chapter 7 the gym

The next few days followed a similar routine. Bruno would quietly wake up to demolish entire packages of Oreos, and I would lie on the bed, pretending to sleep until I heard the plastic container be delicately placed into the trash bin. I had to make sure his belly had thousands of calories at least within the first hour of the morning. Bruno would then see me wake and insist on going to another food place near campus, always ordering pounds of food to go so we could return to our beds, so he could melt more ice cream, and order me to feed him.

Sometimes we would nap before the gym. Other times we would just walk around the floor, getting to know the other guys. They were a friendly bunch, especially in Bruno’s shadow. There was no doubt that Bruno was not only the largest person on the floor, but maybe the biggest guy they had ever seen.

“Dude, how big are those arms?”

“How tall are you?”

“How much can you bench press?”

“How are the dining halls gonna keep up with feeding all of that?”

At that, Bruno frowned and said, “Honestly, I don’t know.”

My brow creased and I answered, “The dining hall is buffet style, guys. All-you-can-eat. It’s just not all-you-can-take-back-to-your-dorm, though.”

“Really? Oh my God, yes,” said Bruno, his bear paws immediately dropping to rubbing his belly.

The other guys expressed similar satisfaction at the news. And to my pleasant surprise, they began joking with each other about how much they planned to eat, predicting their personal freshman fifteen and looking forward to it. I smiled at how hot all this was.

“Don’t think you’re gonna get off free either, Adrien,” said one of the guys, his eyes flitting to my face and down to my ass rapidly. “That ass is gonna explode!”

The other guys laughed nervously. Whoa, I thought. There was a bit of horniness there.

“Well, we gotta go,” said Bruno, looking at me meaningfully.

“The gym,” I explained.

At the gym, Bruno and I melted into our elements. He lumbered off, package swinging, to the bench press. Upperclassmen parted from his path, partly out of fear, partly out of curiosity to see the freshman giant pile on and defy the weights. I caught a glimpse of Bruno lying down, his chest a mountain of human flesh, his arms flexing and expanding unrestricted from the sleeves they would certainly have burst through.

But I scampered off to the resistance machines, determinedly refusing to meet the excited looks from girls or the frequently cast side-glances of men at my ass, which in its bouncing would swallow as much fabric as it could down my crack until I just had to ignore it.

And always, just as I had lost myself in the motions, eyes closed, counting rep after rep, I’d suddenly feel a change in air pressure and a sudden dimness: Bruno would be standing before me. Or I should say, Bruno’s indent of his belly button and the beer-can-thick hint of his dick would suddenly appear in my face.

“Squat time,” he’d say. “Are you ready?”

“Let’s do it.”

I set myself up under the bar and prepared to squat. Bruno lumbered right behind.

To anyone behind us, I completely disappeared because Bruno silhouette eclipsed me. But to Bruno and myself, with a mirror in front of us, I could see how tiny I was at his center. Even at our narrowest—our shins—he expanded beyond my outline by about nine inches, even though he was directly behind me! Everywhere else I was like a tree at the base of a mountain. Poor Bruno had to squat pretty low to assist me.

“You know,” I said lightly, “I’ve done this before.”

He didn’t answer.

I felt his breath flow softly along my neck then I started when I felt his massive hands enclose my waist like before. I couldn’t help it because I loved it—my ass bulged out to collide once again with his dick. Out of politeness I instantly pulled back, but Bruno grunted and shoved my waist back to his bulge, hard. My feet lifted from the ground so only my toes touched. I felt my ass ripple and I felt Bruno’s dick wedge itself again. He was completely hard. Almost bigger than usual. Instead of the comforting girth of his meat I now felt a new need of his: aggressive and determined.

I looked back at the mirror to see if anyone had seen and gasped at the view:

It was pornographic. Bruno was gigantic, crouched over me, and his pressing of my waist to his crotch had moved my ass and thigh fat left and right so that it seemed like I was just a thin torso encompassed by enormous limbs in every direction. With the pretense of adjusting his stance, he gave two pumps of his crotch against my hole. For the first time upright I felt his plush torso against my lower back, resting atop my butt cheeks, the naked brush of his exposed lower belly against the swell of my fat that escaped my underwear in Bruno’s manhandling.

“God,” I heard him say from so far above, “Look at us.”

In the mirror he discreetly moved one huge palm down my arm to also grasp the bar, further shielding me from view. He kept his eyes on us. He was serious. He adjusted his remaining palm on my waist so that his palm spread further, his fingertips deeper, and then, unbelievably, lifted me the extra inch off the floor so that I was suspended—like a toy—on his crotch. The arm supporting me bulged more than usual with Bruno’s recent lifting.

“You,” he whispered reverently, as if in prayer, “You’re mine.”

He pumped three more times, murmuring “mine, mine mine” in sync. And I flopped helplessly but oh so willingly. Bruno prolonged the last grind so that he could rotate his dick all over my crack, and my balloons began to plop out, but I could only whimper involuntarily. It felt so good.

He drew back and placed me down. With one hand still shielding me, he tucked my cheeks back in. His dick, completely hard, stuck out but was so big and heavy that it lost the battle against gravity and hung downward. Bruno breathed in and out and closed his eyes with his belly pressed against my back and his bulge softened to its usual semi-hard football-sized bulge.

“Let’s get this ass fatter.”