit laughed. Thomas punched his arm.

“Hey, be chill, Kit. The kid doesn’t get the same gametime,” Thomas defended, but even that sounded like a diss. Jasper scowled. “Actually, boys, Miles stayed after to shoot free throws. Kit, you missed two this game, didn’t you? Maybe you want to go up against our rookie tomorrow, and see how really belongs on that court?”

Chastised, Kit scoffed.

“And Thomas, it wasn’t long ago that you were the chubby little benchwarmer watching the men do their work,” Jasper continued. The whole thing felt like a very intense joke, and it only built Miles’s respect for Jasper as a captain. That is, until Jasper said, “And besides, Miles here hasn’t even had a bite. Look, his meals right there. He hasn’t even touched it.”

There was in fact one bag left on the table full of shiny wrappers and discarded sauce packets. Miles’s meal, that he had in fact ordered. At Jasper’s urging, he reached for it. It was so far from him he had to lean on the table, putting a pleasant pressure on his full belly. Behind him, Kit and Thomas whistled, and Kit said, “Oh, damn look at that thang, benchwarmer!”

Thomas had his own snide remark. “No wonder Jasper likes to keep you right where he can see that ass. It’s almost big enough for him to—” Thomas cut off as Jasper knocked him on the back of the head, but it didn’t end the teasing. The older boys took full advantage of the show, even going as far as to rub their hands on Miles’s bent-over bottom. Then Kit yanked down on the waistband, exposing one of Miles’s soft cheeks, and the slap was so loud that the entire living room turned in surprise. Or had Miles’s yelped? He didn’t know as he right himself, yanking up his shorts. Then Jasper let out a wry laugh—not at Miles but at the room full of gawkers, turning the joke of the moment back on their leering curiosity.

“Don’t mind them,” Jasper said to just Miles, waving off Kit and Thomas. “They joke around. Seriously, the comments don’t mean a thing.” But even as he said it, Jasper’s face had taken on a bit of a flush, too. He excused himself, leaving Miles alone at the table. Finally. This was his chance to leave, but something about the strange interaction with Jasper had sparked intrigue in his mind. Was Jasper really like that?

Miles got his answer a few hours later. Most of the team had trickled home, but the video game tournament raged on. All the remaining eyes in the room were glued to the tiny war being waged between the remaining players, including Miles. He had hovered by the beer pong table most of the night, relishing the slow sense of relief that started to spread from his gut as his body gradually churned his binge into fat. Occasionally, his eyes had begun to flick to the bag of fast food he’d abandoned. It wasn’t that he was hungry, or horny. He was just…curious. But there was no way he was eating that shit.

Maybe, just maybe, he could have a bite, right?

No, what was he thinking! He shook his head, wondering at his own greed. But it sort of made sense, in a way, didn’t it? He’d been filled within an inch of his life, and now even the slightest room gained by his digestion was bound to feel significant. He wasn’t hungry, his body just didn’t know any better. And, if he was honest, it was the same with his cock. The pleasure had been so complete when he came hands-free in Officer Hunter’s lap that now, hours later, an ache of emptiness pulled at his balls.

Maybe just a nibble.

Miles gingerly slid back to his spot at the table, leaned over, and hovered a hand over the burger.

“That stuffs no good when it’s cold. I told you that.”

Miles stiffened, but didn’t turn around. He was certain Officer Hunter was back, standing behind him in his too-tight uniform. He could feel the man’s massive muscles closing in for a hug. But then, to Miles’s surprise, it was only Jasper to reach around and place a wad of cash in Miles’s pocket.

“Sorry, forgot to give this to you before,” Jasper said like the motion was ever-so-casual, yet they both felt Jasper’s hand graze up the slight puff of Miles’s love handles. When neither of them flinched, which was customary anytime the athletes joking jabs got a little too tender on accident, Jasper slid a little closer.

“You know, I hadn’t really noticed until the other boys mentioned it, I swear I hadn’t,” Jasper said, “But that ass, man…what are you doing at the gym? Squats?”

Miles shook his head, but Jasper was keeping his tone perfectly cool, like this was a casual discussion between two bros despite the clear sexual tension building. Jasper’s hands danced along Miles’s straining waistband.

“C’mon, don’t hold out on me, Benchy. What’s your secret? Split lunges?”

Then Jasper’s hand found its way into cupping Miles’s ass for a clinical squeeze. Miles didn’t yelp this time. He held his breath and locked his eyes on the video games, willing the rest of the room to do the same.

“Oh,” Jasper chuckled. He was whispering now, right into Miles’s ear. “I know your secret. Food. That ass isn’t only muscle, is it?” There was no time to answer as Jasper gently massaged at Miles’s ass, as if continuing some sort inspection. Whatever he found, he seemed to want more and more of, and Miles’s found himself breathless with the heady rush of another jock playing with his fat ass. Jasper must have noticed—or maybe he truly was going to get what he wanted one way or another from his growing benchwarmer—because he gently jerked down Miles’s shorts. Then he laid his hand on the tender print where Miles had been spanked. The touch was soft and suddenly intimate, marking a clear transition between Jasper’s bro façade, and whatever this next phase was.

Slowly, Jasper pushed on the small of Miles’s back, leaning him over the table ever so slightly. Then Jasper lowered himself to his knees, so quietly that for a moment Miles was sure the captain had drifted away. But then came a kiss, right on Miles’s cheek. And another. And another. Soft, quiet kisses that blended into the din of activity in the room. It was the strangest, most exciting feeling in the world, Miles thought, even as his mind tried not to panic. If anyone glanced back, they’d see him standing at the table, leaned forward slightly, but because of the way the table was positioned in the room, Jasper was completely blocked from view. He seemed to know this. Maybe he’d even done this before. Either way, there was nothing but confidence on Jasper’s tongue as it gently dragged up the curve of Miles ass before slipping into the crack and making a wet path right into his hole.

Miles stifled a moan. He was beyond glad he’d showered up with the team despite never breaking a sweat, but he was aware that the last time he’d sweat had been even more recent, in the back of Officer Hunter’s fan. He’d eaten so much, and so fast, that he’d gathered a slight sheen all over. Did Jasper care? Of course Jasper didn’t care. Jasper, the team captain, had bent him over in a room full of jocks, and was now tongue fucking him with a practiced rigor that nearly shot moan after moan out of Miles’ wobbling lips.

And that wasn’t all. Jasper’s hands were getting bold, squeezing over Miles’s ass, to his hips, and finally to his cock. Miles groaned at the firm grip being applied through the slippery fabric of his short. The threat of another climax began to tickle him somewhere deep inside. About as deep as Jasper’s roaming tongue. Miles tried to fight it, but the moment Jasper’s other hand worked up to squeeze his belly, he knew this was a fight he was bound to lose. Jasper, too, felt the reaction. As he squeezed at the taught, giggling fat that had begun to gather around Miles’s middle, precum gushed from Miles’s cock. In minutes, the front of the benchwarmer’s shorts were damp from the inside out.

It was almost too much pleasure, too fast, and Miles nearly lost himself to it right then and there. But then the worst possible thing happened. Right under his captains grip, Miles felt his stomach let out a loud growl.

“That you, Benchwarmer? Just eat your food already,” called Kit from the couch, sparing only a brief glance back at Miles. It was enough to get Jasper to duck down, extracting both his hands and tongue covertly.

“I will,” Miles shot back at Kit, making no move towards the food before him. To his surprise, it was being unwrapped anyways, but Jasper’s reaching hand. What was the captain up to, now? Miles stood up straight, turning to face the other guy knelt behind him, but then Jasper popped up, too.

“Eyes ahead,” he ordered, and Miles pivoted back towards the video game tournament.

“Good boy,” Jasper said, lips grazing Miles’s ear. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

Miles nodded.

“Me too, Benchy. You had yourself a little snack before this, didn’t you?

Miles nodded.

“Thought so. But you’re still hungry, aren’t you?”

Still wasn’t quite the right way of putting it. For a while the hunger had abated completely, but now that it was back, it was back. Miles’s tummy let out another growl.

He nodded.

“If you’re hungry, you should eat,” Jasper whispered, raising a fist of fries up to Miles’s face. If he let this happen, he was a goner for sure. He knew that now after how far things got with Officer Hunter. But if he didn’t give in, someone was sure to spot the odd scene stretching out at the table.

“Let me in, Benchy,” Jasper whispered, gently pressing the fires to Miles’s lips. And, down below, something else pressed to a different opening of Miles. A pressure, intense but pleasant, taking advantage of the slick spit on his asshole, driving into him with a soft, expanding pressure. Was this really happening? Was Miles about to get fed and fucked at the same time? His mind couldn’t handle jumping between the two opposite pressures, and in the end he opened up—both above and below—at the exact same time. Salty fries crammed down his throat as a fat cock stretched into his matching fat ass.

“Good booooyyyy, Benchy,” Jasper growled, helping Miles chew by holding his jaw shut until the fries were swallowed. “Goood booooyyyy, piggy. Now grab that burger—”

But the fries had been enough. Combined with the fucking, and the intensity of the act behind the backs of the team, Miles’s was hopelessly evacuating his balls yet again into the fabric of his shorts. And, once again, not a hand could be found jacking him off. It had just happened, based on his body’s will but in defiance of his own mind.

And, of course, he’d let out a devastatingly audible moan. The sudden quiet of the room told him exactly what he was going to see when he opened his eyes, so for another few seconds he kept his eyes clamped shut in rejection of reality. Everyone was staring at him. He knew it. Even the game had been paused.  

“Damn, Jasper,” Thomas said from the couch. “Again?”

“Sorry,” Jasper said, a little sheepish, but with a boyish mischievousness that spoke to some sort of pattern. Pattern of what? This? Miles cracked an eye open. The other boys were, in fact, all turned towards him and Jasper at the table. To few seemed utterly horrified, but most of the older boys were give Jasper knowing smirks.

“Hey, I have an idea,” Jasper said, slowly resuming the fucking of Miles’s ass. “Maybe we should order that pizza after all. Who’s in?”

Hands across the room shot up. The few boys who hesitated seemed to immediately succumb to the effects of peer pressure, and then all eyes were back on Miles.

“How about it, Benchy?” Jasper said with a snide mock in his voice as he pulled out of Miles’s ass with a luxuriating, excruciating slowness. As he sunk back in at the same speed, he asked, “Got room for more?”

Muscles shaking, Miles raised his hand, bringing the team’s decision to unanimity.

TO BE CONTINUED

“BURGER PALACE, YOUR ROYAL FEAST AWAITS!” crackled a deep voice on the intercom. “WHAT’S CAN WE SERVE YOU, M’LEIGE?”

Miles sighed. All at once he felt how pathetic he was. The team’s personal grunt, barely setting foot on the court all night only to end up shuttling his more hard-working teammates greasy burgers and fries. And the worse part was that Miles found he didn’t really care. He should be mad, or at least resentful, but something about this errand excited him. The team was waiting for him, weren’t they? So, cheerily, Miles leaned out of his window and rattled off the long, strange order, speaking for five minutes straight until finally the speaker cracked: “FUCK—I MEAN, SORRY, UMM. IS THAT…IS THAT ALL, M’LEIGE?”

“Oh, wait, I forgot about myself!” Miles cleared his throat and, a bit inspired by the team’s greed, added another combo order. Maybe he could earn a few more ‘fat ass’ comments tonight. Some guys were even getting handsy, and the thought of them really giving his ass—which was quite nice—a squeeze filled Miles’s head with a light buzz.

“PULL UP TO THE FIRST WINDOW,” the speaker crackled, and Miles swore he heard people laughing, but when he pulled up it was just a lone boy sliding back the glass to take Miles’s credit card.

“You nearly cleaned us out,” the boy said with a grin, handing Miles back his card. The comment took Miles by surprise and caused him to look—really look—at the boy. He was college-aged, too, and shorter than Miles (everyone was, mostly), but he had a scruffy handsomeness to him that caused Miles to stare a second too long before blurting, “Oh, it’s not all for me.”

The boy nodded, clearly taking Miles’s awkward pause as confirmation of the opposite. “Really,” Miles insisted, but the boy put on his best drive-through smile and said, “Would you mind pulling into one of the spots ahead? It’s going to take us a while to get it all together.” A laugh tugged at the boy’s smile, and Miles heard a few out-of-sight coworkers hollering in the background. He had to end this interaction ASAP, so without a word he pulled ahead to sit, pouting, in the parking lot.

How long could it possibly take? Miles was getting badgered by the team in the group chat. He felt again a sense of embarrassment, but this time when he did so, he thought of the cute boy from the drive-thru window, and the strangest thing happened. Miles got hard.

“What the fuck?” Miles poked at his cock in his basketball shorts, even fingering a tiny damp spot at the tip. Then someone knocked on the window, and Miles lurched into a more modest posture.

“Don’t get too excited. Cops keep an eye on this lot late at night.” It was the boy, of course. His nametag said just “Ty.” And had he just boldly reference Miles’s accidental masturbation? Miles’s face burned, but his boner did not go away. “Just give me the food,” he muttered, sticking his hand out the window.

“Hungry boy,” Ty whistled. “Afraid it won’t fit this way. You’re gonna have to take it from behind.”

Miles blinked at Ty. He was acutely aware of how he was supposed to react—outrage, because what was this little punk doing hitting on a basketball player? But that’s not what happened. He just blinked.

“Your trunk?” Ty clarified. “We can just put the bags in your trunk?”

Stiff and wood, Miles slowly turned to look further out the window, and a few other guys stood, holding up heavy bags of food already splotchy with grease. It was way too much to pass through the window. Defeated, Miles popped the trunk and felt his face turn red as his car filled with the smell of fries and burgers, from the back to the front.

“And don’t forget about yourself, king,” Ty said with a wink, handling Miles one final bag directly. His personal order. Miles crushed it into his lap, happy for something to hide his raging hardon with, which was was absolutely certain Ty had been eyeing while this entire embarrassing ordeal took place.

“Don’t forget about yourself, king,” Miles mocked to himself as soon as his window was up. He dug his hand into the bag, fishing for a burger, while his tires squealed into a tight turn towards the exit. His phone continued to blow up as his team whined at him to hurry, and Miles slapped the device off the dash. Even for a benchwarmer, this was a new low.

But it wasn’t the last low of the night.

Miles took the turn out of the parking lot a bit too tight, perhaps because he’d been looking at his phone, perhaps because of the burger in his other hand. Whatever the reason, he his wheels jolted up over the curb and he clipped the very edge of the BURGER PALACE sign. The neon lights flickered, but barely. A lucky break. Miles could feel the eyes of Ty and his coworkers laughing at him, so he jammed his foot against the gas and rumbled off. He could deal with karma later.

Then, in the rearview mirror, came police lights.

No, Miles would deal with the karma right now.

In an empty lot, Miles pulled over and prepared for the worst. Was that a hit and run? He’d barely hit the sign! A million excuses ran through his mind as the officer waltzed up to his window, but it was only when the beam of the flashlight glared down at him did Miles finally think about dropping the burger. By then it was too late.

“Hungry, boy?” said a gruff voice. 

Miles gulped. “Yes, Sir. I mean, no, Sir. I mean, I’m sorry, Sir.”

The police officer was invisible behind the bright light, but he sounded not much older than Miles. And the long pause that stretched out next felt significant, like something was being decided upon.

“License and registration, please,” the officer commanded. “That is, if you can take a break from your little snack.”

Miles jammed the burger back into its bag and fumbled for the documents. Handing them over, there was another long pause, and then the officer said, “You’ve been drinking tonight?”

“No, Sir.”

“Just eating?”

Was eating and driving illegal or something? “I just had one bite,” he grumbled.

“Do you know why I pulled you over, then?” asked the cop.

Miles considered bluffing, but he was almost certain the cop had seen him hit the sign. His heart hammered as he considered confessing, but would that be worse? And he certainly couldn’t say nothing, but nothing is exactly what came out of his mouth when he opened it to defend himself. The cop took a step back.

“I’m going to need you to step out of the car, young man.”

Fuck. Now Miles had done it. He brushed crumbs from his basketball uniform and, trying not to let the reveal of his height seem intimidating, he stepped from the car with his hands up. Finally the officer lowered the flashlight, and Miles was surprised to see a man looking back at him at eye level. Just as tall. Even taller, maybe. And something click.

I know this guy, Miles thought. A rival player, or something. Now the scene made sense. Miles was still in his uniform, after all, and the smirk on the officer’s chiseled jaw was totally amused. Maybe even a little vindictive.

“Mind if I take a look in the back?” the officer asked. His badge and ID named him as OFFICER HUNTER. Go figure.

“There’s nothing back there, Sir.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Office Hunter said.

“Come on,” Miles whined. “Look, I’m sorry about the sign, I was just checking my phone and…”

Officer Miles narrowed his eyes, and then said, “I think this might be easier if you wait in the vehicle.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Miles said, going to get back in, but then a strong hand came down on his shoulder. “My vehicle,” the officer said, turning Miles towards a massive van with the lights still spinning. Miles’s feet turned clumsy beneath him as he shuffled around the van’s back. Doors swung open revealing padded benches. When Miles hesitated, the same hand gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. In his ear, Officer Hunter’s voice was a commanding murmur.

“Don’t worry, just standard procedure. You’ll be on your way in no time. It’s easier if you just let me do my job.”

Miles didn’t even have the guts to roll his eyes. He just slumped into van. That was better than being made to stand on the side of the road as people passed by. Someone would recognize him. Come to think of it, the red neon light of BURGER PALACE was so close that it still shined down at him. He was sure Ty and his friends were watching through the thin veil of trees that separated the two lots.

Officer Hunter’s search did not last long. His footsteps crunched quickly back towards the van, slowing as he reached the spread doors. Then he filled Miles view, his broad shoulders blocking out the red neon light and casting a shadow into the van’s spacious rear.

“This ain’t nothing,” Officer Hunter said, hoisting up the bags and bags of fast food. The smell wafted into the van, making Miles’s mouth water.  The bags were gingerly placed at his feet, with a new command: “Open them up.”

“Jesus, really? It’s just junk food, okay? You saw me at the drive-thru. What do you think I’m doing, sneaking drugs inside of milk shakes?”

There was a long pause that gave Miles ample time to absorb exactly how muscular Officer Hunter was beneath his uniform. Then, the police officer switched off his radio and said, “It looks like our system is taking a bit to return your records. We might be here a while.”

Miles sputtered. “But you didn’t even check—”

“Sometimes it takes a while. No way to know how long we’ll be here. Maybe you should let your teammates know.”

That was odd. Miles hadn’t mentioned his teammates, but Office Hunter seemed to know exactly where all this food was meant to go. The theory of revenge surfaced in Miles’ anxiety yet again. Dully, he realized his phone was somewhere deep in his car, thrown there by none other than himself, minutes ago.  He shrugged helplessly, and Office Hunter grinned. “I’m sure they’ll understand. But it’d be a shame for all this food to get cold while we wait.” Officer Hunter leaned forward and clamped his hands onto their side of the van’s doorway, infusing his casual speech with a distinct air of authority as he said, “So, why don’t you get back to that snack?”

Miles wasn’t about to protest. Something about the intensity in the officer’s eyes terrified and intrigued him, not because of the man’s uniform, but because of the way his uniform seemed to completely vanish from him as a different, more diabolical person took over. The clipped commands were gone, and now Hunter was smiling. There was a sweet, encouraging edge in his voice that felt both dangerous and irresistible.

Miles grabbed up the nearest bag, reached in, and found a burger identical to the one he’d been cramming in his mouth when he got pulled over. He took a big bite, then another, finishing the snack with a few, luxuriously slow chews, never once dropping eye contact with Hunter. If this sicko wanted to torture Miles, Miles was going to take all the fun out of it by pretending to be completely at ease. At least that’s what he told himself.

“Have another,” Hunter ordered.

Miles let his hand pick up the next item. Chicken nuggets, a whole dozen of them. He popped them in, making easy work of the tiny bites, and then he snatched up a sweating cup of soda to wash it all back.

“Played hard today?” Hunter asked, nodding at the next item. A double cheeseburger, Miles discovered, as it reached his lips just in time to cut off a response. Hunter spoke for both of them. “Or did you spend the whole game on that pretty ass of yours, watching the real athletes run back and forth? Must be hard to keep up, eating like a jock but not getting the same work out. You sure you should be eating such greasy, fattening food?”

Miles grinned. Was he enjoying this little game? Absurd as it was, it wasn’t exactly the torture he suspected his captor imagined it might be. Who would feel tortured by eating a few burgers? Hell, this was what he was planning anyways. And yet, it wasn’t the food but the words that seemed to fill Miles’ gut, expanding in him with their dark meanings as he pushed in the final bite of the double cheeseburger.

“I’m part of the team,” he protested while he chewed.

“Yeah, you sure are,” Hunter said, leaning further into the van so that he could snatch up a bag himself. Was he going to eat, too? Miles was almost disappointed until Hunter tossed him another wrapped burger.

“So you can catch,” Hunter mused.  Dutifully, Miles spread the greasy paper open and picked up the burger. He definitely didn’t need to eat this, but another glance at Hunter’s eyes told him, actually, he definitely did. It would only take a few more bites. What was the harm? But then Hunter passed him the next thing. A rattling box of fries. Then it was another box of nuggets. And finally, a milkshake sticky with melted whipped cream, which finally slowed Miles down.

“It’s hard work, picking up the slack for your greedy teammates, but hey, that’s what benchwarmers are for, right?” Hunter asked in a low, slippery voice as he slid into the bench across from Miles so that the two large men sat knee-to-knee. “Your teammates are lucky. If I hadn’t pulled you over, they’d be filled up with all this junk by now. Lucky for them, you’re here to do it for them.”

Miles coughed as the thick milkshake froze to the back of his throat. He was definitely full now, past the point of finding any of this easy. Each gulp of ice cream sent chills all of his body, adding a new, uncomfortable tightness to his abs.

“Why are you doing this?” Miles spat.

The question took Hunter by surprise, but just for a second. Then he leaned forward the last few inches between them, so they were face to face. Miles wondered if they were about to kiss, but then he felt a sudden coolness breath across his crotch. With a well-practiced motion, Hunter hand yanked down Miles’ basketball shorts, pulled the elastic waist up and over the hardest cock Miles had ever seen. It shivered, the tip shiny with precum, and it was another second before Miles realized it was his. He’d been shamelessly hard this whole time. He couldn’t figure out what was worse: that he didn’t know why he was hard, or that he hadn’t even noticed.

It didn’t matter. The sudden vulnerability took all the resistance out of him. His brain switched into a new mode—something even less than off—as he gazed into Hunter’s smug, domineering gaze.

“Damn, you’re really hungry,” Hunter said, and he didn’t mean hungry. He meant hard, and eager, and humiliated, or whatever this strange limbo was that had Miles so trapped. But then Miles’s hands riffled around in the nearby bags as if he were hungry, and it was like succumbing to a spell. Hunter said it, and Miles knew it was true. When the next burger rushed to his lips, he barely felt any resistance at all.

“Good boy,” Hunter whispered, sitting back and letting the elastic band hook below Miles’s aching balls. It was such a shock—both the motion and the pleasant feeling praise—that Miles whimpered, fighting off an orgasm that nearly took him completely by surprise. Hunter froze, eyes wide with wonder, the Dom act momentarily shaken off as he watched Miles struggle against his own urges. Vaguely Miles thought it was a good thing there wasn’t a hint of judgement in Hunter’s eyes because that’s exactly what would have pushed him over the edge. But no, Hunter was genuinely confused, just like Miles, and the moment passed. Miles held himself together, but now a wicked curl snuck into Hunter’s lips.

“Good…” he said slowly, testing the word slowly like a punch winding up to Boy. Miles winced, anticipating the rush, but Hunter held back. He knew exactly what he wanted to do with this new tool. As he committed Miles to chowing through the next massive bag, he used his praise sparingly, saved for moments just before Miles was sure he couldn’t take another bite. Then Hunter would lean forward, and marvel at how much Miles had consumed, and whisper good, that’s really good. You’re a champ.

Soon, there was only one bag left. Miles slumped back, feeling like he was about to burst. He was done. He couldn’t take one more bite, nor one more second of mindless eating. The pleasure was overwhelming him, causing him to drift out of the moment, but Hunter dragged him back with by finally, finally placing a hand on his knee. This whole time they had barely touched, and the pressure of the man’s large hand reordered Miles’ bloated brain.

“Look what you’ve done to yourself,” Hunter said, amused. Miles slowly looked down, past his heaving pecs, to where his own hands had absently pulled at the fabric of his jersey. It was the tight kind—all the tighter thanks to the pudge Miles had packed on all season from barely moving from the bench—and now it hugged tightly against a horribly swollen gut totally devoid of Miles’ faded abs.

“What the fuck,” Miles said, more amazed than horrified, but his attempt to sit himself up was in vain. The weight of the gut was disorienting, more and more flesh revealing itself as the jersey rode up irreversibly.

“And there’s just one bag left,” Hunter purred.

“No, no way,” Miles whined. How much had he eaten? Six burgers? Seven? That’s just when he lost count, and the wrappers strewn across the floor indicated he’d been losing count for quite some time.

“Awww, that’s a shame,” Hunter said, ignoring Miles’s protests and peeking. “This bag is just milkshakes and ice cream, but it looks like you let everything melt.”

Miles’s head spun. Thank god, he thought. It’s melted. I’m done. Now if he could only heave himself up, he could put this confusing experience behind him and start the hard work of running off all these calories before tomorrow’s practice. And he’d never return to Burger Palace so long as he lived.

“Here, let me help,” Hunter said. He awkwardly scooted behind Miles, wedging the bloated jock up just enough to nearly get upright, but the hard bulge of his new gut shoved him back down. His core was totally useless, trapping him between the officer’s thick thighs.

“Push me up,” Miles whined.

Hunter didn’t even nudge him.

“Hey,” Miles tries to twist over his shoulder as his own arms pressed uselessly against the thick trunks of Hunter’s leg. “Hey, I’m serious, I’m not sure if I can get up by myself—”

The cold edge of a cup met Miles’ lips, and before he could stop himself he was taking on a mouthful of cool, melted milkshake. Even melted, it was still thick, yet now it flowed fast into him giving him no choice but to swallow it as fast as possible to avoid ending up covered in the stuff. Still, a drop raced down his chin and dribbled onto his chest.

“Uh oh, can’t have that,” Hunter said, dabbing the spilled drop until it soaked into the uniform. “Wouldn’t want your mates to know what a mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Please. Fuck. Please, I can’t. I’m so full. Sir—”

But the next milkshake was already ready. In fact, Hunter peeled off the lids of several melted treats with an experts hand, tipping them into Miles panting mouth one after the other with barely a break in between And, for the most part, Miles kept up with the sweet onslaught. How? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t even thinking about it. He just knew that his only hope was to chug, and chug, and chug, and he told himself it was to protect his uniform and his dignity, but really something else was occurring with him.

All the food he’d eaten, every half-chewed bite, was dissolving down into a thick slurry of calories fused together with this new cement of sugar. It expanded in him quicker than he thought was possible, every tiny shred of space in his belly quickly  thrust full of food, causing even the tiniest of air bubbles to slide up his undulating throat and whisk out of his lips in tiny, desperate burbs between gulps. This only freed up more room, which Hunter greedinly filled on Miles’ behalf, until suddenly the jock could take no more. Halfway through the final shake he began to squirm, his hands grasping desperately at the new, humiliating strangeness of his gut, his fingers drumming across the taught skin. His eyes were locked upwards, where Hunter leaned over him with a wolfish grin.

The officer spoke slow, never easing up, so that Miles heard every word through the clotted gulps of his own chugging.

“Careful, player. You’re looking about ready to burst. No way a jock like you can eat this much and not stretch out that gut. You know this is just going to make you hungrier, right? Forever? Hey, look at me. I know you can’t believe yourself. You can’t believe you ate every bite. You can’t believe you almost shot your load just because a man told you what a good boy you were, but that was before you let me dump another 10,000 calories down that greedy throat. And now you’re so hard you’re about to cum, but you’re probably regretting everything, right? But it’s confusing, because you’ve never been more turned on, and that’s why you regret it. Now you know you need this, more than anything, and even though you don’t want to let yourself believe it, you’re about to have the most epic climax of your dumb, ex-jock existence.”

Miles shook his head. No, he pleaded with his eyes. Please, oh god, don’t make me cum. But rather than forgo the final dregs of this final shake, he felt his jaw open wider. All the way. So that all Hunter had to do was tip the final massive cup completely upside down and let the last of the milkshake swirl directly down into Miles’ open throat.

Miles swallowed. Then, aghast at himself, he readied a final denial, but when he next opened his lips it was to let out a growing moan of ecstasy. There was nothing he could do against this feeling of fullness. It settled into him, right at the root of his pleasure, and even as he begged himself not to cum, the orgasm came for him completely.

“Fuck, oh my god, I can’t, I can’t, oh god, oh gooood, oh it’s happening, fuck, I’m gonna—I’m gonna--!”

Miles came like a fountain, with an intensity that only added to the terrible pressure in filling his gut. It made it all the hotter. So did the fact that not once did Office Hunter touch Miles’ cock. He’s simply found a way to push the buttons from within, and evidently those buttons were going to stay pushed for a very, very long time.

Back in his car, Miles barely fit behind the wheel. Officer Hunter had to lean over the stuffed jock to scoot the seat back. In doing so, he came back up with Miles’ long-lost phone.

“Your teammates are hungry,” Officer Hunter said with the same, gruff voice he’d started with at the top of their encounter. He flashed the phone to Miles. About a million texts had come in, but the most recent said: SHOULD WE JUST GET PIZZA DUDE? HELLO?

Officer Hunter tapped back a response then tossed the phone into Miles lap before turning on the heel of his boot and strutting back to the van. And that was it. The van drove off, leaving Miles to blink at his phone. The response said: “I’m on my way. Heading to Burger Palace right now.” Miles groaned. Then, with great effort, he yanked his uniform down over his swollen, cum-sticky gut, put the car in drive, and coaxed it back towards the neon lights.