Cabin Pressure (Part 3)

Jeff looked around his office, trying to figure out what he was doing here. He should be on vacation, right? The offices around him were all empty, the air was stale and…and as he walked around, looking for an exit, he was beginning….to suspect that he didn’t work here at all. No, he didn’t know where he was, now that he thought about it–but he did work in an office, right? He’d…he’d gone to college, he’d majored in business, he worked as an accountant. The air was thinner all of a sudden, and he was feeling woozy, some sort of pressure pulling him to the floor, giving him a headache, and he could…feel his intellect being crushed. Jeff had never been that smart, but he was clever enough–but not only was his knowledge fading, but his edges were dulling as well. Everything seemed…simpler all of a sudden, and looking around at the alien office, he could see the walls…dissolving around him, reforming, until he was lying on filthy tile, not carpet, surrounded by a bank of cooking equipment–like…like in a fast food restaurant.

He managed to push back against the pressure, reassert himself, and as much as he didn’t want to find the place familiar–he knew it intimately. It was the fast food place where…where he worked. Where he’d worked for years, ever since he’d stupidly dropped out of high school, not that he could have gone to college with his shitty grades. He couldn’t even get a promotion, not without a GED, and he was too lazy to even bother getting that. So here he was, working the fryer, microwaving burgers, and…and taking orders.

At that thought, the pressure shoved him forward, towards the register. He was dressed in his uniform–4XL, and face to face with…with a young woman. Someone he should know…right? A name popped into his head from nowhere–Tiffany. She was pretty, she was his…girlfriend? But at that thought, her face looked at him, disgusted, like she had read his mind. No, someone like that would never be interested in a fat loser like him. The shame was burning through him, he couldn’t believe he’d even thought that. No, he couldn’t be interested in her, he wasn’t interested in her, he…he was…interested in…

The look of cruel disgust didn’t shift on Tiffany’s face, but the rest of her body did, growing larger, inflating, her dress becoming leather gear, her face growing a beard, his cock, fuck…fuck, his cock. Jeff was salivating, the pressure behind him, pushing him against the counter, bending him over as the man shoved his cock in Jeff’s mouth, and he saw a line form behind the man, and felt another line behind him, a stranger hauling down his uniform pants, fucking him roughly, like he deserved. Yeah, this is what a fat loser like him deserved, what he needed, what he craved. The man in front of him–he knew him now. A guy he’d hooked up with a few times around town–the man who held the key to the cage his cock was trapped in. Not that it was much of a cock–two inches when hard, and buried in his fat, but the man liked it locked all the same. After him, came the chubby manager of the restaurant, who had found out Jeff was a cocksucker, and he’d been servicing him ever since, the man threatening to fire him if he told anyone. The line continued. His father and stepfather, both of whom had abused him. Teachers. Strangers. Roommates. All of the men in his life he served, and at the end, a looming figure, familiar, pressing his gut into Jeff’s face, guiding his head lower with a hand–

Jeff opened his mouth and took Brian’s thick, seven inch cock into his well practiced throat, allowing him to slide in deep, down his throat. He hadn’t had a gag reflex in ages, and the sensation of being used roughly sent a tingle of pleasure through his jiggling body, like always. One hand twisted his meaty nipples and tugged on his fat moobs, the other slid down the back of his pants and toyed with the buttplug he wore almost constantly, puny cock aching in the confines of it’s extra small cage.

“How’s it taste, you fucking loser? You like eating my nasty cock?”

Jeff did like it–but then again, rough, abusive, fat men got Jeff’s hunger going like little else. Hell, he was so shameless at this point, that he’d beg men like this to abuse him–that’s why they were here, after all–Jeff had begged the man to feed him his cum, and when else was he going to have a chance to join the mile high club? He kept sucking, and the man fed him a load of cum after a couple of minutes. Someone was knocking on the door–had been knocking on the door. Brian zipped up and left, leaving Jeff on his knees, cum in his beard, looking up at an older, chubby gentleman in a business suit, staring down at him. “I’ll…suck you too, if you want,” he said, unable to believe his own audacity, or that the businessman–who’d briefly been pressed up against the wall by Brian, sneered and stepped inside.

“I hope you’re full service–because I have to piss first, and you’re in front of the toilet.”

Some other man, deep inside him, screamed, but Jeff had drank piss numerous times before. It took the man a few minutes to get past his nerves to actually piss in his mouth–Jeff helped put him at ease by telling him to pretend he was just an object–not a person at all. He drank the man’s bladder dry, and then sucked him off. The man blew after a minute, and slipped out, back to his seat. No one else was waiting, so Jeff went back down the aisle. Brian was waiting for him, and let Jeff slide back in by the window, his now 450 pound bulk mashed between the armrests, and Brian joined him again with a smile that told Jeff he wasn’t quite finished with him yet.

Cabin Pressure (Part 2)

It was back, the thing. But not as a weight this time, it was…the ground, the air, all around him. It smelled stale, earthy, and somehow greasy, coating the inside of his mouth and lungs every time he inhaled a bit of it into himself, and with each breath he sank a bit deeper into it. A waterbed, a beanbag chair, it conformed to him, pulled him in deeper, welcoming him and encouraging him, helping him to feel safe, secure, content, and relaxed.

A space that had been nothing was becoming something around him. His gym. A gym. Did he go to a gym? His memories…they were telling him that he had…but the thing surrounding him was doubtful. Wasn’t that a lot of work? It whispered in his mind’s ear, telling him he wouldn’t have bothered, that he was wrong. The gym was fading, slightly. The walls closing in, the workout equipment melting into the floor, or contorting into other furniture–some shelves, a TV, and behind him, a bench had grown into a couch. The floor shifted, and sent him off balance, falling backwards into the couch, the couch accepted him like the dream had, told him he was here, where he belonged, where he always was, watching the TV. The room was dark and tight, dirty. He didn’t like it here, he didn’t want to be down here. He tried to get off the couch, but he couldn’t lift himself away–the weight dragging him back, the couch pulling him in with a strange suction and gravity. He couldn’t breathe, he was stuck, he couldn’t move, he–

Jeff was pushing against something, something fleshy. He thought it was the strange thing from his dreams, for a moment, and then he realized it wasn’t. It was Brian’s body next to him! His face was pressed into his armpit–that musty smell he’d been inhaling had been the massive man’s sweaty musk. Disgusted, he tried again to push himself away, and had to haul himself out of the Brian’s grasp–his arm had encircled him, and pulled him close, while the man had slept-and now awoken to Jeff’s struggle. “Oh goodness–are you alright?”

“What the fuck, man?” Jeff said, sputtering a bit. “You fucking queer, were you fucking holding me?”

“Now now,” Brian said, his tone a bit more gruff, “You fell asleep on me first!” I didn’t mean to hold onto you, I just dozed off.”

“You fucking faggot, you just wanted to feel me up. Probably the first time you’ve touched a muscle in ages, right you fat fuck?”

Brian just cocked an eyebrow, and then sneered at him, pleased with himself. “Must have been some dream, if that’s what you think of yourself.”

Jeff glared at him, but…but something did feel off. He looked down at himself, expecting to see a chubby, powerlifting physique (was that even right though? Shouldn’t he be leaner than that?) but instead, he was looking down at his body–his real body. Fuck, he’d never set foot in a gym in his life! All he fucking did with his time was sit in his apartment, watching TV…and eating. Fuck, did he have a binge habit, and it showed. He wasn’t quite as large as the man beside him, but he’d just crested 300 at his last doctor visit, which had been pretty fucking humiliating–

No, what the fuck was he even thinking! This wasn’t right, this couldn’t be real! He pinched himself, trying to wake up. This had to be the dream, it had to be!

“Nice try, but there’s no waking up from this one,” Brian said, leering at him, leaning closer, pressing some of his weight to Jeff’s side, “Why don’t you go back to sleep, eh? We were just starting to have some fun.”

Jeff pushed back, pushed himself into the corner, trying to keep from touching his seatmate, trying to figure out what was wrong with him. He reached under and unlatched the seatbelt, which was cutting into his gut, stood up, and forced himself between Brian and the seat in front of him, pushing his grasping arms away, while Brian licked his lips, and then he was stumbling down the aisle, towards the bathroom. He needed space, his own space, he had to get away. He got to the bathroom, found it unoccupied, struggled with the door for a moment, and as soon as it was open–he was shoved inside by Brian, who’d followed him up the aisle and followed in by the massive figure, squeezing in with him, and shutting the door behind them both.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Jeff tried to shout, but Brian grabbed him by the face and hauled him close, burying his face between his moobs.

“Now now, just relax, young man. Everything will be fine when you wake up again, I promise,” Brian whispered in his ear, “But we’re going to have to punish you, for being such a fighter–thankfully, I know a few ways to take the fight out of men like you.”

Jeff struggled harder, managing to get a breath of air and spin around, but froze when he saw his reflection in the mirror. Gone was his manicured, slicked back hair, his smooth face–his hair looked like it hadn’t been touched in months, hanging around his head in a mop, the scruffy beard covering his jaw and…both of his chins. He was wearing a dirty, stained t-shirt with some stupid gaming reference, and a pair of massive shorts. He looked like a slob, like a nerd. He was disgusted, he was disgusting. He couldn’t look at it, he couldn’t look at him, and he looked back, into Brian’s eager eyes, and he had nowhere else to go. The man smothered him, Jeff trying, desperately, to reach the door handle, but his hand went slack after a few minutes, and Brian held his limp body close, stroking his body while the younger man snored, eager to have some more fun when he woke again.

Cabin Pressure (Part 1)

We’ll keep going with Officer Wetzel next week (once I figure out what’s going to happen next) but here’s a different story for the mean time.

Just perfect. Fourteen hour flight home, and he’s the one who has to sit next to the fucking fat ass on the damn plane. Jeff regretted requesting the window seat–usually he liked being able to look out, but most of the flight he’d only be seeing ocean, and now he’d be trapped between a wall, and this fucking piece of slab. He was on his way back home after a summer trip to Paris with his girlfriend–he had to go back to work next week, however, and she had another week off, so she was jetting off to Rome to stay with a college friend of hers who was studying there. He squeezed past the fat fuck–he had to be close to 400 pounds–and tried not to look at him, but it wasn’t easy. He had a scruffy beard and longish hair which was receding, with a fair amount of grey in it. He was wearing a dress shirt and slacks, but Jeff couldn’t help but notice the spots under his arms were already damp.

Jeff, on the other hand, kept himself in perfect shape–he worked out regularly with his roommate Kevin, whom he’d known since college–though he wouldn’t be his roommate for much longer. Things were getting pretty serious with Tiffany, and they were talking about moving in together soon after she got back. Still, he was a beast–very little fat on him, broad shoulders, thick chest, a nice ass. He wasn’t exactly small, either, at six foot four, and so he had a hard time squeezing into the seat–no matter what he did, his own, muscular thigh was pressed against the fat stranger’s flab, and it made his skin crawl a bit. The guy smiled at him a bit apologetically, and Jeff rolled his eyes, got himself settled, and popped in his earbuds–signalling to the guy he definitely wasn’t interested in talking. Jeff ignored the safety video, and focused on the screen in the back of the seat in front of him, at the little plane, that massive stretch of ocean, the white flight path leading back to the states, the countdown that hadn’t started yet. He sighed, the plane took off into the sky, and he put on a movie to watch. The guy next to him did as well, but Jeff noticed he kept glancing over at him every few minutes. Was he a fag too? Even worse. Still, Jeff was exhausted, since the flight was an early one, and he’d need to sleep a bit. The cabin lights dimmed after a snack–which the fat ass wolfed down–and then the cabin lights dimmed. He waited until the fatty’s head had slumped over, and he was snoring lightly, before leaning against the window, and nodding off himself.

There was a weight on him. It was heavy, almost immobilizing, and while he was panicking slightly, it was also…kind of comfortable–like a thick, heavy, blanket. Yeah, something was pressing on him, but also…also, into him, in some way. The more it was on him, the more he felt heavy himself, and a bit sluggish, and more comfortable, and relaxed, and at ease. He felt soft. He felt…weak, even. It was starting to be too much, he was getting hotter, he needed to get out, he needed–

Jeff struggled out of the dream, only to find that at some point in their nap, the man beside him and slumped over, onto him. No wonder he’d felt something heavy on him! He gave the man a rough shove, waking him up in the process. “Fuck dude! Get off me.”

The man looked groggily, his face flushing. “Oh! Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!”

Jeff knew he should be furious, disgusted, demand the stewardess find him another seat, anything, but looking at the man’s red face, he felt…something else, which he couldn’t quite describe. “It’s…it’s alright. It happens, right?” He smiled, an odd butterfly in his gut.

“Yes, it does, I suppose. Still, I try to be conscious about my space–big guys like us gotta be, right?”

Jeff was taken aback by the comment. He was big in some ways, but nothing like this lard ass. He looked down at himself, but was a bit…flummoxed. Something about his body didn’t seem quite right for some reason. “Yeah, the gym does that.”

“Oh goodness, no gym for me! But you have an impressive powerlifter build, I must say. Very handsome. My name’s Brian by the way.”

The guy really was a faggot, Jeff thought to himself, but the usual revulsion he felt around those types was more muted than usual. He also felt…happy at the compliment, and he did have a pretty stout figure. Plenty of muscle, sure, but a hefty, firm gut as well. The two of them chatted for a bit–Brian was returning from a business trip–when Jeff’s eyes got heavy again, and he started yawning.

“Sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night, obviously. Blame the girlfriend,” he said with a chuckle, which Brian returned with less interest. That ought to give him a hint at least. “I’m gonna sleep a bit more.”

“Alright, I promise to fall in the other direction next time, if I sleep again.”

Jeff chuckled…but secretly, he’d kind of…enjoyed it. The sensation from the dream had been pleasant, and lingered with him as he laid his head back, and he was snoring before too long. When he Brian was confident his seat partner was fast asleep, he gingerly reached up and put an arm around the back, and gently nudged him, until the a groggy mutter, Jeff slumped over onto him and let off a bit of a groan–the big man adjusting his crotch, and pulling Jeff a bit tighter to his body.

Ideal Tenants (2/2)

After three months, both Josh and Greg had each packed on an impossible one hundred pounds–and neither one of them seemed the least bit bothered by their sudden gain. If anything, the two of them had become quite a bit more easy going over the last month–being more polite and accommodating to their neighbors, stopping in to chat with their landlord…each of them a bit embarrassed to find the older, bearish man somewhat…attractive, all of a sudden.

Something else they hadn’t noticed, was that they each appeared to be about a decade older than when they’d moved in–more like their mid 30’s than early 20’s. The apartment had changed as well–their gym equipment eventually disappearing into thin air, replaced by shelves full of books and a well stocked kitchen. They were still fucking quite often, but all of their sex now seemed to involve food somehow–just eating was enough to turn either one of them on. It was Josh that Mr. Emerson fucked first–showing up at the door with a dozen doughnuts he plied him with, until he got so horny he demanded Mr. Emerson fuck his wide ass. Greg succumbed not too long after that, to an entire cake, and after that, Mr. Emerson was paying them both regular visits, often at the same time.

With direct contact, the changes grew more extreme. Josh transitioned, overnight, from retail work to a rather cushy office job in finance. He was now in his mid 40’s, wearing suits everyday, and stuffing himself at his desk. Greg found a new job as a programmer, which allowed him to work from home–giving him ample time to feed, and also to service his landlord’s cock,whom he’d begun to address as master, as he ballooned past 600 pounds, while Josh hovered at a mere 375. Still, the gainers were a perfectly happy couple, and were very eager to sign a new year lease with Mr. Emerson, both of them under his desk vying for his cock, as he passed them sweets and candies for his two pigs to share.

Ideal Tenants (½)

Josh and Greg were two younger louts, who had managed to score a year long lease in a rather nice apartment building–and seemed intent to make everyone else living within the place hate their guts. They were loud, violent, didn’t care for the property of others, and when they arrived home one day to find a notice on their door–handwritten–which they didn’t bother to read.

Since I’d never get my lease back if I evicted you, I’ll just have to make you into some tenants I can live with! Your Landord.

The reason the apartment building was so nice, in fact, was because Mr. Emerson, the owner of the building, was a warlock. A warlock, who was rather fed up with the behavior of both troublemakers, and so, over rest of their lease, the two of them would find themselves…becoming Mr. Emerson’s ideal tenants. What they didn’t know, was that Mr. Emerson was gay, and had some rather specific tastes.

It was less than a month before their first awkward moment of sex. Josh and Greg often spent their time after work exercising on a shared bench they’d bought together. But lately, the two of them had found themselves becoming quite…distracted by one another. It was Josh who figured it out first, hauled down Greg’s shorts and started sucking at his cock, before demanding his roommate fuck his ass–Josh didn’t even bother to insist that he wasn’t gay, before fucking his friend’s hole for an hour straight.

From that moment on, every time the two of them tried to work out, they wound up fucking instead. And after every fuck, they found themselves ravenous, and would stuff themselves with anything they could find in the house. Meanwhile, Mr. Emerson was watching all of this on the various cameras he’d installed in their apartment, eager for the rest of the young men’s lives to fall into place.

Source: hornyserbian

Asslickers Inc. (Part 6)

The dildo was quite small now, especially compared to the width of Judd’s ass. The white and blue had faded away from the shaft as it had shrunk, leaving just a pale, creamy rod which Ari slid in deep. “Why don’t we just let that melt for a bit?”

“Aww fuck…can’ believe ya fuckin’ turned me intah some dumbass redneck slob. Can’t believe how much I fuckin’ love it, fuck! I’d fuckin’ plow mah ass if I could, hot damn, what a pig…” Judd muttered to himself, gazing at his reflection. “Ya got anythin’ tah smoke round here? Could use somethin’…got an itch tah scratch.”

“Sorry, I don’t smoke. I can get you a beer though.”

“Fine, two cans though–’n just the cheap shit! Don’t need so sissy fuckin’ import shit. Real fuckin’ ‘Merican’s drink domestic!”

Ari just shook his head, and went into the kitchen, as a new taste flooded Judd’s mouth. It was like sweet whipped cream…but with a sour tinge, almost like yogurt, or…cum. Yeah, it was like sugary cum, that was it exactly! Fuck, it tasted pretty damn good–he wouldn’t mind some real cum, now that he was thinking about it. Ari returned, and since Judd’s body was still paralyzed and limp, He had to help the big lug drink the two cans down. A good amount ran down his chins and onto the rubber sheet, running around his filthy body, but he got a small buzz going–enough to ignore the growing need for tobacco in one form or another. “Thanks fucker–now git that cock in mah mouth–this pigs hungry fer some cum.”

“No kidding. Still, I want to check on the rest of the effects, and see how that’s working first.” Ari walked around behind him, and looked at Judd’s ball sack–which was tingling a bit, and Ari gave a few noises of approval. “Damn Judd–you’ve got quite the sack on you now! And better get used to having the crotches of your overalls wet, because that cock of yours will be leaking at the first sight of a guy’s cock you want.”

“Yeah? Well I fuckin’ want yers! Now git round here, ‘n fuckin’ feed me! This pig’s fuckin’ hungry.”

Judd didn’t actually get through the blow job before he fell asleep, thanks to the tranquilizers Ari had put in the beers. Still, he took pity on him, skull fucked his fat, bearded face and buried deep into his throat, pumping his gut full of a load, and then got up off the bed, found his phone, and made a call.

“Got a pickup for you. He’s asleep….Sure thing, one hour.”

Overall, a successful test–as good as he could hope for really. He could review the tapes later, and decide on what changes he might make to the product line–but for now, it was nearly four in the morning, and he needed to sleep. He managed an hour nap, before the crew arrived, marched in, bundled up Judd and carted him off out of the apartment–Ari didn’t know where they took them when he finished with them, and he didn’t really want to know. All he really wanted, was a nice long sleep–and when he woke up? He’d pick another target, and conduct his next test in next week.

Judd woke up to a pounding headache, and with a groan, rolled over in the tight queen bed that barely contained his bulk, and wondered where, exactly, he was. He should be home…right? Was this his home? He had fuzzy memories of some crazy dream, but they were already fading–he sat up, belched, gave his furry pit a scratch and sniff, before hauling himself up and squeezing through the tight trailer, finding the filthy bathroom where he pissed mostly into the toilet, and then started scrounging around for something to smoke. The only thing he found was a can of chewing tobacco, so he hauled out a thick wad of the dark leaf and shoved it in his mouth, feeling better as he gnawed on it, dark spit rolling out the side of his mouth and down into his beard. Beer next–then breakfast. Then he could worry about how he’d ended up here.

Still, by the time he’d gotten four beers in his gut, cooked up a pile of eggs and potatoes and scarfed the whole thing down, his brain had managed to catch up–and he realized he was home. After all, it didn’t make sense for him to be anywhere else…and he’d probably just drank a bit too much, and fucked up his head, like usual.

Breakfast hadn’t quite sated all of his hungers, however, and he hauled up his massive gut and started proding at his cock–turnin’ on the cumtap as he liked to call it. His balls were massive–at least the size of two grapefruits, and the cum streamed out of him in a torrent–fast enough for him to hang off a chair, milk his cock with one hand, hold a big glass in the other, and guzzle down a full cup of fresh jizz every few minutes. His milking routine was interrupted by an unfamiliar ringtone–he dug through the filth of the trailer for a few moments, hunted down the years out of date flip phone, and answered it with a long, drawled hello.

“God fuckin’ damn it Judd, where the fuckin’ hell are ya? This god damn truck ain’t gonna drive itself, ‘n yer half an hour late n’–fuck, from the way yer pantin’, were ya milkin’ yerself again?”

“I don’t know…who ya are, but…” Judd stammered.

“Shut the fuck up pig! If ya weren’t such a cum hungry faggot, I’d a canned yer worthless fat ass months ago. Git here now, fucker–’n if ya don’t got her nasty mouth round mah cock in twenty minutes, yer gonna be findin’ another fuckin’ job!”

Memories were falling into place again–that was his boss–Heathrow Midstel–and the owner of one of the biggest, fattest cocks Judd had ever seen. Trucking wasn’t something he liked to do–but if he got to drink his boss’ cum on a regular basis, he’d manage. Grumbling, he hauled on a pair of filthy overalls, the crotch stained dark and stiff with cum, threw on some boots, and went out to his old beat up truck. It wasn’t a perfect life–but it was the only one he had…and if Judd was honest, it was the only life he wanted now too.

Asslickers Inc. (Part 4)

The hoist was groaning from the additional weight, but it was holding, lowering Jules slowly back down onto the bed. “Please, I’m fucking serious! I didn’t know I could be this fucking hungry.”

“I know how hungry you are, Jules, but you’re going to have to be patient.”

“I don’t want to be patient, I want to fucking eat!”

Ari didn’t reply, just focused on settling the sheet back down onto the bed, Jules now massively flabby frame inside of it, and unfolded it back over the bed, giving him a better look at the daddy’s huge frame now that he was off the scale. Bent over as he was, it was difficult to see the full scope, but he noticed a telltale twitch of an arm–the relaxer was wearing off. He went over to the wall and brought back a clear buttplug and pushed it into Jules hole, letting its effect take hold, Jules’ eyes glazing over slightly. “Alright Jules–you’ll be able to move soon, so we’re going to go to the kitchen, have something to eat, and conduct a bit of business. You won’t think of running. You won’t look for help. You want to be here, and you want to do everything I tell you to do. Do you understand?”

Jules nodded and muttered a distant yes. Ari kept the plug in until it had fully dissolved, to make sure his directions had sunk in, and then pulled out the stick and set it aside, before helping Jules get used to his new body, as it came back alive. The Mindplug worked for about four hours–more than enough time. Jules was incredibly impatient, but the relaxer didn’t give him back full use of his legs for another half hour–and Ari broke down and brought him a bag of chips for a snack, which Jules inhaled in a minute or less, immediately demanding more. Still, they got him upright on his wide feet and cankles, Jules staring down at his massive, furry body, running his hands over it…and wondering why this wasn’t freaking him out as much as it should be. Sure…he liked being fat, but…but this was so fucked up, right? Then why did he just…keep doing everything Ari told him to do?

He waddled his way back to the kitchen, where Ari set out a large spread of snacks, which Jules found himself helpless against. He tried to control himself, tried to tell himself that he’d worked hard at the gym all his life to keep from becoming like this–but as soon as he’d thought that…he realized that he couldn’t actually remember ever being in a gym once in his life. No, what he was recalling now, were years spent stuffing his face at buffets, in front of the TV, growing bigger, and bigger, and bigger… “We…we met at the gym, right?”

Ari nodded, “You’re probably wondering why your memory seems all messed up?”

Jules nodded.

“The asslickers can warp your brain too. Once it settles into it’s new format–you won’t even believe you were ever in a gym. Your head will invent some other place where we met, which makes more sense–like a buffet or something.”

“You mean…fuck–this shit fucked me up.”

“Yeah, but you do love it, don’t you?” Ari said, jiggling Jules’ side rolls, making him giggle and groan, his cock hardening.

“Fuck, do that again…”

“I’ll do more than that, but you have to do something for me first.”

Ari got his computer, and directed Jules to compile a massive list of information about his financial assets–all of his stocks and bonds, his accounts, his retirement. He also had to list all of his personal information. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was doing it…but Ari had told him to, so he did it. When he was finished, Ari sent the documents off to someone by email, and then told Jules what he was getting. “You want my cock in that big ass of yours, right pig? Get back in that bedroom, and I’m going to plow you better than any asslicker ever could.”

With an excited nod, Jules heaved himself up from the table and walked back into the bedroom, his massive frame already feeling natural to him, his body adjusting naturally as his brain caught up to what it already knew–that he was a chub, that he was a gainer and had been all his life, that if he didn’t pass 600 pounds by the end of the year, he’d feel like a complete failure. He got back on the bed, and Ari put on a thick condom–even covering his balls–before fucking Jules deep and long. After all, he had no interest in getting any remaining residue from his projects on any sensitive areas. When he finally came–Jules tried to get up, but discovered that he couldn’t move. Beyond that–he also noticed that his head was starting to clear, after that strange plug Ari had used on him. Had he really just given Ari information about all of his money? Why in the fuck had he done that?

“You know, for a big shot executive like you describe yourself on your website, I thought you would have been worth a bit more than all that. Still, thanks for the seed money, I can promise it’ll be put to good use.”

“No–no, this is fucking robbery! I wasn’t in my right mind!”

“Oh, trust me, my lawyers–well, Arctos’ layers–will sort all of that out. They’ve been very efficient with my previous test subjects.”

“Wait–you looked at my website?”

“Well of course–I’ve been tracking you for a while. No partner, small social circle, work obsessed, no one will be surprised to hear you cracked. Everyone will think you pulled a sudden retirement after a nervous breakdown, letting you spend your wealth in some beautiful tropical country. I mean, not really–but at least they’ll be happy for you. I mean, you won’t actually be at a resort of course,” he said with a laugh, “No, I don’t think you’ll be heading to any resort any time soon.”

Asslickers Inc. (Part 3)

Ari heaved a sigh, “Guess I fucked the sequence up a bit–should have done a Tatted Twister first, but I won’t be able to see anything under all that hair of his…Oh well, guess we might as well go big or go home–how does that sound, eh Jules?”

Jules wasn’t listening–he was still staring at his now incredibly hairy body, unable to really process what had just happened to him. His hair had grown long, but at the angle he was positioned on the bed, it had flopped over, obscuring some of his vision. In front of him, he could see his beard, and it was easily a foot long. He had always wondered what he might look like as a redhead, but this wasn’t how he wanted to find out. “Look–please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone, alright? I don’t want to do this.”

“See? This is why I need the muscle relaxer first. Because even guys who are open to trying one, never seem to want a second. Well, unless they’re actually buying one of course,” Ari walked back over, and sat down on the bed, looking at Jules, sizing him up. “Probably easiest if I bring the scale in here, I think.”

He got up from the bed, Jules calling after him. He returned a minute later, wheeling a massive, industrial scale ahead of him, and pushed it up next to the bed. “Alright, now let’s get you loaded up.”

The rubber sheeting of the bed turned out to have eyelets all along the edge, allowing it to be hoisted up by a mechanical hoist in the ceiling. For several awkward minutes, as he was picked up in the rubber bundle, maneuvered over the scale, and dropped down onto it, he was forced to try and avoid getting suffocated by the sheet. When he was in a satisfying enough position for Ari to be satisfied with, he zeroed out the scale, and then went to the wall–and returned with a monstrous, pale white tube, thicker than an arm, and five or six inches longer than a forearm. “Newest model of this one–The Nuclear Tonnage! Just have to figure out how much tonnage we’re talking about.”

“Wait, what? What’s this one going to do? And I can’t take something that big!”

“Well…honestly? It’s going to make you fat. I’m not sure how fat–that’s what I have to find out, so I know whether I need to scale the mold up or down.”

“Fat? Oh fuck you, fuck no, get that fucking thing away from me, you fucking asshole!”

“Oh, don’t worry–you’ll love it. Everyone does–it’s built in! You’ll be thanking me soon enough.”

The scale had registered 235 pounds–which, excluding the sheet and prop underneath Jules, meant he weighed about 225. Ari spent half an hour or so, opening up Jules’ ass–first with one fist, and then with both hands at once. It hurt–a lot–but Ari had obviously done this quite a lot, and once the pain subsided…Jules refused to admit it, but it actually felt good…good enough for his cock to get hard, at least. Then the hands pulled out, and before he could object further, the tip of the massive, pale rod was at the entrance of his hole, and sliding in. It went it like butter, and inside, as it heated…it almost felt like it was softening, molding itself to his intestines as it slipped into him, making him shudder and groan with pleasure. “Oh god, it tastes like butter…”

“Oh, this one tastes like a lot of things, trust me–no dog hair though. And hey! You got it all the way in–good job newbie.”

All the way in? It didn’t seem possible, but he could see himself in the mirror, and sure enough, the entire mass was lodged deep in his ass…melting into him, and fuck, it tasted good. Like butter. Or…or lard. Yeah, like pure fucking lard, fuck it was making his mouth water. The warmth inside him, and the delicious tastes assaulting his senses blissed him out, so he didn’t even notice the first few dozens of pounds that added themselves onto his body–not until Ari started poking and prodding at him, testing his skin, and noted that, according to the scale, he’d gained 100 pounds, and it was still climbing at a good clip. Jules tried to pull his focus away from the maple doughnuts he was tasting on his tongue, and looked over at himself, now 325 pounds and growing. His muscles were buried below a hefty layer of fat, and the belly he’d always kept as thin as he could had grown into a proper, sagging gut. Still…it didn’t disgust him as much as he might have expected it to–if anything, he thought it looked…kind of sexy?

“Why…does seeing myself look like a pig…turn me on all of a sudden?” He asked, feeling oddly sluggish in his mind.

Ari started kneading his fat with his rubber gloves, making Jules moan in pleasure, sliding the slick, greasy dildo in and out of his hole a few times, seeing how small it had become. “Because that’s what it’s supposed to do–I told you you’d like it. Now shut up and enjoy yourself. These things are supposed to be pleasurable.”

He did his best to fight it, but as he expanded, he found himself excited to see just how big he might end up. He passed the 200 mark, putting him over 400 pounds, and still showed no sign of stopping, though the dildo was now only about a third of the size it had been to begin with, Ari ramming it in deep, Jules lost in the pleasure of his new body–so lost, that his own orgasm caught him by surprise. He could feel his cock pulse deep in his fat pad, cum leaking out and around his fat…and even that idea made him feel so fucking sexy. The scale finally came to rest at 332 pounds–putting him at a new total weight of 557–and suddenly, he wanted to keep going. Wanted to be bigger, the taste of butter lingering in his mouth but fading fast. “Fuck, he said, and let off a big belch, “I’m fucking starving–and shove another one of those in me! Make me even bigger! Oh fuck, did I…fuck, what the fuck have you done to me?”

Russian Agent (2 of 2)

What Andy didn’t know, was that the program he’d entered had, in fact, been designed by the Americans, who had mastered the technology first, and then embedded American spies to sabotage the Russian intelligence network. And so, as the days wore on, Andy tried to muster up his energy to clean up his slovenly apartment, but never seemed to find the energy for much beyond watching American TV (which, he discovered, was actually quite good) and surfing the internet (something he’d never been able to do back in Russia.) The memories of his old self started to sink deeper, and he didn’t even realize he was losing them–he also didn’t realize that this new body of his was always, constantly, hungry.

Eating was second nature to his new persona. He did it mindlessly–at his desk at work, watching TV, snacking as he walked and rode the bus around town. Soon, he was forced to buy new clothes…and admit something else to himself. Something horrible had happened to him, in this procedure–he’d become gay.

For quite a long time, he’d tried to jack off to pictures of women, but nothing had worked well for him. Then, mostly by accident, he’d stumbled across a video of a massive man fucking a woman–and he’d blown his load in seconds. He sought out more videos of massive men, unable to tear his eyes away, unable to imagine himself being that…huge. He tried to resist–he could sense something was wrong. He tried to call in for assistance, but no help came for him. It was over a four day weekend, full of binging, that he asked a feeder he’d been chatting with online to come feed him–and after that, there was no going back.

It’s been five years now, and Andrei is dead. Andy, however, is celebrating his five hundred pound mark with his two feeder-partners. They’re going to stuff him full of an entire, three tierd birthday cake, and then all his friends–bears, cubs and chubs from all over town, and even a few from further away–are going to come over and seed Andy’s hole all night long. Meanwhile Russia has lost contact with twenty of their top agents–they’re sending over another five in a month, to try and track down what happened to their comrades. Still, it’s not likely they’ll be able to resist the allure of American Life either.

Russian Undercover (1 of 2)

He was ready. In peak physical condition. This would be the most challenging mission of his entire life, but for Russia, he would do anything. Unknown to those stupid Americans, the Cold War had never really ended, and under Putin, more and more resources had been funneled to secret programs and missions designed to undermine America’s position both at home and abroad. Now, Andrei would be undergoing a brand new program of deep cover. With the help of a strange new drug, which could alter the physical nature of an individual, and mental programs designed to help him assimilate seamlessly with American culture, he would be the first of many Russian spies planted right in America’s communities, ready to strike at first notice.

Today was the day. He had few friends and family to say goodbye to, which was part of the reason he’d been chosen for this mission. Still, he looked forward to fucking a string of American bimbos once he got settled into his new life–after all, women had never really been able to resist a physique like his. The doctors told him to strip, attached a series of contraptions to him, along with a thick helmet, but before anything could happen, he passed out in darkness.

He awoke on a double bed, in some room he’d never seen before. The doctors had told him that the next time he woke, he would be in America, his new memories fitting seamlessly on top of his Russian past. Indeed, hi name, now, was Andy, he lived in Cleveland, Ohio, where he worked at a call center a few streets away from his apartment. He was amazed–he could still recall his old self, but the new memories and thoughts appeared even faster. He tested a few sentences, and found himself speaking in flawless American English, with a slight midwestern accent, of course. But then he looked down at his body…and was overcome with shock.

Sure, Americans were well known for their obesity, but Andy had never imagined he might actually be made fat in this process. He looked at his new body in the mirror, disgusted at the hair covering his big gut, and the stubble coating his face. The apartment was a bit of a mess as well–he’d have to fix this. He wouldn’t make much at his new job, but he’d be able to afford a gym membership at least. Still, he checked the time, and realized he needed to leave in fifteen minutes to make it to his job on time for his first day. Cleaning up could wait–he threw on some clothes scarfed down some food, and headed out into the first day of his American life.

Source: justbulls