chapter 22: july

I do eventually get used to the new layout for my apartment, though I find myself watching a LOT more TV than I used to, frequently spending hours parked on the floor in front of it, snacking mindlessly as it plays, not even registering what I'm watching half the time.

I think about my tattoo session a lot, as my new tail heals, how helpless I felt, how used. Strapped down and stripped down and marked and... and...

I try not to think about it, but it's hard not to let my mind drift back, to the pain, and the humiliation, and the... taste... of Maddix.

I don't regret it, not really. I mean... nobody but Jeanie sees me out of clothes, anymore, and she doesn't judge. She likes me like this, likes seeing me stuffed overfull, likes hearing me squeal beneath her. She never stays after we play, and that's fine, she deserves to have a real man who can satisfy her the way she needs to be satisfied, but she's enthusiastic while we're together, and she's started bringing in a second box of doughnuts to work, most days...

Which, I suppose, is why her own middle's continuing to thicken, her breasts to sag, her rear becoming larger and rounder behind her, though not at anywhere near the same rate as my own.

I'm getting more looks at work, now, more people are snickering behind my back, or sneaking glances when they don't think I'm looking. I think people have noticed I'm cycling back and forth between two suits, and they're both getting tight on me, the shirts pulled tighter around my belly, the pants straining to contained my fattened behind. I should shop for new clothes, I know I should, but it seems... wrong somehow. Paul left these for me for a reason, they're the clothes he wants me to have...

Paul has continued weighing me, during my Saturday workouts, and after that first time he's let me keep my panties on during, in case his friends come in while I'm up on the scale, which is kind of him. Paul is always kind to me, he only wants what's best for me. To be honest, I don't know what I'd do without his influence, anymore, making decisions for myself has gotten harder, sometimes his steady hand is the only thing that keeps me on an even keel...

"Don't put your clothes back on." He tells me, as I step down off the scale.

"What?"

"Don 't bother dressing, pig. Your panties cover everything, right? And you're naked around the house, this isn't that much different. You deserve to be comfortable, and that big body of yours is more comfortable soft, and smooth, and as naked as it can be, so let's get you up on that treadmill in what you're wearing now, and see if that helps with your motivation."

And so I do. I go through my workout in nothing but silk and lace panties, socks and running shoes, watching my stretchmarked belly and new tits jiggle and bounce in the wall mirror of my building's gym, blushing beet red and, after a few minutes, moaning in pleasure at the feel of the silk against my skin and the feel of my soft, hairless flab in the open air.

I barely look like a man anymore, every trace of the old me vanishing under a protective layer of soft, sensitive butterfat.

Turns you on.

Makes you hungry.

Work that fat.

"Holy hell!" one of Paul's friends exclaims when the two of them arrive to share his workout, "Well that's unexpected!"

"Sure," Paul tells him, "but really, we work out in nothing but our shorts, this isn't that different, is it?"

"Sure, we do, but we have bodies worth showing off." his other friend comments, peeling off his shirt, revealing big, meaty pecs and a thick, hairy belly of his own. He's gained weight too, in the time I've seen him, and only half of it's been muscle.

"Wow," the first, thinner man says as he peels off his own top, "look at that blubber fly. What are you weighing in at, now, pig?"

"Three hundred thirty seven pounds." I tell him, blushing. I should get down off the treadmill, fetch my own clothes, cover myself, but I can't. My workout isn't done yet.

"Piggy here has gained a hundred seventeen pounds in just over six months." Paul tells his friends, and the three of them laugh, at... at me....

My nipples are hard, and I'm blushing, and for a moment I'm glad my dick's not big enough for my erection to be visible as I jiggle and wobble my fat belly and ass on the treadmill. The three of them circle around behind me, observing every inch of my body as it shakes for them, smirking at what I've let myself become.

"Damn," the fatter, hairier of Paul's friends says as he gets around behind me, "you're right, Paul, that's a fat ass. He really does look like a woman from behind, eh?"

"What can I say?" Paul tells him, "I like big butts. I can not lie."

"The tattoo is cute, though," his thin friend adds, "I mean, I can't believe you convinced him to get it, but it works on him. Let's everyone know..."

"I know, right?" fat and hairy adds, "Hot on him. And hot that he's that willing to just let you..."

"Oh, you ain't seen nothing yet." Paul tells his friends, "Check this out. Cum for me, piggy."

And I do, I cum hard enough that I very nearly fall off the treadmill, gripping the handles as hard as I can to not wind up on the floor in front of these three men, the front of my panties staining with what little actual cum what's left of my manhood can spurt.

"Oh shit! Just on command like that? How long has that been going on?" Thin asks.

"The first time, I figured the attention might be enough to get him there. How'd you like that, piggy? How do you like knowing I can make you cum just by telling you to? How do you like surrendering control to me like that?"

"Feels... feels good, sir."

"Good boy. You deserve to feel good. You deserve to enjoy yourself, to enjoy feeling yourself lose control of yourself. Because that's what you are, isn't it? Out of control?"

"Out of control..."

"Yes. Out of control. Your need for food and sex and humiliation are pushing you, now, driving you, and it's out of your hands. You're out of control, and before long that's going to get you in trouble, isn't it?"

"Out of control..."

"Good boy." He tells me again as my treadmill slows to a stop and I step down, still blushing, still hyper-aware of the three men watching, and how big and soft and femme I look. "Now, now that your workout is over for another week, is there anything you need?"

His fatter, hairier friend slaps my ass, a little painfully, and I jump and let out an oink in spite of myself, in surprise and, by this point, out of instinct. I do, I need... I need so much... but it's a public place, I mean, I don't even know Paul's friends, I can't just... can't just offer...

Can't just beg... so instead I just say.

"Hungry..."

"O f course you are, pig." Paul's voice is so soothing, as he speaks, he makes everything seem so normal, so natural, "You've just had a twenty minute walk on a treadmill, after all. How about you go upstairs, order yourself some takeout, eat 'til you can barely breathe, then fuck yourself with your toy 'til you pass out. How does that sound?

His two friends laugh, again, and I just nod, afraid to make eye contact with any of them in my current state. They go about their workout as I put my clothes back on, ravenously hungry and more aroused than I should be, given that I've just cum. They don't even acknowledge me as I make my way out of the gym, lost in their own conversation as I stumble out into the hall and waddle my ass to the elevator to head back to my own room, for an evening of mindless TV, even more mindless eating, and my toy.

As my elevator lurches into motion, it occurs to me to wonder, at what point did I start to waddle?