The Houseboy: Chapter 11

By the time we kissed Ivan goodbye at the airport the three of us had gained so much weight we looked like different people from who we were six months ago. Darius now walked with a slow lumber, each step heavy and with purpose. He resembled an immovable boulder. Sometimes I even grew frustrated with how slow-moving he was. Ivan wasn’t much different. He had grown into a complete dough boy with fluffy fat expanding outward from his body in every direction. He was the epitome of round. Anywhere you placed a hand on him was soft with fat, bouncing and delicious. Watching him walk was like viewing a delightful plate of jello with legs, slowly bobbing along. While my own newfound girth didn’t slow me down too much, I had finally realized the horrors of chub rub. Not only did my thighs rub together and chafe, but so did my underarms and ass cheeks. This was one development that, while incredibly sexy, was not the most fun in practice. 

The days after Ivan’s departure were melancholic, with both Darius and I struggling to pig out as abundantly as we had been. Ivan’s voracious appetite had stimulated our own, and now it felt like something was missing. We would video chat him and have sex on camera, but it wasn’t the same as feeling his opulent rolls in the flesh. 

By the time we boarded the plane to Hawaii, the gloominess had only somewhat subsided, but we were determined to have an amazing time. This was my first time on a plane since surpassing 200 pounds and Darius had the foresight to book three seats, an entire row, for us. We discovered this was really only necessary for Darius, as I was still able to squeeze between two armrests, although my love handles were quite compressed. Darius, however,  looked comical in the small airplane cabin. His legs were spread wide across two seats, allowing his gargantuan gut to spill forward and press against the seats in front of him. The passengers before us couldn’t recline their seats even if they wanted to. 

We arrived in Hawaii late in the evening, exhausted and starving. After checking in we waddled over to the hotel steak house and ordered everything we desired. We brought some brochures with us to plan our itinerary for the next day. 

“Wow, hang gliding,” I suggested, “that sounds wild. What do you think?”

“I think my fat ass will drop from the sky like a sack of potatoes. Probably yours too. I doubt their weight limit is within our range,” Darius responded. 

“Oh, I’d never considered that,” I replied. “What about ziplining? That sounds fun and… secure.”

“I don’t know babe, you’re living a different life now. Check their website for weight restrictions.” 

I pulled out my phone and looked it up. “Holy shit, 275 is the limit. Well, nevermind… What about horseback riding?”

“Only if you want a broken horse, babe. Look, we fatties have to stick to what we know: eating and drinking. Why don’t we keep it chill tomorrow with cocktails on the beach, and then plan from there?”

I agreed and we continued our expansive dinner before heading back to the room, fucking, ordering room service, and then passing out. The next morning I squeezed into my new red swim trunks that made my ass pop like no other and we headed to the beach. We had to stay within the perimeter of the hotel so servers could bring us drinks, but the problem was the beach was packed. To get away from screaming children we had to walk to the furthest corner. I wasn’t used to walking in sand, and with the sun blaring down my chub rub was turning into a burning fire. 

“Fuck, this is a workout,” I exclaimed.

“Just take it slow baby,” Darius shouted from behind me. 

By the time we found a good spot I was dripping sweat and chafing everywhere. I wanted to cool down in the water but needed to catch my breath before mounting a journey to the shore. So we planted ourselves in the sand, ordered some extravagant blended drinks, and kicked back. Occasionally, we’d waddle to the water and cool ourselves down like hippos at a watering hole before coming back and ordering more drinks. By the end of the day we were stupidly drunk and had decided on a beginner’s hike for the next day. Needless to say, when morning came we were extremely hungover and a hike seemed daunting.

“Fooooooooood,” Darius bellowed before even sitting up in bed.

“Greasy food,” I retorted, my head pounding. 

We proceeded to order a ridiculous breakfast in bed consisting of hamburgers, french fries, and french toast at 10am. We didn’t even bother to put on clothes other than underwear when the food arrived. The two tiny bell hop boys nervously tried not to stare at our swollen fat bodies on full display. We could hardly be bothered with their anxiety as we were nearly salivating for the food. We tipped them and dug in before they were even out the door. After inhaling the food in record time we showered, got dressed, and headed out for the hike. This time, I was sure to lather myself in anti-chafe cream and wear billowy clothes. 

We arrived at the trailhead and began lumbering down the path into what was a complete tropical paradise. We were both in awe of how beautiful the island was. I had never seen anything so staggering in my life. I kept a slow pace alongside Darius while taking in the scenery, but this didn’t prevent me from breaking a sweat after only ten minutes. These days most activity caused me to sweat. However, after twenty minutes, I was losing steam. 

The thought occurred to me that I couldn’t remember the last time I was in such constant motion. Just as my cheeks were flushing red and my breath was becoming short, a warm tropical rain drizzled down upon us. Surprised, we looked at each other and smooched, taking a break to catch our breath and let the rain wash away our sweat. The short downfall left our already tight tank tops clinging to our rounded bodies.  

Unfortunately, once we continued down the trail I quickly realized the rain had washed off my anti-chafe cream and my inner thighs were getting heated. A slight incline developed and I began to struggle. My heart was pounding like crazy. Heartburn from our greasy breakfast felt like a knife in my chest. Beads of sweat were falling from my face and creeping down my sides and under my belly. There was no way I was going to make it to the end of this hike. Despite being much larger, Darius was faring better than myself, likely because of his frequent workouts. After about seven minutes I felt on the brink of collapse and had to sit down on a log. 

“Are you okay? Here baby, drink some water,” Darius said while stroking my back. 

I gulped it down and my tummy began to rumble. 

“Sounds like piggy needs some fuel,” Darius said and pulled out the hoagies we packed. “Let’s dig in.”

We sat on a log and devoured the sandwiches as though there was a famine. Darius finished first and leaned back on the log. The sound of wood splintering signalled danger and suddenly we were tumbling forward as the log split in half from our weight. Stunned and discombobulated I struggled to stand back up.

“I think that’s our signal,” I said. “I’m too out of shape for this. I mean look at my fucking thighs, they’re beat red. Can we head back?”

“Not until I kiss those big thighs better,” my lover said with a devilish grin. 

Physical activity was off the table for the rest of the trip, which meant hours in the sun feasting and fucking. Days and nights blurred into a tropical smorgasbord of hedonism. Whatever we wanted we got. I succumbed to pure gluttony, eating near-constantly. There was not a moment my stomach wasn’t full or my lips weren’t wrapped around something. Time passed quickly and before we knew it, our last day in Hawaii was upon us. I was determined to be adventurous and suggested a peddle boat. 

“Babe, we’re too fat, c’mon. How am I supposed to peddle with this gut resting on my legs, huh?”

“Let’s just try it out okay! There’s no way the boat is gonna sink. They have to let us on.”

“If you say so.”

We arrived at the end of the pier and the attendant looked us up and down and grinned. He was a thin anglo teen with annoying beach swept curls. 

“Sorry guys, weight limit is 250,” said the attendant. 

“I told you,” Darius muttered.

“Well I’m just below 250,” I stubbornly declared. “How ‘bout I do a short solo romp and you take some photos from the shore?”

“No offense but you don’t look below 250,” said the attendant. 

I felt my cheeks flush red with embarrassment and my cock quiver with excitement. Awkwardly, I sucked in my gut and turned towards Darius with a face of bewilderment. 

“There’s no way you’ve gained twenty pounds in a week,” he whispered. “If you want this go for it.”

“We have a scale back here,” interrupted the attendant, “and if you’re 250 or lower we’re happy to get you on the water. Right this way.”

I followed and meagerly stepped onto the scale. When we left for Hawaii I weighed 235 give or take and there was no way I had gained more than five pounds since then. Even still, I was overwhelmed with nervousness. I regretted the stack of pancakes and omelette I had earlier, my stomach now audibly grumbling as it tried to digest the glut of food. 

“256. Sorry, can’t let you on. Safety hazard.”

Darius and I looked at each other with shock and arousal. Neither of us could believe I’d somehow gained twenty pounds in a week. We barely said a word as we rushed back to the room to fuck like animals. Post-coitus we ordered room service and I rested my head on his soft pillowy gut. 

“You know,” I began, “I feel so fucking fat. Like, such a pig. Today really confirmed that.”

“You’ve always been my little piggy,” Darius cooed and softly patted my now rather large tummy. 

“I love this. I’m so happy you helped me grow, but…”

“But?”

“But, I have to say this trip has been a real wake up call. The chub rub, the heartburn, the shortness of breath, the being too big to do anything adventurous. I hadn’t considered those things… It’s weird. I guess, I envy how you still have stamina at your size. If there was a natural disaster I’d be screwed.”

“You wanna work on some muscle gains?”

“I don’t know, maybe?”