Fatter - Part 5

It was a hot summer day. I was already sweating just lying in bed and combined with my constantly hard and leaking cock, the smell was just shy of intolerable. 

My A/C broke last week. I’d long since been fired from work for just not showing up, and without a job, there was no money to pay a repair guy to fix it. There was barely any money for rent and food. Soon there wouldn’t be enough money for either. Not that it mattered--whatever this curse had left me with was an apparent inability to die of starvation. How could I starve if I woke up every morning better fed that the night before, regardless of how much I’d eaten?

Every day had become the same thing. I’d get up, heave myself out of bed, put on clothing I’d long since outgrown, and shuffle around the block desperately searching for Reggie. The sight of me must be comical to onlookers: arms and legs stuffed into sleeves so tight they looked like they could burst, belly and ass hanging out of a stretched out t-shirt and shorts, and all of it stained with sweat so you’d think I’d spent a day in a car wash. 

Boxers were a thing of the past--I’d stopped buying them to save money, and besides, the way my thighs rubbed together would simply destroy them after a week anyway. Shoes had stopped fitting some time ago so I made do with extra wide flip-flops. I couldn’t fit in the SUV I’d bought a while ago, so I sold it. I could barely fit through the door, to be honest. 

I had no idea how big I’d gotten. The scale had long since been tossed in the garbage and it seemed pointless to even consider getting a new one. Anything that went up to my size would probably have cost a grand or more. 

How big was I? Certainly over 500 pounds. By how much was impossible to say. 

My phone buzzed and I reached over to the bedside table to see who it was, know already it would be Reggie. He wanted to come over to fuck, as usual. My size had started making things difficult for our relationship. The only position where there was even a hope of penetration was reverse cowboy, but my magical stamina was now all spent just holding my massive gut out of the way long enough for me to get inside. After that, I’d thrust as best I could through the sea of my own girth. 

Reggie was doing the bulk of the mechanical work now. It didn’t always work--Reggie didn’t exactly take great care of himself, so if he didn’t come over well rested there was no way he’d be able to keep up a pace that would get himself off. For me it didn’t matter either way--I could fuck my own fat gunt and get myself off at this point.

In fact, I was already unconsciously humping, my pelvis rising so that the folds of flesh that made up my groin rubbed past my sunken cock. When the head met open air like a drowning man desperate for breath it would sink back down, leaving just a trail of pre-cum to mark its passage and lubricate for the next thrust.

I sent Reggie a reply saying sure, come over. It would take him at least 20 minutes to get here, which gave me plenty of time for a quicky. 

I kept thrusting. After a minute, my groin had become a veritable puddle of pre and made it feel like I was humping my own built-in sex toy. A minute later and sweat was pouring off my brow, chest, and crack in such volumes that there was another puddle of my fluids forming on the mattress. 

The curse kicked in and I began jack-hammering myself at speeds that belied my size. Sweat was pouring off me, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was getting off. 

I pounded my own flab for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes. I came, hard, as usual, with the arcs of my own jizz rising high enough for me to see even over the crest of my own corpulence. I had no idea where my load landed, mind you, but there was a towel installed where the vast majority of my loads landed. 

Even still, it didn’t catch all of it, and what it did catch often rolled off thanks to the thick crust that had developed over just the past few days. My production made it expensive to constantly wash towels, so as with everything, I made do.

There was a knock at the door. I texted Reggie to just come on in as it had become… difficult to get out of bed lately. But instead, there was another knock. Then another.

I almost shouted at Reggie to ask what the fuck was wrong with him, but instead, I started the laborious process of getting up. First I’d shift to the right to gather momentum, then left, and then right again putting all my strength into turning over. I managed it, but just barely. Then I pushed up with my arms to get enough space between me and the floor to place my feet. Again, I was only just barely successful.

Wobbling to the door, I wondered if Reggie had lost his key. But when I opened the door I was met with the smiling face of Old Man Wick.