admiration, care & feeding of the male form

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story: Jackpot

original weight gain fiction by kyaada

I just knew that the place was going to be impressive looking up the dizzying climb of the three-story escalator.  The National Bowling Stadium is a fairly recent addition to downtown Reno, and it serves as a national shrine to the sport of bowling.  As I reached the main floor from the lengthy journey up the escalator, I was taken aback by the view of the eighty bowling lanes that disappeared into the horizon.  Behind the lanes was a seating area that expanded up and back like the gallery in a concert hall, and it easily sat more than two large movie theaters.  

The reason for the visit was my family’s participation in the national women’s bowling tournament.  I was along as a team supporter, enjoying the sights, sounds, and tastes of one of Nevada’s popular gambling meccas.  The tens of thousands of women visiting Reno gave casinos and businesses the incentive to lavish free gifts and meals on the hoards of eager bowlers and their husbands and boyfriends.  Generosity on meals included free breakfasts and two-for-one dinners, as well as the usual inexpensive dining opportunities that always exist in a gambling town.  I soon realized that there was a preponderance of overweight men filling up the casinos, restaurants, bars, and bowling events.

As I scanned the vast panorama of bowling lanes and the seating areas that crowded the level above, I began to smile with devilish satisfaction.  All around me were guys of all ages, in various stages of fat.  My eyes were tantalized with a veritable smorgasbord of sizes and shapes.  Guys in tight jeans and shirts looking like they had spent all winter gorging themselves on everything in sight while they took up refuge from the cold on cozy warm couches.  There were guys that sported promising beginning bellies, probably recently enhanced by all-you-can-eat buffets; they all looked completely comfortable with the fact that their flat abs had swelled out into plump guts ripe for the poking and the recognition they so richly deserved.  For the most part, although there were exceptions, the seriously large bellies seemed to be in the thirtysomething range and above.  When those guys walked past, you had to just stop and marvel at the size.

Since my family was up bowling, I was free to roam the concession booths and other points of interest looking for who the other lady bowlers had brought with them.  In the Pro Shop, they had set up a fully functioning pin setter and bowling lane; while it was there for pros to instruct bowlers with technique, it also served as a fascinating mechanical doo-dad to watch.  Surrounded by a glass enclosure, the pin setter was a piece of mechanical wonder.  I didn’t even notice the young guy that came up and stood by me because I had been so hypnotized by the dozens of intricate moving parts it took to plop ten pieces of wood on the floor.

I had become a victim of visual overload as soon as I wrested my attention to look his way.  Standing at 6’1”, dressed in black Levi’s, old white tank top, and black leather jacket, he looked like some industrious artist had injected him into his striking outfit.  Aside from the fact that he had the wide-shouldered beefy-dense look of a former football player, he also appeared to have adopted a rather liberal diet regimen.  Seams showed threads on his thick thighs, and the cotton weave in his tank top seemed to have reached its limit of elasticity.  The look of the famous Levi’s buttonfly suggested that he had spent concerted effort in mating the buttons up to the top, and they also spoke to the fact that they were under considerable stress.

Launched through the open lapels of his sweet-smelling leather jacket was a set of luscious meaty pecs and the swell of a perfectly rotund, well-fed, substantially fattened beach-ball of a belly.  His weathered old tank top wore like a second skin around the circumference of the chunky hunk’s impressive belly, and detailed the outline of his deep belly button.

I nervously cleared my throat as I tried to break my transfixed gaze on his belly.  “Hey there.”

As he opened his mouth to what I was sure to be a friendly greeting in return, a loud and proud belch emerged from deep inside of him and reverberated off of the glass cage of the pin setter.  His right hand went instinctively to his belly.  “Oh!  Excuse me!” he asked, his handsome goateed face turning a light shade of red.  We both laughed a little before he spoke again.  “Hello.”

We both stood there quietly watching the pin setter do its stuff.  After several balls had been aimed somewhat successfully at the group of ten, I summed up my courage to speak again.

"So, having a good time here in Reno?"  I asked, knowing that the odds were in my favor of him being an out-of-towner like me.

"Oh yeah.  You?"

"Great time.  I can’t believe this national stadium place.  It’s huge!"

"It is.  I’ve been wandering through here ever since I got here with my wife and her team.  They’re over in the line to register and do all that crap.  I told her I’d look around the place while I grabbed a little exercise.  Seems like if I haven’t been sitting at a slot machine, I’ve been sitting at a restaurant."

"Well, it is the town for that, huh?"

"I’ll say.  I’ve got a major case of ‘Tired Butt and Full Gut’."  His hand returned to the front of his belly where it traveled in circular motions around the firm warm real estate.  "Hell, after porkin’ for only a couple of days here, I’ve got a pregnant belly and an suitcase full of outgrown clothes."

"Pregnant bellies on guys don’t seem to be too uncommon around here, guy— I think you fit well into the landscape around these casino restaurants!"

"Well, I should say that I had about an eight-month pregnant belly when I left Michigan, and now I’ve got a nine-monther.  I suspect folks will be wondering if it’s gonna be twins by the time I roll out of this town!"

"Shit, doesn’t look bad at all to me, guy."

"Oh, I didn’t say it looked bad," he assured me, grinning broadly.  "Not like I was some sort of lightweight before I got here, I mean I really do enjoy catching a good meal, but Lord…eating is all I’ve done since we got here."  He rested his hand atop his belly bulge.

"How could you possibly resist all of these incredible buffets and stuff?"

"I know.  Last night, we went to this buffet place at the casino I’m staying at and they had this Mongolian Barbecue in addition to all of the regular stuff.  Then, tonight, we went back there for the seafood buffet night.  I think my stomach was all stretched out after last night because I ate so much that I surprised myself.  I mean, there I was, waddling back to the "five star" dessert bar every five minutes hauling back another slice of pie.  It was hard to breathe and I looked like a tick ready to pop— my belly was sticking out like I’d swallowed a basketball— but I figured ‘what the hell, can’t eat like this every day’."

"Sounds like you really enjoyed yourself, uh, sorry, what was your name?"

"Jack."  He held out his hand.

"Nice to meet you.  I’m Brian."  Shaking his hand was almost a spiritual experience.

"Well, I suppose I’d better get going."  Jack turned after we traded the standard "nice to have met you", and I couldn’t help but stare at his chunky bubblebutt that wagged away from me.  

After talking to Jack, I figured he was in his late twenties, and married for a few years to a wife that loved to cook.  He just seemed to have that air about him and the added weight that so sumptuously padded his thick frame seemed relatively new to him.  The image of his incredible body was still burned in my mind as I wandered out of the pro shop to watch the bowlers.  Hefty guys still milled around, but none of them seemed to compare with Jack.  Jack had a boyish-cute look topped by short dark wavy hair, and he only had a hint of a double-chin; his face teased you with the “is he fat or not” question only before your eyes ventured down his front.

Deciding to find the men’s room, I left the main bowling area to search out the facilities.  As I approached the long corridor, I could make out Jack’s form parked in line in front of the Big City Snack Shop.  Passing behind him on the way to the restroom, I watched as the smiling counter girl set up a jumbo dog, nachos, french fries, and a giant drink for which Jack could pilot over to a table and devour.  Nearly tripping over someone, I wrench my neck back around to make my trip to the restroom a quick one.

When I came out, I looked for Jack.  Sure enough, he had taken a seat at one of the high tables back aways from the snack counter.  His thighs were spread apart as he leaned forward to shove in a big bite of fat hot dog oozing with mustard and relish.  He smiled as he saw me walking his way, and that light shade of red reappeared on his face.

"Caught me!"  

"Hungry again, Jack?"

"Well, I don’t know as if I’m all that hungry, but I can sure eat!  Plus, I’ve got this fat wallet from last night that’s just burnin’ a hole in my pocket.  Won $500 on a dollar slot last night after dinner.  The way things are going, I’ll probably take most of that $500 home in my belly, on my butt, on my lovehandles…"

"Wow!  Congratulations!  Well, $500 will buy you quite a few bellyfuls of food in Reno."

Jack smiled as he filed in cheese-coated nacho chips.  “Hey, I fed that slot machine, now it’s time it fed me.”

"Sounds fair enough."

Jack continued to stuff his face with the high-fat snacks, relaxing at intervals where he would arch his back and run his hand down his front.  “Oh, I’m so rude.  Would you like something to eat, Brian?”  He gave my thinner frame a concerned look.  “Doesn’t look like you eat a whole lot.”

"Thanks for asking— I’m fine.  Had a big lunch."

"You haven’t eaten since lunch?  Jeez, guy.  I had five free breakfasts this morning," he held out his hand and proceded to count them out on his fingers, "that’s:  one Belgian waffle, two stacks of pancakes, french toast, and ham ‘n eggs.  For lunch, I got stuck eating this huge stuffed pizza.  The girls on the team told me to go in and order for us, and then none of them showed up because the machines were all paying.  So, I pack down this giant pizza on top of all that breakfast— no help from anybody."

"I can tell you were very disappointed, Jack."

"I was even forced to drink a pitcher of beer."  He chuckled as he

shoved in the last man-sized bite of jumbo dog.  “Talk about a

sight!  There I was, all sprawled back and lazy in my chair, belly

totally double-stuffed, and the waitress comes up and pokes me right in my big ol’ swollen gut.”

Jack slid his fat butt off of the stool and nudged it aside as 

he opted for a standing position.  His belly was unmistakably 

wider across and looked solid as a rock.  “So, this waitress—

I could tell she was hornier than hell— she tells me that she’ll

buy my lunch if I can eat a slice of their Mile High Mud Pie

for dessert, and that I have to take her out for a beer after 

she got off work if I couldn’t finish it.”

I listened intently as he spoke as best he could with his mouth

full; I felt my face flushing hot.

“‘I’ll take that bet’ I said, knowing full well that I had to

finish that dessert even if it meant splittin’ my belly up the 

middle.  There was no way my wife was going to go for me having

a beer with a waitress from the Atlantis.  So, the waitress comes 

back with what looked like an Alaskan glacier-sized portion of 

mocha ice cream covered in hot fudge and whipped cream.”

Jack absentmindedly ran his hand down the front of his belly and

paused its downward travel on the fattest bulge to give the 

bloated belly a good patting.  “Well, that dessert was an 

experience.  I was belchin’ like a biker-pumped-full-of-beer, a-spankin’ and a-rubbin’ and a-pattin’ my pooched-out belly in an honest attempt to settle my massive lunch enough so that I could eat that whole gluttonous piece of mud pie.  

“The waitress came over during the last few slurpy bites, 

and watched me labor over getting them all the way down.  By 

that time, my belly was beyond rock-hard and sticking out as far as I had ever remembered it pooching.  She reaches down and 

puts her hand against my gorged belly and thumps me like I’m 

some sort of melon in the produce department.  I think she was 

a bit surprised when I finished it, and I know she was disappointed that she got beat out of her beer.”

"Wow, dude.  That’s a really cool story.  A giant lunch— for free!"

"Yeah…it was giant, too.  My gut was stuffed so hard and heavy 

that I couldn’t budge my fat ass for almost half an hour!!  I just sat there like a Buddha statue, watching guys walk past and pat their own full bellies after they saw how pumped mine had become.  My gut was so jam-packed full that my breaths were little puffs!”  

Jack shifted his weight from one leg to the other.  “Oooof—” he

sighed, “speaking of which— gettin’ full again.”  Jack popped 

open the top button of his tight black Levis and groaned.  “This 

time, I’m leaving the damn things unbuttoned.  I really like these jeans, but they’ve gotten too tight for a growin’ boy like me.”

"Hey, with the bucks you won, you could always go shopping for some new ones.  Buy a pair with a little slack in the ol’ waistband for those times when you need some extra space."

"I had done that with these.  Funny how I ran out of extra space so fast."

"These things happen."  I assured him, feeling my pulse throb as he pushed away his last empty plate and grabbed his bucketful of Coke to soak his gullet.  He put the cup down and stepped back from the table to put his arms up for a long, languid stretch.  His tank top immediately pulled out of his jeans and edged up the rotund expanse of belly, displaying a wonderfully tan and fat section of bare belly.  A reasonably raucous belch ripped through the air, and he chuckled to himself after he had excused the eruption.  Much to my delight, he failed to pull his tank top back down to cover his fat round belly.  With his jeans popped open one and his tank top inched up, he looked immensely gorged and fat.

He put his hands on each side of his belly and shook it ever so gently.  “Damn…”  Jack next looked like he was trying to push in on either side and it looked like he was trying to squeeze a hard-pumped basketball; his gorged belly simply didn’t yield much to 

the pressure.  

I took a few steps closer to him so that I was less than an arm’s length away from him.  I could feel the satisfied heat radiating from his tightly pumped belly, and he didn’t flinch when I moved in closer.  There was hardly anyone around in that area of the corridor, and the people that were there were too far away and too busy with whatever they were doing.

Jack looked down at his hand which traversed the length, and then the width, of his bloated round belly.  “I look like that potbellied stove I saw today in an antique store.  Except I think my pot is bigger.”

"I would tend to agree with that observation, Jack.  Look at the size of this belly."  I watched in amazement as a sudden impetus of courage sent my hand to his protruding belly.  As the palm of my hand rested against the solid warm bulge directly under his ribs, I pushed in like I were testing a mattress for firmness.  After those precious stolen seconds, I ran my hand down the front of his belly to just under his belly button where I attempted to bounce the hefty beach-ball up and down with my hand.  "My God, Jack, you are one well-fed, r-o-u-n-d guy."

"Yep.  Feeding well is the one thing that I do better than 

anything else.” 

"Maybe, but I don’t hear you complaining any."

"Trust me— I’m not complaining.  My belly is two ticks past the ‘full’ mark on the capacity meter, yet I’m thinking about all of those pies, cakes, and ice cream back at the buffet I wish I could get to right now."  

I reached over again and thumped his belly.  I spanked it like I was testing watermelons in the supermarket, and I listened to the perfect tone made by smacking his amply-packed belly.  “Now, Jack, you know that eating pies, cakes, and ice cream will make you fat.”

"Every guy has to have a goal, you know.  I’ve been working on this belly now for a while now."

"I’d say that you’ve been doing very well."  I couldn’t help but rub his belly some more.

"Grew it from a flat, ripped seed that had germinated in my days of doing sit-ups at the gym."

"Abdominal workouts are hazardous to bellies, Jack.  Sit-ups are best watched on TV from a safe-distanced couch while devouring Domino’s pizza and guzzling beer."

He chuckled.  “Don’t I know it— now.  Yep, it all started one Thanksgiving.  I was a too calorie-conscious from some of those guys at the gym. Though I always made it a point to enjoy my beers, I wasn’t enjoying myself as much as I wanted to.  After a little turkey at home, we went to my in-laws for dinner later in the day.  Well, I cleaned up so many platefuls that I popped a button off of one of my fitted dress shirts.  That shirt had always been comfortable around my stomach, but I had eaten enough to inhale once and pop a button right off my middle.”

"Cool.  A belly is born."

"That was it, all right.  From that point on, I gave up the ab workouts at the gym and took to enjoying each and every meal to the fullest.  I still went to the gym and did the arms, chest, back, and leg workouts, but my ab workout had shifted to the dinner table.  I’m pretty sure that I was destined to have a respectable belly— my belly seemed to have a mind of its own and plumped-up quickly into a nice round ball."

I licked my lips and swallowed hard.  “And looks to be getting bigger by the day.  What’s your wife had to say about your ballooning belly?”

"Oh, I don’t think she minds too much.  She’s a bit heavy herself, and I guess she feels like she can’t say much to me.  She makes a big dinner— you know, one of my favorites, like spaghetti with meatballs, and just lets me chow down.  ‘More, honey?’ she’ll ask, and fill my plate up again and again.  As I’m pushing myself away from the table with a big full belly, she’ll poke me in the gut and ask if I got enough to eat as she slides one more helping in 

front of me to stuff in.  Come to think of it, she might even like my belly.”

"What’s not to like, Jack?  Besides, the belly looks great on ya."

"Thanks.  I can tell you like it, too."  Jack said, nodding at my continuing desire to thump his belly at semi-regular intervals.  I nervously and suddenly pulled my hand back.  "Oh, that’s OK.  I don’t mind.  Actually, don’t tell nobody, but it does feel pretty damn good."

"Cool.  I was just trying to burp ya so I could take you downstairs to the Mercury Diner and treat ya to a nice fat banana split.  I figure one of those monsters would top you off really nice."

"Sounds great.  Only, I’m treating.  After all, my wallet is almost as fat as my belly these days."


Jack pulled down his tank top as I cleared his garbage from the table.  “Ooof—”  Jack expressed as he moved from his stationary position.  “Let’s find an elevator or something.  I don’t think I can do stairs in my condition.”

"Oh yeah, that’s right!  In your _condition_.  Pretty late in

your pregnancy, huh, Jack?”

"Yep.  Gettin’ awful close to poppin’."

"Hmmm.  So, when’s it due?"  I playfully asked, pushing the call button for the elevator, and reaching over to poke his big belly with the other hand.

"God, at the rate I’m chowing down here in Reno, I’m pretty sure I’m gonna pop tomorrow."  His hand levitated in front of his belly forecasting its future size.

"Really, what are your plans?"

"I think I’m going to eat.  Then I’m going to eat some more.  After that, I think I’ll eat a little more."

As the elevator reached the ground floor, Jack motioned for me to go in front of him.  I could hear him wheezing a little behind me as he caught up to me on the way over to the diner.

"Damn, it’s hard to walk when I’m this full."

"Don’t worry, you’ll be sitting down soon to a respectable dessert."

My prediction was right.  Not only did they have banana splits, they prided themselves on them.  When it made its debut, Jack’s eyes widened with approval.  Two bananas, four gigantic scoops of ice cream, and a flood of sauces hidden under a cloud of fresh whipped cream, chopped nuts, and cherries.  As Jack pulled the mountainous dish toward him and poised a spoon, he briefly looked up at me and said, “You realize, of course, that we’ll need a forklift to get me outta here.”

"Don’t you worry about that.  Just enjoy that sucker."

Jack’s slurps and burps were music to my ears.  His trough emptied at a steady rate, surprising both of us with the continued accomodation of more food into his swollen belly.  With one scoop and banana slice to go, Jack leaned back in his seat and let out a deep sigh.  The increased size of his belly was most evident right under his juicy pecs, and it stuck out prominently in a rock-hard ball, stretching his old tank top mercilessly.

"Jeezuzz…  My gut feels like it’s gonna bust."

"Not to worry.  It’s only an expression; exploding guts only happen in the tabloid magazines and in the movies.  Just let your belly pooch out as much as it wants to— get a nice long stretch going."

"Well, my belly is so tight now that I think you could bounce a quarter off of it.  I don’t know how much more my skin will be able to stretch."

"It’s OK, Jack, just relax for a minute.  Let that ice cream get all soft and melty so it just slides down the ol’ gullet."

A cherubic smile curved onto his lips as he put a hand on top of his bloated round belly.  Rubbing his hand back and forth on top of his potbelly, his expression changed from bliss into one of excited discovery.  “Whoa.  Gettin’ quite a ledge here.  I should be able to set a dinner plate on this thing before too long.”

With that, Jack was off to suck down the very last sweet drop of the ice cream treat.  When he finished, he pushed the empty long dish away and leaned back against the seat.  His belly was so immense that I thought it would keep swelling until it landed on top of the table.  Jack put his hands on each side of his bloated belly and rubbed back and forth, surveying his advanced size.  “Oooooooffff.  God, I am _stuffed_ full to the brim.  One more lick of banana split and I think _I’d_ split.”

"From this angle, I can definitely see what you mean.  Your belly looks plain enormous."

The waitress brought the check, marveled at Jack’s belly for a moment, then walked away smiling. 

"Oh shit!  I better get upstairs and see how my wife is doing."

"Oh, right."

It was comical when he tried to get up.  He scooted his fat ass over to the edge of the seat, grunting all the way.  “God, I’m so fat that I can barely move.”  

"Want some help?"  

He laughed.  “No thanks, I think I’ll make it.”

With gratitude showing for his bulging arms, his face lit up as he finally got upright.  Jack’s unrestrained indulgence had led to a colossal bellyful that cast an impressive shadow on the floor beneath it.  With the top button of his Levi’s open, he really appeared to be exploding out of his tight jeans.  His tank top was up just enough to show a little bare skin, and the picture was inspiring, to say the very least.  My cock nearly released what it had been saving up for all evening.

Jack applied a hand to his belly as he waddled out the diner’s front door and made his slow advance toward the three-story escalator.  When we got upstairs and headed toward the teams that we had come to cheer on, it became a laughable twist of fate that they were only two lanes apart.  After our “see ya later’s”, we split up to go sit in the seating areas above the lanes of our respective teams.

I watched in awe as Jack walked over and stood behind the woman most likely to be his wife.  He positioned himself right behind her and then leaned forward enough to bump his big ol’ belly right into her back.  Startled, she let out a little yelp as she turned to see him.  As she turned, she accidently banged her elbow into Jack’s swollen belly.  Over the din of the bowling alley, I could hear their conversation.

"Honey, where have you been?"

"Oh, I met a cool guy and we had a talk and something to eat."

She looked at the size of the fleshy round mass she’d bumped into and stuck her finger directly into her chubby hubby’s belly button, pushing in several times.  “Wow, honey, your tummy is very big today.  I take it you’re enjoying yourself and glad you came along, right?”


She then promenaded around behind him and slipped her arms around his big swollen belly.  Her hands appeared in front of him on the most swollen part of his studly belly, and her hands were soon moving in circles on both sides.  “Honey, I didn’t realize that your tummy had gotten so nice and big…”

"Aw, it ain’t nothin’, just been eatin’ a lot today." Jack convinced her.  She alternated pats on his belly as she left him to go back down to bowl.  It was then the rest of the team filed through to take a look at him.  Jack excused himself to go to the men’s room, and they all watched his lazy waddle as he disappeared into the corridor.  Jack’s wife came back to the seating area after she finished her frame.

"Deanna, your husband is getting quite a belly on him.  You ought to put him on a diet.  And all he’s done is eat since we’ve been here."

"Oh, Julie, give him a break.  He’s having a good time and he was such a good sport to come along."  She smiled.  "Besides, he keeps the bed nice and warm at night.  That belly of his is perfectly suited as a space heater.  And, if it’s especially cold outside that evening, I feed him extra helpings at dinner and he’s just toasty all night long."

Another one of their team spoke up.  “Deanna, you keep feeding him like that and you won’t be able to fit in the bed with him.  From watching him gorge himself at that buffet tonight, I think you should keep an eye on him.  I should have been betting on how many times he went back to that dessert bar.”

"I didn’t think his belly was ever going to get full.  He just kept eating and eating and _eating_.  My God, Deanna, how much does he weigh now?"

"I’m not sure.  He was 225 pounds before Thanksgiving.  He couldn’t have gained all that much," Deanna said, knowing that she couldn’t hide the fact that she was underestimating.     

They stopped their discussion as Jack made his way back.  He had a chance to put his outfit back together a bit, and his tank top was tucked back in as much as it would go, but his top jeans button was still proudly spread open.  He stood behind the seating area watching them bowl with his arms folded on top of his protuberant gut.

Too uptight to stay seated, I got up and went towards the snack shop, passing right behind Jack.  

"Hey dude."


On the way to the snack bar, I noticed the little hole-in-the-wall bar.  Needing something to quench my thirst, I got in line with the plan to order a beer.  My attention was diverted as I spied a very healthy young guy coming away from the snack shop with his hands full of goodies.  His belly showed promise, and the fat snacks were going to help.  Suddenly, I felt a firm mass bump me square in the back.  

I turned to find Jack smiling most mischievously.

"Well, what brings you here?"

"Thought I’d get a beer."

"Hmmm.  Me too."

He treated again, and we took our beers over to the table where we had been earlier.

"So, Jack, how’s the belly?"

"Nice and full.  No complaints."

"Cool.  Say, I was thinking about what you had said earlier about feeding that slot machine all of those dollars and about how it was time it fed you."

"It’s been doing very well in that area," Jack assured me, patting his belly.  "But I could probably do better if I turned myself into a human slot machine.  You know, sit in a corner and have people come by and fed me all day long."

"Whoa, Jack.  Think of the size of your belly!  You’d be huge!"

"Yeah, and I wouldn’t have to pay out ever except for the people I really wanted to pay out for…"  He took a swig of beer as he watched my reaction.

"Have you heard of the Jackpot Buffet?"

"No…what’s that?"

"Well, it’s a place downtown that has this sit-down buffet where you bet on how much you can eat.  Waiters bring you the food you request from this list at your table.  It’s incredible.  They 

have this giant roulette wheel with menu selections, dollar

amounts, and assorted prizes.  You place your bet, then spin the

wheel and see what you need to eat to win.”

"That sounds like a hell of a lot of fun.  What are you doing tomorrow?  My wife bowls at three in the afternoon."

"I got the time.  Say we meet here at three o’clock in the front lobby of the stadium?"

"See you then," Jack said, giving me a wink.

Seconds seemed to tick by interminably on the way to three o’clock Saturday.  I had dreamed all night long about Jack’s big belly and his seemingly insatiable appetite.  In one dream, he’d become the human slot machine we’d talked about, and he sat in one of the casino lobbies with his mouth open wide to accept all of the edible “contributions” offered to him.  At first, the offerings were just little nibbles, but there were many people in line to feed the human slot machine.  As Jack’s belly filled up, the guys who worked the change carts in the casino rotated shifts in rubbing Jack’s expanding belly to help him relax and stretch out to accept more business.

Jack grew fatter and fatter, and more and more guys had to come rub the ballooning belly.  After a month of being a human slot machine, Jack had become immobile.  He was accepting whole apple pies as $5 coins by the time I woke up, and I was pleased with how vivid the dream had been.  I swore I could feel his belly at every twist and turn of the bizarre dream.    

As I ate breakfast with my family, my mind drifted to where Jack was surely stocking up on free breakfasts again.  Lunchtime came, and we all left to go to the Bowling Stadium.  My family’s team lane time was 12:30, so we had to leave on the shuttle at noon.  It was a beautiful clear day with temperatures hovering in the mid-70’s.

Everyone asked me why I was so anxious, and I told them that I was going to meet someone to go look at Porsches at three o’clock.  I couldn’t think of anything else at the time, but they knew that I was a sports car fanatic, and I had already told them that Reno was Porsche’s North American headquarters.  They wanted to know who I was going with, and I told them that it was the husband of one of the other teams’ bowlers I had met last night.  Since they had already decided to drive to Lake Tahoe for the day, they would be busy anyway.

My family left the stadium at shortly before three, and I waited nervously in the lobby for Jack to show up.  Seeing him again was so important to me, and I was working myself into a frenzy worrying about whether or not he’d make good on his promise to meet me.

A steady stream of people passed in front of the stadium entrance, and I would have enjoyed the sights more had I not been in such a state.  Then, right on time, Jack’s fattened ex-jock presence seemed to appear right out of thin air in front of me.  His clothes once again more resembled sausage casing than anything else, and they were shamefully tight in all the most opportune spots.  Jack had somehow got these beige denim buttonfly shorts around his fat bubblebutt and fastened around his expanding waist.  A carmel-colored stretchy knit shirt fit like a glove around his fat bulging belly, though its hem hung off the fattened sphere to showcase a thick strip of bare skin.  From where I was sitting I could even make out where the taut waistband of his shorts was imprinting seam marks into his smooth tender skin.  His belly looked as big as it had last night, and his walk even supported my estimate.

"Hey guy."

"Hi Jack.  How’s it goin’?"

"You mean, ‘how’s it _growin’_?’"  We laughed.  "Get this— after we left here last night, my wife’s team wanted to go get something to eat."

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely.  We went to the Cal Neva.  I had steak and lobster."

"On top of all that food?"

"Oh, it was an event.  You see, we didn’t eat right away; instead, we wandered around the casino playing slots and stuff.  I won another hundred bucks off a quarter machine."

"I should rub your belly for luck!" 

Jack chuckled, then continued with his story.  “That dinner was legendary.  I made a trip to the salad bar, then proceded to stuff in a 16 oz steak and this giant lobster tail, along with a baked potato slathered in butter and sour cream, corn-on-the-cob, and a dinner roll with lots of butter.  My belly was sticking out so far that it bumped the table— I mean, it was just this big, round, solid ball of stuffing from top-to-bottom.  My wife was sitting next to me, and she first complains of her eating too much on this trip before sharing some of her big juicy chicken strips with me.  She had to know that my belly was past the point of being full, but she put two of those big chicken strips on my plate anyway.”

"So, what did you do?"

"I ate them.  Next, Julie, one of her team mates, insisted that I finish her deep-fried prawns.  My wife cracks me up as she jokes ‘What do you think my husband is?  Some kind of potbellied garbage disposal?’"  Then she reaches over, pats my belly, and kisses my cheek.  Of course, I finished up Julie’s prawns— just in time for the waiter to come offer us some dessert.  I was overcome with the challenge to order the plate-size cinnamon roll…"

"Oooh.  That sounds really tasty!"

"It was.  It was like a Cinnabon on steroids, and I ate the thing slathered in extra butter and washed it down with an extra tall glass of milk.  I felt like a 30-pound turkey on Thanksgiving—big, fat, and very, very, very stuffed; all the women at that table were lookin’ at me like they were ready to baste me in butter and take a big ol’ bite.  All I was able to do was sit there with my solidly swollen gut parked against the table, feeling like I had a big wad of bread dough in my belly that just kept on risin’ and risin’ and…"

"I bet you were feelin’ pretty sassy though, with your belly all porked up big and full like that."

"Oh yeah.  As soon as I was able to roll out of that booth, I popped open another button on those old jeans.  I got a few looks as I staggered around the gaming floor with my bloated belly poochin’ out over my jeans.  My wife massaged my belly when she’d stand next to me, which I will admit made me horny as hell."

I couldn’t help staring at his belly overhang, and how his crotch looked like it had plumped up since he’d come in to the lobby.  “Now Jack, where would you like to go?”

"To be honest, I’d like to go to that Jackpot Buffet place right now, but I really overstuffed myself with breakfast and lunch again."  He ran his hand down the front of his belly.  "My wife’s bowling team is bound and determined to make sure all of those free breakfast coupons get used, but I can only eat so much.  I thought I was going to turn _into_ a pancake, running a quart high on Aunt Jemima.  Then, three hours after my last syrupy bite, I found myself on the receiving end of this onslaught of free half-

pound deluxe bacon cheeseburgers.  God, there was so much food…”

"Well, Jack.  Let’s walk down Virginia Street for a little bit of exercise.  I’m sure we’ll find something to do."

"I dunno.  Walking is such a chore this weekend."  Jack patted his burgeoning paunch.  "How about we do something a bit less strenuous and take the car to a mall or something?  This gut has 

gotten pretty hefty to haul around.”  


We did have to walk two blocks over to the Silver Legacy where he’d parked his rental, but it was a quick trip despite the crowds.  Once we were in the car, Jack tugged on the hem of his shirt and worked it up around his juicy pecs; he smacked his bare belly alternately with both hands.  Jack watched my reaction as he lavished attention on his puffed-up belly, and seemed anxious for me to join in.  

Twisting my shoulders towards him, I reached over with my right hand to rub his rounded gut from side to side.  “You’re gettin’

to be a pretty big guy, Jack.  Answer me a question: did you plan

on building your gut while you were here in Reno?  I wonder, ‘cuz

that belly of yours is blowing up like a balloon!”  

Jack just relaxed his shoulders back against the driver’s seat and

closed his eyes, enjoying the massage I was giving his bloated

round belly.  “Mmmm…well, I hadn’t thought about it too much,

but that first night really set the tone.  My belly feels so good

when I stuff it full.  I think I could just eat all day long 

sometimes and never be able to get enough down my gullet…”

I continued to rub and thump his belly, watching his favorable reaction to all of the attention as he spread his tree-trunk

thighs apart a little wider.

"Hey, Jack, what’s the matter?  Shorts getting a little tight there?"

"Yeah, they are, man…gettin’ a hard-on!"

"Hmmm.  Still want to go to the mall?"

"Well, I think I forgot something in my room upstairs.  It’s 

pretty damn heavy— want to come up and help me?”

"Sure!  Anything to help ya out, Jack."

I withdrew my hand from Jack’s potbelly and watched as he grunted his way out of the car.  As he straightened up, he reached down and adjusted his stiff cock to a more comfortable angle.  He looked back at me as I closed the car door and asked, “buy me a beer?”

"Of course!"  I agreed, watching him slid his hand down the ripe round curvature of his bloated belly.  

Buying a few ice-cold Foster’s from the bar was a treat.  I forgot how massive a 24 ounce can of beer felt in my hand; almost like being in a land of giants or something.

"Whoa, those are some big beers!"  Jack blurted, his eyes widening a bit.

"You’ve got a lot of belly to fill.  Need big beers."

Jack patted his belly and we headed for the elevators to take us up to his room.  He opened the door and let me pass through; Jack 

didn’t waste any time shutting the door behind him.  I put the 

beers on the small round table in the corner of the room, turning 

around in time to see Jack standing in front of the mirror above the dresser.  Jack once again pulled his taut shirt up to his fat and juicy pecs, wriggling like a too-sexy-for-his-shirt stripper;

then, he reached under his protruding belly and popped open the top button.  Running his hands under his plump round overhang, he 

lifted up on the belly and let it drop with a hearty bounce.  “OK, Brian, I’m ready for a big beer!”

Opening the can with a muted ‘psshhht’ sound, I handed him the 24-ouncer and watched with anticipation as he tilted his head back and began to chug the cold suds down.  Hearing him swallow so hard and so frequently made my cock throb harder.  Impressed with his thirst, Jack slammed the empty can down on the dresser and let out this rock-concert-loud belch.  “Oh yeah!!  That’s damn good beer.  Hand me another one from over there.”

And so I handed him another beer, thinking that it would go down slower and harder.  However, I watched in disbelief as he slammed this 24-ounce bellybuster back with surprisingly equal gusto.  Jack’s belly swelled impressively directly under his ribs, stretching the thick skin taut on his pumped belly.  As he opened his mouth to speak, a deep belch emerged that was several decibels louder than the last.  Jack was breathing heavily, out of breath from chugging so much beer, so quickly, so non-stop.  I casually walked over to his side and put my hand on his belly, which had now bloated up so big that I thought he was going to fall over upon it.  Thumping and rubbing, I managed to shake loose a few more loud and satisfied belches.  

"Wooof!  My gut is huge, isn’t it?"

"Well, Jack, some might call your gut huge, but some might just call it a beginning."  Stepping around to his back, I pushed my stiff upright cock inbetween his generous ass cheeks and reached under his distended belly to finish popping open his fly.

“My wife called me her ‘Doughboy’ last night after we got back from the restaurant.”

“She did?  Sounds like a cute nickname—she must be enjoying this big ball of dough that keeps poppin’ fresh out of whatever you happen to wear.”

“She likes to tickle me when I’m completely gorged on food and helpless to fight back.  She dug her fingertips into my taut belly and really tickled me good last night.  Man, it got me so hot…”

“Really?” I curled up my fingers a bit and finger-massaged his big round belly.  “Like this?”

Jack moaned and stepped his feet apart more, leaning back against me harder.  “Pretty much…that makes my cock like a baseball bat!”

“Well, let’s see if we can bat a home run or just get a line drive up the middle…”

Filed under kyaada weight gain fiction

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