Industrial Fattening (Part 2)
Sorry this took so long! But can confirm that part 3 is already nearly complete, so enjoy! (Find part one here)
Ethan woke to the 4th burger taunting him; taunting him for his gluttony, taunting him for his weakness. He brushed his hand against the bloat from the other 3 burgers, still very much present on his frame, a nervous queasiness in the pit of his stomach.
Shaking his head to clear it, he tried to push his midnight binge out of his mind, unceremoniously binning the final burger in a meagre show of willpower. He had made the right decision, he told himself. For one, his dick was finally soft. He’d regained some control. Though for whatever control he’d gained over his dick, he’d lost over his timing. Post-release, he’d slept like a log, and he barely had time to throw on some clothes before rushing off to the warehouse.
“An extra $10,000 is an extra $10,000.” Ethan muttered as he bustled out his door. Not-quite-successfully quieting the part of him screaming not to go back – the part begging him to just take the $20,000 and run, the part warning that the money was not really why he was returning – but he was not ready to face that thought just yet, turning all his attention to getting to the warehouse in time. And there it was, looming into view. Once again the steel door swung open, and Ethan was back in the locker room.
Unprompted, he undressed, with the small confidence of settling into a routine, though this time his hands sheepishly hovered over his bloat rather than his dick, and he felt a cringe of embarrassment as his fingers grazed the dried cum still on his stomach from his late-night surrender.
A small moment passed, and Ethan felt a breeze pass over his exposed ass, turning to see that a new door had opened off the locker room.
The only answer was a trail of gently glowing arrows silently leading the way. And Ethan cautiously followed them.
It was just a shower. He felt a moment of relief as he saw the warm water falling from the ceiling. He hadn't known what he was expecting.
Stepping into it was blissful, he barely even shuddered as mechanical arms appeared to scrub and fondle him, and quickly he abandoned any pretence of trying to wash himself, just letting the machine do its thing. The mechanical hands gently massaged his body, working their way into his pits, down his ass crack, over his tender bloat, bringing his dick so easily to attention.
How had they known I needed a shower, did I really look that dishevelled? He tried to quiz himself through the gentle pleasurings of the machine. Do we always need to be showered on the third day?
The thought sent a shiver through his body – No. There is no 'we'. I'm nothing like those fat guys through there. I'm just here for the money. But even that affirmation sent another shiver through him, and not an entirely unpleasurable one. He couldn't shake the memories of the men, just eating, cumming, growing. He needed to be back in that room.
The great machinery of the place was towelling him off; too embarrassed to present himself to the man in the lab coat already erect, Ethan quickly tried to cool himself off, but at the slightest delay in the perfectly oiled functioning of this strange operation, a voice came over the intercom, “Please proceed to the processing chamber, failure to comply with result in removal from the programme”.
A new set of lights beckoned him forward, and Ethan hurriedly trotted along. He wasn’t ready to let this experience end. He burst into the main room, the ‘processing chamber’, coming face-to-face with the man in the lab coat. Unprepared, Ethan’s arms flung to cover himself, though they didn’t know quite whether to try and hide his erection, or his bloat. The hurried action only elicited a small smirk from the man, as a predatory look briefly flashed over his eyes, before his cold demeanour returned.
“This way please.” As if Ethan needed directing back to his faithful chair.
In spite of himself, Ethan craned to see Alex, spotting him practically fellating an éclair. He was bigger, no doubt about it. What only a couple of days ago was a touch of softness was now rounded out into a proper little belly, a crease across his chest where his once meaty pecs, now moobs, met his stomach, his soft ass spreading out on the seat. Ethan’s eyes darted over Alex’s body, taking in every fattened inch, the pure look of gluttonous joy on his face.
No. Ethan averted his eyes, only to turn his gaze to an even fatter man, fat rippling as the machine fucked him, fed him. No. He forced his eyes shut. This was not going to plan. He was feeling frantic. He thought he’d gained back some of his will. Was he really so weak that all it took was a little fondle in the shower and one look at his neighbour to break him? Not just his neighbour, the rows and rows of men, the sounds, the cumming, the feasting. No. He wasn’t into that. He wasn’t like that.
A small cough from the man in the lab coat brought him back to reality, opening his eyes to see Alex smirking at him. Alex's eyes briefly moved down to Ethan's obviously bloated stomach, only to re-establish eye-contact and suggestively gorge himself on an éclair. Ethan felt himself blush. No, Alex wasn't hot, him stuffing himself wasn't hot, get a hold of yourself.
“Glad to see you came back.” Alex said after getting the last of his éclair down, licking his lips to get every last trace of the cream.
“The money’s too good; it would be stupid to not come.” Ethan retorted, lowering himself into the chair.
“Yeah, the money.” Alex’s speech was punctuated with thrusts from his chubby groin, as a mechanical hand slipped little chocolate bonbons into his mouth.
How does he eat so much? How do they all eat so much? He could still feel the late-night burgers filling his stomach up to the brim, especially as the slick rod of the machine probed his asshole.
“No.” Ethan responded, some confidence in his plan returning: the intermingled moans of cumming and feasting couldn’t work their way into his mind when he was this full. Though there that smirk was again on the man’s face as he affixed the milker to Ethan’s dick. He flicked open a control panel on the arm rest, in reach of Ethan's restrained hands.
"Push this if you change your mind." He says gesturing to a central button, and with that he was off. Even before he was out of sight the machine was ramping up, pumping at his dick and thrusting at his ass. Ethan felt a wave of relaxation wash over him as his muscles leant into the motion of chair. This was good. A wave of pleasure radiated from his dick. This was right. The room faded into a mass of groans and eating, a rhythm of thrusts and jiggling flab.
The pressure was building and building, a sheen of sweat gathering from his thrusting and writhing, but he couldn't get the release he craved, the release he needed. Something was wrong – his focus kept shifting back to his stomach, and the lingering sensation of his late-night gorge.
"You must be hungry. Thrusting like that's hard work." Alex's words came muffled through a mouthful of pizza, the ever-present feeding hands having switched back from sweet to savoury.
Hunger? Was that what he was feeling? No. He was still full –the glorious memory of cumming as he stuffed that third burger down washed over him, the sensation of his stomach stretching out with the sheer amount of food. He wasn't that full, not anymore.
"Hmm. You're not being receptive to the process. Did you do anything unusual last night?" The words cut across Ethan’s thoughts – how long had the man been stood there?
"N-no," he stammered out, the machine still working him from both ends; and Ethan could have sworn he saw a smirk briefly flash across the man's face. He couldn't admit what he’d done, that he had gone home and stuffed himself. He wasn't like the other men here, eating like pigs, letting themselves get fatter and fatter. He stole a quick glance back at Alex, who had already returned to devoting his full attention to the food. No, he wasn’t like that.
"Well, whatever the cause, you'll need to have this," Ethan turned back to see the man holding out a small medicine cup of clear liquid. Ethan hesitated, "w-what – what is it?", the machine quickening around his cock. Another wave of humiliation rolled over him; he felt so pathetic here, writhing as the machine milked him – while the man just stood there, fully dressed, composed, in control.
"It's a new compound we've been developing. Drink it.' The man brought the cup to Ethan's lips, but Ethan backed away. “Non-compliance will result in termination from the programme," and seemingly on queue, the machine thrust deeper into his ass, sending a wave of pleasure rolling over Ethan, a wave of pleasure that only seemed to stoke the need growing inside him – he was so close to the bliss of the day before.
"No!" He didn't want to think about how desperate his voice sounded. In that moment he couldn't pretend it was about the money, what this machine was doing to him, what it did to him yesterday. He needed it.
"Then drink." And this time there was no denying the smirk on the man's face as Ethan complied.
The liquid was sweet, and it went down easy. For a moment, fear prickled on the back of his neck as he watched the man walk away. What had he done. The world seemed to pause as the reality of his situation came crashed around him; his heart racing as he found himself staring at the fat man across from him, half expecting the substance to make his own body to suddenly balloon to that man’s size. But no change came, and Ethan found himself just watching the ripples flowing through the man’s fat, each set off by a lazy thrust of his cock.
The way his fat moved, it was calming, hypnotic. Ethan just stared at that belly. It was fine, this was fine, he was fine. He did feel fine; Ethan glanced down to his flat stomach; the small trace of bloat was gone. It was just something to help his digestion. Calm returning to his body, Ethan felt himself relaxing into the caress of the chair. No barriers between him and that blissful place. He was ready.
Body arching, toes curling, hours/moments later, Ethan felt the machine slowing around him, the slick rod pulling out of his ass. His body bristled with annoyance; there was no way of counting the number of times he had cum today, but he wanted more: so quickly he was becoming used to the constant stimulation, the constant pleasure, the pampering. Any interruption to it was not acceptable.
A gasp escaped his lips as he felt the man in the lab coat slide the milking machine off his still-hard cock. For a second he felt the words forming within in him. Stop. More. But the superior look on the man's face pulled him back down to earth, cheeks flushing with shame as the last few droplets of cum dribbled out of the end of his dick.
"Your shift is over. Your production was better today," and like it was the most normal thing in the world, or like Ethan wasn't even worth consideration, the man stroked up Ethan's cock with two gloved fingers, scooping those last droplets into the machine. "But it’s not where it could be. This is hard work," - and Ethan could feel the trace of sarcasm in his words - "you've got to keep the body fuelled."
"Hmph," for once a flicker of pride, arrogance, rose within Ethan, "I think the guys here are getting more than enough 'fuel'." But even as the words came out of his mouth he felt the scent of a greasy burger grace his nostrils, he was hungry. That was normal, he hadn't eaten all day – or however long he'd been in that chair – but he wasn't going to give this man the satisfaction of seeing his hunger.
The man didn't respond to that; and Ethan looked around, seeing if any of the other men had been goaded into a response, but even Alex wasn't paying him any attention: his full attention devoted to playing with his swelling tits, fingers running over his nipples as what looked like melted ice cream dribbled down his chin, the machine pumping even more than Alex could handle into his greedy mouth. Not that he seemed to mind.
Despite himself, Ethan's cock twitched at the sight, a motion dutifully noted by the man in the lab coat. There was something about seeing him like that, greedy, pathetic. Ethn almost wanted to go over and lick the ice cream right off his face. No. Snap out of it. No. He needed to get out of here.
Breathe. His stomach rumbled.
Breathe. He slammed his hands against the steering wheel of his car.
Ethan hadn't even managed to leave the car park, his ass planted in the driver's seat, talking to himself. "Look, you haven't eaten all day, you do need to eat something." Something, images of burgers floated through his mind; burgers, doughnuts, cream cakes; his mouth was watering. He knew 'something' should perhaps be healthier fare, but it was late, he didn't have anything in, the shops were closed - the rationalizations came thick and fast. Slowly, he turned out of the car park, making his way to a nearby drive-thru – just the one burger, he was in control.
He didn't even manage to make it home before he started tucking in – the smell of it filling the car, it smelt like there, he couldn't take it.
But the release when it hit his lips, his dick immediately tented in his shorts – with one hand he held the burger, as the other snaked down into his boxers, coating his dick with a light film of burger grease. It was delicious, he couldn't remember a burger tasting this good, his full body giving into the pleasure. Too soon, the last bite, it was over. The realisation of what he was doing crashed over him – if anyone had seen him, dick-in-hand on the side of the road, stuffing his face. He had to go, but he hadn't even cum, his dick furiously tenting in his shorts to remind him of this fact. And worst of all,
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