Port-Lee Football Team

*This story follows a team of college football players as their waistlines are heavily sabotaged by their rival school.*

It struck Coach Armstrong as odd when the guys over at Port Lee College invited a couple of their most esteemed players at St. Bernard’s University over to their side of Southern California for a couple weeks. It’s not usual for schools to invite their rival team over for an off season workshop, especially not one that lasts several weeks, but Coach Armstrong took this as a compliment. It amused him to know that his old rival, Coach Sloan, over at Port Lee College was so scared they might actually lose this year that they’ve invited his players over to teach them a thing or two.

In his glory days Coach Nate Armstrong was once the star quarterback for the St. Bernard Wombats, but thanks to a knee injury and 12 years of inactivity he now sits, parking his Ford F150 full of football players and training equipment, relatively soft compared to the toned Adonis he once was. While not fat, the inch or two of adipose covering his broad, 6’3 body shows his lack of activity over the years. His wavy salt and pepper hair is combed back and styled effortlessly above his boyish face, sporting a hefty 5 O’clock shadow that moves with his slight chin chub as he gives out orders.

“Alright guys,” Coach Armstrong instructs. “Let’s start unloading so we can start showing these Port Lee boys a thing or two.” Before he hoists himself out of the truck, Coach Armstrong takes a somber look at a small photo placed in the corner of his rearview mirror. The pic shows himself standing platonically next to a man, roughly 30 or so, wearing a similar red/gold coaching polo as himself. Remembering his old, beer gutted pal one last time, he crumples the picture and throws it out.

His attention back on his players, Armstrong stands idly as his three best players start to carry large duffle bags, training dummys, and other equpment into Port Lee College’s training center. He watches with slight envy as his quarterback, Ricky Escobar, effortlessly carries several bags over his shoulders, his perfectly sculpted terra cotta biceps and back muscles bulging through his compression tank top. As he walks his hairy, meaty thighs slightly rub together and bounce underneath the weight of his tightly muscled bubble butt shifting with every step in his tight athletic shorts. It’s no wonder some of the guys say that Ricky carries the team when he makes everything look so effortless.

The two other teammates brought along, Truc and Jake, were the obvious other choices. First line Wide Receiver Truc, while a couple inches shorter and few pounds leaner than all the other guys, is by far the fastest and most sculpted on the team. His shoulder length jet black hair cascades behind him as he’s starring Center, Jake, shadows him from up front. One of the biggest on the team, Jake stands at 6’5 and 250lbs of well trained beef. His succulent arms, ripe with defined beef, barely shake as he lifts more equipment, revealing a hairy gut created over many nights of pizza and beer post workout.

After a quick arrival call from Coach Armstrong, the men are greeted at the glass doors outside of the extensive, if not slightly musty, training center at Port Lee College. “Well it’s about time you boys show up!” Rival Coach, Andrew Sloan, greets them with a pointed smile. He’s kept his athletic figure very well over his years of coaching, to the dismay of Coach Armstrong who sucks in his slight paunch. “Why don’t you boys drop the equipment so we can start with the tour? I’ll have my safeties, Carter and Grant, help you with the heavy lifting. You guys must be exhausted after that drive!”

“And here,” Offers one of the two guys with swimmers’ builds hovering behind Coach Sloan, holding out a tray of four milky brown beverages. “These are our specialty protein shakes. It’s Port Lee’s unique recipe. Usually we would never give these away but… Coach insists you guys can have them while you’re here.”

The guys from St. Bernard’s each take one of the oversized tumblers full of creamy liquid as Coach Sloan starts with the quick tour. He shows the foreign team the two beds per room dorms across from the training facility where they’ll be staying, the vast but mostly empty weight lifting room, the surprisingly clean locker rooms, the small history classroom with large windows where they’ll be able to discuss different logics behind creating football plays, and lastly the expansive stadium colored in white and baby blue.

Climbing the last of the stairs out of the stadium, quarterback Ricky looks over at Jake lumbering up the stairs. “You not gonna finish that?” Ricky asks.

Jake holds up his mostly full protein shake, “Nah dude, these things are way too sweet. Plus I want to save room for whatever they’re bringing in tonight, can’t you smell that?” Jake takes a big wiff of the air, smelling something cheesy wafting over from the training center.

“Wait you don’t want yours?” Coach Armstrong asks, still surprised about the protein shake.

“Yea what the heck dude, can I have yours? These things are awesome!” Truc says, too.

Ricky shakes his head, taking the protein shake out of Jake’s meaty digits. “No way, I called dibs. Besides, I don’t want whatever grease bomb these Port Lee guys are bringing in. There’s no way they’re sabotaging my training!” He chuckles.

As Ricky throws back the 48oz of protein shake, the sun reflecting the high notes in his slightly sweaty skin, his shirt starts to push out a bit against his bloated washboard abs, almost bulging out to the same degree that his oversized glutes do.

Carter and Grant, following behind the group, look at each other. “I don’t think they’re supposed to be doing that!” Carter says, hunching over so nobody can hear.

“It’ll be fineeee,” Grant reassures nonchalantly. “I don’t think the difference between one and two doses is going to make much of a difference- and who cares if it does? Either way it’ll be working. Now we just have to get the large one to suck one of these things down…”

The men make their way back into the locker room before settling down for a moment. Coming out of the Coach’s office, Grant approaches the beefiest man. “Hey Jake!” He calls after the large bearded blond. “We saw you thought your protein shake was too sweet, so we made a Cola flavored one. We’ve got a ton of flavor packets, they’re from, uh, Japan!”

“Oh cool, I guess I could try it. Thanks man” Jake says, grabbing the dark protein shake out of Grant’s pale, bony hand. He takes a swig. “Oh shit, dude. This is great. Those Japanese really know what they’re doing, ha.” Jake starts sucking down the cool, creamy cola flavored liquid.

Off to the side Coach Sloan gathers everyone’s attention. “Okay men, gather ‘round.” Coach Sloan calls everyone over, adjusting his short cropped brunet hair before cockily winking at himself in the reflection of a large mirror on the wall. “Foods here, so help yourselves to whatever you want. And remember to fill up, we start training in the morning!”

Carter and Grant help the delivery man set up foldable tables, lining them against the walls of the warm locker room with a large supply of 2 liter sodas, cups, plates and 16 greasy pizzas of four different toppings. Before the Port Lee boys can even finish setting up the food, Truc, Ricky, and Coach Armstrong immediately start going to town on the pizza as if they haven’t eaten in days. Jake, hulking over the other men and still sipping on his cola shake, waits for his turn to get some food. Almost as if entranced in stuffing their faces, the other guys crowding the tables won’t make room. Swallowing the last of his first piece, Ricky takes a second slice of fatty sausage pizza, grease dribbling down into his unshaven scruff, as Jake tries to move him out of his way by elbowing his already swollen midsection. “Dude, c’mon. You know pizza’s my favorite. Stop being a such a fatass and let me have some.”

Ricky stares back blankly for a second before coming to his senses. “Oh shit, sorry bro. I’m not sure what came over me.” He takes the box of pizza he’s working on and a two liter of root beer to a bench and sits back against the wall. Pizza in one hand, two liter in the other, Ricky takes to a form of gluttony that seems out of place for his ultimate jock body. Jake, slightly baffled at the gluttony of his teammates, makes himself a modest plate with four pieces of pepperoni and leans against some lockers. He watches, confused, as the other three men ravenously consume an immense amount of fat and carbs.

Coach Sloan takes Carter and Grant into his well-organized office behind the double sided mirror in the locker room, paying no attention to the shirtless, stretch mark covered obese man working his way through his own pile of pizzas, along with brown takeout bags full of salty french fries, in the corner. He sits, fat rolls spilling over his desk chair, grunting every once in awhile when something funny happens on the sitcom streaming on his computer.

“It looks like our little plan is working,” Coach Sloan tells his two safeties. “Grant, if your shakes keep working we’ll have St. Bernard’s best players too fat to fit in their uniforms before offseason is even halfway over! There’s no way they’ll be able to beat us in the fall at this rate.”

Grant stares at the men gorging themselves through the window, licking his lips. He can tell Truc’s lithe waistline is starting to bloat as his shirt lifts to reveal a bit of his bloated abs, his back arching to accommodate the strain. While a bit slower than the other men, it’s obvious to Grant that Coach Armstrong seems to eat with much more enjoyment, his pudgy body not being any stranger to fatty, greasy foods like the others. Jake stands in a corner, having finished his relatively small amount of pizza, with his arms crossed over his bulky chest. “We’ll need to wait a bit before the rotund one starts to be affected, it looks like.” Grant tells the others, shifting something growing in his jeans.

Carter’s dark features focus in on Grant. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you!” He teases his longtime friend and roommate. “You perv,” Carter laughs. “I always knew you got some kind of sadistic enjoyment when you pull this kind of stuff.”

Coach Sloan strokes his well trimmed mustache and chuckles. “It’s not sadistic if they’re St. Bernard boys. They always pack on the pounds after they stop playing. Just look at how soft Armstrong’s gotten, or even Marcus here had a pot belly before we did this to him,” He brings up, slapping the sitting fat man’s shoulder and sending a wave of obese blubber jiggling down his engorged chest, fat nipples, side rolls, and into his ocean of belly lard. The large man doesn’t seem to notice, stuffing a fistful of salty fries into his gaping mouth.

“You’re exactly right, coach,” Grant says, a devilish look in his eyes. “Now, can I have a minute with big ole Marcus here while you two take care of those lardasses out there?”

Coach Sloan and Carter leave Grant in the office with the morbidly obese man and are surprised to see that Jake is back at the pizza table, entranced in stuffing himself. His filled-out cheeks are stuffed with triple cheese and pepperoni pizza, and he’s guzzling down cola to fill himself even faster. Truc sits against the lockers, his shoulder length hair slightly sweaty from overeating and his button undone on his shorts. Both his and Coach Armstrong’s eyes struggle to stay open, although Armstrong seems to have packed a more significant amount of food into his big boned frame. His khaki pants are also unbuttoned and a grease stained red and gold polo sits next to his bloated, pudgy, shirtless body. He lets out a slight moan of half pain and half relief from skin contact with the cool locker behind him. Ricky, on the other hand, is somehow still stuffing himself despite looking painfully full. His breathing labored, Ricky’s muscled abs expand out almost to the size of a soccer ball on his midsection, and he’s covered in a layer of sweat. Still, he washes down his last slice of pizza and lets out an inhuman belch.

“Hey, you’re back!” Ricky says breathily, his eyes lighting up. “Would you.. mind grabbing me another.. pizza? It *burp* hurts to stand…”

Carter looks at Coach Sloan, somewhat worried. “This hast to be caused by that second dose he drank. I think we should cut him off, Coach.”

“Nonsense.” Coach Sloan says without hesitation. He walks over to the pizza tables, “We can’t let the boy starve, he’s our guest!”

“Yeah, no starving for me.” The quarterback says with a blissfully stupid smile. “I feel like I could eat a horse.” With a bit of struggle he takes off his shirt that clings to his bloated, glistening body. Ready for more, he happily takes the pizza from Coach Sloan.

Carter, soon accompanied by a suspiciously more relaxed Grant, starts bringing the men to their dorm rooms. Truc and Jake in one, Coach Armstrong and Ricky in the next. Due to the intoxicating effects of Grant’s special shakes, all of the men sleep like babies. Very overfed, engorged muscular babies with distended middles rising and falling.

\

The next day, the safeties let the men sleep in until around noon, much more sleep than they’d usually need. Barging into their rooms, Carter and Grant easily wake all the still bloated men except Ricky, who has to be heavily shaken awake. With a quick breakfast of a large protein shake for each of the men, they head over to the stadium to begin their strength training.

On the stadium field are training dummies, large tractor tires, rope ladders, and several footballs. The sun beats down on them in the Southern California spring heat and cicadas can be heard off in the distance. The two coaches, both similarly broad in stature, stand side by side, their difference in body fat percentages apparent to everyone, especially with Coach Armstrong’s belly bloat pushing down his kakis.

“Alright boys,” Coach Sloan starts, standing with impeccable posture. “I was thinking we’d warm up with some sprints before running some drills and then we’ll get a nice lunch for you St. Bernard boys.”

“Speaking of lunch..” Ricky starts. “Do you guys have any more of those protein shakes? I’m insanely hungry today.” He rubs his shirtless, bloated abs with his muscled hand, Grant and Carter looking at each other.

“Actually,” Grant answers, smirking. “We thought you might like another, so I brought an extra.” He grabs the spare drink from his bag and forks it over. Ricky chugs the drink on the spot, gulping loudly and spilling a few drops onto his bulking pecs. Coach Sloan chuckles at his surprising lack of discipline. It’s not every day he gets to see such a sculpted jock be this gluttonous.

Coach Sloan has all the men run a couple of sprints before the St. Bernard team starts to whine, Carter and Grant barely having broken a sweat.

“Damn it’s hot out here!” Ricky says, surprisingly out of breath.

“Yea,” Truc agrees. “I know we don’t usually do this but can’t we just grab lunch and go over plays or something today? I’m starving.” This elicits a look of shocked delight from Coach Sloan, who knows from studying his rival team that Truc is always the one to be running laps around all the other men.

Jake lifts his tight t-shirt, showing off his meaty belly and chest. “I could really go for some lunch after all this running. Coach never makes the offensive line run like this.”

Sloan looks at Armstrong, smirking. “It’s your call, Armstrong. If you think going over plays after lunch would be better then that’s what we can do.”

Armstrong thinks for a second, his heavy brow furrowed. “Well. I suppose getting some real food in us first couldn’t hurt, and then we’ll see how hot it is after. How’s that sound guys?”

Unsurprisingly, it sounded great to them. Heading back to the locker room early, the Port Lee guys felt a sense of pride that their plan is working so well.

Overnight the Port Lee guys had sectioned out the front of the locker room, removing most of the benches and roping off an area. The area includes foldable tables with a buffet setup, comfortable reclining chairs, and a large TV in case they want to go over plays while eating. Of course, once they lay eyes on the buffet of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, buttery corn, and chocolate cake football is the last thing on their minds. Similar to last night, each of the men enter a frenzy of shoveling in food and soda as quickly and ravenously as their bodies can handle it. Truc unties his short shorts, Jake takes off his shirt that was exposing his underbelly, Coach Armstrong goes down to his underwear as he sloppily soils his shirt and pants with grease, butter, and chocolate.

At the point where Truc, Jake, and Coach Armstrong had stopped eating and Ricky was chair-bound, waiting for Grant to bring him more food than should be humanly possible to stuff into his distorted frame, Coach Sloan grabs the men’s attention. The room grows quiet except for a belch from Truc, and Ricky still smacking away at his rich mashed potatoes. “I think it’s time for a nice surprise before we start to go over some plays with you guys,” Sloan announces. “You see, remember 6 months ago when your co-coach, Coach Marcus, disappeared over night? Well, he didn’t have the heart to tell you this at the time, but we actually recruited him to come coach for us. I’ll go grab him from the office real quick so he can explain.”

The men stare back blankly in their sedated state, except for Coach Armstrong who thinks back to the handsome picture in his truck of the tall, strong man with a slight belly and dark buzzcut. Was his old friend of 10 years really here? He thinks. Maybe he had gotten the same job offer here that they’d given me. No, he wouldn’t have taken it. Maybe him disappearing overnight has a good explanation? God, I can’t think about anything except that food! Maybe one more handful of cake couldn’t hurt…

Out of the office lumbers a naturally bronze man with a dark buzzcut that folds into his neck lard. He wears nothing but a pair of tight cotton shorts that have suspicious white stains around his bulging ass. With every step his torso lard jiggles in waves, shooting up his double chin/cheeks and finishing down his hairy pubic lard that spills out a good inch or two under his lardy belly. The man must be nearing 400lbs of obesity, his expansive stretch marked belly way fatter than any of the team could’ve imagined his once small gut ballooning into. He holds a brown bag full of french fries that’s continuously replaced by Carter or Grant. “Oof,” He says with a familiar masculine voice, rubbing salty circles around his expanding belly. “Y’all got a place for me to sit?” Coach Marcus asks, sitting down on one of the locker room benches.

“Wow,” Truc stammers, arching his back to take the pressure off his own bloated, hairless midsection. “You gained a few pounds, huh?” Not paying attention, Coach Marcus waves his pudgy hands at Grant, gesturing for him to bring him a whole chocolate cake.

Coach Armstrong, wide mouth agape and breathing heavily from his small but stretched out gut, looks shocked. “Holy shit Marcus, it really is you. I can’t believe you abandoned us like that. And you didn’t even call…” Grant hands the 12 inch triple teared German chocolate cake to the obese man and stands behind him, aggressively playing his rotund deposits of chest lard, causing his expansive belly to quiver.

“It was all part of the deal,” Coach Marcus explains to the pudgy coach, picking a chunk of cake with his bare hand. “No more contact with St. Bernard University and I got an increase in pay in the form of this amazing meal plan. I’m sure you understand, Nate.” He shoves the cake into his mouth, moaning in pleasure as Grant pulls at his puffy nipples. He continues through a mouth of chocolate icing, “Any chance you’d want to catch up? We could go in the office and stream TV like we used to after practice.”

“Yeah, we could do that,” Armstrong says bitterly. “We’ll go over plays tomorrow boys, this is important.”

Grant’s pale muscled body hugs underneath Marcus’ flabby chest and hoists him up, lifting from the knees. Carter comes over and offers the same treatment to Armstrong, who refuses. With some difficulty, he gets out of his reclining chair and stifles a burp. He grabs the half eaten cake that Marcus left behind and heads to the office, bloated paunch leading the way. The rest of the men stay back and fall sleep, except for Ricky who continues to ask Carter to bring him more food.

//

Over the next month of training, the St. Bernard boys settle into their new workout routine. After the first few days, talk of running drills, going over plays, and weight lifting dissipates. Because of shirts always getting soiled, normal clothing becomes a thing of the past as the men start to live their new lives in just their shorts, or even down to their tightening jock straps. Chugging a protein shake, or two in Ricky’s case, every morning is the first thing on their minds before thoughts of whatever greasy, fatty food Coach Sloan has ordered for that day. While the other guys gorge themselves on rich food, Grant and Carter often do body weight workouts of their own around the growing men to keep in impeccable shape. After all, their off season won’t last forever.

The St. Bernard players’ days consist solely of stuffing themselves and watching whatever Grant and Carter wanted to put on the TV that day before falling asleep without bothering to take their lazy asses all the way back to the dorms. Sometimes the men find Grant asking them if they want to go to sleep at the dorms that night and leave the others in the locker room. He’ll bring an extra protein shake, this one tasting a little off to the men, and he’ll watch as their cocks grow hard, contrasting with the oncoming softness of their bodies. “If you want to mess around we can,” He tells them. “Just because we’re technically rivals doesn’t mean we’re not helping each other out, ya know?” He smiles coyly, having witnessed first hand that these men don’t have the best self control.  Ricky is especially prone to giving into Grant’s offers. It looks like having upwards of 3 protein shakes a day will do that to an oblivious quarterback.

After the month passes, weigh in day comes around. Weigh ins of Coach Sloan, Grant, and Carter convincing all the St. Bernard men, including the coaches, to walk the long hallway to the scale in the weight room. First up is Truc, whose lithe, hairless body has packed on a bit of pudge quite nicely. In a pair of short shorts that pinch his new love handles, he steps on the sale and feels the few inches of blubber that have accumulated on his torso, arms, thighs, and expanded his modest ass jiggle. Grant adjusts the weights on the old fashioned scale and Carter writes something down on a clipboard.

“195, looks live you’ve gained just over 35 pounds this month Truc,” Grant says, poking the bulging softness that now clings to what remains of Truc’s unused abs. “And that incudes whatever muscle you’ve been losing too. Great job dude, you’ve earned yourself a big bag of kit kats when we get back.” Smiling, Truc steps down and lets Jake lumber up.

In nothing but a towel that doesn’t fit completely around his thick waist, Jake clunks onto the scale, his blond, hairy pudge now bulging out in front of him more than ever. His muscular arms have started quivering when they move, and the beginning of stretch marks have started cascading down his rapidly forming side rolls. As he looks down to see the number, he feels more resistance from his bearded double chin and sees two succulent grapefruits of skin poking out in either direction from what were his heavily muscled pecs. Grant can’t help but slap one, the contrast from his muscular chest just a month ago very apparent. Sucking in his rounded belly, he gives up on trying to see the number.

“288!” Grant exclaims with lust in his green eyes. “That’s 38lbs of blubber. I knew you were eating a lot but god damn big guy.” Chuckling, Jake steps down for Coach Armstrong, whose broad yet pudgy body has pushed out with lard in all directions in his tight, unbuttoned kakis. While his entire body has accumulated with softness, a bit more weight seems to have gone to his chest than the other boys. With his salt and pepper hair disheveled, he reluctantly steps on the scale. Coach Sloan grins as his gaze bores into the chubby man’s expanded frame. He better give me a donut if he’s going to tease me about this later, Armstrong thinks.

“240 even,” Grant tells Carter, who scribbles the number down. “Great work Coach, you’re the perfect one to be leading your team this fall! Now make room for the fat one.”

Coach Marcus, lumbering up in his even more ill fitting cotton shorts, steps on the scale. Grant lets his blubber settle before reading out the number. “423lbs, up 33 from last month. Great job on the consistent gains coach! And you know what that means- I get 423 minutes with you all to myself tomorrow,” He finishes, devilishly licking his lips. Coach Sloan sighs at this, and Carter shakes his head disapprovingly.

“Remember Grant,” Sloan says. “You only get your private time to encourage his gains the rest of the month. You need to make sure those numbers stay high if you don’t want to lose your privileges.”

Grant rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. The dump truck will keep gaining weight, you’ve got nothing to worry about coach. When I first got ahold of him all he had was that small pot belly, but just look at what I’ve made of him! Now waddle off fatass, we’ve still got one more.” He says to Coach Marcus with a slap to his expansive ass jutting out of his soiled shorts.

At the back of the line, Ricky stands munching from a box of chocolate donuts with chocolate sauce stuck to his scruffy face. In the last month, Ricky has the most apparent transformation. His angular face now a thing of the past, his cheeks sink slightly with the new weight into the start of a pudgy double chin. His toned shoulders are now puffy with fat, and his big, toned biceps have lost most of their definition as jiggly lard has creeped up on them. His once toned abs now have a basketball of adipose attached to them. Slight hair radiates out from his deep, quivering belly button and follows up to his chest, that is bulging out over his obese belly even when he’s standing. His nipples having expanded, he notices how sensitive they are when Grant gives them attention. Wearing a very tight jock strap that fit his washboard body only a month ago, his untrimmed pubic blubber bulges out over the small straps that can’t contain his monumental ass. Both cheeks swelling out with blubber, they’re revealed, pinched inside the confines of his underwear. Noting a hint of cellulite and the fact that Ricky’s now chubby, trunk like thighs aggressively rub against each other, Grant calls out, “Two hundred and thirty five whopping pounds! Dude! That’s a 48 pound gain in a month!!”

“I’d expect nothing less from the star quarterback of the St. Bernard wombats.” Coach Sloan says to Ricky, patting the overweight man’s supple back. “In a couple months there will be no going back, and you’ll have no chance of beating us this season. But, on the bright side there’s a box of donuts with your name on it waiting for us back in the locker room!”

“God, can I have them already? I’m so hungry Coach Sloan.” Ricky says, his already bloated morning belly shoving out prominently.

Thinking about reaching the point where these men are too fat to ever return back to their jock bodies, Coach Sloan herds his flock of fattening men back to the locker room for Donut and Bacon Day.

//

Several months after their first weigh in Sloan, getting ready for his team to come back for offseason training in less than an hour, looks out from his office into the locker room. There’s definitely no going back now for these ex-jocks. He thinks to himself, shuffling some papers around. They’re all so large and rotund, no amount of diet or exercise could fix this when we have our first game in only two months.

Having already roped off the area in the locker room where the St. Bernard men have been living, Grant and Carter fill the buffet trays with ribs, brisket, buttery rolls, potatoes, and lay out many cheesecakes before lining the nude ex-jocks up in the showers and connecting the hoses to the faucets.

Carter, setting the pressure water pressure on high, takes a good look at the men before him. Truc, the smallest, weighed in this week at a considerably chubby 263lbs. Definitely the smallest of the group, Carter blasts his bloated body with warm water, washing away all of the greasy stains that have collected over his chubby face and jiggling pillowy torso. “Raise those porky arms, porker.” Carter tells him, disgusted at what’s become of the wide receiver. He spends extra time on red stains around Truc’s bulging love handles before realizing those are just stretch marks.

Grant grabs his hose and takes to Coach Marcus, who’s out of breath from just standing as he nears 500lbs of complete blubber. Grant really gets in there, washing in between every fatty roll and under every bulging crevice of the large man’s body. Finishing with his cellulite covered ass, Grant stands back and admires his work.

“Yo I think he’s finally fat enough.” Carter tells Grant. “We should probably chill on him, he looks like he won’t be able to walk soon.”

Grant rolls his eyes and shifts uncomfortably, his large cock throbbing in his shorts. “That’s kind of the point Carter. And isn’t it funny watching him struggle? Look he’s already sweating and we just watched him.”

“No dude, that’s gross. Imma have to talk to Coach about this if you don’t chill it with that man.” Carter responds, agitated that he’s having to wash these increasingly large men.

Once all of the men have been washed, the safeties take them back to their recliners and start bringing them bbq food. Grant sighs as he sees them dirtying themselves up again in BBQ sauce so quickly after their showers.

Meanwhile in the large hallway outside of the locker room, Coach Sloan gathers his team of 80 or so in shape, muscled up football players ready for their first practice of the off season.

“Alright team,” He says, grabbing their attention with his booming voice. “I’ve got a bit of a surprise for you today. Remember how we had Coach Marcus from St. Barnard’s here in the office at the end of last season? We’ll we’ve been doing a few favors for St. Bernard in the sense that, well, we’ve been giving them food. A lot of food.” The football players look back at coach Sloan, confused. “You remember Coach Armstrong? Well,” Sloan continues, cracking open the locker room door. “Grant, Carter, could one of you bring out Bitch Tits Armstrong?”

A moment later Carter appears with a man, well over 300lbs, who resembles Coach Armstrong if he’d gained over 96lbs since his first weigh in. His bbq smothered 5oclock shadow now covering a surprised, fat face, Armstrong holds up a small washcloth over his bulging groin. His heavy, chub filled chest pushes out his soft arms. His soft, flaby belly demands the attention of the entire team as the in shape men laugh hysterically at the fattened coach.

“Woah bro wasn’t he skinny?”

“Coach was right! Those are some big ass bitch tits.”

“Holy fuck how did he get so fat that fast??”

Sloan continues, “Not only do we have him and Coach Marcus, but we’ve gathered a few of their best players as well. Their starting receiver, center, and even quarterback Ricky Escobar. All of them are in the locker room now, stuffing themselves at a buffet we have roped off for them. As we practice this season, you’ll all get to see the St. Bernard boys make complete gluttons of themselves until we annihilate those wombats in a few months. Alright men, now go get changed and meet me out at training field 3!”

The locker room is soon abuzz with changing men who stop by to laugh at the display of gluttony from the St. Bernard Boys. Jake, completely sunken back into his recliner, has his massive hairy belly on display for everyone to see. Grant sits next to the 362lbs man, poking and prodding at his blubber for his teammates to gawk at. Jake, unbothered by this, shovels in a tray of buttery baked potatoes slathered with cheese and sour cream. His dick, now surrounded by the softness of his massive thighs, pokes at the towel covering him while he eats.

Laying back on the floor completely nude, Coach Marcus has Carter sitting on a locker room bench feeding him fistfuls of his special salty french fries. His expansive belly rises slightly with every greasy bite, and his entire body jiggles as passing men trip on his massive legs sprawled in the walkway. The men gawk at how utterly huge and bulbous his body has become.

At the buffet table, Ricky is out of control in both weight and eating. At an almost impossible 353lbs, he lifts a warm pan with his lardy arms to his greedy mouth. This pan was filled with brisket half an hour ago, but now contains only the leftover sauce. Weighing almost over 100lbs more than a very chubby Truc, Ricky gets overwhelmed by the overflow of sauce he pours into this mouth. The jock gone obese lets the sauce flow out his mouth, down hefty cheeks, and onto his bulging man boobs where the warm sauce tickles his fat nipples. His belly, gross with so much added lard, causes him to almost always be leaning back despite his gargantuan ass fat deposits pushing back around his love handles. As this transpires, a few of the Port Lee football players gather at the ropes to watch the utter display of gluttony. One of them throws a small rock at Ricky’s belly. After setting deep into his belly lard, the rock bounces back and obese Ricky seems not to notice.

“You know,” Carter says to the guy who just threw the rock. “We just washed all of them this morning. Now look at what a mess they’re already making.” The guys gather around laugh in disgust, remembering that these all used to be St. Bernard’s most prized athletes.

//

Over the next few months the team at Port Lee has to endure the sight of these massively bloated men overeating day in and day out. It’s not uncommon for the players to sit for awhile and observe the men as they tirelessly gorge themselves, seemingly oblivious to everything that goes on outside of their food/sleep schedule.

After a couple of weeks with the team back, Grant starts to notice something funny happening with his own coach and roommate. Starting with just a slight bloat on certain days but continuing on to a definite addition of pudge, both Coach Sloan and Carter start to grow slightly pudgy and more lethargic. Grant notices Carter sneaking food occasionally from the buffet tables, or he’ll see Coach Sloan pack a couple extra sandwiches into his lunch pack. Of course, none of this is surprising to Grant- everything’s going according to plan.

Soon the much looked forward to night of the rival game comes. With St. Bernard having used whatever newbie coach they could scrounge up last minute and their star players being replaced with members of the JV team, the game was easily won by Port Lee.

The morning after the big game, the locker room still a mess leftover from the celebrations by the team the night before, Coach Sloan, Carter, and Grant strut into the room. Whistling a happy tune, Coach Sloan turns on the lights and unclips the rope that was fencing them in like some sort of disgusting ex jock display. Subconsciously he attempts to loosen his sweat pants pinching at his slight side chub. “Alright St. Bernard losers, you’re free to go,” Sloan announces arrogantly.

Five very rotund faces look back at the man.

“Where’s my protein shake?” Jake asks, his facial expression hard to read now that his features are sunken in a mask of blubber. The last 75lbs he gained went straight to his bulbous belly and increasingly obese thighs. Sitting up, he wears no clothes as his dick is swallowed by 437lbs of his tall, pale, furry, sweaty lard.

“Yeah and where are the wheelbarrows of food?” Coach Armstrong demands, genuine concern in his voice. As he sits up his massive chest blubber bulges out over his soft belly even farther. 68lbs may not seem like the heftiest of gains, but it expanded his entire body by several inches as he himself approaches 400lbs. His 5oclock shadow, once on a very handsome, broad man, now covers fleshy, blubbery jowls and continues down his puffy neck. No longer the star jock gone soft, he’s grown into his life as the sad ex jock gone super obese.

The Port Lee boys chuckle at this complete and utter display of idiocy. “We’re done with that shit, get out of here,” Carter tells them, his wide face looking slightly fuller himself. He throws some duffel bags at their feet. “Your stuff is in here. Phones, keys, wallets. We didn’t touch any of it so get what you need, grab some of the giant clothes we so brought for you guys on the way out, and go.”

“B-but,” Truc stammers. “I need my shakes, you gotta have at least one more?” Noticing that Grant’s arms aren’t holding food for him like they are, he gasps. “Grant what’s that behind your back, you have something!” Truc points a chubby digit at the only person in the room who still has the body fat percentage of an athlete. Having once been that lean himself, Truc’s 328lbs body is completely ruined. His tawny skin, stretched out to accommodate the doubling of his weight, shows no sign that it was once rock hard and thin. His long hair flows over his smooth shoulders, now puffy and thick any sort of definition. His sizeable belly, not filled to the brim for the first time in months, growls loudly.

Grant laughs and pulls out two 48 oz tumblers filled with creamy liquid. “Well, ya got me. I did bring two last protein shakes, but I think we should let the winners decide who gets them.” He looks at Carter and Coach Sloan, who eye the protein shakes.

A drop of sweat beads down Sloan’s forehead. “Well…” He starts. “In all fairness…I think the winning team should get the protein shakes.”

“Yeah…” Carter pitches in, staring intently at the milky liquid. “We did the hard work, we won, now we could use… a reward.”

Ricky, having been barely paying attention this whole time, looks up. “OH. COME. ON.” He shouts, growing angry with hunger. “Grant, I know you won’t give them the shakes. C’mon, I know what this body does to you.” Confident as ever, Ricky sits on the edge of his seat and starts to seductively rub all 465lbs of slightly hairy blubber. His stuffed sausage arms make circles around his belly that overshadows everyone’s except Coach Marcus’. He reaches back and plays and plays with his lower back fat, jiggling it so aggressively that his monumental ass smushed underneath him shakes. Already becoming out of breath from that slight effort, Ricky heaves air in and out, his flabby, pointed chest raising and falling rapidly. Ricky looks up at Grant, his once strikingly pretty face now distorted by accumulation of several hundred pounds of pure fat, and pleads between breaths. “I know what this does to you, Grant. You said it yourself every time we went back to the dorms- If I want more food I’ll have to earn it.” Ricky, completely nude, flops onto the cold tiled floor and holds himself up on all flabby fours. His ass in the air, he wiggles his used to be muscled bubble butt now covered in cellulite and sticking out way more than can be healthy. His belly wobbles side to side and several beads of sweat fall off of it onto the floor.

Grant can’t take his eyes off this heavenly display. Never in his dreams did he think the star quarterback of St. Bernard would ever do this, let alone for him. His cock stands straight up in his well fitting athletic shorts.

“Don’t do it, Grant,” Carter warns. “Those are our shakes.”

“Yea, kid, we don’t want you doing anything brash here.” Coach Sloan says.

“Alright Ricky,” Grant says, settling in on his idea. “Coach Sloan and Carter will keep the protein shakes safe in the office, and you can have both of them once I’m done with you.” A sigh of relief escapes Ricky as Grant hands the protein shakes off to his guys with a sly wink. Seeing Grant walk towards Ricky, Truc flops his body on the floor too.

“Dude cmon, do me! I’ll do anything for the shake!” He says, flaunting his obese ass.

Coach Armstrong and Jake join too, both rolling onto the floor and shoving their huge, obese behinds into the air. Grant looks at Coach Marcus in his chair. “What, you’re not even going to try, fatty?” Grant mocks.

Coach Marcus, only 50lbs away from reaching 600lbs, weakly attempts to roll out of his deep recliner chair. His neck rolls, fatter than ever, jiggle from the strain. Farther down, his monumental belly weighs him down into the chair, far too heavy an obstacle for such a fattened man to overcome. His pubic lard, sandwiched between his utterly massive legs, bulges out over his cock that only peeks out whenever erect.  Side rolls spilling over the sides of his chair, belly weighing him down, tits jiggling in his face, Coach Marcus gives up. “Please, Grant. I’m just so hungry…”

Grant laughs, maliciously. He grabs Ricky by the obese hips and whips out his massive penis attached to his firm and muscled body. “Ricky, you’re all mine.” He declares, licking his lips. Grant takes off his shirt and pulls apart Ricky’s supple ass cheeks. Ricky’s asshole lubricated from sweat, Grant plunges his throbbing cock deep into the familiar canal. Ricky lunges forward, his blubbery tits catching his falter. Grant rhythmically pulses in and out of Ricky’s hole, causing his entire body to jiggle crazily. Belly flopping, tits swinging, arm and thighs quivering like crazy. The other fat men lay down, watching their hungry fates be sealed. With a final gasp, Grant cums deep inside of Ricky. Not bothering to clean him up, Grant rolls the excuse for a football player onto his back so that he can better catch his breath.

“Alright we’re finished!” Grand shouts at Coach Sloan and Carter as he puts his clothes back on. The pair come out of the office, their lips surrounded by chocolatey liquid and their midsections pushing slightly against their shirts.

“OH COME ON!” Jake shouts from the floor. “The fuckers already drank the shakes!”

Ricky, too exhausted to say anything, looks up and glares at the men.

“You Port Lee mother fuckers.” Truc says under his breath.

Coach Armstrong, understanding the situation with the clearest head, pipes up in his old coaching voice. “Alright men. Put on some clothes, grab your stuff, and get out your wallets. There’s a burger joint right down the street if I remember correctly. Cmon, let’s put some hustle in it!”

The large men hoist themselves up with help from the Port Lee guys and gather their belongings at record speed. Sweaty, faces covered in dry sauces, hair messed up, and generally sloppy the men put on the undersized practice clothing that the Port Lee guys so generously donated. Before Leaving, Coach Sloan approaches Coach Armstrong, his face still sticky from guzzling down the protein shake.

“You know Armstrong,” He starts, lifting up the large man’s shirt. “You really should consider becoming a woman with tits like these.” Sloan chuckles and squeezes Armstrong’s bulging moobs. Armstrong belly bumps the bloated coach off of him and takes off, squeezing his players into the truck cabin and throwing a barely clothed Coach Marcus into the bed. The truck, sunken by the weight of the once in shape players, speeds off towards the burger joint.

//

EPILOGUE

Both fall and spring semester have come and gone. Grant, more in shape than ever, checks his phone, happily seeing on social media that the fattened St. Bernard men are all still gaining weight. Truc especially took off in weight, seeming to be creeping up on Ricky in terms of sheer mass. Grant was happy to know that adding extra appetite enhancers to his special shakes would have some very promising long term effects.

Since the day after the game against St. Bernard, things have been changing at Port Lee College. Having started microdosing his special protein shake to both Carter and Coach Sloan once they started telling him to slow his roll with fattening Coach Marcus, Grant found it quite easy to have them start a fattening process of their own. Grant finished his final semester of school that fall and was offered an assistant coaching position by the more rotund, more oblivious to what papers he was signing, Coach Sloan. Landing this job assured him the closeness he needed in order to complete his colleague’s transformations. At work he’d see lazy Coach Sloan all day, only to go home to his now expanding roommate, Carter.

Over the months, Grant got to ravenously watch as Coach Sloan’s abs bloated out, soon becoming a full on gut. Most notably, his ivory chest swelled with blubber at a pace that could compete with Armstrong. Sloan stopped working out and his coaching shirts started to hug his belly before it began to completely droop out of the straining fabric. Slack to sweatpants, the Port Lee football team looked at their always eating coach with a new found disgust. Football plays named after food items, sitting in a fold out chair during practices, and regularly forgetting the names of his players left his team with a lack of respect for the coach with the athlete reputation, and an increasing respect for Grant. As Coach Sloan inched his way over the 250lbs mark, Grant started to take on the responsibilities of practice so that Coach could sit in his office and “go over old tapes”. This allowed for Sloan’s weight to finally skyrocket, pushing him to where he sits now at just over 360lbs of jiggly, gluttonous blubber. If the Coach Sloan from 6 months ago could see what’s happened to himself, he’d be appalled at the lack of self control he demonstrates, stuffing fatty food into his chubbed up mustached face as his expanding belly inches out the bottom of his shirt another sliver.

Meanwhile at their apartment, Grant spent the final months of the fall semester urging a slowly porking up Carter to drop the football team and take the last of his classes online in the spring. Carter, under the sedative he ingests every morning inside of the protein shakes, seemed reluctant but not outright appalled to the idea at first. A few more drops of this, a few more drops of that in his morning shakes and soon Carter became increasingly indifferent to anything that didn’t involve food. While this meant that Grant would have to do Carter’s schoolwork for him, it was merely another task on his list of sacrifices he had to make. Watching Carter’s mahogany body fill with blubbery fat was all the motivation he needed. By the time fall semester ended, Carter had already gained 60lbs. The 225lbs fat boy was not prepared for what was to come the following months. His gut and butt both succulently jutting out, he didn’t see how he could fit more fat onto his body that still clung to what was left of his football muscle. Grant’s raise he demanded after taking on more of Sloan’s responsibility meant that he now had the funds to grow Carter to his heart’s desire. Before heading into work every morning Grant would make two gallons of gainer shakes for Carter to suck down while he was away. After practice came the fast food binges. Non stop eating, similar in fashion to the fattening that the St. Bernard boys had received. Threatening to take over his once slim coach in size any day now, Carter pushes the 350lbs mark. His shaved head shows off his meaty neck rolls nicely and his dark belly sags over his overly chubby fat pad. He hasn’t worn clothes in months, considering none of them fit anymore and Grant never saw it necessary to buy him more as he never wants to leave the apartment.

Thinking about all the athletic men whose lives he’s ruined by turning them into obese, lazy gluttonous slobs has been giving Grant a new perspective on life. What does he want out of all of this? It seems only a matter of time before he’s offered the position of co-coach, and then what? Having perfected his protein shake recipe and Port Lee having a large football budget, it seems that inviting some other teams over for training camps might be… helpful for them. Who knows, maybe if he can turn enough jocks into ex-jocks, he’ll be able win against any college in the league. It seems only a inevitable that many of the best athletes from around the nation will one day begin their protein shake treatment.