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"Aw shit! Now what. I’ve got that weird ass feeling back in my gut, and we’re fucking wedged in this doorway by this huge belly of mine! FUCK!!! Oooooo. And I’m getting hungrier by the second here.”
"Good thing I can reach these.” If I stretched out my hand, I could grab the first burger off the rack. Thank god for the spring load that kept each burger pushing forward as you pulled one out. Knowing we hadn’t even hit this end of the room yet, I knew there were burgers loaded up and ready to go for another full round.
But the pressure in Mike’s belly was at about its limit, and both of us were starting to groan as his still ballooning belly got us stuck harder and harder in the doorway. Mike really did look like he would bust open if I stuffed down another burger, though I had managed to feed him another dozen in a few minutes flat.
"Get me outta here. I mean it man. I feel like the Goodyear blimp blown up so hard I’m gonna explode all over the stadium!”
That comment just pushing me over the edge again, but I had to let the guy rest – a few. I reached back thinking I could hold onto the rack and twist us out of the doorway. When I did, my hand landed on the very a jug of the appetite stimulant, I had to. One last chug before I let him loose.
Moving fast, I shoved the neck of the jug right into Mike’s mouth. Pouring so fast he could barely breathe, I told him to drink this down and rock that massive gut back and forth. His belly somehow notched up fatter yet, and he started trying to twist from side to side while chugging to keep up. He drained the entire gallon in record time, and I grabbed the next one. I could feel his belly pushing hard into me. Two gallons down. Mike was groaning deeper than he had all night. I shoved the last gallon into his mouth and poured fast. If this didn’t work, we were going to rupture something from the pressure of this unbelievably huge belly. But just as Mike tipped up the last bit of the jug, choking as he drained every last drop, his gut reached its fullest swell, springing us both free with a sudden pop. Mike’s belly suddenly blew up even fatter once free, and he nearly fell forward from the thrust of that massive bulging gut as it sailed free of the doorjamb.
"Mother . . . oooof . . . . fucking . . . . .aghh . . . . hell. I . . . . . . CAN’T . . . . . . FUCKING . . . . . . . BREATHE!!!!”
Practically running, Mike fell forward into the locked door of the place, his belly bouncing him back a few feet when the door failed to open.
"Lemme outta here. I gotta get this gut home!!! DAMN, I HUNGRY AGAIN!!! WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING TO ME?!?!?!?!”
Throwing the lock open himself, Mike raced, as fast as a jock blown up well over 300 pounds could, out of the place, still hollering alternately about how starved he was and how much his gut ached. "I’M A FUCKING BLIMP!” was the last thing I heard that night.
I was quivering. Totally stunned by what had happened, unable to see anything in front of me except the sight of Mike’s belly ballooning up to fill the doorway! I must have moved around the restaurant in a daze, cleaning for a few minutes, then drifting off to think of how much fatter yet I wanted him. The bigger I saw his belly become, the more I wanted to stuff him. What was with me?! I was totally addicted now to blowing Mike up until he couldn’t even move. I was so distracted I didn’t even realize how many hours had passed. It was nearly five in the morning. I finally shut the place down and headed home. The entire next day, I couldn’t stop wondering what happened after he ran from the place. That belly was fully loaded with enough appetite stimulant to keep him hungry for days. He had to have eaten more. What did he do? I kept expecting to see him in the doorway, but no sight of him that day. Or the next day. Still, the unforgettable image of him ballooning at the shake machine played over in my head, Mike’s belly bulging up bigger each time I envisioned it. I was off in my own world as I closed that second night when I was jarred by the sudden intrusive ring of the store phone. I looked at the clock. 2 a.m. Who the hell would be calling a burger joint at this hour?
Just a groan at the other end. Great. Fucking prank call. I nearly hung up when I faintly heard my name.
"Hello? Mike? That you?”
"Yeah man, I’m . . . oooooooo. . . . . gonna . . . . . . explode. You gotta . . AAAGHHH . . . . help me out.”
"What’s going on.”
"I had to. Oooooo fuck. This . . . . pup . . . .aches!” He was at a nearly in audible whisper. "I was too fucking hungry. Aaawwww. I had to keep eating, guy. Been gorgin’ practically since . . . . . . You gotta get over here. MAN!! I feel . . . . . . like . . . . . . . . . .I’m . . . . . . . . .GONNA . . . . . .POP!!!.”
I wasted no time. After getting his address out of him, I raced over to Mike’s apartment. The door was half-open, apparently from the last delivery guy given the sight of the place. All I could see was a trail of pizza boxes, fragments of crust thrown left and right, grocery bags and empty packages everywhere, and dozens of empty ice cream cartons. As I followed their path, I turned the corner to see Mike sprawled out on the floor. He was only half-upright, legs spread wide, his meaty thighs turned outward. His head was against the wall, his mouth half open, red sauce on the corners of his mouth, ice cream traces across his lower lip. And mounding up so huge in front of him, somehow much fatter than when he left the restaurant, Mike’s near to exploding belly ballooned out several feet in front of him. His pecs even looked inflated. One hand rested on to very top of that bloated gut, Mike’s arm now having to stretch fully forward to keep it up there. I bet he’d have trouble reaching around that belly and touching his hands together. The other hand had fallen to the floor though, spoon still clenched in its fist next to an empty gallon container. The sight was incredible. . He was HUGE.
I started counting – 8 pizza boxes. No pizza in sight. None at all! 14 gallon tubs of ice cream also empty and scattered around. Dozens of grocery bags. He must have been gorging nonstop since he left the place. I started realizing I had no idea how long that appetite stimulant worked. It looks like it’s kept him ravenous for days. Mike was nearly passed out, only able to groan as I came in. Moving up to him and kneeling as close as I dared to that massive hot belly,
"You ate all of this? That can’t be humanly possible, even for you stud!”
"Uuuugghhh.” Mike just pointed with the spoon to another box. It was a muscle relaxer. All he could do was whisper. "Had to man, my gut was killing. Had to ease the pressure. But I was . . . . . so hungry. Had . . . to do . . . . . something. I called this oooooooo . . . . . delivery guy . . . ooooof . . . . a bunch of times. Uuugghhh.”
My eyebrows went up to the top of my head. Mike had managed to pack his gut way beyond its limit, eating nonstop for another two days, by relaxing his belly muscles! I had to feel it. Every last pound of the actually food he had gorged down must still be weighing him down, pushing hard against the walls of his gut. I put my hand against the expanse of his belly. It was rock hard, stuffed so tight that it felt like the smooth hard surface of a statue, but warm from all the feeding. Slowly I rubbed the huge surface of his whale belly in larger and larger arcs. Turning to kneel between his knees, I gently leaned my torso into his belly. He was so fattened up; I could press my whole torso against his belly, following its circumference to nearly my chin before I could see his face. But Mike’s head was still leaned back, his eyes shut tight as he moaned from the rubbing and leaning.
"Come on stud, let’s get you up.”
Nothing but groaning in response. I had to slowly get him rocking, and Mike was grunting and bitching the whole way up. It took all my effort to get him up on his knees, and his belly jutted so far forward he was rocking trying to balance. "Fuck, lemme lay down man. This thing is gonna pin me.” And it did just that. His huge spherical belly toppled him down, Mike’s hands hitting the floor as his massive belly landed with a thud. The sight was better than my fantasies. Mike’s hands were barely on the floor. His belly had blown up so big that it planted firmly on the ground, so huge it kept him from fully touching the floor without rocking forward on his belly to lift his knees up a bit. At a sight like that, there was no way he was done packing it on.
I wasted no time. Leaving Mike groaning as he rested a while on his huge balloon belly – almost a bed for him to lean on, I raced out and reloaded on all the magically liquid I could find. Doctor’s recommended dosage and cautions? Way too late for that now! And I loaded up at the grocery store, needing two heavily loaded carts to kick off the nonstop feeding sessions in store for that fat jock. There’d be many more trips yet to come.
Calling in to make excuses at work about a family issue requiring my full attention out of town, I launched into weeks of nonstop feeding with Mike. I kept that gut packed tight every minute of the day. He was so huge by now, he just gave in and chugged down every last pitcher of the stimulant, and once again ravenous, ate like a pig for hours on end after each dose. I fed him hard, stuffing and stuffing and stuffing him so all he had to do was lean back and feel that gut notching up fatter and fatter by the hour. Whenever he slowed, eyes shut tight and nearly watering as he groaned for a break, barely able to inhale, I’d massage the huge expanse of his belly until the second I felt the pressure ease. Then I’d shovel in more food, packing his gut until it was so full he looked ready to pop with another mouthful. I fed him so much we could no longer distinguish "meals.” It had become one nonstop feeding with me packing his belly until Mike was ready to pass out, gut blown up to its ever-growing limit. I’d reload on the food and let him rest until he could manage to start gorging again, like it or not. Each stuffing session left him so bloated that his belly bulged up to a new circumference every time. I got Mike into such a routine; his belly was now so stretched out as it ballooned to unbelievable girth, that he gorged like this even without as much appetite stimulant. I began substituting more solid food for the gallons of liquid. He was just eating like the huge fat pig he had become. We went at it for weeks, flowing into months. I extended my stay and stuffed the ballooning jock with all my energy.
The change was incredible. His belly was so huge that it pressed on the floor when he sat leaning against the wall, legs spread wide to give it room. The huge mass of his belly now shoved his fat round pecs up toward his face. They each had become the size of most fat guy’s beer bellies, hoisted high and resting to each side of the massive top swell of his gut. From there his gut launched out into a huge blimped up swell bigger than I had dared imagine before. It bulged out straight from the bottom of his chest, making a ledge when the base of his gut pressed firmly on the floor. I rested platters of food on that spot as I fed him, getting his belly fatter yet. Shoving forward for several feet, that belly then arced down and out even more, traveling in a huge bowing path to the outer peak of his belly, turning back in a foot or two to his deep navel. From there, his belly still carried a few more feet to where it planted on the floor, well forward of where his knees turned outward to make room for this thing. When he laid on his back, Mike’s belly was now so huge I would need a boost to climb up onto the top of it, which I finally did one time to stuff him. I was up so high I needed to get a huge hose to feed him from that spot. I would load up a few gallon containers with softened ice cream, chocolate syrup, and the special liquid. Then I’d sit up on his belly and pour the elixir down the tube into his throat as fast as he could chug, feeling his belly swell and inflate under me, getting tighter and bigger and stretching my legs apart as I straddled the broad girth of his belly.
At last I had to know how huge I had gotten him. Good thing his place was ground floor with a huge sliding glass door at the back. Otherwise, I knew this jock had gotten way too huge to wedge through a normal doorway, even if double width. Getting him hoisted to a standing position took all our might. Rocking his belly to gain momentum, telling Mike to use all of his football jock muscle to help lift a weight he could never bench press as I pushed too, we grunted and groaned to get him moving. Finally, he was upright. I leaned with my whole body behind him, feeling the full contact of his beefy butt, legs, and shoulders fully against my body. I wrapped my hands around the firm curve of his love handles, hardly able to reach from his back just to the outer sides of his bulbous belly, and gently guided Mike to the back door. Halfway there, the weight of his gut started tipping him forward. Mike just groaned and tipped toward a table in the path, belly resting hard on the top. I heard the table start to creak and split under the weight. "Come on, time to see how much all the chow stuffed in you weighs!” Pulling at his elbows, I rocked Mike’s huge belly up off the table to get him upright again. He almost toppled me as he got his balance. Pressing my body fully against his, feeling the rocking swell of his butt as he lumbered along, we finally got him out to his truck. With a huge shove and a grunt from Mike, he just rolled onto the flatbed.
Knowing no normal scale would register this gain, I started driving to the airport. I pulled right up onto the curb. The security guard started to yell, but when he turned to see this huge mound of belly in the back, he just stopped dead in his tracks. "Whoa!! What the hell! That’s the fattest guy I’ve ever seen!!”
Similar shocked comments flew as Mike slowly waddled through the baggage area of the terminal. He had his balance by now, and with him taking deliberate steps, I steered him to the baggage claim area. With each heavy stomp, his belly swung wide, moving a few yards back and forth in a giant arcing path. This is where his once tight muscular build paid off. Any other guy would have caved from the weight by now, but Mike managed to haul that gut across the room once he got in a rhythm. People were just clearing out of our way, stunned looks on their faces as they stared engrossed at Mike’s girth, unable to believe the size of his belly.
The guy at the back baggage counter looked and went white at the sight of this belly with a guy attached rolling toward him.
"Holy shit, what you’d do, feed the guy an air balloon or something.”
"Yeah, or something. Outta the way so we can check him in.”
"That porker’s never gonna fit on a plane. We’d have to send him as cargo or something!”
"Well let’s get him weighed in and find out.”
"Wow, I don’t know if even this scale goes that high! What’s the guy weigh, like 500 pounds?”
"That’s what I’m trying to find out buddy. Come on, help me get him up there.”
With each of us grabbing an elbow with one arm and cupping the other along the base of Mike’s belly, we pushed him up onto the scale. The counter guy yelped some when he felt Mike’s huge belly pressing against his arm. His full weight finally square on the scale, we stepped back and watched the digital readout become a whirl of blue as it tried to register.
"Oh my God!!”
Mike opened his eyes and stared at the number. I was even shocked.
"What the fuck!!” he stammered.
"Yeah, looks like you’re never gonna shed that gut stud.”
We all stared in disbelief. Mike leaned forward, but only a foot or so before his balloon belly slammed against the counter.
695 pounds. Over double the weight when he vowed to drop that gut.
"Come on Fatboy. Time to get you fed up again. No way you’re getting on one of these planes.”
Written by Exjkfeeder@aol.com
Drawings by Warren Davis
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