Early Draft: The Gregarious Fighters of GORGE: Part 1

(Disclaimer: Any acts of transformation, expansion, or mental altercation have been consented to by the owners of the characters affected. Any acts depicted are meant as explorations of the fetishistic psyche, hold artistic merit, and are compliant with the TOS of Patreon).
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The early teaser of a collab I'm doing with Glaz! (Who you can find here and here!)

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“What do you think? Another sixty seconds, fourty, thirty?”

Sephis rolled his eyes and focused on which soda to pick from the mini-fridge. The capacity of new contestants didn’t intrigue him as much as it did his game partner.

“He’s over-eager. The newbies always go for broke, thinking they’re indestructible. He’ll be lucky if he lasts until I finish this sent--” an explosion interrupted him. The reinforced panes of the observation booth rattled from the shockwave of an exploded competitor, followed by the muted din of a cheering crowd. “-ence, see, told you.”

Simon drummed the glass with his sausage fingers. He was pressed against it, his enormous belly deforming and skewing paler through the transparent material. A few perceptive fans noticed the long-haired man’s smirk and tease, and responded by zooming in with their camera phones to capture the image for later.

“Shame. He was cute. I think he said he was a gainer, too, about six hundred pounds in the outside world?”

“He was so big already he probably thought he was a shoe-in for winning the jackpot. Even though we don’t win every time, and we’ve been participating since the start.” Sephis twisted the top on a two litre bottle of blueberry soda, and finished it on one continuous chug. He crushed the bottle between his palms and walked to the recycling bin.
“I wasn’t paying attention. What was it that did him in?”

“He got the donut game. Hydraulic plate hazard. Held on until cream from the donuts started leaking from his chest. You should have seen the face he made when he realized he was about to burst. I didn’t think someone’s eyes could go that wide without popping out of their head.”

“He was a first-timer, right? I guess management is throwing in the newbies before they bring on the old favourites.” Sephis shrugged. He walked over to the diagonally slated panes and stared down at the staging area.

A circular arena dominated the centre of the room. The walls were hundreds of feet in width and length, reaching the size of an indoor stadium. There were tiers of seating areas on every side, with the cheapest seats being higher and further toward the walls, and the medium to expensive seats existing close to the main stage. A set of alcoves existed half-way up the walls for V.I.P guests, with the personal invitations receiving their own hovering platforms above the arena; complete with five star amenities and personal attendants in form-fitting outfits.

The viewing room which Sephis and Simon occupied served as their personal booth for the duration of their playtime as competitors. It was the size of a hotel suite, with comfortable benches and sofas reinforced to multiple tonnes of weight. If you were a regular member of Pop the Pig’s cast, it was almost guaranteed you had left the average weights of the real world behind.

Sephis himself was about nine feet tall. It was a well known fact that the more you competed in the expansion games, the bigger you got. It was like a video game in that way. Your starting size inside the stadium was like your base-line stats in an RPG, and you lost them when you exited, then got them back when you came back for another bout.

He was a living blimp inside the stadium. A hot air balloon on legs. His skin had a dull rubbery sheen, though it paled in comparison to the reflective surface of his singlet.
 He was taller than Simon, and carried the bulk of his size in his belly which looked like it could explode if it collided with a sharp surface. His fat cheeks, his most notable facial feature, were exaggerated when he swelled up upon entry. It gave his face a balloon-like quality when matched with his inability to grow a full beard, his undyed fuzz only covering the outer perimeter of his cheeks and chins.

A head of short, messy purple hair, and heavy brows gave him an intimidating expression. Earning him the reputation as the ‘Balloon Bruiser,’ though he found it made him sound overly mean, he still embraced it as a gimmick.

Simon was only shy of six feet. Though his circular face, pendulous chest, and wide hips made him just as much of a blimp as the taller Sephis. He had his green wavy hair long and down to his neck, with a light beard over his chins and cheeks. He wore his signature forest green boxers in a glossy fabric while staying in the viewing room, and nothing else.

He was normally a more reserved man, but something about the atmosphere in here unleashed his flirtatious side. He described it to Sephis as being a work of art, and wanting people to appreciate him in all his beautiful fatness. And if they didn’t appreciate it, he would expand and make himself bigger, and more beautiful until they did.

His lust for size and his aggressive style won him a lot of fans.

“Are you going to press yourself to the glass all day, or are you going to get dressed? We go on in ten minutes,” Sephis said. The way the games were set up encouraged people to peacock themselves for extra points. Simon had taken that to heart and was often more interested in looking good and making a spectacle over winning. He often had to be reminded to actually compete. If he had his way he would simply be an expanding fixture at the centre of the arena.

“Oh, right. Time to suit up? You know you’ll have to help me squeeze into my singlet,” Simon removed himself from the viewing window. He waddled towards Sephis and bumped his naked belly against the purple material covering his more spherical belly. The singler was a V cut, exposing most of the thighs but covering enough to avoid disappearing into the crack of his ass. Unexpanded, anyway. It often vanished like a piece of floss between two giant exercise balls during the more size-intensive games. Printed on its front were three words in bold, neon green lettering. ‘Pop the Pig,’ the name of their team.

“You can fit into it just fine on your own,” Sephis rolled his eyes but moved to pick up the shiny pool of forest green fabric from the sofa. He stretched it out and motioned for Simon to hurry up. The long haired man stripped off his boxers (to the cheer of a few onlooking fans), then stomped his fat feet into the leg holes of the garment. Sephis began the ritual of pulling it up, and taking a deep breath before putting his strength into his powerful legs. The muscles bulged beneath layers of fat, demonstrating the necessary force required to squeeze so much wobbling fat into a tight-fitted uniform. The material was made to stretch, and it could hold several hundred times the weight of a man like Simon, but it still took a concentrated effort to make it fit in the first place.

“You can do it, I believe in you,” Simon said.

“Can’t you… suck it in?” Sephis grunted.
He managed to pull the green singlet out and over Simon’s hips. No small feat considering the fact that he was wide as an American pickup truck. The belly was always the hardest part. From his squatted position, the mountainous fat of his game partner pressed against his chin and threatened to tumble forth and crush him. He grunted something profane, but the avalanche of flesh muffled his exact words.

“What was that? You want me to flatten you out like a pancake?” Simon teased. “I thought I was only supposed to do that for the games involving the bike pump,” he chuckled. His voice deepened whenever they crossed into the stadium. He put on strange airs that he never did anywhere else. It was like all of the strange, horny thoughts he never had the confidence to express possessed him when he became one half of Pop the Pig.
“You could at least stop pretending this isn’t as fun for you as it is for my fans, they would probably kill to do what you’re doing.”

Sephis, on the other hand, still struggled to reconcile between his own libido and his embarrassment. That tended to change whenever he got on stage. And over time, Simon’s infectious hedonism had loosened his inhibitions. He hummed to himself, and looked up at the pair of brown eyes staring down at him, over a pair of fat breasts he was struggling to encase in singlet.

“You know what happens if I don’t control myself. I want to save it for the stage.” Sephis admitted. He could already feel pressure building inside of him. It was a dense pocket of hot air that built from his carnal regions, between his thighs, and spread to the rest of him. If he wasn’t careful that air flow would roar through him, and even the reinforced glass of the booth wouldn’t be enough to hold him back.

“Oh I know exactly what will happen to you, balloon-boy,” Simon said and then winced, Sephis had managed to properly enclose him in his singlet. Neon purple words spelling out ‘Pop the Pig,’ as a mirror to his game partner’s garment.

Simon had a liking for being squished against people who could grow larger than him, it was a fetishistic turn on the trope of the proud warrior being outmatched. And few people could blow up faster, and more powerfully than Sephis when he let his libido take control. To that end Simon was always throwing out little teases and quips he knew would target Sephis’s desires. It was difficult for him to hold back sometimes.

Competitors Simon and Sephis to the waiting area, side A, this is your five minute warning.

The two moved to the doorway which slid open to permit them. They misjudged who was going through first, each thinking the other was going to wait their turn, and ended up wedged together. Simon giggled to himself childishly, hinting that he had done it on purpose.
“Oops. How clumsy of me,” Simon said.

“... you’re really in a mood today,” Sephis replied, a blush on his fat cheeks. There was a steady hiss of hot air from his body. Being a balloon type competitor had its disadvantages, which Simon - as a primarily weight gain focused type - enjoyed exploiting. “Please stop trying to make me blow up before we get on stage. I’m holding back already, if you keep trying to set me off, I’m really going to--”

Simon pressed his weight to the side, compressing Sephis even more. “Go off like a big fat bomb? Oh, I know, this whole stadium is likely to fall under you. But I’ll stop. Much as I enjoy teasing you, I enjoy winning more, because it means we get to be even bigger by default the next time we come here.”

The two managed to dislodge themselves. Simon did it with an ease that confirmed Sephis’s suspicions that he had gotten stuck on purpose.

They both made a half-jog to the waiting room down smooth chrome corridors. Bright displays of previous champions, and champions of the sport from before its modern incarnation, served as the only decor. The simplicity of the smooth metal walls was necessary to facilitate their ability to expand. Sometimes people got stuck, especially when they were expansion-fighters in a game which demanded further growth.

When they got closer to the waiting room. A lobby of similar ascetic design. There was only a shutter large enough to admit the passage of a German airship, and a few inflatable pieces of furniture that could be pumped up to accommodate the variable sizes of the people who inhabited the stadium. Simon and Sephis had barely made it with two minutes to spare, so they remained standing and began stretching to limber up.

“Hey, check it out,” Simon thumbed at a display panel on the wall depicting the first time they had both competed together. “My belly’s barely the size of my left moob, can you believe we used to be so small?” He laughed.

“Why only your left moob?” Sephis asked.

Simon groped his left tit, Sephis could see the singlet creak and contort slightly, the breast almost threatening to burst out from it’s confinements again. “Because it’s my lucky one, so it’s a little bigger.”

Sephis looked unconvinced. “... I’m not sure that’s how that works, but alright, whatever helps you win.”
However, Simon had a point. They looked so… diminished in the picture. Sephis had a weak, anxious expression. He could barely be called fat in the same way his friend was. He was tall, thick around the thighs and belly, but hardly what you thought of when you said the word ‘blimp.’ Something he had become permanently associated with since his debut. When they had won through teamwork in a two versus two match, Simon had pumped him up to wield him like a wrecking ball.

Simon didn’t have the same zealous attitude in the picture that he did now. It was something which grew in him over time. Like competing in the games had grown his spirit, as well as his flesh.

A harsh buzzer rang. Sephis snapped out of his remembrance. He slapped the sides of his face and prepared himself. In bright golden letters, the word GORGE appeared on a screen at the top of the shutter frame, and the corrugated metal curtain rose.

In a floating circular booth sat The Announcer. A fat, triple chinned man in gaudy pinstripe clothing. His most distinctive feature being his two-foot long, glitter encrusted purple pompadour. He had a bombastic voice, and a rapid cadence which never failed to rouse the audience. With how powerfully he spoke, Sephis wondered if he even needed the microphone to project his voice. No one knew his real name, or where he came from. He spoke with a generalistic movie voice-over accent, the likes you heard in cinemas across America.

“Ladies and gentlemen, far and wide, emphasis on WIDE!” He boomed. “To those of you joining us for the first time, welcome to the only place on Earth which celebrates the proverb of ‘BIGGER IS BETTER’ in STYLE!”
The Announcer zoomed around the arena, seated on his floating platform like a bloated UFO pilot.
“Welcome… TO G.O.R.G.E!”

The crowd became uproarious. Members of the crowd were from every corner of the Earth. Every shape and size, some even rivalling the competitors. They raised glow sticks, home made flags, some had even painted tributes to their favourite players on their bodies and whipped their shirts off to display them in hopes of getting recognized. There was a crowd of mostly men in the stands near the entry shutters for Pop the Pig, wearing purple and green pig snouts, wearing replicas of their singlets, and more. A couple had even inflated their friends, and tethered them with strings, while they floated with celebratory banners stretched over their bodies.

“For those of you who don’t know, G.O.R.G.E stands for the Games Of Reckless Gluttonous Expansion! Where players are free to choose from a variety of ‘types,’ and go toe-to-toe with their contemporaries in explosive bouts! Tonight will be a fan favourite. A wrestling match between Pop the Pig, and Gainful Employment!”

The crowd’s din increased.

“First up, let’s introduce the away team!”

Two identical competitors exited from their waiting room, and paced down the runway to the arena. They were both hybrid balloon and weight types, part way between the jiggling fatness of Simon, and the taut, bounciness of Sephis. They wore black and white replications of expensive business suits, rendered entirely in latex over their bodies. With slicked back hair, and monochrome wrestling boots.

“Gainful Employment! Give it up for Barnaby and Brook!”

Barnaby had pink hair, while Brook had blue. It clashed with their business aesthetic, but then again, Sephis thought, businessmen didn’t tend to walk around in latex bodysuits either.

“And in this corner. Weighing over two tonnes collectively, when one of them isn’t skybound that is…” The Announcer paused, letting the audience anticipation build. “We have the reigning champions. The most explosive, gluttonous, bombastic, size-hungry blimps we’ve ever had take the main stage. Everyone give it up for Sephis and Simon, collectively known as Pop the Pig!”

The shutters rose and both halves of Pop the Pig strode out. They squared their shoulders and straightened their backs to make their bellies stick out further, though Sephis’s balloon-belly shot out ahead of his partner.
When they stepped up to the arena, Simon smacked his fist into Sephis’s belly to make it bang like a rubbery gong. It was such a lasting, bassoon note that it temporarily brought silence to the crowds. He then raised his hands, and exclaimed at the top of his lungs.
“Who’s ready to see some fireworks!?”

Sephis, getting into the spirit of things, put his thumb between his teeth. He inhaled a quantity of air through his nostrils sufficient to burst a weather balloon, then blew into his thumb. His fist bulged and grew until it matched his globular belly, deflated as the air transitioned into his forearm, then into his upper arm which he flexed as it creaked like tortured rubber.

He let it continue its flow once he released the constricting pressure from the flex, and surged his belly out another two feet in all directions. He patted it gleefully, his smile showing his dimples as his plump cheeks creased around his grin.

Eight poles rose up from the arena floor, extending to the ceiling where they connected to the jumbotron’s base. Elastic cables shot out from compartments in their sides, creating a cage around the four contestants. New members of the audience probably found the size of the arena to be egregious, but dedicated fans knew better.

The teams stared each other down.

“It’s a simple set of rules to follow folks!” The Announcer did a slow clockwise rotation around the cage. “The first team to be fully incapacitated loses. That involves being popped, flattened out, or immobilized beyond being able to compete!”

Simon and Sephis slapped their stomachs.

Barnaby and Brooke combed their hair back one more time.

“Blimps… get ready? Fight!”