Stoner Slob - Part 10

Blaine didn’t know where he was. The last thing he remembered was being at a political rally for The New Green party, which was promising to remove all remaining marijuana restrictions, expunge all weed-related convictions, and institute a host of other social programs that generally sounded good to Blaine’s personal ideology. Naturally, more than one person was smoking at the rally--Blaine included--and the purple haze that coated the proceedings added a certain jovial atmosphere even though there was still a guy in a suit talking on a stage. A very large guy in an even bigger suit, but whatever. Wouldn’t be the first obese politician to get elected in this town.

But then something… happened. It was so strange. He’d come to the rally with his friend, Pete, but he’d lost track of him about ten minutes into the speech. He remembered some fat guy with the exact same shirt suddenly bumping his overgrown gut into him and felt it was a weird coincidence, but Pete was nowhere to be found. And then there were so many truly big, hairy dudes, like a wall of heaving, jiggling flesh that it all got weirdly intimidating to him. And some of them… god, some of them had their dicks out and were simultaneously cheering at the speech and jerking each other off.

And strangest of all was that the fat guy next to him knew his name. He’d turned and asked Blaine if he wanted to suck his cock, the twitching, leaking helmet barely visible beneath his stomach. The sight--and smell--of that sweat and pre cum-covered hog was enough to make Blaine gag.

He turned and fled, pushing his way through the mass of bodies, all of them heavy-set, all of them far too large to escape. Some of them pushed back, some of them merely blocked his way, and somehow Blaine found himself at the front of the crowd just below the stage. The huge guy in the suit looked down at him, frowned, and snapped his fingers, then two guys even bigger than anyone in the crowd grabbed Blaine and put a hood over his head. After that, he remembered being picked up off the ground and taken somewhere with even more smoke than the rally. Things got hazier from there, but there were voices… confused, panicked voices.

“We’ve smoked an entire gram around this kid and he’s still a twink,” one voice said.

“You try cumming on the hood? That usually works for me,” a deeper voice offered.

“Nothing,” the disappointed reply. “Kid ain’t even a bit chubby, and I mean that in every possible sense.”

There was a derisive snort and then the sound of a door opening. A new voice, this one low and out of breath, offered a solution. “We’ve got something new we could try--an extract. We planned on using it in the city water supply, but maybe we could test it on this kid.” The sound of muffled agreements and then three massive bodies leaving a room, their absence Blaine could feel from the shifting air currents. Then the sound of the door opening, some footsteps, and the sound of something on a cart being wheeled next to him. Whoever it was grabbed his arm and there was a sharp pain on the back of his hand, like someone had just mainlined him. He wanted to panic but his wrists and legs were bound--he could only struggle as whatever they’d stabbed him with pumped into his system.

Blaine knew what it was in minutes. He felt a familiar sensation as his head started to swirl, his stomach did a few lazy loops, and a giggle forcibly escaped his lips. It was just like that time he’d eaten a whole pan of weed brownies by himself, but faster, oh so much faster. The high kept building and building until he was too dizzy to keep his head up straight, instead mirroring the same lazy loops as his stomach felt.

He felt hot, and nauseous, and a tightness on his chest, stomach, and thighs. It felt so tight he wished he could take off his clothes even though he was tied up and blindfolded and being pumped full of drugs… Fun drugs, he thought in a moment of wistfulness, but definitely against his will.

There was something else… he felt heavy all of a sudden, like he was wearing weights on his arms and legs, like his shirt was made of lead, like his shorts were scale mail, and both were skin-tight. His breathing became deeper and deeper, like he was jogging, then going up stairs, then running a marathon. He heard rips and suddenly the tightness that he’d been feeling around his thighs disappeared, only to be replaced by a cold sensation as his skin hit open air and his thighs touched whatever cool metal he was sitting on. Another rip and his stomach felt the same sensation, and something else… a vibration. As though he was in a very brief earthquake. And then it disappeared only to be left with an entirely alien sensation of something soft and warm touching both his abdominals and his thighs at the same time.

Everything was suddenly a riot of sensations--his earlobes being pressed apart, his cheeks being pulled down, his nips getting harder and so much more sensitive… It was almost arousing enough to make him forget the confusion and fear that had been his every moment for the past 30 minutes.

Blaine felt something on the back of his neck, like his hair was bunching up all on its own. He could feel a wet friction under his chest, his ass crack felt like a sauna, and there was an itching sensation everywhere, like goosebumps that just kept going and going but without the chill. At first it was just his arms and legs that tingled, but soon it was everywhere, his face, his chest, his shoulders, all of it felt almost like it was on fire.

He was sweating now. He could feel droplets roll down his front, his back, down his sides, and then they’d suddenly stop amidst a growing sense of wetness, but not like his shirt was becoming damp. It was as if something else was catching the moisture and keeping it close to his skin, especially on his forearms, thighs, groin, and armpits. Even his back had that feeling to a degree, which was troubling on a level that Blaine couldn’t quite comprehend in his THC-fueled confusion.

Suddenly he heard a creek below him, and that feeling of weight came crashing back. Just inflating his chest to breathe felt like he was lifting 40 pounds on its own. Everything felt like something was pulling it down, and there was an almost constant sense of vibration, like he was living through a low-intensity tremor that didn’t stop. In fact, it kept getting worse with each labored breath.

At the same time, that vibration made the feeling in his nipples come back more powerful than before. It was overwhelming Blaine’s already beleaguered senses, and it was causing something to stir between damp thighs that were rubbing together now despite Blaine having splayed them apart for comfort a few minutes ago. It just felt so good he couldn’t help but let a muffled moan escape from beneath the hood, which now felt strangely tight against his face.

He was getting hard. He knew he was because he could feel his head and shaft drag delectably against soft, hairy, moist flesh. It felt like he was grinding against someone, but he was just… sitting there. The thought was enough to get Blaine to become more confused than aroused, but only for a moment. He kept feeling himself getting longer and thicker, inch by stiffening inch dragging delectably along yielding skin that molded around it even as it gave way.

Blaine was too far gone to realize he was getting off on himself, that the tickling between his thighs and the deliciously slow friction of his own hardening erection were intimately related. He only knew heat, and weight, and dampness, and his ever-increasing arousal.

Suddenly another creek, and then a crack, and then a brief fall followed by another larger earthquake, his whole body shaking so violently that he could feel parts of his anatomy pulled in separate directions before finally settling. But it was so odd… it was like the earth had stayed still and what was truly moving was himself.

The bonds holding his wrists and ankles had loosened, and Blaine found he could move his arms and legs, albeit slowly. They were so heavy, just lifting his arm to his face felt like a workout. And the hood was on so tight that it felt like he was pulling a wet sock from his face. Finally removed, he saw he was in a windowless room with a single door and bare walls. It looked institutional, but he couldn’t be sure.

What was far more shocking to Blaine was what he saw at the bottom of his peripheral vision. A flesh-colored mound that as he peered down became all he could see. There was so much he first thought he was in some sort of exercise room with a strange medicine ball, but as he focused red-rimmed eyes he finally understood that all of it… was him.

He was huge. Bigger than the guys at the rally. With one elbow propping him up, his enormous gut sagged to the side and spread out on the ground where Blaine could see the legs of what used to be a metal chair. He realized then that he’d grown so large that he’d broken the chair. And his clothes--he was naked from head to toe, the remnants of his attire scattered to the four corners of the room as though they’d literally exploded off him.

Blaine tossed the hood away and used his now free hand to paw at his gut. He watched it slosh back and forth a few moments before his stoned gaze came to rest on his hands. They were so much bigger than he remembered, so thick and meaty, and so… hairy. That hair traveled up his arms to his shoulders to the pelt that covered his chest and his too enormous, sagging tits. The only part of him that seemed hairless were the eraser head-sized nipples that capped them.

Finally being able to see himself allowed Blaine’s weed-addled mind to understand why he felt such strange friction from where his fat folded around his waist and double chin, how his tits rubbed the massive gut that dominated his view, and why he felt the near-constant jostling of his own mass jiggling with even the slightest movement. And although he couldn’t see it, he could feel his hard cock leaking between his legs, far from view but hardly far from mind.

He was terrified, yes, but he was also just so inexplicably horny. It took Blaine several tries to figure out how best to reach around and maneuver his own bulk to allow him to finally grasp his cock, which felt as thick as the rest of him. Buried in a dense thicket that had become a swamp of sweat and pre-cum, Blaine didn’t even need to resort to spit to lubricate his sausage-like digits.

But just as Blaine had gotten into a rhythm that caused his entire body to vibrate with each pump of his flabby arm, the door opened. Blaine stopped mid-stroke to look up at a man that seemed just as big as he was--maybe even bigger. He recognized him as the suit form the rally, the politician, but he couldn’t remember his name.

The fat man smirked. “Guess it worked,” he said to himself, then called over his shoulder to “let our friend’s guest collect him.” The sound of heavy footsteps preceded the appearance of another guy, the same one from the rally--the one wearing the same shirt as Pete.

“Hey man, you okay? Looks like you might have caught a bit too much backdraft out there.” The voice sounded so familiar, and Blaine tried to concentrate.

“Pete? Is that you?”

The wide face of his friend brightened in a genuine smile of relief. “Yeah man. Looks like you maybe had a bit too much sun or something too. What happened to your clothes?”

“Pete I… What happened to you? What’s going on?”

“What are you talkin’ about, man?” Pete said, expression back to one of concern. “Let’s get you home so we can maybe take care of that thing properly.”

Pete reached down and grasped Blaine’s dick like it wasn’t the first time he’d ever touched his friend’s dick--like it was something they’d done every day for years. Blaine moaned, another burst of pre instantly coating Pete’s mitt as he stroked Blaine playfully.

“There ya go, let’s get you up and moving.” Pet bent down and put Blaine’s arm over his shoulder to help get him to stand. With herculean effort from the both of them, Blaine rose to another bout of uncontrollable jiggling. It was enough to stop him in his tracks as his body rebelled, squirting even more pre on the cave of flesh made of his hanging belly and jutting pubis.

As the two lumbered down the hallway, one relieved, the other confused and leaving a trail of sweat and pre-cum, the man in the suit called after them. “Thanks for your vote on Monday!”