Stoner Slob - Part 6

“Alright, that’s about five pounds,” Cal said between puffs on his joint, “and I’ll have another five to deliver later this month. You think that’ll be enough?”

Still enjoying the afterglow of a vigorous fuck by his bear supplier, Ray couldn’t quite compute what Cal was trying to say. “Yeah, sure.”

“Are you? Because you told me that business was really booming last time you were over.”

Ray watched his belly rise and fall slowly as he laid on his back feeling Cal’s fresh load dribbled down his ass cheeks. Given the cum stains that covered Cal’s sheets, Ray didn’t think he’d mind one or two more.

“It is,” Ray replied, holding out his hand. Cal deftly stuck his joint between two thick digits so the fatter man could enjoy his afterglow with some THC. “Look man, wouldn’t running out of stock be a good problem to have?”

“It’s still a problem, especially if your customers start supplying themselves elsewhere.”

Ray considered Cal’s words for a moment before bringing the spliff to his lips. A lung-full of weed smoke later and he forgot what they were talking about. All he could see was a big man with a big cock that was dripping the last of its load onto the stained carpets of Cal’s bedroom.

“Another round?” Ray said, offering the joint back. Cal chuckled, heaved himself up from his desk, and lumbered over to the bed, his massive dick already back at half-mast.

An hour later, Ray was waiting at the bus stop with two garbage bags of weed. The odor was clear to pretty much anyone passing by with a functional nose, but there were no longer any rules that prevented Ray from walking around in public with enough marijuana to smoke out the Denver Broncos. In fact, the thought was already making Ray’s chubby dick a bit chubbier.

But that much weed still brought Ray more attention than he would have liked. Combined with Ray’s already exceptional girth, the two garbage bags of product took up quite a bit of floor space, necessitating several passengers to stand. One, a wiry little thing with a wisp of blonde hair escaping from beneath a touque, thought that his inconvenience should have a cost to the colossally fat drug dealer-turned-entrepreneur.

Discreetly extracting a switchblade from his pocket, the kid gently punctured the bag large enough to remove a few of the dankest nugs he could find. Ray was so large and his cargo so voluminous that he never had a clue that he was being robbed. Slightly. He’d undoubtedly lose more product from the hole in the bag than what the kid had stolen, but that wasn’t the kid’s problem.

He got off at the next stop. The fat guy never even looked up from the phone that was nestled between his tits--the obese fuck had a built-in cell phone stand. The thought would have revolted him, but he was already thinking about how high he was going to get when he got home. Maybe he’d even get Christine to put out. They didn’t have anything else to do today…

Having gotten off early, he had to walk a distance to his home out in the burbs. When he got there, he wasn’t so much greeted by a loving girlfriend as he was berated by an angry harpy.

“Where the fuck have you been, Burt?”

“I was going to the agency,” Burt replied with a sigh, “but then I found this guy with a fuckton of weed.”

Christine’s hands were on her wide hips. Although poverty hadn’t been kind to the house, with paint flecking off the walls and a roof that desperately needed replacing, it had at least not resulted in anyone going hungry. Not that you’d be able to tell from looking at Burt’s lithe form, but his girlfriend certainly never skipped an opportunity for takeout.

It was one of their many arguments. Christine would accuse Burt of fattening her up, while Burt would argue it was simply all they could afford. Even though Burt didn’t mind the weight, it was something that Christine struggled with. The two hadn’t had relations since Burt lost his job, but maybe a little green plant would be their escape--if only for an afternoon.

At least Christine had the same idea. Her tone immediately softened and her eyes grew wide at the three green lumps that Burt produced from his coat pocket. “Well damn, Burt, get that shit over here before you knock all them trichomes off!”

Burt didn’t know what she meant, but he trusted her knowledge of the stuff. Christine’s weed habit probably hadn’t helped her waistline, but when she got high she often got hungry and horny. He was hoping for the latter, but he’d settle for a quiet evening of the former.

Christine did the work of grinding while Burt cleaned the bong. After preparations were completed, Christine announced her intent to go first by grabbing the bong, a lighter, and ripping a cloud of smoke in a practiced motion.

“Holy shit,” she coughed, chest heaving, eyes immediately red and watering as she struggled to breathe through the dense plume. “This shit’s real.”

Burt hoped that was good. He took the bong while she was distracted and inhaled his own dose from the still-lit bowl. As soon as the smoke filled his lungs and the THC flooded his bloodstream, Burt felt so light-headed that he would have sworn that he was actually floating in the air.

“Yeah, that’s my little man,” Christine chided, but not as harshly as she usually did. She’d often poke fun at Burt’s slight stature over the course of their relationship, but this time it felt… kind. Like a term of endearment. Still practically floating off the ground, Burt offered the bong back and almost fell into Christine’s ample bosom.

She coughed but wrapped an affectionate arm around Burt as she re-lit the bowl for another toke. Burt’s head was spinning, but he could swear Christine’s arm was hairier than he remembered. He shook his head, passing it off as a trick of far-too-strong psychoactive chemicals.

But then, Burt wondered why a hairy arm was even noteworthy. Christine was always the real man of the house--even when Burt was the one with the dick, Christine was the one with the job working at the steel mill. A good job, with benefits, one that let Burt be a house husband. And she’d always been bigger, stronger, more commanding. Hell, she even had more chest hair than Burt.

So it had honestly come as little surprise when Christine said she was really Chris. Their relationship hardly changed at all when Chris started taking testosterone--he just got bigger, hairier, and stronger. And more of a man than Burt ever could be.

A deep rumbling came from the chest Burt was snuggled up tightly. “I think one more for you and then it’s time to get daddy’s tool,” Chris said in a baritone that never failed to get Burt hard as stone. Burt looked up into the wide, smiling, inviting, bearded face of his boyfriend, with his big nose and broad, hairy chest, and felt indescribable love and lust in equal measure.

Burt sat up just enough to take the bong and inhaled a far smaller amount than Chris’s enormous lungs could contain. His dainty coughs were also the exact opposite of Chris’s manly, growling exhalations. But that’s what brought the two of them together. Opposites attract and all.

Task done, Burt gracefully extracted from his brute of a boyfriend while Chris reached up to pinch Burt’s bubble butt. Mocking impropriety, Burt flicked his long hair around as he sashayed into the bedroom to retrieve a double-ended strap-on dildo. A power bottom if there ever was one, Burt’s voluptuous, hourglass figure seemed purpose-built to take cock. The irony was that the love of Burt’s life technically didn’t have one, but they made do.

In fact, you could argue that it was one of the benefits of their relationship. The end that Chris inserted into himself was far smaller than the end which Burt lined up with his hole on a nightly basis, both sides built to perfectly accommodate the other. It was a custom job that had seen years of thorough use and had never, ever failed to satisfy.

Burt returned with a sly smile, naked, hard on pointing straight forward, and strap-on dangling from his fingers as he pushed out a hip playfully. Placing the bong on the kitchen table, Chris wrapped both of his meaty arms around his lover, enveloping him in an embrace that nearly totally obscured the much smaller male. Chris’s reach was even such that he was able to slip a thick digit between Burt’s globular cheeks to start teasing at his already-lubed hole.

“The little vixen had taken the time to pre-lube himself,” Chris thought with another rumbling chuckle. Then he picked up his man and carried her to the bedroom. Chris was never afraid to take advantage of his size and strength, and Burt never got tired of his man’s raw power.

For all that power, Chris’s lovemaking was surprisingly tender--at least to start. As Chris kissed and licked up and down Burt’s body his luscious beard brought a tingling sensation to Chris’s smooth skin, making him writhe and coo. Gathering the pre-cum from Burt’s leaking cock, Chris lubed up his fingers and brought them once again to Burt’s hole, getting Burt ready for the challenge to come.

But Chris could never just stop with fingering. A true ass-hound, Chris soon brought his bearded face to Burt’s writhing globes. There was nothing about Chris that wasn’t large, and Burt never grew tired of feeling Chris’s massive tongue practically bathe his crack in saliva before diving inside. Burt whined and tried to squirm, but Chris’s strong hands kept his twitching hips still enough to bring him to the brink using tongue lashings alone.

It was a running gag between the two that Chris was better at eating out than Burt, but that didn’t mean Burt was an entirely passive partner. A tap on the big, buzzed skull of his boyfriend brought him up for air and then a quick inversion brought Burt to Chirs’s cooch while providing plenty of access to his backside. Chris’s height advantage meant it wasn’t difficult for him to go back to working that ass while Burt lapped at Chris’s clit.

Being stoned out of their minds, both lost track of how long they’d been going down on the other. Eventually Burt tapped again, gasping and wiping his face of the various fluids that now covered it. Chris took this break as the appropriate time to gear up, and with practiced movements prepared himself to plunder Burt’s hole in an entirely different way.

When Chris turned around, Burt was already on the bed, chest down, ass up, hole winking with desire. A dollop of lube and a large hand covered an even larger silicone shaft in slippery substance, and then a slight push was all it took.

Burt was a practiced bottom, and even the exceptional size of the strap-on didn’t so much as make his bubble butt twitch. He just sighed as he was filled and felt Chris’s hips meet the soft resistance of Burt’s fat ass.

This was where the gentleness ended. Chris was far too stoned to be patient and Burt was far too eager to be fucked by a nearly foot-long cock. The larger man rocked back, extracting nearly the entire dildo, then pushed forward until his thick pubes brushed against the hairless backside of his mate. And then he did it again, but faster. After a few strokes, the lovemaking engine was in full swing, with Burt pressing back to meet Chris’s thrusts with a meaty and satisfying slap.

The room became a chorus of whimpering moans and testosterone-filled growls broken by the occasional plaintive “fuck me” or “oh yeah.” After five minutes, Chris would simply pick Burt up and reposition him, never removing him from the spire that skewered him. On his back, then side, then front, his powerful bulk driving them both towards an earth-shattering climax.

Burt had been turned back to front by the time Chris finally roared his climax. The big man might not have had a cock, but that never stopped him from cumming enough for Burt to feel the dampness coating his ass. A big hand reached around to cup Burt’s balls and then glide up his shaft, the thick digits only needing to stroke him a few times before Burt added his own fluid to the rich soup that coated them.

“Fuck,” Burt said, his voice light and airy despite the smoke that still filled the room. “That was good.”

Chris grunted his assent and fell back to the bed, the dildo popping out of Burt’s hole with an almost comical noise.

“Christ, could you warn me before you do that?” Burt turned to slap the big lug’s heaving stomach, the blow barely budging the dense flesh.

Twenty minutes later and the two were cuddled up on the couch smoking the remainder of the weed that Burt had procured a few hours ago. “So,” Burt began, “what are you going to do with the mill closing down?”

Christ sighed. “Dunno, but I applied for a warehouse job earlier today. Just waiting for the guy to call.”

Burt made a tiny toke and blew out an even daintier plume. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. And you’ll love this--apparently this guy is selling weed.”

“Oh, that sounds like a nice perk.”

“Sure does,” Burt said. Then his phone started vibrating on the coffee table.