"Dirk's new debut" by Exjockfeeder - Chapter 4

Having gorged himself with a focus previously reserved for lifting, Dirk cockily lumbered into the studio, thrusting his new belly out, expecting an immediate exit from his obligations.

Rather than being liberated, Dirk found himself at the mercy of a new plot, clamped down, belly ballooning skyward.

What had his scheme led to? Was he . . . liking it?

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 burst, 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.”

To be continued.