by Wesley Bracken
Commissioned by / Gift for Gaynerpig
– Day 3 –
“So tell me Leon, how do you feel about yourself? About your size?”
“What…what did you do to me? I…I don’t understand…”
“Just focus on answering the questions please. How do you feel about your size?”
Leon didn’t know how long he had been tied down, with the gas pumping into him. He didn’t know what had happened to him, he didn’t know what to do as he looked down at himself, as the massive amounts of fat hanging off of him. He was even larger than Max now and that was so…so hot! He’d always wanted to be big, right? Bigger? The biggest? But then why wasn’t he happier? Why did he have these nagging doubts that something was wrong? “I…I mean, I love being fat…right? I’m supposed to love it, but…no, I don’t…”
“You don’t love being fat?”
“No, I mean…it’s just so blurry, I don’t understand what happened…”
“Hmmm…” the doctor said, making a few marks on the clipboard he was carrying with him, and then looked thoughtfully at Leon. He was still attached to the cross where he’d been before, but the mask had been removed. It had done it’s job–Leon’s muscular physique was no more–but still, he wasn’t huge, or at least not by the standards of some of the men he’d seen at the retreat. The doctor gave him an eyeball guess of around 275 pounds, and he was very good at guessing at this point. “It seems that you still have some residual cognitive dissonance. I anticipate that the feeling will dissipate over the course of the retreat. You’ll be feeling normal in no time. Still, the sleep study you just completed shows that you’re at risk for sleep apnea, so I’m going to have to prescribe a CPAP machine for you. It’ll be in your room tonight for you to start using.”
“You mean…you mean a…a mask? I don’t want to wear a mask anymore, I don’t want to put that back on, please don’t put it back on me…”
“If you don’t, then you might suffocate in your sleep, and we can’t have that, Leon.”
Leon felt his heart catch in his throat. He knew what those machines were like–his father had had one, he’d seen him sleep with it many times, and that was one reason he’d promised to never get fat…right? But then why is he fat now? And why…why does he kind of like it? Why did he kind of want to get bigger? “What’s happened to me? I don’t want this…not this…”
The doctor looked at him thoughtfully for a second. “Why don’t you want this, Leon?”
“I’m fucking scared shitless, you fucker!” Leon shouted, “Fucking look at me! I’m gonna fucking die!. I’m gonna get fucking diabetes, and my legs and arms are gonna fall off, and this fucking fat is gonna crush the fucking life out of me, and…” Leon tried to continue, but he was sobbing now, and it was the truth. He was terrified. As much as he loved being fat, as much as he wanted to get fatter, the terror of his father haunted him, and the doctor nodded a few times, and then came up and unbuckled Leon’s restraints. “Alright, well, for your first session this morning, I’m prescribing some MentCon–you seem to have some issues you need help sorting out.”
Leon almost fell over when the doctor released him, his legs and arms were numb from being pinned in position, and the doctor helped him into a wheelchair and wheeled him out of the lab, Leon embarrassed to be seen being wheeled around like a mound of trash, and even though he insisted that he could walk, the doctor ignored him and pushed him down several hallways until they came to a series of room labeled MentCon, and he pushed him into one, where he found himself in a cozy office with a large gentleman sitting behind a desk. “Good morning,” the man said, smiling warmly at Leon, and then looked up at the doctor, “What have you got for me?”
“Classic Pocrescophobia. I figured you would be the best for that.”
“Oh I love those–he’ll be as right as rain by lunchtime.”
The therapist left Leon in the wheelchair, and left the office, and he looked around nervously, before hefting himself up out of the chair, aghast at being wheeled around like an invalid.
“That really isn’t necessary, subject 436–have a seat.”
Leon didn’t pay him any mind, and walked over to a wide mirror on the wall and looked at himself. He was still naked–aside from his collar. No one had even bothered to dress him. Looking at his reflection, he was so beautifully fat, but then why was he so terrified? Still, he could look even better. Maybe with another hundred pounds…or maybe two hundred…The thought terrified him, but he couldn’t stop, imagining himself the size of Max–now there was a big man, what a fucking hot piece of meat his roommate was. He wished he’d played around with him when he’d had the chance.
The therapist settled back down behind his desk, and flipped through Leon’s file that the doctor had left behind. “Hmmm…subject 436, would you be so kind as to lay down on the couch for me over there?” Leon looked at the couch by the desk, and unable to resist the command, he waddled over and gingerly sat down on the couch, wondering if he would be able to get back up if he laid down, but he did as the therapist asked. He helped him breathe and relax for a few moments, and then he said into his bracelet, “Sleep, subject 436,” and Leon eyes flickered shut.
“Subject 436, tell me–do you know why you are so afraid of being fat?”
In his slumber, Leon tried to keep a handle on everything he’d kept bottled up for so long, but between the hypnotic compulsion and the terror of the last few days, everything came spilling out. How he’d watched his obese father slowly succumb to diabetes, how he’d hated watching him kill himself with food, how he’d sworn that he would never let that same fate happen to him. However, as it flooded out of him, the therapist started contradicting him, started muddling things up. What had seemed so clear to him before started to seem hazy. He couldn’t remember much of anything about his father, suddenly, and as his memory faded, the fear faded too, like someone had taken it and thrown a thick rug over it, enough to smash it flat and make it unnoticible, and it felt like a great relief, to not have to be afraid any longer, but then the therapist kept talking, filling his head with new memories, and new fears. How he’d been hungry his entire childhood, how he’d spent it terrified that he might go hungry, that he might wither away if he didn’t eat as much as he could, all the time. How he’d always envied fat people, and from that, grown attracted to them. He wanted to be fat more than anything–it didn’t matter what the risks were, it didn’t matter what might happen to him, so long as he kept growing.
A realization came to Leon as he listened to the therapist, a growing knot in him, and he realized he was hungry. When had he last eaten? He couldn’t even remember when his last meal had been, and that filled him with such terror that he flung himself awake from his trance in a panic, and didn’t stop muttering and crying until the therapist dug out a bag of chips from the bin behind his desk and gave it to Leon, who started devouring the chips, and the therapist assured him that his fears were completely legitimate. He should want to be fat, after all, what was the alternative? Wasting away into a stick? Leon couldn’t agree more, and he was so happy that the therapist understood what he was feeling.
“I just feel like a giant weight has been lifted off of me,” Leon said between fistfulls of chips, “I’ so happy that there are other people like me.”
“Yes, there are more of us than you might have realized,” the therapist said, getting up from behind the desk and walking over to Leon. Like all of the people working the retreat, the therapist was a large man, and Leon found himself watching him walk over, his belly jiggling with every step, the therapist reaching down to tweak his nipples with his hands. Leon really wanted to jack off–he was so horny–but the hunger wouldn’t abate, and he had to keep eating–he had to not starve. “You know,” the therapist said, “I saw your roommate, subject 367, last night–Max, right? Tell me, what do you think of Max?”
“I…I suppose he’s hot. But we only saw each other for a little while, when I got here. We didn’t have a chance to…uh…do anything, really.”
“Still, what would you like to do with him? Do you think he’s attractive?”
“I…I mean, yeah…he’s really big. I’d like to be as big as him one day.”
“I bet you would,” the therapist said, dropping his hand down and kneading Leon’s comparatively small gut. He was starting to breathe quickly, being this close to such a large man, but he still couldn’t bring himself to stop eating the chips, at least until he reached the bottom of the bag and emptied the crumbs into his mouth.
“Do…do you have anything else?” Leon asked in a whisper, feeling the therapist press his gut into his chest, “I…I’m still hungry.”
“Sleep subject 436,” the therapist said, and watched Leon’s eyes flicker shut. “subject 436–for the next hour, you are no longer Leon. You are just a dumb fat whore with no name at all–all you care about is sucking cock and begging men to fuck your fat ass.”
“Y–yes sir…” Leon said, and when the therapist slid his thick cock into Leon’s slack mouth, he came alive–sucking it for all it was worth, listening to the therapist moan, happy that he was sucking cock, happy that he was nothing more than a dumb, fat whore. The therapist dragged him off the couch and made the whore beg him for his cock, licking his dress shoes first, tasting the shoe shine on them, before the therapist finally gave in and fucking him roughly, the whore begging him to fuck him harder, and harder still.
Leon woke up on the floor, his mouth and ass sore, but feeling refreshed and not at all worried about what might have happened. He’d just fallen off the couch after all, and the therapist was helpful enough to help him up from the ground.
“Yes subject 436, I think the Fat Action Team is just the place for you–we’ll take good care of you, I promise. Now, it’s almost time for lunch–why don’t you go eat something more substantial?”
The thought of lunch already had Leon salivating, and he struggled up from the couch, fighting against his new gut, and he lumbered out the door naked, cum dribbling from his ass and down the inside of his thighs. He headed down the hall, not paying the therapist any more mind, joining the throng of men as they headed towards the massive mess hall. He lost himself there, in the tables laden with food, desperate to fill the pit of fear in his gut with something–anything–and he gorged like he’d never eaten before, and knowing that he was working to make himself bigger, knowing that today, he wasn’t going to wither, it was making him hard, and he had to pause for a moment to reach underneath his gut, jacking his cock with one food coated hand, shoving cake into his mouth with the other, until he came violently, and returned to the feast.
Still, it ended too soon, but he was ferried towards the doors with the rest, sorting himself into the proper doorway, where the men directed him to Metabolics Lab 15. When he arrived, however, he discovered that he wasn’t alone, like he had been before. In the room was close to a dozen subjects, and they could be easily split into two groups–guys like him, who were relatively clean, and then a set of guys who were filthier than he could even imagine. It took him a moment to recognize one of the men in the other group–it was Max, but his clothing was soaked through with sweat, and he watched as his roommate let off a massive fart, and then sat back into the stench, moaning and massaging his crotch as he did, letting off a huge belch afterwards. It was disgusting, and he couldn’t believe he’d been fantasizing about him in the therapist’s office. How in the hell had he become such a mess in just one day? Had he been out even longer than he’d thought?
They waited for a few minutes, until a few more people arrived for the session, and by then the smell in the room was horrendous, and Leon could see that he wasn’t the only person disgusted by the filthy, fat men in the room. Still, each of them were all sat down and secured into chairs, the clean men facing the filthy ones across the room, but while the clean men were only fitted with masks like the one which had fattened Leon up overnight, something he was increasingly thankful for, considering how close he had been to starving himself, the filthy men across from them were given some sort of injection, and sealed into some kind of glass pod.
As soon as the pods were sealed, Leon saw Max, who was directly across from him, start to writhe in something between pain and ecstasy, and he watched as his roommate suddenly pissed himself in the capsule, the piss puddling around his feet at the bottom of the pod, and then he was cumming as well, huge amounts of semen flowing into the growing puddle as well, and while he couldn’t hear it, or smell it, it looked like he was belching and farting a massive amount, and the thick cigar Max was smoking quickly shrouded the entire pod in a heavy haze. Then, suddenly, he could smell it. It was like the mask he had on had a direct line to Max’s pod, and the funk of his roommate’s body, fluids, and smoke drove it’s way into his lungs, and he tried to gag, but before he could, he started feeling light headed, like he’d felt from the fat gas, and it wasn’t so bad after all. In fact, it was kind of hot, smelling Max’s filthy body, and somehow he knew it was Max, but he couldn’t say why–some residual memory of the cigar smoke from that first night, some hidden remembrance of the man’s subtle BO, but heightened a thousand fold now, and pumped into his lungs, making his cock harder than it had ever been, and unable to stop himself,he spasmed in the chair, and came, shooting across his fat thighs.
He wasn’t alone either–all of the clean men were succumbing to the ecstasy of the filthy men across from them, and they came over and over again. They came again when drains opened up in the bottom of the pods, sucking down the pool of piss and cum that had collected there and pumped it directly into their masks, forcing them all to swallow it down, not that they had any interest in objecting. Some of them began cumming at a near constant clip, and one on the far end actually drained his balls, dry cumming over and over again, nearly seizing in pleasure.
And then, it was over–but not really. Leon had been profoundly changed by his experience, and he fought with him restraints as the doctor freed him from the chair, and he rushed over to Max, getting down and licking the sweat from his wide belly, burying his face into the trucker’s stinking flab, and he came again without even touching himself, and the men all left the lab in pairs, heading to dinner, but Leon spent nearly as much time behind Max sniffing down his farts and cleaning his crack as he did at the table, stuffing his face, the fear still gnawing away at his bones. He was bigger than he’d ever been in his life, but he was still too small, he could still starve, he just wasn’t big enough–would never be big enough to keep the fear away, but at least he could eat, and Max helped him, stuffing his face before belching down his throat, watching Leon swallow down his gas, cumming again, splattering the floor with his seed.
Leon didn’t really remember how he and Max got back to their room–his obsession with Max’s body refused to abate. Every time he smelled him it was like the first time. He would do anything to be near him, he suddenly couldn’t even imagine being apart from him. Back in their room, still without even speaking to each other, Max sat down on the toilet and Leon knelt in front of him, drinking down his piss and then drinking in his farts, the stench of Max’s shit, licked his body clean for him, and finally, after what felt like hours, long after the lights had clicked off, the two of them found their drives winding down, and they were able to regain some of their self-control.
Fumbling in the dark, they discovered that their bunk beds had been replaced with a single king, but neither of them minded. Leon didn’t think he would have been able to sleep away from Max at all. They laid down on the bed together, but Leon felt a strange panic start growing in him as he laid there, coupled with a hard time breathing, and he groped around his side of the bed until he felt something plastic he recognized by feeling as a mask. Of course, he’d have to wear that to sleep now, how could he have forgotten? He pulled on his C-PAP mask, and felt air push it’s way against his face, the sickly sweet smell of fat from his night long growth, coupled with Max’s musk. The big trucker rolled over next to him and spooned him from behind, and the two massive men fell asleep, exhausted, unable to even wonder what the rest of the retreat may have in store for them.