Dirk’s New Debut
That’s it! I’m gonna get out once and for all if this if it kills me.
Dirk’s thoughts of escape raged in his head as he left the set’s back door. Hoisting up his gym bag to drop the strap on his broad shoulder, squinting from the sudden bust of sun, once again he silently vowed last time. It was fun at first, but no more. I’m not showing next time. I don’t care what he threatens. But he knew he’d have to show.
As Dirk stomped to his car, he barely noticed the guard eyeing him up and down. Nor did he notice the reflection of his beefcake build staring back at him from the car window as he dug into his pockets for his key. If he had, Dirk would have seen the image of a 6’3” tall square jawed man. His hair was blond and thick, neatly cropped to the shape of his head on the sides and a little longer on the top. As hair dropped on his forehead, it framed the clean-cut ruggedly handsome face of the archetypal all-American stud. His solid neck flowed into a set of shoulders that looked a little padded in his faded football jersey even though they were bare. Years of devoted working out had kept his physique in fine tune. His pecs rounded out nicely, two pronounced bulges that yanked at the “8” in the center of his old jersey. His baseball biceps firmly tugged at the striped bands on the sleeves. As he shoved his hands from one pocket to the other hunting for his car key, the waistband on his faded jeans pushed down below the hard bow of his stomach. He never had one of those totally flat stomachs. He definitely kept up a sit-up regimen, and his gut was firm to prove it. But the arch in his back that led into his meaty bubble butt also made his abdomen curve slightly forward from the base of his chest down into the v of his hips. When his swayed back and long-waisted build worked in counterpoint with the slight bounce of his jockish swagger, Dirk’s entire torso would twist as his powerful legs pumped along. He was truly the image of most guys’ fantasies. Everywhere he went, men couldn’t help but watch him move past them, just like the guard had done. He was the type of guy you would conjure up when playing that full-on football jock fantasy in your head, the type of guy you’d expect to see on the cover of a porno tape. In fact, he was that guy. He was the guy you could actually see on the covers of several such flicks.
But now he wanted out of all of it. The whole scene had been amusing to him when he fell into it, and the money was a welcome surprise. Three years ago, he was new to this city and trying desperately to get work. With all the free time, he had gotten into an even more extensive gym routine than normal. Unlike so many of the gym queens that surrounded him on these shoots, he had actually played football and been the beefy jock in real time. He had kept the physique in the years following college, and with the extra time on his hands during his job search, he had only added girth, getting a thicker than he had been even at his playing prime.
While knocking back beers at a bar when weeks of job hunting still had come up dry, he was approached by a guy who eventually revealed himself as some sort of agent type. One thing led to another, and he found himself trying out for some “modeling.” Dirk was far from stupid, and once he showed up to the studio, he quickly realized what was going on. But he was starved for cash, and some adventurous part of his personality took over. He decided to try it out, especially when he heard the money involved. One flick. Big deal he rationalized. The sex was guaranteed to be safe. The other guy turned out to be hot as hell. What could be the damage? Who will see it anyway? And it’ll pay the rent for a couple of months until I get my feet on the ground.
That first film turned out to be a hit. Apparently the other guy had a loyal following, and suddenly Dirk was getting just as much overflow fan support. The request came for another casting. He said no way, but after another few months, he had only landed a few temp jobs and was still strapped for cash. Now the offer came with a gym membership and almost twice the money. So, what the fuck. Can’t do any more harm, right?
The two-time gig, however, turned into two years, and Dirk was really over it. The director, Jim, who ran the whole ring, constantly put Dirk in the same parts. It was always the same scene. Dirk played the straight-appearing beefcake jock that turned out to be into other men, the cocky jock that strutted around showing off his meaty build, supposedly unaware of the effect on the guys in the scene. That is until he stripped out of one type of uniform or another to get it on with some cute little stunned jock groupie. Dirk had to admit that seeing films of guys in this same role had always conjured up fantasies, and actually experiences, from his days in football, but was it ever old and tired now! Sick of being the center of the lewd director’s staged fantasies and definitely over the whole grimy routine of the shoots, he was now determined to get out.
But every time he worked up to quitting, the prick director saw where he was headed and would threaten to expose him. Now that he had a respectable corporate job, Dirk felt trapped. The money had gotten him through, but this was never supposed to go on this long. It had to stop, but it wasn’t like he could walk in and resign given Jim’s threats. He actually suspected that the director had the hots for him, complicating his willingness to let him go. The shithead was blackmailing him so he could keep Dirk around. But there had to be a way. A way to make this director lose interest, to suddenly consider Dirk a losing proposition. But he was still in his late 20’s and looking great. Aging out was not an option. What the fuck was he going to do? He was dying to walk away, but knew he’d have hell on his hands if this got out at work beyond the few guys that might have seen the movie and would keep it to themselves.
Obsessed on coming up with a plan, Dirk tore out of the lot. Pissed at himself for getting into this predicament, he sped along toward home on autopilot. He snapped out of it when he almost slammed into the back end of the car in front of him. Shaking his head, he looked around and realized he was at the grocery store right by his apartment. When his stomach rumbled, he remembered that he hadn’t eaten all day. After parking and grabbing a cart, his mind turned back to an escape plan.
As he steered through the produce aisles, again absorbed by his own thoughts, the football stud’s cart slammed back at him despite his pushing. Looking up, he realized he was bumping into this guy. Or, to be more accurate, he had shoved his cart right into this guy’s gut. Dirk’s eyes bugged as he apologized. This guy’s belly was massive. It looked like someone had fed him a giant beach ball. This guy could be so hot too, Dirk thought. But man is his gut huge! The guy had a great face. Handsome. Nice frame. Good muscles. He’d catch any guy’s eye if it weren’t for that huge belly. In fact, the more Dirk stared, the more he saw how studly this guy would be without that gut. Heads would turn, like they do when he walks by. When the guy smirked and cleared his throat, Dirk realized he was staring, and he snapped out of it. As he steered his cart clear of the guy’s wide belly, he wondered if guys would stop looking at him if he grew fat like that. Phew. If I had ever grown fat like so many of my football buddies, no one would be after me the same way they . . . .
He jarred to a stop right there. Is that it? Who the hell wants to see a football stud with a beergut in a porn movie, right? That is it! A few pounds around the middle and I’ll be fired. How easy is that?? I’ve always been able to eat like a horse. I’ll just pack on a few pounds until my paunch gets me canned. It’s beautiful! I’ll be set loose. No blackmail. And then I can just jog off the weight I gain once I’m a free man. Goddamn that’s easy!
For the next hour, the exjock wheeled an overloaded cart up and down every aisle of the store. By the time he hit checkout, his cart had spilled over into two extra hand baskets. He had enough food to feed an entire football team, and he was going to start growing the gut that would set him free tonight.
“Geeze! Planning a huge party, guy?” The checkout clerk raised one eyebrow as he sent item after item over the scanner. Frozen pizzas and French fries. Ice cream. Pastas. Buckets of food from the deli. Pies and cakes. A few cases of beer.
“Just suddenly feeling hungry I guess. The fridge is pretty cleaned out.”
“Well hell. This is enough to fill a few fridges buddy.”
“Yeah, well. Big plans I guess.”
Soon he had made the last of six runs from the car to the kitchen. The counters, cabinets and refrigerator were all stocked to capacity. It was Thursday night, and he had a long holiday weekend in front of him to do nothing but start his project. Dirk headed into the bedroom and stripped to his briefs. Reaching for a t-shirt, he stopped to look in the mirror. He stood square, looking long and hard at his physique. He had to admit that it looked good. He was far from a skinny boy. He had always been beefy, and he still stood up well. He turned sideways and ran his hand down his stomach. Stopping right at his navel, he took a deep breath and then exhaled, pushing out his stomach as far as he could and arching his back to accentuate the effect. With a grunt he thought, yeah, that’ll do it. A bit of a paunch like this will get me fired the second I walk on that lousy set.
He yanked on the t-shirt and headed for the bathroom. Pausing at the bathroom, he stepped back and grabbed the scale. Throwing it in the middle of the floor, he stepped on to check his starting weight. A beefy, solid 235#. Break 250 and I bet I’m set. Easy as pie, and cake, and ice cream.
Dirk headed right to the kitchen and didn’t even sit down. Thinking of the shoot he had to appear for in less than ten days, he broke open a bag of chips and starting shoving handfuls in his mouth. He never moved from that standing position and just powered his way through the groceries right in front of him. Cracking beers as he went to wash everything down, he stuffed himself like he never had. After an intense thirty minutes, he had gorged down a bag and a half of chips loaded with sour cream dip, a loaf of bread and two-thirds of a giant can of nuts while waiting for a pan of lasagna to cook. When the timer rang, he dropped his hands on his thighs with a grunt. Fuck, I’m already getting full. He looked down and saw his belly poking out a little from the fast eating. But I guess this is what it’ll take. I always could eat he admitted to himself. So I guess I can get used to this for ten more days. Just treat it like a gym regimen.
Taking a deep breath, he pulled the lasagna from the oven and again stood over the counter eating right from the pan. He felt his t-shirt clinging to him more, and his usually slightly loose jeans were feeling less baggy around his waist. He started to slow as he got further into the pan, but he kept thinking of getting out of this whole film mess and pushed himself to keep eating. Taking big gulps of beer as he went, he had to take deliberate, deep inhales through his flaring nostrils to continue shoving forkful after forkful of pasta into his mouth. Shifting and trying to ease the growing pressure on his stuffed gut, Dirk bent his torso forward, leaning into the counter a little. He was getting seriously buzzed from the beer, and his belly was feeling ready to bust from being stuffed so full so fast. He looked at the nearly empty pan. Okay, four more mouthfuls and I’m done. One. Gulp. Two. Ugh. More slowly, three. Huge, strained inhale, and four. The last forkful had his mouth so stuffed his cheeks were bloated and he could barely close his mouth. He could hardly chew between the stuffed feeling in his belly and the wad of pasta and cheese in his mouth. After several hard gulps, he swallowed the last of the lasagna and let his head drop onto his forearm on the package strewn counter. With his shoulders heaving as he tried to catch his breathe, the overstuffed jock dragged one hand down to his bulging belly, grabbing its now hard and bloated curve to test his success. Fuck. I feel like a moose. He finally stood up straight, both hands on his gut as he groaned and slowly lumbered toward his bedroom where he passed out fully dressed, t-shirt pulled as tight across his stomach as it usually did across each pec.
When he awoke the next morning, the first thing Dirk did was look down to check out his stomach. As his vision focused, he expected to see a belly bulging as big as it was when he passed out. But over the night, his gut had gone down to nearly normal size. He definitely still felt full, but he had hoped for some overnight miracle that would get him ready to blow that bastard director off right away. He head fell back on the pillow. Ugh. This is gonna take more than I thought. Nine more days. Nine more days of eating. I can so this.
It was Friday. Dirk spent the entire day eating like a pig. He stuffed down a bunch of doughnuts as he whipped up a big batch of pancakes, which he then ate after slathering them with gobs of syrup. After a quick break, he started chomping on a bagel and decided to hit a diner, where he ordered the biggest platter he saw on the menu. He ate the same way at lunch, hitting a burger joint and ordering up a few of their meal deals, forcing himself to gorge until the tray was nothing but empty wrappers. He walked around for a while after lunch, needing the rest. His belly was now jutting out like he’d never seen it. His shirt felt like a second skin, and his swayed back seemed to only accentuate the bulge of his overfed belly. His breathing seemed shorter from the pressure in his gut, and as the stud swaggered along with his usual, though now slower gait, his puffed out belly rocked from side to side a bit. Never having gotten himself so stuffed, Dirk was hyperaware of the slight bounce to his distended belly. He put one hand squarely on the point where the bulge began. Hm. This is starting to do the trick. He felt oddly satisfied. Weird, he thought, as he headed into another burger joint to start a whole second lunch stuffing session.
By Monday morning, Dirk’s belly was finally starting to stick. For the first two days, no matter how stuffed he tried to get, his belly seemed to ease back to nearly normal size by morning. But as he stood at the mirror this morning, he was convinced he could see a bulge where the firm, usually lower arc of his gut sat. There we go. But I better keep pushing. Only seven more days left, and I need to make sure he’ll have to kick my fat ass out of the studio.
Driven with a focus he had always saved for the gym, Dirk ate and ate and ate for the rest of the week. Finally it was the morning of the shoot, and he stepped on the scale. 252#. Yeah! There we go. This jock is getting way too fat to be in those fucking movies anymore. This is gonna be the best day yet!
Yanking on one of his tightest t-shirts to be sure his added girth was pronounced, Dirk bent down to wiggle himself into his jeans. When he stood fully dressed, he could feel the waistband of his jeans digging into the base of his newly formed gut. The waistband was bending down at the front from the curve of his stomach, and his t-shirt was so snug that it highlighted every new bulge. The pounds he had managed to pack on over the last ten days had almost entirely hit his belly, making it even more obvious that he had fattened up. He zipped to the car sure that this would get him bounced from the shoot and sent home, free at last.
As he lumbered into the studio, Dirk made sure to throw his shoulders back and to puff up his gut as much as he could. He stopped in front of the director and proudly jammed one thumb in his jeans pocket to pull them down at the base of his gut. He rubbed his other hand in a circle around the front of his new belly and casually said hello to the director.
Looking up from his chair just long enough to snap at Dirk, the director just said, “Oh there you are. You’re ten minutes late, Dirk! Go get changed. We need to get this thing moving.”
Dirk’s face fell, as did both hands to his sides. He kind of stammered for a minute. “You sure you’re ready? I mean, what do I have to wear here today? It might not be such a good, I mean, I’m not really feeling the hottest, um.”
The director looked up again. “What the hell is wrong with you? Get your butt moving. I don’t have time to waste here, Dirk. Time is money, stud. Move that jock ass over there and get ready.”
“But Jim, I . . . .”
“But nothing Dirk. Fucking get going!”
Dirk’s face went red. How could he not see the weight I’ve put on? I’ve been stuffing myself like a pig for over a week and came in here nearly 20 pounds fatter. How goddamn much weight do I need to gain to break out of this shit!
To his complete frustration, the entire shoot went on like normal. Dirk thought he saw a few eyebrows raise when he poked out his gut all he could to exaggerate it, but no one said a damn word. He went through the motions, finished the day, and yanked his own now tight clothes back on. Grumbling to send the check soon, he sulked and headed toward the door.
“Hey – Dirkie boy,” Jim shouted back at him. “Better lay off that pizza and beer. I don’t want to see that gut of yours getting out of control. Remember you’re to be grade-A prime exjock beef here, okay? Lay off the chow!”
It worked! Well, it was starting to work. But damn, shouldn’t my gut be big enough to do it already? Maybe just a little more. There’s no choice. It’s gotta be the only way. Just a few more pounds I guess.
There were four weeks until his next shoot. If it killed him, he was going to get out of this damn job once and for all. Encouraged by Jim’s snide remark, Dirk was sure he was on the right track. This will just take a few more pounds than I thought. Maybe 275 would do it. He thought this as he stuffed more drive-through food into his mouth on the way back home. Damn, I’m gonna have to really hit the gym hard once this fucking nightmare is over, but it’ll be worth it. Lay off the chow? NO WAY Jimbo. I’m getting out of your hold asshole.
After another week of serious gorging, Dirk’s belly was getting really pronounced. Whereas he had to push his gut out to get the full effect the day of the last shoot, he had now adding enough weight for it to show without any extra effort. In fact, as he got dressed for his day-job, Dirk realized that he could barely button his shirt. He had to really suck it in to even get the button square over the widest point of his belly fastened. After a tug or two to get it closed, he worked on his tie. Knotting it as normal, he let it drop. Looking down, he saw it wrinkle and angle forward where his growing paunch was forming. And when he looked in the mirror, he saw several inches of shirt below the tip of the tie that never used to show. The buttons looked barely held in place at the center of his stomach. Damn. I am getting fat. All right, all right. I can drop this weight once this is over. Steady ahead and keep eating. It’ll all be worth it once I get a normal life back. Time for breakfast.
Loading up on doughnuts on his way into the office, Dirk had his gut at full force before 9 am. As he headed to the coffee machine, a buddy of his jabbed him in the side. “Getting a pretty serious beergut there, Dirk. What happened? Finally porking up like most football jocks of old?”
At first Dirk felt automatically defensive and sucked in his belly, but then he relaxed it, feeling where every button hit. Good. It’s working.
And then he made another decision. First, he has to step things up to make sure he gets out of this mess. He has to make damn sure that he gets a gut big enough to break free. And then he needs to get his belly back under control fast so he can return to a normal life. He did a quick calculation of his remaining vacation time and decided to take the next three weeks off to stuff himself before the shoot and then to start a crash diet once his plan panned out. Grabbing his coffee and heading to his boss's office to plea for the time off, Dirk again got slapped in the gut again by this little pretty boy. “Better lay off those doughnuts porky.” Something rumbled in Dirk’s already seriously tight pants. He popped an erection as this guy tapped his belly. What the . . . ? Whatever.
After managing to get the time off, Dirk took to eating like a madman. He became the pizza delivery guy’s best friend. He hit the grocery store almost daily to restock on gut-busting food and gorged for hours until he could barely move. He lived in loose sweats and a once baggy t-shirt that was getting progressively tighter. He’d eat and eat and eat until he would fall back on the couch, his swelling belly bulging out tight as a drum and growing bigger from each successive gorging session. He’d move from a food induced nap back into a gut stuffing that would leave his stomach so packed it would shut him down into a daze as the blood rushed to digest the pounds and pounds of food he was forcing in. The days blurred into big eating and sleeping waves until the day of the next shoot finally arrived.
As Dirk approached the stage door, he already heard Jim’s shouts.
“Where the hell is that guy?! We’re already a half an hour behind. Someone call him and tell him to get his ass down here right now!!”
Dirk opened the door and lumbered onto the set. Everyone had been flying to react to the director’s yelling until they caught sight of Dirk. Jaws dropped.
He had worked hard to squeeze into his jeans, but he left – had to leave – the top two buttons open. He had also shoved his long torso into a white ribbed tank top that was a size too small for him back at 235#. It was so tight now that you could almost see through it. The curved base of the shirt couldn’t even reach the popped open top of his jeans. The hem just stretched out around the widest part of his belly, the arc pulled horizontal by the swell of his gut. Every pound he had managed to pack on in the last few weeks had landed mostly on his expanded ball gut, or on the bulges of his bubble butt, which Dirk made sure to twist upward slightly to enhance the effect of his gain. The goal had been to hit 275# by today. Dirk’s eating had become so fierce that the scale whirled to a stop at 286# that morning. If this huge gut doesn’t get me fired now, nothing will he thought as he dressed to show off his fattened-up heft. Before leaving, he had taken stock of himself in the mirror. Dirk had looked over himself from his chest down to his incredibly strained pants. As he did, his jeans also bulged from a growing hard-on. He ignored it as he tapped his gut and left for the debut of his belly. And here he stood, belly shoved out in front of him for everyone to see.
Jim was the first to speak. “Holy shit, what happened to you?! You look like someone fed you a fucking basketball!”
“Yeah, guess I’ve been eating a little better these days.” Dirk just shrugged and smirked. Here we go. This has to be it.
“You stupid idiot! Eating a little? You look like some exjock that’s been growing a beergut for years! Shit – get in the dressing room. I gotta figure out what to do about this.” Jim smacked Dirk’s bulging gut as he said this and gave him a shove toward the back of the set before storming away. Smugly, Dirk, sauntered to the dressing room, preparing to hear that he could go home, too fat to be of use in Jim’s films anymore.
He was left alone for twenty minutes. As he heard muffled versions of Jim’s shouting out on the set, Dirk leaned back in a chair, increasingly satisfied with how his plan was about to work out. He looked down at the huge swell of his belly. Grabbing both sides of the ball attached to his muscled torso, he shook his tummy like a bouncing basketball. Thank you mister beergut. This pup is giving me my life back. He was thinking about a new gym routine to drop his paunch as fast as possible when the dressing room door flew open.
A young guy was standing there with Lycra shorts and a blue football jersey on a hanger. “Um, I, er, Jim said put this on and get out there now. You better hurry. He’s kinda wild.”
“What!?” Jim was stunned. “He actually wants me to start filming looking like this? Bobby, you gotta be kidding.”
“Well, that’s what he said. Though I gotta say, I’m not sure what he has in mind. He made a bunch of phone calls and then cleared the set. It’s just the three of us now, and he told me to get you out there and ready to go.”
“Fuck, you gotta be kidding!” Dirk jumped to his feet, and the stagehand tried to hand him the uniform.
“Dirk. Come on. I’ve never seen Jim like this. Trust me, just humor him and it’ll be fine.”
“No way! I’m getting out of this rat hole once and for all.”
Bobby stood square in the door. He was a big beefy guy himself, and it would have taken a wrestling match to move him. He looked Dirk straight in the eye. “Look, I don’t know what he’s got planned, and I don’t know what you’re hoping to accomplish here, but at least put this on so I don’t get my ass kicked too, okay.”
Dirk let out an exasperated sigh and grabbed the hanger. He stripped right in front of Bobby, wriggled himself into the stretchy shorts, letting them snap against his rounded butt, and then he slid the jersey over his belly. It hardly highlighted his gut the way the tank did, but it definitely wore snugly on the fattened up stud. Bobby’s eyes were running over the curves of Dirk’s new physique, but it went unnoticed. Dirk stormed out onto the set, gut swaying from side to side as he charged toward Jim. Bobby rushed out behind him.
Jim started in before Dirk could say a word.
“All right Dirk. I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re pulling here, but get your fat ass on this table now and let’s have it out.”
Jim was pointing to a doctor’s table on the sound stage. The scene planned for that day was set in a team’s locker room. It was one of those scenes where the football stud gets a physical that becomes a little too friendly. The set had all the equipment. The examining table, a doctor’s scale, a few medical instruments on a cabinet.
With temper flaring, Dirk hauled himself up onto the table and prepared to fight it out.
“You know, Jimbo, I’ve had enough. And I hardly see how you’d want a beer-gutted jock running naked in any of your story lines anymore anyway.”
“Shut up asshole. Don’t think your little plan is so obscure that I don’t get it. You think this little gut is going to get you off my roster? I should keep you here and put you on a treadmill until you’re back to standard, but I think there’s a better idea here.”
“Man, give it up. You’ve gotten your money’s worth out of me. Move on to some other dope and let me . . . . Hey, what are you doing?!”
As Dirk had started to retort, Both Jim and Bobby had grabbed his wrists. Suddenly, he was being pinned down to the table, hands pulled down to the sides of the rolling table. Thrashing with all his might, Dirk started to flail his legs when he realized he was losing out despite the strength of his powerful arms. But before he knew it, his hands where strapped to something below the pad of the table, and Bobby had been ordered to hop up and clamp himself onto Dirk’s ankles to calm him down. Panting hard from the struggle, Dirk closed his eyes tightly as Jim put his mouth up to one ear.
“Now, you fat son of a bitch, if you like having a gut like this and think that becoming some ball bellied exjock is going to set you loose, I’m here to tell you otherwise. This little game of yours just opens up a new avenue for you. Maybe you think all guys only go for buffed muscle jocks, but there’s a whole market out there of guys into huge bellied exjocks. If that’s where you want to go with this, I’m here to send your career in a new direction.”
Just then, there was a rap at the stage door. “Delivery.”
“Bobby – go pay that guy and let’s start rolling.”
Dirk looked down to see Bobby rush over to hand the delivery guy a wad of cash. Then he stepped outside and came back in rolling a tall bakery cart loaded with boxes from the place that always catered for their shoots. Holy fuck. This can’t be happening.
Jim must have read his mind. “That’s right, Fatso. There’s a world of guys out there who like their jocks to have nice big round guts, and you’re about to become the star of their genre. Bobby – get over here and let’s get going!”
Jim stepped over to run the camera himself, and Bobby wheeled the cart right up next to the football stud. He patted Dirk’s belly, causing him to flinch and rock to test the ties, which were definitely too tight to break. “Shit Dirk,” Bobby let out. “You’ve really been packing it in huh? This gut feels like a water balloon.”
Jim bellowed. “Shut up and start stuffing him! We’ve already wasted too much time.”
Bobby hesitated for a minute, but then he nervously broke open the first box and stuck and thick sandwich in Dirk’s mouth. Dirk tried to turn his head, and Jim yelled at Bobby again. “Pull his mouth open!”
Getting going, Bobby took one hand and wrapped it over Dirk’s chin, pushing down to yank his mouth wide open. With his other hand, Bobby pressed the sandwich into the stud’s mouth. Letting Dirk take a big bite, they both paused for him to chew.
“What the hell are you doing?! Shove the whole thing in that jerk’s mouth and feed him like he’s apparently been making himself eat for the past few weeks. COME ON!”
Bobby jarred up straight at Jim’s shouting and shoved the entire sandwich in Dirk’s already full mouth. Dirk let out a loud grunt as the food rammed in his mouth pushed his first mouthful down his throat.
“That’s more like it. Next one Bobby, next one! Stuff this jock until he’s ready to bust, you hear me?!?”
Bobby really kicked into gear. Keeping one hand on Dirk’s chin to make sure he didn’t clamp it shut except to chew, he started cramming food into the stud until the first box was nearly empty. Dirk’s belly began to swell up, pulling his jersey a little tighter the more stuffed he got. After the top box was empty, Bobby paused and looked at the director. Jim pulled his head from behind the camera viewer and screamed again.
“You don’t think that’s it do you? Come on already! There’s a whole fucking cart of food there!”
“Aw, but boss, look at his gut already. There’s no way he can hold . . . .”
“YOU HEARD ME!”
Bobby looked Dirk in the eye and put one hand on his already bulging gut. “Sorry buddy,” he whispered, “but looks like you’re gonna have to eat a little more here.” Both of them ignored the pressure rising in each of their groins as Bobby broke open the next box.
Halfway through the next case of food, Dirk had just given in and was trying all he could to keep up. His eyes were shut hard as he felt his belly strain tighter. Bobby was now rubbing his hand across the top arc of Dirk’s gut. It seemed to swell and rise a few more inches into the air. He was afraid Dirk would literally bust as the feeding went into the fourth box of food. Dirk’s jersey was now starting to creep up his belly, the holes in the fabric starting to distort from the pressure of his bulging, overstuffed gut.
Bobby finally eased up. “He can’t Jim! He’s gonna blow if I feed him this last box! Look at him. He looks like someone inflated his belly with an air hose or somethin’!”
Jim stopped filming. It was the first time he didn’t yell back all afternoon. This stuffing session had gone on for almost three hours now, and both Jim and Bobby heard Dirk groaning now that the endless flow of food had paused.
“Fuck. Man, give me a rest! Ooooooo. I feel like my gut is gonna fucking split. Please guys. Uuugggghhh. You’ve made you’re fucking point. I . . . can’t . . . . . fucking . . . . . . . breathe!”
Jim walked up to Dirk and set his hand on his towering gut. First running his fingers around it like he was rubbing the rim of a big glass, he then slapped Dirk’s gut hard, making both Bobby and Dirk jump. “Well now Fatso. Seems we have some fine footage here of your football jock gut blowing up – how did you put it Bobby? – like someone hooked you to an air hose.”
“Delivery.” Another knock at the door. Bobby looked up at Jim. “Well, go get it Bobby.” Bobby headed to the door as Jim went in to Dirk’s ear again.
“See how this is going to work now? You’ve gotten off to a fine start gaining a ball gut that’s going to hit a lot of cult nerves. Now I’m going to make sure we have enough footage to release a video of you ballooning up like every encourager out there has dreamed. I actually think we’re waking up something in both you and my pal Bobby here. I think he’ll be a star as your encourager too.”
“Encourager?? What the hell are you . . . .?” Dirk trailed off, too drained from the stuffing to really talk.
“See, buddy, there’s a whole group out there that gets into fattening guys up.” As Jim said this, he wrapped both hands around Dirk’s massively stuffed belly and thumped it like a drum. “I never planned to cater to that market. But since you’re one of my prime stars and seem to be getting yourself into this gaining thing, growing a gut at a rate like I’ve never seen, we’re just going to capitalize on this tendency of yours and make you the center of that show!”
Dirk shut his eyes and felt his face getting hotter. How the hell can this be backfiring like this? What kind of sick scheme was Jim trying to . . . .
“Oh now what’s this?” Dirk felt Jim grab his dick. “Seems the idea of ballooning up like a fat pig has this stud of ours horned up. Look at the hard-on we have going.”
Bobby looked down as he rolled a handcart stacked with beer kegs up to the fat stud’s table.
“Seems you can’t be hating this so much after all. Maybe we’ve just hit on a scenario that will be getting our fat star hotter than anything we’ve filmed so far.”
Dirk closed his eyes tighter and tried to tune Jim out, but the harder he tried, the more he felt his cock stiffen, especially as Jim rubbed his packed gut and yanked on his throbbing cock.
“I think we need to get going on those progressive shots, Bobby. Pull that first keg over here.”
Aw shit. This can’t be happening. There’s NO way they can get more into this gut. I’m gonna fucking bust. I’m “gonna fucking BURST! STOP!!” Dirk’s thoughts came like a shout out of his mouth.
But it was too late. Bobby had the keg’s nozzle shoved in Dirk’s mouth before he could protest more, and soon he was jamming on the tap, pumping it like crazy as Jim restarted the camera. Dirk looked down to see his gut somehow start to swell up again. He felt his belly tighten and felt the pressure grow to a firm ache in his gut. He pulled at the restraints again, and just dropped his head in defeat. All he could do was try to ignore the building tension in his dangerously swollen belly and work to keep up with the now rushing flow of beer. Bobby’s eyes bugged as he pumped. Dirk’s belly seemed to inflate before their eyes. The jersey pulled up even higher as the jock’s rock hard, overblown belly bloated up to near bursting. Every time Bobby started to ease up, Jim yelled again, and the tap pumped harder as they tested just how massive Dirk would get before they had to stop. Bobby couldn’t help it. He had to see Dirk’s gut in full glory. As he ran the tap with one hand, he reached over with the other to tug Dirk’s jersey up, exposing the rest of his ballooned belly. The skin on his beach ball gut was starting to almost shine. The hard round bulge was so strained. Bobby traced his hand across what used to be the faint outline of Dirk’s abs. The former muscles were now just the highlighting marks on a belly that looked like a huge exercise ball had somehow been shoved into the beefy guy’s stomach.
“CUT!” They all stopped and stared. Dirk, totally dazed, somehow managed to raise his head. All he could see was his towering belly. Letting out a huge, long groan, he slowly set his head back down. He couldn’t even talk. He was so stuffed.
“Now that’s more like it. A few more weeks of work like today’s, and we’ll have one hell of a gainer film on our hands.”
Bobby was told to leave, and then it was just Jim and Dirk. Still strapped to the table and too exhausted and stuffed to move, Dirk just listened to Jim’s plan.
“Just like this, Fatso. Every day, stuffing and stuffing you until that jersey busts wide open. I’m gonna have Bobby pack your gut until you look like an elephant three years pregnant. Maybe this will teach you to EVER fuck with me, and it will serve to remind you that I run this ship and can come up with anything to keep you bringing cash into this little film operation.”
With one last hard thwap on Dirk’s giant belly, Jim snapped off the lights and left the bloated stud tied to the table to sleep for the night. Dirk just passed out, hoping it was all a bad dream that would be gone by morning.
But then he heard the lights click back on, and Dirk shook out of his groggy sleep to realize it was not a dream. There he was, still firmly strapped to the table, his belly not as painfully stuffed as before, but still definitely rising high into the air from the merciless stuffing during the previous day’s scene. And there were Bobby and Jim, ready to go again.
“All right Bobby boy, let’s stretch that jersey over his big fat gut and get going again.”
Bobby stood to one side of Dirk and reached an arm over his belly. With both hands, he grabbed the bottom edge of the jersey, which now sat scrunched up under Dirk’s rounded pecs, and slowly dragged the shirt across Dirk’s skin to get it over the big bulge of his belly. It took some serious tugging to get it to go all the way, and once Bobby managed to get the fabric pulled over the widest, top-most swell of Dirk’s belly, he yanked harder and harder to try to tuck the jersey into Dirk’s shorts. The force pushed an expulsion of air from Dirk’s mouth, and Bobby let go, seeing the jersey tug back up Dirk’s ball belly by a good few inches as they both let out a grunt.
“Don’t worry about it Bobby. The next few weeks of feedings are going to make that thing too fucking small to cover even half of his fat gut!”
In spite of himself, Dirk felt his dick going hard again. He tried thinking of anything else, but the more he tried, the more aware he was of Bobby’s hands on his belly, working the hem of his jersey so that it sat straight across his gut for the first shot. He felt his shorts getting as tight as the jersey.
“Seems our beer bellied star is definitely starting to like this, Bobby. Why don’t we take advantage of that? It’s time to fatten him up some more.”
And the feedings resumed. For days and days afterward, the same scene repeated as Dirk’s belly ballooned up fatter and rounder. He was kept on the set like a pig being fed up for the state fair. He saw his belly swelling up bigger and bigger, pushed dangerously close to exploding before each take would end. All he could see was the giant spherical mass if his gut growing fatter and fatter and fatter, rising higher above his once flat torso toward the ceiling.
It was God knows what day of shooting. Six weeks? How the hell long have they kept me here?! Eight weeks? Ten?
Bobby stood above Dirk, cradling his head in one hand and shoving fistfuls of food in his mouth for what felt like hours. All the while, the camera whirled and Dirk felt his belly rising higher and higher and higher with the now familiar feeling of his gut growing so stuffed it was ready to split. He just gave in again. Whatever was shoved in his mouth, Dirk just worked to keep up. He silently resigned himself to just make it go as fast as he could, hoping it would all be over soon, wondering if he’d even be able to balance the weight of his massive belly once they finally let him stand back up. He grunted and chewed like a prize hog, but the more fattened-up he felt, the hotter his face felt, and the more he had to admit it was turning him on. He could feel his dick pointing straight up in his shorts. It would probably slap into the base of his bloated gut if set loose from the Lycra. If he could even see past his belly, he was sure he’d see a boner the size of a cucumber.
Then one day the scene suddenly shifted. After hours of the now routine gorging session, Jim brought in a huge soft serve ice cream machine. Bobby moved around to the other end of the table, and Jim set the machine right over Dirk’s head, positioning the nozzle right over his mouth.
“Guys. Oooooo. Come on!” Dirk moaned. They can’t be this crazy, can they? “There’s no fucking way . . . . ughhh. I can’t hardly . . . . eat . . another . . . . mouthf-mphff-mmff-hmm.” Jim had lowered the machine until the nozzle shoved square into Dirk’s mouth.
“All right Bobby, my boy. This is the final shot. The moment this fat jock has been waiting for!”
Dirk heard the machine kick on, and soon there was a burst of chocolate goo rushing into his mouth. His eyes started to water slightly, and he struggled to throw his throat open to keep pace with the rush. This was even more intense than the beer keg!
“That’s right you fat blimp. Your belly is now so massive we need to hook you to a feeding machine to load it up! Never thought your gut stuffing would lead to this did you?”
But Dirk barely heard Jim’s taunts. It took his full energy to try to swallow as fast as the ice cream was rushing into his mouth.
“See, Fatso, this isn’t just ice cream either. It’s charged with enough weight gainer to make you balloon up twice as fat as we’ve already gotten you.”
Dirk almost choked, and the ice cream started overflowing down the side of his puffed-out cheeks. But then he felt a warm jolt – a burning hot feeling – and he figured out that Bobby had locked his mouth over his throbbing dick. In unison rhythm, Bobby’s pumping timed with Dirk’s chugging, getting Dirk into a swallowing pattern that opened his throat further to the rush of gainer fluid. Every time Dirk started to slow, Bobby stopped, leaving Dirk in agony and on the brink of explosive orgasm, only starting again once Dirk fell into a regular chugging to get back in time with the flow of the feeding machine. Dirk felt the pressure in his mammoth belly press against the surface of his gut like never before. If ever he felt ready to explode, this was it! He was sure he was going to pop. That jersey never felt more pressed against Dirk’s belly. He could feel the outline of the hem digging into the girth of his ballooning stomach. He swore he could feel the side seams cutting into his bulging love handles in a bowing arc outlining the rise of his gut. Then he was sure he felt them starting to separate, two lines digging into his belly and pulling wider apart as he heard a loud ripping noise mix in with the hum of the machine and the slurping sounds of his gulps. His eyes were watering harder, his belly was strained to its very limit, the jersey was busting wide open from the pressure, and his hips were rocking hard as Bobby finally picked up his rhythm in time with the building swell of Dirk’s belly. This was it, he was going to blast wide open, belly blowing like the Hindenburg, his cock exploding all over the …..
With Dirk’s monstrous yell, the nozzle popped free of his mouth, Bobby’s arms locked around Dirk’s immense belly, and Dirk blew his load all over the base of his belly in a rush that lasted for what seemed like ten minutes. Feeling so light headed he could pass out at any second, Dirk felt the warm splatter of his cum dripping down the sheer rise of his belly. Bobby was rubbing his hands up and down the underside of Dirk’s gut, smearing his cum over the bottom expanse of his gut that could only be felt, not even seen.
“Goddamn, I couldn’t have staged that better myself!” Jim was applauding. Dirk was too weak to even react. He just felt himself pressing his belly into Bobby’s hands as he continued to massage his tightly stuffed monster of a belly.
“I guess maybe we can let you free now Fatso. Seems you finally ballooned up enough for me to get the climax of this little picture. This thing is going to be a beauty of an edit. You’re going to be out on video shelves with a continuous shot of your gut inflating before people’s eyes. I'm gonna splice frames together so it looks like the past several weeks of stuffing made your gut balloon up in about thirty minutes before old Bobby’s eyes. The world will see you growing fatter and fatter and fatter until that jersey finally gives way for us! I’m a fucking genius!”
With that Dirk felt his hands come free. Jim undid the bonds and again slapped Dirk’s immense belly.
“Thanks for the new idea you blimp. I think this may just bring in a whole new market for us.” Jim chuckled to himself as he told Bobby to help Dirk up. With one last hiss in Dirk’s ear, Jim left the set with “don’t ever think you can fuck with me like that again, you got it Fatso!”
Dirk was still panting too hard to even say a word. Laying there until his breathing returned to normal, he could only slowly lift his arms to feel his belly. Soft groans came from his throat as the once buffed stud felt his massive belly for the first time. He tentatively ran his hands higher and higher up the rounded bulge of his spherical gut. Bobby watched gape jawed as Dirk’s muscled arms tried to reach the top. Dirk finally opened his eyes, trying to sit up as he struggled to reach completely around his belly. With louder grunts, he twisted with all his might, realizing there was no may to make his hands meet. Even though he was pushing with all his strength, he could only wrap his hands around his bulging gut to leave a good three feet of belly exposed between them. His head slammed back on the table as his arms fell.
“Oh my God! I’m a fucking blimp!!”
Bobby came around and pushed his hands under Dirk’s shoulders. Coaxing Dirk to help him out, they hoisted Dirk up, twisting his legs to drop off the side of the table. Dirk was nearly in a sitting position, but Bobby had to brace his back with his shoulder; Dirk’s giant gut was pushing him back, pressing into his thighs and back into his pecs, shoving them toward his chin. With both of them breaking a sweat, Dirk was finally shoved forward until his feet hit the floor. He supported himself by kicking his arms back, but even as strong as he was, Dirk’s arms had to work hard to give that final push to get up to a standing position. The momentum nearly toppled him forward, and Bobby raced around the table to help stabilize the fat stud before he rolled down to the floor, where he’d end up resting on his gut.
“You’re gonna have to learn how to balance that thing,” Bobby said as Dirk leaned his shoulders back to counter-weight the gut that launched out for days in front of him.
“Holy fuck. I have to weigh a ton.” Dirk shook his head as he looked down from his fattened up pecs to see the top arcing line of his belly fade away from him like a planet’s horizon.
“Step over here and let’s find out.” Bobby guided Dirk a few steps across the set to the medical scale. When Dirk’s belly bumped into the upright before his feet even stepped onto the base, Bobby slowly turned Dirk so that he could step backwards onto the scale. Staring with amazement, Bobby’s eyes followed the huge line Dirk’s belly traced as he turned. With the thud of the scale’s plate under Dirk’s massive weight, Bobby starting shifting the weights to get a reading.
“I’m not sure I want to know.”
“What’s it reading?”
“Can’t tell yet.”
Dirk groaned and rubbed his aching, massive belly.
A little laugh. “On no, I passed that one a few tries ago.”
“Shit!” Dirk put one hand underneath his belly and ran the other one along the gargantuan top line of his blimped up gut, wondering if his hands could meet along this path. They couldn’t.
“400. 450. Nope. 475. Oop. Maybe – ooo. Nope. 4 . . . . 9 . . . . Four hundred and ninety five pounds! Holy shit you’re HUGE!!!”
Dirk shuffled off the scale and grabbed his gut again. “Omygod. I can’t believe this!”
Bobby pressed up behind Dirk, nestling his stiffening dick into the valley between Dirk’s meaty butt and reaching his arms around the stud’s giant sphere of a belly to grasp his forearms. “Should we head out of here to feed you a dinner big enough to break and even 500?”
Dirk felt the heat building in his nuts again.
“Yeah. Stuff me!”