Friday Night Feasts: Part 2

Which brings us back to the beginning. Remember? Me, sitting alone in the apartment stroking myself while washing down half a dozen donuts with a two thousand calorie weight gain shake, my belly so swollen I can’t even see my own cock, and I’m sweating because of how full I am. I’m deep in a memory of this one time Deacon fucked me in missionary while feeding me donuts and rubbing my belly when I shoot a fat load across my thigh. It feels good. I haven’t come in weeks. 

I clean up and my phone vibrates with a text message. I assume it's family. I’m gearing up to travel back home for the holidays and have been fielding constant inquiries about my arrival. The truth is I’m nervous to see everyone now that I’m likely fatter than my father and at least one of his brothers. I’m also nervous about air travel. I don’t want to be the fat guy no one wants to sit next to on the plane. I look at my phone and my stomach drops to the floor. It’s Deacon.

My hand shakes as I swipe the message open. It says: “Hey, I hope you’re having a good holiday. I’m in town and would love to see you if you’re interested. I think about you all the time.” I feel nauseous and not because of all the sugar and fat I just ingested, at least not entirely. In fact, I’m kind of angry. All the hurt and resentment I’ve been trying to move past for over a year hits me over the head as though I’ve made no progress at all. I take a shower and think things over. 

I collapse naked on my bed after the panic rinse. My belly sloshes and kind of hurts as it pins me down. My stomach gurgles and contracts as it tries to digest all the junk inside of me. I’m constantly reminded of my own obesity now, and I start to get kind of horny. My cock perks to attention and I reach down to give it a tug. My fat pad is especially thick these days and I remember how excited Deacon was when it first announced itself. The hard on softens my heart and I text Deacon back. I tell him I’m leaving town tomorrow but will be back after New Years if he’s still around. He says that he is, with a smiley face. 

My head is still slightly spinning as I pack for my parents’ house. The next day I head to the airport still preoccupied with Deacon. I want to text him. I have a million questions, a million things I want to say, but I resist. I board the plane and can tell every person seated sees me coming down the aisle and prays that I pass them. When I find my seat I have to resist laughing. I’m in the middle seat between two guys probably around the same weight as me. 

The first one has to get up to let me pass, and once I squeeze in between them we’re all shoulder-to-shoulder, thigh-to-thigh, belly-to-belly. We each have a seat belt extender, we’re each sweating. It is definitely a tad uncomfortable but I’m also turned on. Thankfully, I am fat enough these days that when I’m sitting down you can’t really even tell I have a boner. I wonder if we’re throwing off the balance of the plane. As hot as it sounds, I hope not. 

We get off the plane and I contemplate jerking off in the bathroom but I resist. My sister picks me up and she definitely scopes my gut out but avoids commenting. We get home and, to my great surprise, my dad looks deflated, literally. He slaps my belly humorously and ushers us inside. We snack, catch up, and he tells us all about how he is on ozempic. I instantly know it’s about to be pushed on me so I volunteer: “I’ve gained about thirty pounds and honestly, I like how it feels. Who needs to be skinny!” That seems to quiet everyone and the topic changes. 

I’m basically in a haze throughout my three week stay. I make a point to eat heartily because I know I will see Deacon soon. I need to be as fat as possible for him. Sometimes I correct myself and say it’s for me, but I know that’s a lie. It’s all for him. People take note of my appetite, likely because I accidentally packed my snug sweater that I basically only keep around for comparison photos. It’s the only one I brought and my belly nearly hangs out of it. Perhaps this was my subconscious taking over as I packed daydreaming about Deacon. 

I board the plane home feeling somewhat successful because my belly actually does hang out of my sweater after gorging myself for days on end. Hornily, I wear it on the plane, with a black tee underneath lest I be immodest. This time I’m seated next to a woman who is clearly dismayed by my presence. Within a few minutes of sitting down I see her texting and catch only the word “FAT ASS” in all caps. I’m both embarrassed and turned on. 

I get home, unpack, and contemplate what I say to Deacon. My mind swirls for an hour as I write out and delete dozens of messages, all while nervously sucking down Boost after Boost. Finally, I settle on the groundbreaking: “Hey, I’m back in town if you want to meet up.” As soon as I hit send I’m racked with anxiety. Five excruciating minutes later he responds. He suggests a “Friday night feast” for old times sake. My heart aches upon reading those three words. 

When Friday rolls around I’m sitting at an even two hundred and ninety five pounds on empty. I can no longer see the numbers on the scale over the slope of my belly. For the first time, my chest is losing its perkiness. The fat is just too heavy, causing my pecs to droop south and rest on my gut. Fresh chub crowds every crevice of my upper body, resulting in thick rolls in my arm pits that keep my arms resting at an angle. Even the back of my neck has a roll. I feel utterly encased in dense fat and am constantly reminded of the fact by my limited range of motion. 

I have a whole drawer in my dresser devoted to too-small clothes. I open it, deciding what to wear for Deacon. I am hesitant to show off too much so I fish out a dowdy long sleeve tee. It grips my chest and struggles to stretch over my belly. I stare at myself in the mirror. I look obscenely fat, but you know what? Why hold back? I pull out an old white size L tee. It’s laughably small. The sleeves barely cover my shoulders and I can hear seams breaking as I pull it down over my middle. It leaves just a sliver of belly exposed, maybe half an inch, but even the slightest movement will reveal more. I go with it. I have to wear pants that fit otherwise I won’t be able to eat much. Still, any denim regardless of size will accentuate my muffin top at this point. I look in the mirror and laugh. Only for Deacon. 

The door bell rings and I take a deep breath. I wobble to the living room, another deep breath, and swing open the door. For a few seconds that feel like an eternity we just stare at each other. Deacon’s jaw is agape. I wonder if he thought I’d have lost weight? I’m also shocked, because Deacon has surpassed twunk and become an absolute muscle stud. He is so muscled that he looks like an action figure.  

“Whoa,” Deacon mutters. 

We hug and I can sense he is overwhelmed by my body. He squeezes into the expanse of my middle tightly and I can feel one palm grip a handful of lovehandle. He just couldn’t resist. We pull back and I can see he’s already getting hard beneath his sweatpants. He sees me looking and I grin. 

“Shouldn’t have worn sweatpants,” he says sheepishly. 

We sit down at the kitchen table to catch up. The wooden chair creaks beneath my weight and I make sure to sit close enough that my belly presses against the edge of the table. The rest of our feast hasn’t been delivered yet so I dip a donut in a glass of whole milk and take an oversized bite. Deacon stares wide-eyed and struggles to make conversation. After a few moments we get into a flow. 

He tells me about London, his job, etc. A tired melancholy hangs over his words and I can tell he’s just waiting to finally say:

“And what about you? I mean, my god look at you. You’re still gaining, obviously.”

“Yeah, I guess you kind of unlocked something within me. I…” I trail off, knowing what I am about to say will drive Deacon wild. “I don’t think I could stop growing even if I wanted to at this point.” 

Deacon gulps and the knock at the door startles us both. I grunt as I stand up, mostly for effect, and shuffle to the door with a put-on waddle. I’m giving him a show and it’s working. I can feel Deacon’s eyes on me, surveying every inch of my girth with awe. The food arrives in three massive bags, they’re heavy and have grease stains. I spread the grub out on the counter: burgers, onion rings, chili cheese fries, chicken fingers, mozzarella sticks. Classic fattening American fare. I haven’t eaten for hours so that I can impress Deacon with my capacity, and my stomach growls in anticipation. Deacon’s eyes widen at the sound. 

I tear into the food as conversation begins to flow more naturally. The awkwardness dissipates and what remains is lust and camaraderie. I’m eating quickly both because the food is delicious and because Deacon is watching. I can feel my stomach expanding in my lap and my face flushing with exertion. The conversation wanes as Deacon watches me make a pig of myself and I revel in the attention. I can tell he wants to make a move, sexually, but is fearful of a faux pas. He probably  senses how much he hurt me in the past and wants to respect that, but he also wants his hands all over this freshly grown lard. 

I start taking massive bites of everything on the table, teasing him, and washing them down with big gulps of milk. I haven’t overeaten like this in awhile and I’m completely swept up in the display of gluttony. I’m aroused by my own piggishness and Deacon’s presence fades in importance. My cock is stiff and straining between my thighs and I’m sure Deacon is hard too. He watches me like a dog who’s desperate for a crumb from the dinner table, but instead of food Deacon wants me. He wants all of my three hundred pounds of marbled beef. Finally, he reaches under the table and begins stroking himself while I feed. 

I feel so aroused that I can’t even imagine what it was like to get off before I started gaining, before I had met Deacon. My body is so overloaded with hot greasy food that I begin sweating. My stomach is nearing capacity, but I know I have to keep going. I can’t acquiesce until Deacon makes the first move. The sweat pools under my tits and belly which feel completely overloaded and heavy. I dab my forehead with a napkin. I’m slowing down but I don’t dare stop. 

“Don’t stop,” Deacon purrs and stands from the table. 

His erection has pitched a stubborn tent under his sweats, the tip of which is soaking wet. He drops trow and I get a view of his muscled thighs and bobbing cock in between bites of god knows what. He walks defiantly to the fridge and grabs several Boost. If I wasn’t so uncomfortably full, so aroused by own in my gluttony, I would’ve chuckled at his brazen confidence that he would find the little high calorie boxes waiting there. He cracks one and sets it next to me. 

“Drink,” he commands and then he drops to his knees and disappears under the table. 

I feel his hand glide under my belly in search of the button to my jeans. It’s not so easy any more. My belly is large and heavy, it engulfs my lap making my waistband nearly inaccessible. I chuckle and push back from the table to stand. I haven’t pushed back enough and when I lift myself the shelf of my belly knocks the table and the dishes rattle. Deacon is frantic at this point, pushing up my gut and struggling to undo my pants with his other hand. Once he finally succeeds, I help him shimmy off the sweaty fabric. I feel greatly liberated. My gut hangs lower and I feel a smidge more capacity for stuffing myself. 

I sit back down, shirt still on but riding up considerably, as Deacon is on his knees. I toss back a Boost. It goes down in a few gulps and I can feel Deacon’s entire face wedge into the crease between my fat pad and belly. I crunch the box up and drop it on the ground next to Deacon. I can feel him lick up and down my underbelly and I moan slightly. My cock is rock solid and tapping against his neck or cheek, I can’t really see down there to fully know. I crack another Boost and gulp it down. Now Deacon’s mouth is practically unhinged and sucking on my fat pad like it’s a pacifier. I drop the empty box of Boost and grab another. He’s moaning wildly and I realize he’s jerking himself off. Only one of his hands is free, his palm splayed against the side of my overhang so he can softly jiggle it while he explores my pubic girth. 

By the time I start on the fourth box of Boost I’m really fucking horny and want his mouth on my cock. I place a hand on his hand to try to direct him but he’s too involved in his own arousal. So I chug the chocolate liquid, drop the empty container on the floor, and belch. Deacon whimpers. With both hands on his head I push his face deeper into the fat he’s lapping up. I close my thighs around his head too so he’s fully encumbered. Who knows if he can even breathe. I hear high pitched moans reverberating through my blubber as his body starts to convulse. Is he…? 

Yeah, he’s lost control. He’s orgasming. The dumb little feeder couldn’t handle the hog he created. When he comes up for air he looks wildly scattered. Face bright red, wet, and panting. He looks at me with awe. I see he never even got around to taking off his own sweatpants. They’re soaked with come. I can’t help but laugh. 

“Let’s head to the bedroom for a cuddle,” I say. “And take off those clothes.”

We curl up together atop my mattress and I’m impressed by how studly Deacon has become. He’s pretty large himself. He must have broken the two hundred mark and all of it is muscle. It feels good to have such a solid man next to me, sinking into my pudge, yet still strong enough to handle all my girth. We cuddle for a bit in silence, before I finally ask the question that’s been eating at me. 

“So why are you in town anyway? The holidays are long over, and I thought you didn’t even like celebrating this time of year?”

Deacon sighed. “Well, I was laid off.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage.

“My visa expired and I didn’t know where else to go. I’m in a sublet that expires in a week.” 

I don’t respond and we sit in silence. There’s an elephant in the room and it’s not my fat ass. Deacon needs a place to stay once again, but will I save the day this time? I can’t say, honestly. As aroused as I am there is still a well of hurt. So I change gears to the question I know that’s been on Deacon’s mind. 

“Guess how much I weigh now.” 

Deacon perks up and looks at me with a glint in his eyes. “It’s gotta be three hundred at this point. Right? I mean, there’s so much of you. Three hundred at least.” 

“Bingo! I’m actually a few pounds short of three hundred. I’ve really been trying to break three hundred but I seem to have hit a plateau… Unless, maybe you could help push me past it?” 

“Oh baby, I can push you far past three hundred.” Deacon didn’t skip a beat. “In fact, I bet I can get you waddling by summer. And I mean a real waddle, not the fake little shuffle you were doing earlier.” 

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”