"Dirk's new debut" by Exjockfeeder - Chapter 3

Dirk's New Debut - Chapter 3 (by ExjockFeeder)

Convinced his eating binge would make Jim evict him from the studio, at first sight, Dirk was frustrated when his bulging gut nearly went without remark. How could Jim just carry on the way he did when Dirk was busting out all over?

But Jim’s jab to lay off the chow told Dirk he was on the right track. Now he just had to push it even harder. Much harder!

        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 added 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 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!”