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My uncle had always been hard on me. No, that’s an understatement. He always hated me, I think, or something, because he spent most of my youth criticizing me for anything, really. My dad always told me not to take it to heart, that he was family and still loved me, but when I came out, well, my uncle had a few choice words to say about that as well. Needless to say, as soon as my parents didn’t force me to see him anymore, I didn’t speak to him for years–but things change, sometimes.
A few months ago, I decided to reconnect with him. He’d been through two divorces by this point and didn’t have any kids of his own–not really surprising to me, and he was lonely. So I decided to start having lunch with him on a regular basis. I’d moved back to town where both my parents and my uncle lived after college, and so we started meeting for lunch–first once a week, but after awhile, we were meeting every day–I can be pretty insistent, you see.
“Go on Unc,” I said, Dig in,” I said, when the waiter brought our food out.
He just sat there, looking at the three entrees I’d ordered for him, looking a bit sick to his stomach. He’d been meeting for lunch for most of a year now, and my uncle was looking a little, well, chubby. Hell, I eventually made him tell me how much he’d gained, and he was over 300 pounds at this point.
“Please…please, I’m sorry,” he said to me, quiet enough no one around us could hear. He’d started doing this lately, trying to apologize, and it was getting a bit tiresome.
“Your food’s getting cold, go on now,” I said, and picked at the salad I’d ordered for myself.
“I don’t…wanna eat anymore. Please, I…I’m so full already, and–”
“If I wanted to hear your excuses, I’d be your therapist, now eat up, pig.”
There was a flash in my eyes, and he picked up his fork and started shovelling bites into his mouth, faster than he could really chew.
“There we go, that feels better, doesn’t it? Filling all that emptiness inside your soul with food, because you never bothered to fill it with anything else. Makes that dick of yours hard too–go on, give it a rub, pig.”
With one hand still stuffing his face, the other reached into his lap, under his gut, and started groping his cock, right there in the busy restaurant.
“You know, I’m getting really tired of your complaining all the time when we have lunch together. I’m being rather civil, you know that, right? I could have you tear off all your clothes, right here, shove your face in that bowl, devour everything until you cum, squealing and grunting like an animal. Right in front of these normal families, enjoying your lunch. Is that what you want me to do pig? Is that what you want to do?”
I could tell by the shudder that my teasing had gotten the expected reaction–he’d shot his load right into his underwear. We ate the rest of the meal in silence, and when dessert came, he was a good pig and ordered a triple helping, all by himself.
While we waited for it to arrive, I decided to ask him something that had been on my mind, as I’d been watching him pack on all these pounds. “So, what does Martha think of your new look?” Martha was my aunt–not quite as cruel as he was, but she’d had her moments too.
He clearly didn’t want to talk about it, but with a little nudge, he spilled the truth. “She hates it. She complains about it all the time, calls me all sorts of disgusting names. She won’t even sleep with me–I’ve been sleeping on the couch for a month now. She says I can come back to bed with her when the springs don’t squeak when I lay down.”
“When’s the last time you had sex with her?”
“I don’t know. Months ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s not easy to be a man, horny all the time because of how monstrously fat you’ve become, and your wife won’t even touch you. That just makes you even hornier too, since knowing how disgusting she thinks you are is so humiliating, right?”
He was crying now. I almost had him to sobs, but I held back, because we were in public. “Well, I think you deserve a reward, for being such a good piggy, and gaining so much weight. I have someone who would love to help you out–but you need to eat all of your dessert,” I said, as the three plates arrived, “but then I stole the spoon that came with them. “You need to eat them all with your hands.”
He blanched, but with a little cajoling, he gave in. He was horny, and he hadn’t had someone else touch him in so long, and the looks of everyone else in the restaurant as he stuffed his face with his fat paws was too good. Of course, I didn’t tell him the important details. I had a muscle bound friend of mine with an eight inch dick waiting back at my place. I was helping him out with a few problems of his own, and he’d agreed to fuck my fat uncle for me–provided he could do him rough and raw. I had no problem with that of course–and my uncle would deal with it. He wasn’t going to have a choice, after all.