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Gregor Illych Patkok sat in his dressing room, holding court for the throng of reporters, photographers and assorted people who make up the entourage of the great dancer of the Metro Ballet. Tired as he was after dancing a splendid Giselle, Gregor still looked every inch the majestic dance star. Unlike many performers, Gregor needed little makeup or costuming techniques to enhance his attractive masculine features. His long hair swirled around a very handsome face, with fine cut, flawless features. Although Gregor was freely perspiring, the damp fabric of his costume enhanced his appearance even more showing off the flowing lines of a muscular, graceful body. The nipples of two sculpted pectorals showed their outlines through the shirt that tapered around his smooth, slim torso. Light, loose sleeve fabric showed off the streamlined muscles of his biceps. Not a wrinkle marred the tights that showed off the dancer's powerful legs and well-filled crotch. Photographers never had to worry about getting Gregor in a bad light or angle, for he always looked brilliant. Gregor was indeed a man of devastating good looks and he knew it and was very proud of it.
"When will you be back in London?"
"Is it true that you may leave ballet?"
The reporters' voices flew around as always, and Gregor languidly answered a few "worthy" questions:
"Yes, I am considering leaving Ballet. I have achieved so much that all that I do now is getting repetitious. I want to try something different in dance. I do love ballet, but there has to be more for me to do with my body than redo what has been done by every dancer. Maybe I will choreograph, maybe I will try a new field -- I don't know."
Eventually, Gregor signaled the end of the interview. As the reporters left, one of them asked a question that made Gregor burst into laughter:
"Today is the seventh anniversary of your defection from Toltaran. Are you still afraid of the secret police?"
"Why should I be? Toltaran has better things to do that try to recapture their dancers!"
It was ironic that this would be Gregor's last public statement for a long time...
When the Metro-Ballet dancers assembled for practice the next morning, no one even wondered about Gregor's absence, putting it down to artistic temperament. It was only that night, when curtain time drew near, that people began to show concern and wonder why the great dancer could not be found. By that time Gregor was thousands of miles away...
"Dancer Patkok -- Dancer Patkok!"
Gregor felt a hand slapping at his face. The last thing he could remember was a hand clamping over his face. Then everything was darkness. Groggily opening his eyes, Gregor focused on the figure in front of him. His blood froze with recognition.
"Welcome back to Toltaran, Dancer Patkok!" The sneering face of Secret Police Chief Zaftik looked at him triumphantly.
"I thought you had better things to do than chase after men in tights, Zaftik."
"Chief Zaftik to you!"
"As you please, Chief Zaftik," Gregor acted flippantly, but at heart, he was already in terror as he imagined what sadistic punishment that Zaftik might have in store.
"You are a brazen man, Dancer Gregory Illych Patkok. You left our country with all the talents and advantages that the state had given you and profited from them without gratitude," Zaftik looked at Gregory through narrowed eyes, "you are indeed brazen."
The captive dancer swallowed hard, as the Police Chief continued...
"But the state will not be so harsh on you. We could have surgeons defile that beautiful face of yours or ruin your limbs. But we will let you keep what has been given to you Dancer Patkok. Yes, you shall keep all that has been given to you...and more!"
Zaftik's harsh laughter rang in Gregor's ears as the guards escorted him to an isolated cell. Inside the cell, Gregor found his first meal as a prisoner waiting for him. To his surprise, it was not the expected fare of water and bread. Although served on a prison tin tray, the meal was a traditional Toltaran feast meal of sausages, ox roast, potato-mushroom pancake and other delicacies. Beside the tray it was a pitcher of heavy black beer. Gregor looked at the tray for a long time...
"They can't be out to poison me!" Gregor finally decided as he started to eat. Soon Gregor sat back on his cot, patting his full stomach as he watched the guard remove the emptied tray and pitcher. "I really was hungry," Gregor thought as he remembered how he had wolfed down the meal. He shifted about and pulled at the waist of the Giselle costume, his only outfit since his kidnapping. His usual meal at home was simple and carefully balanced -- the strict regimen of a grand dancer. Still, a broken diet plan was nothing now. Surely Zaftik must have something more painful than a tight waistband up his sleeve. Eventually, Gregor drifted off to sleep, the worries about the future whirling in his mind.
Next morning, Gregor woke up to see a guard leaving placing another tray down beside him. A tray filled with another load of Toltaran delicacies -- sweet milk pudding, spice cured bacon, eggs with the famed Toltaran heavy cheeses and coffee-cream. Just the smell started Gregor's mouth watering.
"Why are you giving this to me?" Gregor asked the departing guard. His only answer was a stony silence. The dancer shrugged -- after all this was only the prelude to the horror of the real punishment -- and started eating. After breakfast Gregor waited. After all, something had to happen... Nothing did. Hours (or where they minutes?) seemed to drag by for Gregor. There was no clock in sight and only window looked out onto a corridor. Gregor could not even tell whether it was day or night. Then there was the absolute stillness of the area. Gregor had no idea how long he spent singing, yelling and making any disturbance he could. He even cursed out the Toltaran government in very precise and obscene terms hoping that a guard would come running in sight. Still, nothing happened. Apart from his own sounds, there was only absolute silence. The prisoner was obviously in absolute isolation -- from both time and humanity. Boredom set in...
"Well," Gregor thought, "Let me exercise at least." Gregor stretched out -- and smashed his hands against the low ceiling. He tried to work out his legs -- only to discover that his cot got in the way. After several more attempts to continue, Gregor sat on his cot and looked in frustration at the walls before him. The cell was simply too small for a tall, athletic man to do any serious activity. "It doesn't matter," he thought, "they'll have some hard labor to work me out." Boredom soon had Gregor stretched out on a cot, sound asleep...
Time crept by as Gregor slipped more and more into an inert haze of ennui. Sleep was his only escape and eating his only regular activity. Without exercise, the dancer began to rapidly put on weight. It was at first with a horrified fascination that Gregor noticed the roll of fat that was forming under the snug form-fitting fabric of his tights. For a while he tried to cut down on eating, but that resolve all too quickly dissolved in the interminable waiting. Meal after meal went into Gregor as a swelling paunch began replacing his once narrow waist. The seams along his leggings strained to hold together the fabric that encased increasingly flabby thighs. The tiny snapping of threads on his backside reminded the dancer of the care he now had to take whenever he bent or sat. Otherwise, his once tight ass, now rapidly becoming twin jiggling mounds of softness, would burst free. Gregor's tiny vest started to strain its buttons as his once rigid pectorals started to grow plumper.
Sleep and food... The star of the Metro-Ballet was burying his dancer's body under more and more fat. And he was just too bored to care...
"Bring in Prisoner Patkok," Chief Zaftik ordered.
Two guards brought Gregor into the office. Zaftik grinned sneeringly at him.
"The State has added to your charms, dancer."
Gregor kept his eyes down, unwilling to look up at the Police Chief.
He had been added to. Where his downcast stare might have once brought his feet into view, Gregor contemplated the paunch that now rested on the rolled down top of his high-waisted tights. It had grown so large that it could no longer fit below a waistband that had already started creeping down due to the sagging of his swelling tits.
"The prisoner won't look at me? Well let him look down at something interesting!"
As Gregor stood there, Zaftik reached over and started to gently press in and out on his abdomen. His belly jiggled with the motion like jello in an earthquake. The dancer looked at his moving flesh as the harsh voice of his captor sneered at him.
"You are fat, Prisoner Patkok!" Jiggle, jiggle, jiggle... "I'll bet you want your lunch too!"
To Gregor's embarrassment, the mere thought of food caused an audible rumble from his considerable belly. Zaftik laughed evilly and rubbed the fat dancer's middle even harder.
Jiggle, jiggle, jiggle... "You are so fat that you could only do an elephant dance!" Jiggle, jiggle, jiggle....
"But you won't dance, you will just eat and become even fatter, Prisoner Patkok. Yes, so very much fatter..."
With Gregor's belly quivering, the rolled down waistband edged lower and lower. It slowly crept down the thick thighs and past the former tiny ass (now ballooned into double beachballs). Zaftik laughed mockingly as Gregor quickly snatched at the descending tights.
"Take the prisoner to cell 5-6G. Good-bye Prisoner Patkok, I shall look forward to seeing more of you."
As he pulled up the slipping fabric, Gregor proceeded down the long prison corridors.
"Where are they taking me?" Gregor wondered silently on his way to cell 5-6G.
Quickly, the guards ushered Gregor into 5-6G, slamming the cell door with such force that its noise almost covered the dancer's gasp of surprise as he looked at his surroundings. 5-6G was a much larger room -- with good reason. There were seven other men in the room. Men who were busy eating from overloaded trays of food. They looked up at the new arrival and stared at him with the same amazement he felt in seeing them.
Gregor was in a cell with some of the greatest male ballet dancers that Toltaran had ever produced! Rivals, friends, lovers -- he had known, studied and danced with these men for years. Every one of them had defected from Toltaran and now they were all back. And getting fat.
Like Gregor, the others were all clad in tights and the costumes of the ballets they had just performed before their abductions. Also, like Gregory, each of them sported bellies, love handles and chunky thighs that were straining to burst out of the confining clothes. Their heft was of different proportions as if the men had started gaining at different times. Gregor looked down at his own round paunch and then at each of theirs. He was clearly the fattest.
"I must have been taken first," Gregory thought.
"You too..." Peter Hartun whispered. He reached out and took Gregor's hand. Gregor squeezed the hand as he looked at the formerly slim legs that had driven balletomanes crazy. Now they were flabby limbs that led into the pear shape that would soon rip out the seams of the Swan Lake Prince costume.
"We are all becoming pigs -- fat pigs!" Suki Yarod exclaimed, looking mournfully at the belly that rested prominently in between his spread out thighs. Only the turban of his La Bayadere costume might have still fit him (if it hadn't been lost during his kidnapping). A grumble came from Gregor's gut as he saw the abundant food tray at the foot of the empty bed next to him. He blushed as it sounded, but the other men smiled sadly and knowingly.
"Go eat, Gregor," Sergei Allova said, his own overhanging middle rumbling in sympathy, "none of us can stop eating now."
Soon the only sound in the cell was the eating of eight hungry men...
Time passed by a little more quickly now that Gregor had some comrades with whom to share his misfortune. Still, there was little to do to prevent long periods of boredom. Fat and inactive as they all had become, they had no energy to spend on the feuds or rivalries from their slimmer days of freedom. Due to the lack of privacy and their growing figures, the dancers began to interact with one another in a way that was surprisingly free of the vanity and intrigue that had so often marred their past relationships.
Soon there was another development. With every added pound the dancers had been getting hornier and more desperate for intimacy beyond that of the single handed variety. Yet none of them even dared suggest trying anything with their equally lust-ridden cell-mates.
The cell door slammed open, jarring the men out of a sound sleep.
Groggily, the men saw two guards rush in and drag off Filya Kok, the smallest of the group. It was only as the door slammed shut again that they all realized what had happened. Concerned they huddled together talking, and wondering what was happening to their fellow prisoner. Hours passed by and finally the men tried to get some sleep. As the men tossed and turned, the unspoken question raced through each man's mind:
WHAT WERE THEY DOING TO FILYA!?!?!
Next morning, Filya's name was not even mentioned. There was nothing that the cell-mates of 5-6G could do. Days passed by -- at least what the men, using the number of mealtimes as a measurement, called days. Without news or even a hint to build the imagination upon, Filya's absence from the cell made life almost unbearable for his comrades.
It was only after they had given up hope of ever seeing the young dancer again that the tramp of guard's boots echoed in the corridor. Quickly, without a word Filya was thrust back into the cell -- a very changed man.
Filya was no longer the smallest man in the cell.
Tears welled in the young dancer's eyes as he saw his friends looking at him. He stood before them, his legs unsteady under the weight of the vast belly he now sported. Only shreds of fabric remained on his upper body, where just days before, the flowing shirt of his costume had still been able to cover most of his slowly bulking body. Now a pair of huge tits and a jello-belly flowed out. The tights that had only been beginning to tear under the pressure of his growing body, hung onto him in threads -- only the lower leggings held together.
It was a few minutes before Gregory could whisper, "What did they do to you?"
Filya slowly waddled to his bed, his figure swaying and rippling with every movement and sat down on his bed. The frame protested wildly as his newly vast ass settled upon the mattress.
"They took me to a room...," Filya told the shocked men how Zaftik had ordered him strapped, spread-eagled to a large table. A line of guards stood at attention nearby, one end of their row stationed by Filya's head, the other end of the line, leading out of a door.
"Zaftik yelled 'PREPARE THE PRISONER'S MOUTH!' and a guard held my jaws apart. Then I heard that madman yell, 'BEGIN FEEDING!!!" and suddenly they shoved a cheese-torte into my mouth...
It was a good torte -- but I thought I could never finish it.
When I managed to get it down, I noticed the whole line of guards were passing up steins to the man next to me. He put a funnel in my mouth and then started pouring in glass after glass of beer....
I couldn't stop it. In just a minute I was swallowing a steady stream of the stuff -- it just flowed right down my throat! I could feel it settling in my gut, pushing it out and making my waistband cut into my hips..."
Gregor and the other dancers listened on in silence through a description that involved flocks of poultry, herds of meat dishes, floods of beverages, dozens of desserts, all of which were crammed into Filya's mouth with military precision for days on end...
"Even when I dozed off, they kept feeding me, working my slack mouth and pumping in liquid-like foods like heavy soups. When I woke up I would find myself bigger and rounder than when I had fallen asleep. I could see my fat growing -- my belly swelling up in front of me. With every swallow I got chubbier. My arms got heavier and my legs grew thicker. They were making meHUGE, and I couldn't stop it. The only sounds I could hear was my gulping stuff down, the loud snapping of my clothes as the fat of my body burst through, and the laughing of that DAMNED ZAFTIK!"
Filya looked at the men crowded around him.
"I don't know how long I was there for, but when they finished with me, I had to have several of the guards roll me off that table -- I could barely sit up! But do you know what the worst thing was? When they stopped I wanted it to keep going! I wanted to eat and eat as my body grew fatter and fatter..."
Gregor took the shaken man into his arms, while Filya murmured over and over "...and watch my belly get bigger and bigger..."
Gregor placed a hand on the expanse of Filya's gut. Like the other men, he had carefully avoided any acknowledgment of increasing obesity, but now Gregor felt attracted to the large man he held in his arms. The bulk was so warm and soft...
Far from being a turn off, the flabby massiveness moved in ways that inflamed Gregor. Filya was fat and it was wonderful to see.
Though it would be better if that sexy mass could be snuggled against Gregor's own considerable flab...
He needed this fat, beautiful, Filya!
Ignoring the other dancers looking on, Gregor took Filya's face in his hands and gave it a long, slow kiss. Surprised, Filya struggled for a moment but soon relaxed as he started stroking Gregor's own large physique. Gregor pulled the large man on top of himself, sighing as he felt the pressure against him.
The last seams around Gregor's crotch gave way under the combined pressure of lust and fat. He could feel Filya's belly fat rubbing against his freed cock.
Or was it his belly doing the rubbing?
Could he really care?
Filya gave a shuddering grunt as Gregor's hands stroked some of the smooth ticklish spots of his folds of fat. The framework of the bed shrieked noisily under the weight of the two men -- an accompaniment to the panting and happy noises that were part of their lovemaking.
The other six men looked at the scene of passion that was being acted out before them. They turned to each other and with shy, hesitant smiles started to caress each other. Soon the cell resounded with the creaking of beds as the men, their costumes ripping apart from the strain of released urges, had their first sex in ages...
Gregor lay back in a happy daze as Filya's hot mouth worked on his cock. He loved how Filya's belly undulated against him, resting firmly on top of him no matter how high Filya tried to hold himself. Gregor even got a thrill from the way his partner had to lift aside his own paunch to reach the throbbing member that rested between the cushions of belly and thighs. Opening his eyes, Gregor smiled at the what he could see of the hulking torso -- his own girth prevented him from seeing what Filya was doing, but he could feel it. Looking across the room, Gregor could see the other men, arm in arm, exploring gigantic butts, sucking at the burgeoning pecs, reaching up to enjoy belly covered cocks and for the first time in their lives, glorying in the idea of being FAT.
Clearly their idea of what was sexy had changed tremendously...
Time no longer crept by.
For the first time since the dancers had began growing fat, their meal wasn't the automatic shoveling of food it had become. Men joined each other and started savoring the food and the company of their comrades. Gregor actually felt pride whenever he or his partner for the meal finished their tray. More food meant more fat and more fat meant better sex...
The only interruptions in their routine came as, one by one, each man was taken from cell 5-6C and force fed by the guards, under Zaftik's malevolent care. Unlike the first time, the men didn't worry. They sat back and wondered how much more attractive their comrade would look after the fattening session. The stuffed man would return smiling, a huge naked figure, clad in the few shreds that remained of his long-outgrown tights and standing unsteadily as he tried to get used to all the extra mass. Gathering around him, his cell-mates would lower him gently to the floor and explore his added size in some very erotic ways...
"The frolic step in Night-Life didn't go like that at all!"
Karel Bikbolz was arguing about old times with Suki Yarod.
"I tell you it did!"
Malek Cremazs leaned up from between Sergei Allova's legs.
"I premiered Night-Life. Let me show you how it was done!"
Getting up he started to hum the music from the ballet. Evenly and with care, Malek moved his well endowed form through the frolic steps. The men watched admiring both the steps and the motions of the dancer as he completed his footwork.
Gregor looked on with even more interest than the rest. He looked at the smooth ripples of flesh as it moved and swayed in rhythm with the dance. As Malek's legs spread and closed together, his thigh- covering gut rose and jiggled. But it was when Malek gently pulled his paunch up to let his legs move forward more easily...
There was a flowing grace to that movement -- far, far more than the regular lithe motions of the normal slim dancer. It was as if the fat, once pulled into the motion, became a participant of the dance itself!
"Could you do that again?" Gregor asked.
"What?" Malek asked mystified.
"This..." Gregor got up and performed the step, slinging his own belly upwards to move his legs around.
Malek watched, a smile of fascination lighting his face and began to follow along. Humming together, the two men started improvising their motions, allowing the bulk and flab of their bodies to move to the rhythm of the tune. The other men stared, not knowing what to make of the spectacle before them. Soon their intent gazes changed as they stopped suspecting insanity and began to admire the dancing of the two fat men. Eroticism, grace and sensuality were magnified and glorified by their movements. Even when Malek and Gregor paused, their figures kept on dancing!
One by one, the other men joined in. Old dance steps and routine choreography took on a new look when performed by fattened figures. Soon, dancers tried new routines that they could have never even imagined all those pounds ago, smiling in their effort... Art and beauty had reentered the lives of the fat dancers in cell 5-6G.
The men were standing in Zaftikís office. It had once seemed a large office to them, but eight enormous dancers assembled together can overwhelm the proportions of most rooms. The police chief looked maliciously at his handiwork.
"The greatest dancers in the world..."
He let the words linger on his mouth as he saw the paunches, chins, breasts and overstuffed legs in front of him.
"Many important people have been asking questions about your well being. To show the world how well you have been treated, the state firmly requests that you dance at the next Toltaran-fest party."
There was a painful silence in the room as the dancers felt the giant guts they now sported. Zaftik smiled at their discomfort.
"Your presence will show how well the Toltaran government has treated you. After all, if you couldn't control your appetites, could we stop you from getting so fat? That would have caused you suffering, by making you hungry... No, my dear artists, the state had to give you all you would accept and even help you along if you were so eager to eat. I am sure that no one can claim torture when they see you rosy cheeked men trying to dance with all the weight that the good food has added to you."
As the were led out, they heard the obnoxious chuckle of their captor as he called after them, "I promised that you would keep all that Toltaran had given you -- and more!"
"So that bastard wants to publicly humiliate us" Gregor said with a smile, his mammoth body spread out on his mattress (the bed frames had quit long ago -- victims of passion and increasing heft) next to Peter's equally gorged figure.
"Won't he be surprised!" Peter laughed as Gregor leaned over and nibbled at a massive pectoral.
"Oh, YEAHHH!!!" Sergei shouted.
Everyone looked at him. Suddenly the Malek's glistening face popped up from behind Sergei's tremendous paunch.
"I think he meant that for the surprise too," Malek said as the satiated man before him grinned sheepishly.
The Theatre Grande in Toltaran's capitol city of Ennoyantz was a breathtaking example of a classically designed performance space. Many of the great artists in the past had performed on its stage in Toltaran's happier past, but currently the citizen's audience was more often subjected to the mediocre efforts of approved artists/propagandists.
Tonight, however, the audience was more than the usual Toltaranians expecting a bit of spiritless flag-waving, for tonight was Toltaran-fest night. Before State-Premier Drakhuaffen and a host of dignitaries, the best of the "Traditional" arts would be put on display. Furthermore, international television cameras would be covering the performance of eight of the greatest ballet artists that Toltaran had ever produced.
It was indeed, a gala night...
A hushed stillness filled the theatre. Camera crews peered intently at viewfinders and monitors. The orchestra began the slow melody of the Laufdanzce (Airdance) by Kiszbol. The curtain rose on a group of young male dancers in streamlined outfits -- tights, short snug shirts, narrow belts -- which served to emphasize their slim classic proportions as they executed slow leaping movements which seemed to defy gravity.
Soon it was time for the lead dancers to enter...
A gasp surged through the audience as Gregor and his comrades danced on-stage, their bellies, thighs and every ounce of blubber on their massive frames slowly moving in time to the music. They were wearing new ballet outfits -- identical to those of the other dancers in everything but size -- which emphasized each extra pound that had been added onto their once lean bodies.
Chief Zaftik sat in a VIP box, his lips curled in a smile of victory as he watched the fat dancers on the stage. He sat forward the better to watch the scene of humiliation.
The men heard the shocked murmurs of the audience and saw the stricken looks on the faces of the slimmer performers. They were FAT -- oh so very FAT. Each man held out his gut, its exposed navel like a mouth pursed at the viewers -- proud to show off the poundage, as it rippled and swayed.
As Gregor whirled with one dancer, he spotted a tear forming in his partners eyes.
"Don't cry for me, silly man," he whispered, "just watch what I can do now with all this glorious fat!"
Soon the audience was hushed in fascination as they watched the ponderous grace of the huge dancers. The men moved in ways that transformed the traditional pert airy motions of the Laufdanzce into a sensual billowing of winds and breezes. They were like giant filled sails or windmills amongst the drifting leaves and paper of the slimmer dancers. For the first time Kiszbol's ballet symbolized men defying and using air rather than the traditional image of being controlled by its whims.
Everyone in the audience looked on in a hush of admiration and enjoyment. No one could deny that a new epoch in the art of the ballet had been premiered.
In the VIP box, Zaftik's smile faded into thin painful line of anger. His punishment had been so carefully calculated and carried out. After all, what could be more ridiculous that a fat ballet dancer?
And these - these PIGS, these SLOBS had the audacity to be proud of their bellies!
What was worse the idiots in the audience were loving it!!!
Zaftik swallowed hard. He knew that he would be called into account for this publicly displayed triumph over the will of the state.
The applause and cheering of the audience was deafening. The dancers took bow after bow as flowers were tossed at them. Each man stood there accepting his due, while the slimmer dancers gathered around, feeling the massive physiques. From the looks exchanged between the massive and the slender men, it was clear that some very interesting personal and professional exchanges would take place -- involving very large amounts of food, burst tights and expanding figures...
It was the week when the new Metro Ballet season opened. Gregor looked on with satisfaction at his troupe of dancers rehearsing. Dancers combined in contrasting and comparative motions of fat and relatively slim figures as they performed the new ballet, George Eng's Quantity.
It hadn't taken long after Gregor and his former cell-mates had returned to Metro City to set up the now celebrated all-male "Ballet Corpule." With the money they received from the Toltaran Government (in a desperate attempt to avoid the inevitable embarrassing questions and publicity) it was easy to set up the proper facilities. The uproar, both critical and political, that had been caused the infamous Toltaran/Ennoyantz performance gave the troupe the ability to name its own price from its very formation. Dancers flocked to join, inspired by "Ballet Corpule's" artistry, its groundbreaking work and because they were tired of the traditional strict regimen of the slim dancer -- indeed it was amazing how many men in the field of ballet had a thing for ripping out of their own tights!
Patting his own paunch, made even fatter over time, Gregor walked to "the Special Room." Inside, Gregor smiled at the enormous form of Filya as he leaned over a mountainous form that lay a wide padded platform, feeding and fondling it. Filya stopped, walked over, and kissed Gregor.
"Please do that to me..." the fat deepened voice of the prone figure pleaded, "...I need you..."
"To fuck you?" Filya smiled, "don't count on it, Ex-chief Zaftik!"
Chief Zaftik didn't have to wait long after the triumph of the dancers to discover his fate. Eager to satisfy the dancers and get them out of Toltaran as soon as possible, the Premier was willing to give the men anything -- even his Chief of Secret Police.
When Zaftik had been escorted west to the headquarters of the "Ballet Corpule," he was still clad in the medal studded uniform that he had been wearing at the fateful gala. Once at his destination, Zaftik found himself placed into a secure, comfortable room.
Where Zaftik had left his prisoners alone, the dancers never gave their former captor much time to himself. At regular intervals, a fat dancer would walk into the room, wheeling in a cart overloaded with rich foods from their gourmet kitchen. Pinning Zaftik down, the men would then force the food into his mouth, only topping when the cart had been emptied to the last crumb.
Zaftik had at first struggled against eating, but as the fat came on he began to wolf down his food like the best of the dancers. The military trained muscular figure, tuned like a fine machine, rapidly broke down after the first few pounds bulged out his middle. Under the dancer's relentless feeding, Zaftik ballooned quickly. They smiled grimly when, as they filled him with cream soup, his buttons popped off. His belt snapped apart as he choked down the last of a tray of pastries. His ass split his trousers, pecs drooped down and expanding belly hung lower and lower...
In just a couple of months, Zaftik was down to extremely tight underwear, which soon ripped off as well after an all night session of sausage rolls...
The only sausage that he would get.
A bloated figure of a man, Zaftik had begun to get constantly horny. He envied the men as he saw how close they were and how the very fat he had put on them had increased their prowess. He began to lust for them.
Sex became a constant thought in his mind.
The men found it a delight to tease Zaftik, caressing him, stroking him and even making love in front of him. Any eager attempts on his part could be easily pushed off.
This frustration made him eat ravenously until Zaftik became a slow moving, growing mountain of fat -- ever hard yet always frustrated by the happy, successful fat dancers who made up the "Ballet Corpule."
Gregor and his troupe are still performing and finding brilliant new dances or interpretations of old favorites. They have gotten even fatter over time, but every ounce serves to improve their artistry. Many new dancers have fattened up beautifully as well, to the delight of the audiences worldwide. The paunches and bulges that might have meant the possible end of a dancer's career, are greeted with thunderous applause. Even split tights and burst costumes on stage are considered part of the groundbreaking art of the "Ballet Corpule." The playbills now include weight listings of the performers and must be changed frequently to match the expansion of the cast.
The stage door is often crowded with admirers who long to meet these corpulent dancers, indeed they now have a status of sex objects that had once been reserved for slimmer men.
And so Gregor and his former cell-mates dance, eat and love, savoring the irony that an attempt to torture them and break their spirits has instead given them a greater happiness and freedom than they had ever known before. They can be proud that they have expanded the art of ballet in a way that can never be forgotten -- for as long as there are dancers who want to get fat and a dance for chubby men to explore, there will always be a "Ballet Corpule"
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