George Knopf
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The Office Fat Guy
🕑 Added 2024-03-01 15:00:10 +0000 UTCYou step onto the hard tile of the bathroom floor and your ass and belly reverberate with a jiggle. This is still a new sensation so you can’t help but notice it.That jiggle wasn’t there six months ago. You towel off and as you’re drying the furry skin on your distended tummy your stomach growls. You’re always hungry these days and it’s almost a nuisance as much as it is erotic. Your mind drifts to what your McDonald’s order will be on your way to work as you wrap the towel around your waist and tuck it under that fresh mound of belly fat at your navel.
You look at your face and pinch the small bubble of fat under your chin. You’re nervous about it growing larger but realize it is probably inevitable. You don’t even shave your face anymore, opting for a close trim of the scruff that will conceal your inevitable gains. You’re planning ahead. Besides, you know that I prefer the scruff and you’re primarily doing this, gaining all this weight, all this gooey chunky fat, to keep me happy.
Looking fresh, you slip into your favorite work pants which are snug. You can button them closed but it’s beginning to get uncomfortable. There’s noticeably less available fabric in the thighs and ass than there used to be. You enjoy the close fit. It excites you to show off a little at the office. You’re fishing for comments on your softening physique even though you’ll pretend to be bashful if you do receive any. You still think about that time at the holiday party when HR told you the relationship weight suits you. You still jack off thinking about that.
You wear your favorite blush pink Polo shirt that’s getting obviously tight across the belly. It makes you look like a pink piggy and even though it’s probably getting too tight for the office you don’t care. You’ve been wearing it for years so you just pretend like you haven’t even noticed how the fabric is straining to cover your mass. You flex in front of the mirror once you have that shirt on. It’s tight around your biceps and you still look buff even though your belly has been growing faster than your muscles lately. You snap an outfit pic in the mirror and send it to me.
At the McDonald’s drive thru you’re starting to get hard thinking about what you’re going to order. You get overwhelmed and text me asking for help. I send you the following: large iced mocha, big breakfast with hotcakes. That’s about 2,000 calories to start the day and you don’t even question it. With your cock leaking precum into your underwear you order exactly what I told you. You pull over in the parking lot and scarf it down. A wave of pleasure and relief washes over you as your belly fills up with all that greasy fattening food.
You walk into the office fifteen minutes later with a bloat you cannot conceal. Even though you feel self conscious you grab two donuts from the kitchen and a coffee that’s half creamer and sugar. When you finally make it to your desk and sit down you notice that your love handles are grazing the arms of the chair. You’re getting wider and you know it’s only a matter of time until you outgrow this chair completely. You also realize it is definitely time for a new pair of pants. The waist is cutting you in half and it's unbearable. You would undo the button to create some room but your skin tight shirt won’t conceal the undone waistband.
Finally, after gulping down the coffee you head to the restroom for some relief. Last night’s stuffing exits your body and the release feels fantastic. Sitting on the toilet you notice how you take up more space in the stall than you used to. Your thighs and ass droop off the edges of the toilet seat. You can barely get your dick to hang into the toilet with so much thigh meat in the way. You marvel at how well I’m fattening you up. You scoop your belly up with both hands, squeeze it, jiggle it, roll the fat between your fingers. It feels fantastic and you imagine it growing even bigger, but you start to get an erection so you try to calm down.
You button your pants and they feel slightly better after the bowel movement, but you know that will change around lunch time. As you step out of the bathroom you run smack into the gym rat sales lead and your porky pink belly actually bumps into his hard and flat midsection. He steps back in surprise and his pert glutes bump into the IT guy pushing a cart of equipment behind him.
“It’s like bumper cars in here,” the sales lead says to you and then looks down at the swollen gut hanging over your waistband. “You’ve got an unfair advantage though,” he teasingly says and pats your belly with one hand.
Your face flushes red, accentuating the pinkness of the shirt and the creaminess of your skin, “It’s those damn donuts,” you demur.
“Is it just the donuts?” he pointedly replies and then heads into the bathroom.
Your cock is stiff again from that interaction and you instantly replay it in your head. You stop at the kitchen on the way to your desk and grab two more donuts like a good piggy. You sit down and cram them into your mouth as though no one is watching, as though it's just you and me in the living room making you fatter. But people are watching and when you realize that you get both embarrassed and turned on. You can no longer battle the erection in your pants and you turn your back to the hallway so no one can see.
You calm down and do some work while finishing off the last donut at a deliberately slower speed. You can barely focus though, your mind is spinning with piggish lust. Finally, once your heart rate has slowed and the snake in your pants has acquiesced, you turn your attention to your phone and text me the whole thing in detail. I tell you to get used to it, you’re fat now. You’re only getting fatter. In fact, let lunch be an opportunity to establish this fact, this narrative. You’re becoming the fat guy in the office and they all should get used to it.
The next two hours take an eternity to pass before you rush to the joint Kentucky Fried Chicken/Taco Bell/Pizza Hut in the strip mall near the office. You choose something from every restaurant until the total is pushing forty dollars. Your heart is pounding with anticipation as you absentmindedly finger the plush velvety fat roll in your lap. You’re erect again and contemplate relieving yourself after this meal. But you know better. You know you have to save your load for me.
They make you pull over and wait while they prepare your enormous order. You wonder if the restaurant workers gossip about you and how big your orders are, how fat you’ve gotten in the past year. It’s so obvious you’re a pig. They probably can sense your mix of gluttony and lust and are disgusted. Thinking about this makes you wonder what ten more pounds will do, or twenty, or thirty…
You’re so lost in the fantasy that it startles you when they deliver your food. The bag is huge and soaked in grease stains. It feels heavy and warm in your hands and will feel even heavier in your gut. You chow down like a good pig. You have to make up for the lost time it took to prepare all this slop. You inhale the food messily, washing it down with soda and a milkshake. When you’re finished you look in the mirror at the pig you’ve become.
Your face is greasy from the food and from sweating. Your mouth is stained with sauces and you’re breathing heavily. You rub your cock through your pants, aching for some relief. Instead, you behave like a good pig and clean yourself up, toss out your garbage, and try to compose yourself. Despite your efforts you still feel dirty walking back into the office. There’s no hiding your gluttony because it hangs from your waist in the form of thick rolls of fat. Everyone can imagine the mountain of food you were just scarfing down.
You go to the bathroom and notice your favorite pink Polo is stained with grease, punctuating your piggishness. You’re so turned on that you consider picking up a carton of ice cream and heading straight to my apartment, undressing, and chugging the liquid dairy. Instead you fix your hair, let out a belch and head back to the kitchen for some coffee.
The sales lead is there, eating a salad. You feel enormous next to his lean muscle. You belch again, quietly to yourself, as you pour some coffee. On the kitchen table next to the sales lead is the box of donuts and only one remains. It tempts you. You’ve already lost count of how many you’ve scarfed down, plus you made a self effacing comment to your salad munching colleague earlier in the day, so it would be quite the power move to steal the last one. You fill your mug up with creamer and then remember what I told you: You’re the fat guy now, let them know, establish the narrative.
“It’s not just the donuts,” you say, referencing your earlier conversation as you reach for the remaining pastry, “but they’re certainly a factor.” You chuckle and pat your belly a couple times.
The sales lead looks up at you with a confused and slightly disgusted face. You notice he has headphones in and your face turns red.
“Sorry?” he says.
“Oh, uh, nothing,” you say. “Just grabbing the last one I guess.”
“You really should slow down man,” he says. “And maybe uh…” he gestures to your belly, “size up your clothes.”
You look down and notice a small sliver of belly fat is hanging exposed from the bottom of your pink Polo. Your face is on fire as you pull your shirt down and turn away without saying a word. As you step into the hallway a small fart escapes and you rush even faster back to your desk.
~
When you lift your leg to step over the threshold of the bathtub your overhang mashes against your thigh. Your belly is everywhere now, always in the way, always announcing its own presence. You towel beneath your flab and try to get the rolls on your side even though it’s getting hard to reach. You used to wrap the towel around your waist in the morning, but you don’t even bother anymore. Besides, your overhang is only a few inches from concealing your cock anyway.
You toss a handful of peanut M&Ms into your mouth. I’ve got a dish in every room so you’re non stop snacking. Your belly is never empty. You look in the mirror as you swallow the candy. Your adam’s apple is now barely visible beneath the band of fat under your chin. Your cheeks are rosy and swollen and even though you want to grow a beard you don’t because I like the way your close trimmed scruff betrays your girth.
You sigh as you look at your closet. All new clothes and yet nothing fits. You huff and puff as you stuff your mass into a pair of stretch dress pants. You button the elastic waist closed knowing that in a few months you’ll have to size up yet again. You turn to the side and admire your profile. There was a time when your butt rivaled your gut in terms of mass, but these days you’re all belly. The last twenty pounds have collected in your middle creating a deep overhang that eclipses your waistband. You pat the thick mass of blubber proudly.
In the back of your closet you notice that old pink Polo shirt. You used to love that shirt, but you haven’t worn it in over a year. You have fond memories of outgrowing it, the way a little sliver of belly fat would peak out the bottom, or the sides would ride up on your love handles. You grab it off the hanger and give it a try. It’s a struggle to get it over your shoulders and chest and when you finally have it all the way on, the hem doesn’t even reach your belly button. You chuckle, then snap a pic and send it to me.
You end up wearing a tee and the fleece pull-over you wear nearly every day. You head to the kitchen and throw a banana, peanut butter, mass gainer, heavy cream, and whole milk into the Ninja. You blend up your 1,500 calorie slop and then pour it into your large Stanley water cup. You eat a couple chocolate croissants I left at your house before piling into your car. The driver’s seat of your sedan is getting snug and you struggle to get in and out of the low-resting car, but this doesn’t stop you from heading straight to McDonald’s.
You’ve already ordered through the app so you don’t have to wait. Once the food arrives you gulp down the greasy caloric load with ease. These breakfasts used to leave you feeling stuffed and sweaty and now you simply feel satiated. Ready for more.
You lumber into the office with a confidence unknown to you a year ago. It’s the confidence of a true porker. You’re a glutton and there’s no denying it, no hiding it. You drop your bag and Stanley cup at your desk before waddling to the kitchen for provisions. You fill your personal, extra large coffee cup, halfway with creamer and then you add coffee. You grab a handful of Hershey Kisses and shove them in your sweater pocket, then you grab three donuts between your chubby fingers. When you sit down at your desk the chair squeals beneath your weight. It’s going to give out any day now, you can sense it.
After donuts and you gulp down your gainer shake. No one in the office knows that there’s a couple thousand calories in there, they just think you’re hydrating or, at most, drinking soda. Eventually, nature calls. It does so often these days given your level of consumption. You lurch onto your feet and head to the bathroom.
The handicap stall is taken so you squeeze yourself into one of the regular sized ones. Still, it’s too small for your mass. Sitting on the toilet, your love handles press against the sides of the stall. Your belly fills your lap in front of you. It’s been months since you’ve seen your dick, so you have to reach beneath your underbelly and point it down into the toilet so you don’t piss everywhere. The fat is really getting in the way these days. You even struggle to reach around to wipe, and the snugness of the stall doesn’t help matters.
On the way back to your desk you check for donuts. The sales lead is in the kitchen and he has the last donut in his hand. He’s put on some weight in the past year since getting married and having a kid. A little beginner belly and starter love handles announce themselves beneath his Gap sweater. He looks at you, this hulking mound of fat, and then at the donut in his hand.
“I guess these things do sneak up on you,” he says.
You’re surprised he remembers this exchange from so long ago and you chuckle. You look him up and down and crack a grin. “That’s how it starts,” you say and watch as the impact of your comment sinks in.
“Man,” he raises his eyebrows, “is that so… I remember you used to be pretty fit when you started.”
You contemplate how to respond to this before deciding to go with the truth: “Yeah my boyfriend has really been fattening me up.”
This approach works and he laughs, breaking the tension. “Same! Between my wife’s cooking and the new baby I can’t seem to catch a break to hit the gym.”
“Nothing wrong with some extra padding,” you say confidently. “Besides, it suits you I think.”
Your colleague shrugs and takes a big bite of the donut. You return to your desk smugly confident that you’re spreading your joy of obesity to others. You’re also already thinking about lunch and getting excited about what is in store. Once a week I arrange for an XL meat lovers pizza delivered to your office. Usually, you intercept the delivery guy before he rings the bell, but today the receptionist sends you an email that you have a pizza waiting up front. Your former self would have been embarrassed by this obvious display of piggishness, but now you enjoy it. You lumber to the waiting room and enjoy how everyone watches you, the fat guy, pick up a pizza fit for the size of a large family and exuberantly head to the elevator.
With the box resting on your gut, you’ve killed half a slice before you reach the ground floor. The doors open and one of the new interns waits outside still in his gym clothes. His body is taut with lean muscle and glistening with sweat. As the doors open he sees you piggishly gulping down pizza, an inch of belly fat hanging out from your fleece, and he can’t help but contort his face in disgust. You belch triumphantly and brush past him.
Inside your car there’s barely enough room for your massive body and all that pizza. You should have gone to the park benches nearby so you could spread out comfortably, but you’re already wedged in the vehicle and you’re too lazy to get back out. So you fold up slice after slice of pizza and shove each one down your hungry maw. The pizza disappears fast and you’re still hungry so you drive to McDonald’s for a large chocolate shake which you down while waiting in line at Dunkin’ for a large butter pecan crunch frozen coffee.
Once you return to the office parking lot you fish out one of the Boost VHCs I’ve hidden in your console and chug it. Finally, you’re feeling satiated. You could keep going if you wanted, nothing slows down your appetite these days, but you have to return to work. You heave yourself out of the car and waddle inside, aware and unbothered that your belly is hanging out of your fleece. Despite the coffee, you’re already getting sleepy by the time you reach your desk. You wish you could take a nap and let all those calories turn to squishy fat.
You slowly lower your fat ass into the office chair. Once your full weight is on the chair you feel a small crack beneath you. Is it finally happening? You wonder to yourself. No way. Then you hear the unmistakable sound of plastic snapping in half and slowly your seat begins to slide backward. You try to hoist yourself forward onto your feet but you have too much belly in the way. Your efforts only cause you to fall back faster and hit the floor with a thud that reverberates throughout the entire office.
There’s gasps as everyone within earshot turns to look. You’re splayed on the floor, on your back, your overhang largely exposed and wobbling, stretch marks and all, helpless. A couple guys nearby rush over and take your hand to help you up, but they’re not strong enough. You’re too heavy. You’re just a mound of fat on the floor of the office and there’s nothing anyone can do. You’re sweating and overwhelmed by the attention.
You finally dismiss the crowd of men offering their assistance to get you, the office whale, back onto your feet. You know what to do. You roll over onto your side and get on all fours. Your ass is in the air like when I fuck you. Rolls upon rolls of back fat lead down to your exposed ass crack glistening with sweat. You push one leg up onto the ground, your knee pushing against your heavy belly fat. You then steady yourself on your desk, which causes alarm to those watching. The men get closer to steady your arm, worried “what if he breaks the desk too?” Your obesity is unbridled and all-conquering in the minds of your colleagues at this point. The desk doesn’t break and with great effort you get yourself onto both feet. You’re pouring sweat and so exhausted you barely have the energy to process what just happened or how hot it was. Instead, you smile and wave everyone away. You’ll save getting worked up about it later tonight, when you tell me the story, in between bites of cheesecake and gainer shake.
Comments
Jumbobelly
Loved it. So many perfect detailed descriptions that are spot on. B O I N G!!!!
