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Old 25th January 2007, 07:28 PM
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Iggy Iggy is offline
Regular Big Gut
Join Date: Oct 2006
Posts: 47
Iggy is on a distinguished road
VI. Training Begins

The alarm went off at 6:00 AM, Monday. Dave had his coffee and munched on the last of the pastries from the weekend before getting ready. He took a long shower, fighting the urge to beat off under the warm water after soaping up his big bulging stomach. The weekend of eating had taken its toll. Dave’s gut, even after a good night’s sleep, looked like an overblown ball. He had done nothing but eat nearly nonstop from Saturday afternoon until last night. He even woke up in the middle of the night to polish off more pizza, stuff in a few slices of pie, cram in a stack of cookies. He looked like a muscled, utterly overfed power-lifter. 281 before the eating binge. He wondered what he weighed now.

He had worn nothing but boxers during his eating fest. He did not dare wash his new jeans, unsure how much the denim would shrink in the dryer. Even with that, they hardly slid on like loose fit jeans. At least they went on, if not for long. What he failed to consider was his shirt needs. He was too busy stuffing himself all weekend. He encased his gut in an old taught t-shirt, stretched so far that his skin tone showed through the white. A huge moon of his belly now bulged below the hem. Then he dug for something to cover it. He pulled out a stretchy baseball jersey and tugged it around his rounded girth. He fastened the buttons over his pecs, but there was no way he could yank the thing to cover his midsection. So he opened it up again and started from the bottom, closing the buttons as far up his gut as they could manage – which was only three progressively strained buttons. After the last one, which looked ready to fly, he hit the limits of the fabric. He was seriously getting big. He shrugged. At least it covered the part of his belly that his tee shirt could not reach. “Time for the mall again after work,” he thought as he tramped to the bathroom to shave.

The office was a lot quieter when he arrived today. Only Paul, who explained that the whole crew was out on various jobs again this week. He told Dave to load into his truck. “Grab some of those and let’s get going. It’s you and me today on the project I mentioned.” Paul was pointing to a stack of doughnut boxes. Careful of his buttons, Dave picked up a box.

“Take another,” Paul ordered heartily.

“It’s just you and me though right?”

“Was ‘take another unclear’? I’m sure you’ll eat it.”

Dave silently obeyed, though he suddenly felt a twinge of annoyance.

As they drove, Paul asked about Dave’s weekend. Dave was trying to suck in his growing ball belly, fearing for the buttons. The question made him think of his gorging fest. He smiled without realizing it. “Yeah, it was great. Didn’t do too much--just relaxed.”

“Well good. You’ll have plenty of energy for this week then. Don’t wait for us to arrive to hit up those doughnuts, big guy.” Dave thought again of his strained shirt, but the tempting smell of the fattening dough balls was already getting too much to resist. By the time they arrived, he had eaten a half dozen of them. “See, I told you you’d want that second box Dave.”

Paul took Dave into the project site. It was a fairly small building located in a remote warehouse district, already nearly finished on the outside, but only party framed on the inside. Paul took the boxes from Dave, stacked another six doughnuts on a napkin and handed them to his well-fed employee. He then explained the job as Dave listened and ate. It sounded like a simple job. Complete some basic wiring and finish the last bit of framing. Put up drywall, install some equipment, and paint the space. “Just a good range of trades to get you exposed.” All easy, Dave thought. He had done almost all of that type of work before.

“What’s the space gonna be?” Dave asked, around mouthfuls of custard.

“Ironically, it’s for a . . . food service, shall we say. The adjacent building is the storehouse – already pretty much done. This is the last part of it.”

“Cool,” Dave said, wondering what type of food.

As they started talking about the wiring, Paul kept casually pushing doughnuts on Dave. Now even the jersey was also stretched out to show the base of Dave’s belly, but it was way too far under his fat mound for him to know. Paul certainly knew, pushing the last few on Dave and refusing to accept no for an answer. Dave simply loved the taste and acquiesced.

About noon, there was a knock at the door. Paul looked up “Oh, that’ll be lunch. I figured we’d send it. Tough to find good places in this area. Not very populated.” Paul opened the door, and the delivery guy dropped off three large bags.

“Anyone else coming this afternoon?” Dave asked, taking in a whiff of the food. It smelled like fried chicken.

“No, why?”

“Well, seems like a lot of chow.”

“Does it?” Paul went from looking into Dave’s eyes to staring at his sizeable belly with an inner smirk. “Good.”

They broke for lunch, and Dave habitually ate as much as ever, forgetting about his shirt’s snugness completely. The heaps of southern food tasted too good for anything else to distract him. He barely flinched when Paul loaded up a plate and handed it to Dave when he started to slow – which was after quite some eating. Dave was now in good practice from his weekend. He finished the first plate Paul gave him, and helped himself to an even more loaded plate. It sagged and Dave had to hold it with both hands. He looked around for somewhere to set it; but nothing. He looked up at Paul sort of embarrassed. Paul just walked up to Dave and indicated the top of his gut, right where it now launched out from under his pecs. “This looks like a good place to rest it while you eat, big fella.” Dave’s face got a little red, but he took the suggestion. Paul kept him distracted by talking about the work for the afternoon, but watched amused as Dave ate and ate off the top of his stomach, only having to nod at his plate periodically to keep him eating. Dave took another overflowing plate without resistance.

“This is going to be easier than I thought,” Paul thought to himself.

Dave’s jersey again looked ready to rip after lunch. The button holes were completely distorted. The stretch fabric had yanked to its very limits. His belly pulled it down, making it outline every muscled bulge of his shoulders and arms while tracing the giant lower moon of his ever growing stomach. When he stood, Paul himself was nonchalantly amazed. Dave’s gut was tight as a drum as a result of its already large size and the bloating, pushing straight out in front of him, a perfect hard sphere, except where the jersey pinched slightly into his fat flesh. They worked for another hour. Paul could not believe that Dave could move after that meal – and he could not believe that his jersey had not yet blown.

“Time to make that thing give out,” he thought.

“Dave, about ready for some dessert? I bet you’ve digested enough for these now.” Paul pulled out a bag of big cookies he had stashed under the blueprint table and began eating one. Dave let out a sigh. “I dunno. This belly’s still feeling pretty full. Maybe I oughta rest a bit, mommfffph ”

Dave was shocked, but blind to any ulterior motive. Paul still took a rather large cookie out and handed it to him. Instinctively, and thinking ‘what the heck’, he received it and began to chew, too surprised to say a word. “Like I said, I like a guy who knows how to eat. You’ll finish those off,” Paul said insistently. Dave began to throb as he chewed. He eventually took the bag and grabbed another cookie.

It was strangely silent as Dave munched. Paul just occasionally glanced at him as he ate, raising a directive eyebrow when it was time to take the next cookie. Dave followed the silent order and pushed one bite after the other into his mouth. His private was pressing hard against his jeans as Paul kept him eating. After a dozen cookies were gone, Paul broke the silence as Dave kept eating.

“I am impressed with your abilities Dave.” The stuffed jock thanked him with a full mouth, saying he hoped his other projects had gotten him ready for this.

“No, I don’t only mean construction. I am also impressed with how you can eat. You’ll do great representing us at this year’s eating contest.”

Dave suddenly stopped chewing for a brief second, remembering the reference during Friday’s lunch. “The what?” His shirt looked ready to give in to his manly-toned yet growing gut.

“We have a few contests between local contracting companies. The usual softball games, bowling, etc. We usually win them all. But last year, we lost the eating contest. Big Bob did his best and put it away, but this one joint had some new guy on their force. Used to play pro football. Eats like a confounded moose. We need someone to take him this year. You walked in the door just in time. The contest is still a few months away.” There was an ominous pause. “I am very competitive on this stuff Dave. It should be just a game, but the crew – I - have gotten used to taking all these things in a clean sweep. No one took the loss well, especially me. You will be our man this year. Yes, no doubt in my mind. So now a part of your job is getting that belly in shape to take this guy for us. I’m going to make sure you are in good practice.” Dave was slowing as he listened.

“Cookie!” Dave started at the stern order and shoved another bite into his mouth.

“Shoot, Paul, sir, I don’ think I want to get involved in any eating contest, ya’ know, I—“

Paul moved closer and peered into the bag, apparently disregarding Dave’s comment . His shirt barely grazed Dave’s stomach. He leaned in a touch more, quiet and mock intense. “How many are left in there, Dave?”

“Dunno. Crud, I musta eaten twenty already.”

Paul leaned in harder, slightly rocking his torso into Dave’s tight fat ball. “Did I ask how many you ate - or how many are left?”

“Uh – left.” Dave again fought his hard on.

“And?” Paul moved away but looked mock hard at Dave.

Dave looked down then back at Paul. He could feel his own breath on his belly. “Seems like eight.”

“And I want it to be none, good sir.” Paul stared at Dave. Dave stayed locked in the gaze and started eating the cookies again at a faster pace, pushing to finish them off. They both felt his gut edge forward with the effort. Dave felt ready to bust. He could barely gulp down the last cookie, but he did it with a proud flourish. Paul patted Dave’s huge gut and stepped back, grinning. Dave’s aching belly bulged to maximum swell as Paul eased back. Pop. Pop. Two of the buttons flitted off of his jersey, leaving just the last one barely connected, way down under the curve of the cookie loaded belly.

“Now THAT’S more like it.” Paul broke into another grin.

Dave had no idea what to say. He rubbed his exposed stomach and let out a stuffed sigh. Paul moved back in and reached under Dave’s huge gut. The jock held his breath against his common sense, suddenly afraid that Paul was about to grab his raging hard on. He felt Paul’s fingers along the base of his hard, round hovering ball belly. It drove him nuts and he fought letting out a wildly turned on groan. With a quieter pop, Paul released the last stubborn button. Dave’s gut bulged a touch more, now totally unrestrained. He was relieved and more comfortable and he let out a huge sigh, which pushed his fat closer to the manager. Dave had a terrible feeling that he wanted to tear his pants off next, release his throbbing urge, but, no, not now. Paul looked Dave up and down approvingly and then turned to grab some tools, leaving the stud to try to pull his tee shirt down to no avail. Dave was too turned on and too much into relishing his masculinity to talk.

They silently went back to work for a few hours, not mentioning the fact that half of his belly was exposed. Paul sometimes watched Dave’s belly bulging with each action, though, and Dave found himself feeling a little proud of letting his gut pump like a huge round muscle. He felt himself getting into being stared at.

By the time five o’clock hit, Dave could not believe he was even musing on dinner. He barely dared to wonder if the manager had a dinner order on the way. He found himself hoping so. But when the time came, Paul told him it was time to wrap up, handed him his button-less shirt and told him to load into the truck.

Dave rolled into the passenger seat. As Paul drove him back to the office, he said he was very pleased with the first day. “See you for more tomorrow. You will want to wear something bigger.” Paul leaned on the word ‘more’ as he smacked the side of Dave’s still tight belly.

VII. Getting Serious

Dave got in the car to head home and thought about hitting the mall for a new shirt. One look at how little of his flesh was covered, though, and the nice girl working there told him he could not walk in there like this. He headed straight home, wondering what he had left over after his weekend eating spree.

When he got to the door, there was a delivery guy waiting. “Hi, are you Dave?”

“Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

“Okay, this is for you.” The guy handed him two bags. Dave smelled the distinct aromas of pasta and sauce. The bags weighed a ton.

“But I didn’t order any of this.” Dave was taking in the smells.

“Don’t worry. The guy who ordered it paid for it all and said to just drop it off. If you’re Dave and you live at this address, looks like it’s for you.”

Dave chuckled. “Okay then. Thanks.” He unlocked the door and dropped the bags in the kitchen. The doorbell rang a few seconds later. It was the delivery guy, holding two more bags.

“What the . . ?”

“Yeah, that was just part of it – all I could get in the first run. This is the rest of it. Have a good night and enjoy the party.” Dave laughed at the guy’s presumption and felt his belly quiver at the movement. “Oooh, I will,” he thought.

The last bag had a note from Paul, with instructions to keep up the training for the contest. Dave felt his spirits sink at this but he spent the rest of the night stuffing himself like there was no tomorrow.

The next day greeted Manager Paul with Dave’s pasta grown belly and Dave with even more food. He had found one sweatshirt that he could barely zip over his belly, and he shed it the minute he got to the job site with Paul. His tee shirts would be riding up more as the week progressed, but the sweatshirt at least got him to and from work. Paul kept him eating like a trained sumo all day, all week, demanding he hit another helping when Dave was certain he would bust. He kept surpassing his own limits. He was the competitive jock out to impress his coach. At the same time, however, he knew that he just had to tell Paul that the contest was off; he just did not know how to break it to him. The construction was progressing slowly between his constant helpings; but his gut seemed to be progressing the most.

Some weeks later, Dave could not come close to tugging his sweatshirt over his belly, and there was not a shirt in his stock pile that would reach his belly button. They would only reach to the upper curve of his gut and cling right above his deepening navel. Even though he had eventually successfully informed Paul of his reluctance to enter the contest, Paul won out in the long run and convinced Dave that it would be worth it for him and the company. Dave still halfheartedly agreed, not wanting to completely disappoint his boss, but his reluctance in no way kept him from wholeheartedly eating.

Dave’s gut amazingly felt rounder by the day. He would lumber into the job site good and fed, where Paul made sure Dave ate progressively more during the course of each day, sending his stud home looking ready to blow. Dave would diligently race home to second helpings the rest of the night and occasionally release the pressure of his urges. He avoided hitting the gym the bigger he grew. He indeed felt guilty and broke out his free weights at home, however. He would get as far as pumping his pecs, arms and shoulders, and then he would be back in the kitchen eating until he was groaning. Each course ended with him beating off furiously while rubbing his tightly packed belly.

All he did was work a little, lift some, and eat and eat for weeks. He had never been so transfixed on anything in his life. He could not get enough of that feeling of being a stuffed man. The reinforcement he got from Paul made him feel like a total stud – like he felt when he was first seriously packing on muscle in college and his buddies would grab his chest or squeeze his growing biceps. He loved being admired for the transformation. He once again felt like the biggest stud on the team and ate up the attention. He saw hardly anyone but the manager during those weeks though and he wanted to impress him. He almost became addicted to hearing he looked better each day. To him, it was like having someone rub his muscles when Paul patted his ball belly each morning and pointed him to some food. He found himself pushing his gut out for Paul to admire; and for good reason--his belly was ballooning fast.

Eventually, he just stopped bothering to completely cover his gut. He strode out of the house with his belly in full, barely-clothed view, knowing he would see no one but Paul or the delivery guy who brought the endless stream of fattening dinners. Gut mounded in front of him, Dave would leave each morning and head straight to the drive through for his first meal of the day, making sure to show up to work good and full. The denim on his jeans distorted and stretched to accommodate his heft, but they also reached their utter limit. While most of his gain was landing on his rotund gut, he was definitely getting a beefier butt, thighs, and chest. The side seams were tugged to the exposed threads across his meatier muscled legs. The denim grabbed his rounded butt and hoisted it high to admire and his chest began to show some sag beneath his shirts. Dave again had to resort to opening the top buttons of his jeans in order to sit down in his truck. He would go nuts at the feel of his heavy fat as he reached under to pop them to sit or wrestle them shut when he stood. He could just barely tug his shirt over the top half of his gut when he got to the drive through, but that only highlighted his size more.

The jeans finally were toast. Dave swore he heard a tear during his last helping and could not get them closed for his ride home, no way no how. His giant dinner delivery came that night with a bigger pair of faded jeans. Dave was glad for the room, but Paul had him on such a mental track, his first thought was how long it would take to tighten them up as much as the pair he had nearly busted. While wearing his new pants and constantly checking their fit, he ate until he nearly collapsed that night.

To be continued...
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