That uneasy, foreboding feeling had become familiar. The downstairs neighbors had moved out, leaving an eleven hundred square foot question mark beneath me. I had good luck and bad with downstairs neighbors, and I couldn't help but wonder what would inhabit the space below me next. There had been just about every nationality that had included industrious breeders and odorous chefs. It was a Thursday night when I found the substantial U-Haul truck parked in front of the entrance to my quartet of apartments.
Parking my new 993 in my assigned spot, chirping the alarm as I walked away, I tried to spy on who was unloading the truck. A young woman came out of the walkway wiping her forehead. She smiled and we said hello.
She talked for a while, indicating that her and her husband had moved from somewhere back in the Midwest, but her words faded like turning the volume down on the radio as her husband emerged from the apartment and walked towards where we stood. His loose yellow weight lifter pants and old white T-shirt still showed off his beefy build despite their casual fit. His broad shoulders, thick arms, and big juicy pecs were more than adequate to suggest powerful bench-pressing ability, and his tree-trunk legs looked as though they could hold up a house. There was an obvious softening to him despite all of the muscles crowded on his six-foot-one frame, and his stomach was broader and thicker than the average jock's. His early twenties were apparent in his face, and he had a sweet innocent look to him under a hefty mop of sandy brown hair.
He shook my hand and introduced himself as Keith. He was a little sweaty, and apologized for getting my hand a tiny bit soggy. I told him it was nothing to worry about, welcomed them both again, and then headed up the stairs. I couldn't resist looking back to catch a glimpse of his rear, and I marveled at the chunky butt that resembled two bear cubs wrestling in his pants.
On the following Saturday, I was walking out to my car when I saw my new downstairs neighbor Keith industriously cleaning windows on an older Camaro with Nebraska plates. He wore tennis shoes and a tight pair of nylon shorts, and stood in all of his shirtless glory guzzling a can of Budweiser.
Spring progressed, and I soon found that Keith was around the house quite a bit. I would come home early from work sometimes, or leave at lunch to work at home for the rest of the day, and I could tell he was home. He spent a lot of time spit-shining his old Camaro, never being without a frosty can of beer. Sometimes I would go to the window to watch him, and could tell, even from a distance, that he was getting fat. He loved spending shirtless hours working on that old Camaro, and every time I saw him I knew that his solid midsection was a little bit thicker than the last. I hoped that he was indeed gaining weight, and that it just wasn't me seeing what I wanted to be seeing.
One day, I came home around 12:30 and found him out working on his Camaro again. He commented on my car, saying that it was something he had always wanted to have. He smelled strongly of beer, and his bare belly pooched out nicely over his tight nylon shorts that fit increasingly tighter and lower. I asked him if he'd like to go get some lunch and go for a ride in my car. He accepted, rushing inside his apartment to change. I went upstairs to drop off my work stuff, and wasn't there very long before I heard something heavy coming up the stairs. Hearing a knock on my door, I said "Come in."
We discussed the options for lunch, and Keith sounded hungry. His stone-washed Levis wore on him like a second skin, and a yellow tank top stretched around his beefy torso. Keith look poured into his tight jeans, and the tight waistband made his belly stick out over its low-slung circumference. I asked him if he liked Chinese food, and he said that he did, so we headed off for the Jade Tree Buffet. Giving him an excuse that a buffet allowed him a lot of choices and exposure to new things was unnecessary once he got to the restaurant.
Keith ate ravenously, devouring plateful after plateful of a wide variety of dishes. The taste and diversity of the food drew him back like a magnet every time he emptied a plate. My heart pounded as I watched his belly puff bigger and bigger, and I could feel my face getting hot. Occasionally, he leaned back slightly to accentuate his growing bulge and dragged his hand across it lazily as he formed a satisfactory belch. Keith surveyed his swelling belly often enough to know how pumped it looked, and he didn't mind showing it off. After an hour of uninhibited gorging, Keith slowed down and finally stopped shoveling food into his face; nonetheless, he yearned for something for dessert. When we got up to leave, his belly stuck out like a basketball; rounded pleasantly from rib to waistline. Keith wasn't the least bit shy about his round solid belly as we walked out to the car. He waddled a bit, and thumped his belly for my benefit. My eyes widened with approval when he reached under his full belly and popped open his top button; Keith was a handsome picture rubbing his belly and sighing with exaggerated relief.
Keith smiled and thumped his belly to show how tight it was from the many helpings of Chinese food. "Heh, heh. Just look at the size of my gut! It's huge. I should go home and do some sit-ups, but I doubt I'd bend in the middle right now." He started walking toward the car again.
We were so close to the mall that it only took a couple minutes to get there. It was barely enough time for Keith to get seated in the car, wrap the seat belt around his bloated belly, and then hoist himself out again. Before long, we were walking around Town Center, breathing in the smells of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls and other goodies. Keith was drawn to Cinnabon, unable to resist ordering up a fresh-out-of-the-oven generously sized roll that had just been slathered with icing. Grabbing his large milk, he made his way to a free table for two. "Aren't you going to have one, Brian?" he asked.
Letting out a slow exhale, Keith put a hand on his belly and rubbed it slowly from side to side. "Delicious. Shit, I really porked out." We both smiled. "Did you say that there were cookies upstairs? Fresh-baked ones?"
"Yep. But, Keith...do you have any room left in there?" I nodded at his bulging round belly.
"Not much, I'll tell ya. What kind of cookies do they have?"
"Well, let's go see."
Keith's pronounced waddle attracted the attention of a few guys as we made our way to the Paradise Bakery. After peanut butter, chocolate chip, oatmeal, and snickerdoodle cookies with another large milk, Keith didn't appear to be able to get one more crumb into his overstuffed puffball of a belly. "Oh God," he said, holding his distended belly with his right hand, "I'm going to explode!"
We chuckled, and set to leave the mall. Keith's slow waddle was impressively overdone, and I almost ran into people stealing side glances of him rubbing his big round belly on the way out.
Once we were back at the apartment complex, he wanted to come up for a while, but I told him I had work that I just had to get done. He seemed kind of disappointed, and I saw him shining his Camaro later. With a beer in his hand and his big bare belly out over his unbuttoned jeans, he stood out there wiping windows while he baked in the sun.
Two days later, I decided to come home again at lunch. I was bummed that I didn't see Keith's Camaro when I parked, and I trudged upstairs a little angry. About a half hour later, I heard the rumble of a big American V8 outside my bedroom window, and then someone coming up the stairs. Quickly I pulled on a pair of shorts and got ready to answer the door.
When I opened the door, my expectations were far exceeded. There was Keith, once again stuffed like a sausage into those stone washed Levi's with the top button popped open. A purple and white striped tank top stretched itself taut around his beefy chest and round belly, accenting his belly button. The tank top didn't quite cover his whole belly, and there was a thick line of bare skin where his shirt and jeans separated. He carried a six-pack of Budweiser in one hand.
"Can I come in?"
"Sure!" I said, trying to control my excitement.
"I didn't know you were going to be home for lunch, or I would have waited."
"Oh...did you already eat, Keith?"
A smile curled on his lips and his free hand went to his belly. He thumped it while he told me he had taken advantage of McDonald's two-for-one Big Mac special twice, along with super size fries, a large chocolate shake, and two apple pies.
"Wow. That's a hearty lunch, Keith."
"Aah, wasn't too bad. Belly is kinda full, I'll admit. Not too bad, though, not too bad." He turned sideways and slid his hand down the curved front of his swollen belly. He smiled and asked if he could put the beer in my fridge. I followed him into the kitchen, keeping a watchful eye on his incredibly hot bubble butt that swung seductively from side-to-side in front of me. His love handles were chunkier from the rear view, and his butt was definitely bigger. I noticed the stress on the seams of his favorite jeans.
"What's this?" Keith asked, pointing at a large pan on the kitchen counter.
"Oh, I made some goodies for the people at work, but I forgot to take them in this morning-- I was in a rush."
"Sure looks good!"
"Want to try one?"
"You bet!"
I cut a large square of peanut-butter chocolate bar and put it on a plate for him.
"Got milk?" He asked, making us both chuckle remembering the amusing ad campaign.
"Sure."
After pouring him a tall glass of milk, he inhaled the generous piece of dessert. Licking his lips and wiping back drool, he stared at the pan of peanut-butter chocolate bars. I sat down at the kitchen table with some work I had to do.
"So, Keith, how is it?"
"It's excellent." He looked at the pan. "Whoa, I guess I'm really making a pig out of myself." Keith tilted the pan my way to show me that he'd eaten more than half of the pan full.
"Oh, don't worry about it. I can make more."
Keith emitted a loud deep belch after finishing his second tall glass of milk, and turned to lean his padded bubble butt against the counter. His belly pooched out in front over the top of the open button fly, and his tank top had inched up slightly to make him look even more swollen. He just stood there, looking my way. His hand traversed the front of his rounded belly in more of a check of size than anything else.
"Oooofff. I feel fat." He told me. "I should stop eating before my belly busts itself."
I got out of my chair, shifting my hard-on and knowing my face was flushed with the obviously increased blood flow. Giggling nervously about his comment, I walked to the fridge and grabbed one of his beers. Standing by the stove across from him, I watched intently as he pulled up his tank top to bare his substantially swollen belly. Keith sighed and relaxed his abdominal muscles to let his belly push out a bit farther. He rubbed his hefty round belly in circles, putting both hands on it so that each could do its part.
The room was strangely silent, and he broke the silence with a belch-- louder than before. Taking a long drink of beer, I kept my eyes trained on his full belly with his hands going around in lazy circles. "So, Keith, two jeans buttons?"
Keith halfheartedly leaned forward and then straightened back up as he rubbed his hand back and forth under his rounded belly. "Uh huh, two jeans buttons. I'm gettin' too fat for these jeans, and I expect it won't be long before I'm shoppin' for the next size up." He kept rubbing his bared belly as he relaxed against the counter in front of me.
"So, put on some weight since you've been here, huh?"
He chuckled. "Yeah. A little, since I've been here." He looked over his front in admiration again. "Guess I'm gettin' a pretty fat belly."
"Hmmm, yeah... Some would tend to agree with that, Keith." I told him, smiling with approval. Taking another swig of beer gave me the courage to reach forward and poke his belly right in the center where it was most solid.
"Nothin' beats the feeling of a heavy, tight bellyful after I've been chuggin' brewskis or stuffin' myself with good food. Takes a lotta work to grow a nice belly-- I should know, 'cuz I've been workin' on it for a while."
"I thought so. I'd see you out there workin' on that Camaro of yours, and I swore you were gettin' a belly."
"Yep, been eatin' a lot and drinkin' lots of beer. Gettin' lazy and ridin' the couch a lot watching TV" Keith thumped his fat belly. "I watch the Young and the Restless and watch my belly grow at the same time!"
"Isn't your wife going to put you on a diet pretty soon, I mean, she's got to notice the baby beer keg stickin' out over your Levis, right?"
"Well, she did say something about that last night in bed. She was laying behind me and had her hand on top of my belly. Of course, she had made one of my favorites for dinner, and I had gorged myself until I could barely move. She patted my gut and told me that I should probably start exercising again."
"So what did you tell her?"
"I said that I could lose the weight any time I wanted to."
"Of course." We both laughed. "Of course you can, Keith." I spread my fingers and pushed against his belly; a move that caused him to drop his beefy arms to his sides. "There's no rush, though, ya know." After patting his belly a couple of times, I reached behind him and picked up the pan of peanut-butter chocolate bars. "You know, these dessert bars are pretty fattening."
"I better finish them off, then. We don't want them falling into the wrong hands."
Soon enough, Keith was chewing away on another big piece of dessert bar in one hand, holding a full glass of milk in the other.
"Man, a year ago, when I was sweatin' my ass off in the gym everyday, I never would have believed this."
"What?"
"Oh, that I would have sprouted a potbelly that I would keep feeding all the time. I used to give the fat guys a really hard time at my gym. I remember this building contractor that I used to do bench press sets with on Wednesdays. Nice guy-- had a decent build and a big round belly on him. He got married, and kept getting bigger and bigger; I used to pat his belly when I'd see him. We were weighing in on the scale in the locker room one day, and I watched him step onto the platform and slide those weights until they balanced out at 304 pounds. I wonder how big he is now!"
"Well, if his wife is still keeping him well-fed, I bet he's at least 325 by now. Maybe even more." Since Keith's hands were full, I took the liberty of putting my hand back on his belly and rubbing it. "So, Keith, what do you think he'd say if he saw you walk into the gym?"
Keith thought for a couple seconds and chuckled. "No doubt he'd poke me right in the gut and tell me how fat I am."
"So, would that bother you?"
"Nah. I'd probably ask him if he'd go to the buffet by the gym and belly up with me."
He finished the whole pan of peanut-butter chocolate bars, and was in dessert heaven. His swollen belly bulged out into space like it defied gravity, and I found it very difficult to part from rubbing it. He seemed to enjoy it, or at least he seemed comfortable with it.
"Want to sit down for a minute? I've got some work that I just have to get done."
"Sure." He came over to the table, pulled out a kitchen chair, plopped himself down, and immediately spread his legs apart and pulled his shoulders to the rear to arch his back. Looking down at his still-bared smooth belly, he spanked it with admiration.
"Woof. I must look downright pregnant with my belly all big and full, huh?"
"Just like Schwarzenegger in Junior."
We chuckled.
"You know, Keith, I really should have you up for dinner sometime."
"That would be great!"
A week later, I came home from work at three o'clock or so, and found the chunky stud waxing his Camaro in one of the empty covered spaces.
His butter smooth plump belly stuck out over his sweatpants, and he kept pulling them up as the waistband kept sliding far under his belly in front.
He moved around a little slower from the extra weight he'd put on, and took a breather when he saw me pull up. Keith tilted his head back to drain the can of beer in his hand, then walked over to meet me at my car.
His belly loomed larger and larger as he approached, and the smell of his breath affirmed that his belly was full of beer. We talked for a few minutes about nothing in particular, and I asked if he'd like to take me up on my dinner invitation for Tuesday night. He said that his wife was going to be going out of town on a business trip, and he was grateful for the invitation. Keith went back over to his car, and I went upstairs to plan the menu.
The dinner went very well. I got to enjoy Keith's company for dinner, and sometimes had to endure his wife's presence as well.
Consistently wonderful meals filled up Keith's growing belly that ended up padding his muscular ex-jock physique in all the best places. Too big around the middle for his favorite stone washed Levi's, Keith's shopping trip to the mall put a couple 40" waist pairs of jeans in his closet, but his shirt collection was neglected from the wardrobe update. Keith's belly had fattened up perfectly, and he sported a rotund mass of solid ripe melon.
Five months after he had moved in, he owned up to gaining 50 pounds. Keith carried most of the weight in his fat round belly, and he was a hefty ex-jock at 255 pounds. There was no denying or hiding his belly anymore because it bowed out even when it growled for food. Keith began to get a double chin. His wife had given up the thought of putting him on a diet, and Keith confided in me that all she had to do was feed him well, rub his bloated belly, and he was up for anything she wanted.
It was a hot September day that I came home from work for a late lunch and ran into Keith on his way back from the mailboxes. The sight nearly overwhelmed my senses as he walked towards me in a shamefully tight pair of gray spandex shorts and a well-worn yellow tank top. There was absolutely nothing left to the imagination in that outfit, and he seemed to be pleased with his brazen advertisment. The soft firm curvature of his belly appeared to be bolder than usual, jutting out impressively over his black spandex. In addition to all that, he had gotten his hefty mop of hair chopped into a sexy flattop.
"Hey Keith, how's it goin'?"
"Great." He answered, breath smelling of beer. "Hot. Damn hot. Trying to drink enough cold beer to keep me cool."
"Oh...and how's it working?" I asked, seeing him smile to match mine.
"Well, two six-packs later, and I'm still damn hot. Feelin' awful good, though."
"I bet. Have you eaten lunch yet?"
"Nope. Just been drinkin' beers."
"God, doesn't your stomach get full?"
"I 'spose."
"Keep it up, guy, and some thirsty dude is gonna come up to you and stick a keg tap in your belly button."
Keith laughed at the notion. "Yeah, I guess my belly is starting to take on a barrel-look these days..."
"Well, if you're hungry, I was going to go up and make some lunch."
"Sounds great! I'll go grab that six-pack in my fridge."
He didn't waste any time hauling his chunky butt up the stairs, beer in hand, and I entered into a kind of panic as I didn't know what to make for lunch. Keith walked into my kitchen a little winded from the trek up the stairs; he took a beer and threw the rest in the fridge. Once he leaned his padded bubble butt against the counter, he commenced sucking suds down. I excused myself, went in my bedroom, and changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.
"What are you hungry for, Keith?" I asked, coming back out.
"Oh, anything," he told me, probably thinking he was being helpful.
I searched the cupboards and fridge contents praying for inspiration. There was a bag of Chicken Cordon Bleu in the freezer, along with some leftover chicken fajitas, refried beans, and spanish rice in the fridge. Sitting Keith down at the table with a bag of Doritos and his beer, I set to microwaving up a storm.
The Mexican leftovers warmed up quickly while Keith munched and crunched his appetizer. A couple tortillas were stuffed with the leftover fajita mixture, and then thrown on a plate alongside a mountain of refried beans and rice. The hefty stud ate happily as I threw a Chicken Cordon Bleu in the microwave. He chomped away with a big smile, pausing intermittently to chug down more beer. I rescued another cold one from the fridge for him when his can was empty, not wanting him to have to ask for anything. Keith belched after cleaning his plate, leaning back a notch to pat his belly.
The microwave signaled more lunch as the aroma of chicken permeated the air.
Handing off one plate and pulling another in front of him, he sampled the chicken breast stuffed with ham and swiss cheese.
My mind still wandered on what else would be good to cook up for him while my eyes sat on his expanding stomach. Keith devoured the Chicken Cordon Bleu as if it was the most delicious thing he had ever shoved in his mouth. It was gone in several monster bites, so I asked if I could warm up another for him. Nodding his head, Keith let me know that he was eager for more.
One by one, the little chicken treats were warmed up and then thrown down the bottomless pit that had taken up residence at my table.
Keith looked happy as he leaned back in his chair to thump his swollen belly. A raucous belch rang through the air as he drained his third can of beer from the six-pack he'd brought up with him.
"How's lunch, Keith?"
"Oof. Most excellent and kind of filling." Keith grabbed the hem of his tank top and worked it up above his softened pecs. Keith put his hand atop the ledge created by his distended stomach, caressing gently back and forth like he was polishing the top of it. "Hey, I think I got one of those chicken things stuck in my throat...better get me another beer so I can wash it down."
Keith just sat there with his legs spread apart and his belly bulging out in a heavy sphere, relaxing his table muscle as much as he could. I served him his beer. Keith munched Doritos in a steady stream as he drank his beer, emptying the chips from the party-size bag. My mind wandered, but my eyes stayed fixed on his bulging ball of smooth round belly.
"Another beer, Keith?"
"Sure!" He kept rubbing his belly in languid circles, feeling the effects from all the beers he had already stowed away. Keith was definitely on the more drunk side of the scale. Keith put the can to his mouth and sucked down the rest.
"Well, how's the belly, Keith?"
"Feelin' good." Keith patted his belly to demonstrate how firm it had gotten. "Say, you don't have anything for dessert, do ya?"
After fetching him another beer and popping the top, I walked over to his side and made it plain that I was surveying his fattened stomach.
"I've got some ice cream sandwiches in the freezer..."
"Mmm." Two ice cream sandwiches disappeared in a flash.
"So, Keith, how much are you weighing in at these days?"
"Oooof. Haven't weighed myself."
"I have a scale in the bathroom, if you're curious..."
"OK..."
Keith slowly hoisted himself off the chair and stood ready to waddle. His tank top was still pulled up to his soft, juicy pecs, and his belly looked perfectly rotund jutting over his tight black spandex. From the back, his chunky love handles invited a friendly grab, but I abstained.
I followed behind him as he sensuously wobbled from side to side, his left arm swinging slowly back and forth to stabilize his forward momentum. I caught the faint glimmer of his gold wedding band. In his other hand was his fifth can of Budweiser, becoming lighter and lighter. He walked into the bathroom and flipped on the light switch. Keith turned his head towards the mirror and admired himself. His free hand went to his belly, where he watched himself feel out the firmness. A smile curled onto his full lips as he chuckled with satisfied delight.
I pulled out the scale to the middle of the floor, inviting the fat stud to take a stand on it. Keith sucked the can of beer empty and stepped up on the white Braun scale. My heart thumped as I watched the dial spin numbers past in a blur. The scale seemed to wheeze as its dial shuddered back and forth around the 300 mark. Keith leaned over so he could see around his belly, opened his mouth in surprise, and then belched.
"Hmmm," I uttered, breaking the silence, "262 pounds. Hey, not bad, Keith."
Keith smiled with proud amazement. "302 pounds? Three hundred and two pounds? Damn, I'm getting fat."
"Yep, Keith. You're gettin' a nice fat ass," I said, turning slightly to gaze behind him, "your pecs are gettin' soft," I noted, putting my hand under one of his big juicy pecs and bouncing it up and down,"and your belly...well--" I paused in my commentary as my hand landed on the smooth expanse of distended manbelly.
"And my belly...what?" Keith asked, following my point.
"What can I say? It's big, it's round, it's most assuredly fat, it pooches over every pair of jeans that you squeeze yourself into, it makes your shirts look like sausage casing, and you wear it well. You've grown into this thick ol' beefy ex-jock since you've moved to California, and I'm telling you that I'm most impressed." During my speech of admiration, I had rubbed his rotund mass of belly in larger and larger circles; I ran my hand along the ledge under his pecs like I was dusting off a place to sit.
All Keith could do was belch and smile with sublime contentment.
"Well, me and my big ol' belly appreciate all the food you've treated us to. You're a good cook." He complimented, looking at me while he thumped his belly. "If I would have married you, I'd weigh about 500 pounds now!" He laughed-- and I thought about his comment.
"Well, I'm glad to have someone to cook for that really appreciates it!" I told him, spanking the taut skin of his belly as if pummeling a giant water balloon. His smile widened to show a perfect white row of teeth. "I'd even make you some dessert..."
I looked away into the mirror and viewed his macho stance from the wider perspective. Scarcely believing my eyes, I refocused on his chubby basket-- a thick line pressed itself into the tightly stretched spandex up from the two walnut sized balls.
"I gotta take a leak, guy." Keith patted his round belly more.
"Too much beer in the tank." He started to pull down his tight spandex, popping out a fat dick that hung out in a semi-hard state.
"Excuse me..." I said, turning to go out the door.
"You don't have to go, I'm just peein'," he said.
"OK..." I said, pulse racing and heart pounding in my ears. I watched the steady stream, not believing what was happening. Tapping the last drips off of his cock, he pulled his spandex back up.
Leaving his tank top up around his chest, he stood there for a minute stroking his fat belly. "So, what was that about dessert?"
We went into the kitchen and I found a family size tube of Pillsbury chocolate chip cookie dough in the fridge. Baking them up hot and fresh in no time, I sat him at the table and fed him chocolate chip cookies-- one after the other until they'd all disappeared. Keith's extra-gorged belly was full to the top with cookies and milk, and he relaxed himself into a leaned-back lump in the chair.
"You know, there's one more beer left in the fridge."
"Think it'll fit?"
I reached around to his swollen front and rubbed his belly with both hands. Keith leaned his head back onto my shoulder and let out a subtle moan. "You like that?" I asked. Hearing a "mmmh hmmm", I gently massaged the full belly. Keith put the can of beer back to his lips and swallowed more of the sudsy stuff down, then he leaned rested his head back onto my shoulder. His belly was so round and solid that it begged for more attention; I obliged its need with more kneading and rubbing. Keith seemed to be enjoying the massage as he got heavier and heavier against me as he relaxed. My hands ventured up to his meaty pecs, and soon my fingers were twisting and pulling his soft nipples. His nipples erected themselves and stood at attention for us.
His chest rose and sunk with deeper breaths as my hands ventured south to his pumped-up beer belly. The bliss seemed to last forever, as I completely forgot about the work I had brought home.
Keith finally finished off his last beer after it had warmed up to an almost undrinkable temperature, but he had been distracted. We'd barely moved from the same spot in the kitchen, and Keith shifted his weight on his legs. My hands slid under the pooch of his solid belly where I bounced the protruding ball of flesh up and down a little to shake it up. Feeling quite bold, I let one hand slid down the stiff front of his spandex shorts.
His cock was pointed upwards like a rocket readying itself for blast-off.
Keith let me rub his fat belly and the underside of his cock through his shorts.
We went into my bedroom where Keith turned towards me and flopped down on his back. I surveyed the mountain of stud belly, and admired how beach-ball shaped it had become. Grunting from sheer fullness, Keith wiggled his way to the center of the bed and rested his head on a pillow.
I untied his tennis shoes, slipped them off and deposited them on the floor with a thud. I crawled onto the bed and straddled his chunky thighs.
Sitting back, I put both hands on the giant mound of stuffed stud belly in front of me as Keith watched. Kneading the pumped belly like it was the world's largest ball of pizza dough, I watched Keith's eyes roll back in his head. Realizing that he wouldn't mind, I pulled my shorts off to reveal my stiff cock that aimed right at him.
I wasted no time in positioning my cock over the top of his big belly and sticking its throbbing head as far into his belly button as it would go. Banging against him as I stroked my cock, we both moaned at the incredible sensation. Following that, he put his hands on my ass as I layed on top of his belly and rubbed its center with my cock. He pushed me away for only a minute as he struggled to shed his spandex. I helped him, and saw that the elastic was pretty shot in the waistband. /Other/GW/STORIES/st_arch/stories/art/full.bed.gif
Despite all of the beer, Keith's dick was nothing short of rock-hard. His knees bent as he lifted his legs, and my mouth engulfed his cock without hesitation. Keith seemed to cum almost right away, having saved up a giant load all afternoon. The big round-bellied stud stretched and gave out a satisfied groan, then invited me back atop his belly. I shook him and he sounded like a car with a full gas tank as the contents of his belly sloshed around. Savoring it to the last, I finally released with a lengthy shot of hot cum all over the mountainous stud belly.
Keith fell asleep soon after, and I rested aside him with my hand still caressing his wet belly.
Keith woke up around four, and realized that he had to be back in their apartment before his wife got home from work. Sliding his spandex back on, he thanked me for the afternoon, and trudged heavily down the stairs. Being pretty wound up, I decided to go out for a drive.
Coming back around eight o'clock, I parked my car like I always did, chirped the alarm, and tip-toed up the stairs. I saw the light on in the kitchen below mine, hearing dishes clank in the sink. Not long after I closed and locked my door, I heard heavy footsteps of someone ascending slowly up the stairs. There was a subtle "knock, knock, knock" on my door and my heart leapt in my chest. Feeling my face getting hot, I trembled as I walked to the door.
I sighed before I cracked the door open, and then peered out at my visitor. Sure enough, it was Keith again. Shamelessly stuffed into a new pair of Levis with the top two buttons popped open, Keith stood in the doorway with a hand on top of his belly. An old white tank top stretched gossamer thin detailed every last succulent bump and bulge, and it had even inched up to bare a broad sexy patch of tanned bulk. As he walked in, I realized just how much bigger his belly was than it had been earlier that afternoon. His belly was an enormous round puffball from his fat pecs to where it exploded through his open jeans. His giant jock belly resembled an overblown balloon that dreads another puff of air for fear something truly disastrous happening.
Keith let out a grunt that told me to take care. "I'm fine. My wife came home and made dinner. Can you tell?" he asked with a playful smile on his face. He pushed his enormous round belly against me.
I aimed straight for his prime belly button and stuck my finger in.
Keith followed behind me into my bedroom and threw himself sideways on my bed once he was close enough. He made himself comfortable and most appetizing; he wasted no time in shedding his clothes.
His butter-smooth skin glistened in the sun, his muscles bulged, and his beginning belly stuck out with teasing potential. Budding love handles dulled the sharp "V" outline of his back, and his padded bubble butt stretched his shorts. We said hello, and somehow I prevented myself from drooling all over him. He saw me go over to my Porsche and waved as the 270 hp engine growled past him.
Keith drooled, smacked, and chomped his way through the fattening spiral of sinful cinnamon perfection, guzzling ice-cold milk at regular intervals to wash it all down. His tightly stretched tank top continued to show more threads on its side seams as his belly continued to fill. When he retired the knife and fork to his plate, wiped his lips with his napkin, he tried to lean back in the uncomfortable little white plastic chair. His rotund stomach protruded even farther out just under his ribs, and he looked like he would burst at any moment.
"Keith, go ahead and help yourself there," I told him. It was all the invitation he needed. The beefy hunk took up residence in the kitchen, slicing off giant pieces of the calorie-packed goody, and devouring the thick chunks like he'd been starved all morning. He slugged down milk out of the tall glass and refilled it when it got close to being empty. My eyes darted back and forth between his chewing mouth and his swelling belly. His belly was so round and thick, and grew lengthwise as evidenced by Keith's action to unbutton another taut jeans button. How could I concentrate on work when this beefy hunk was getting totally fat and bloated in my kitchen?
