His Undoing

Chapter 1 - Desperate Times

If there was one that college sophomore Connor Melrose could be proud of, it was his health. He had worked hard every day since graduating high school to mold himself into a perfect specimen, the modern-day Adonis. It wasn’t like he was ever unhealthy, per say, but these days he strived for nothing less than utter perfection. He ate clean and worked out, ran marathons, never slept less than 8 hours. But even gods have their vices, and his was growing ever more apparent: gambling. Summer boredom and extra cash made a horrible combination, and by the end of June, the allowance his parents gave him for summer was out. He would have to find a job, and fast, so before his daily runs he began scanning the paper for ads, hoping for openings anywhere.

On the second day, he found something that seemed too good to be true— 40,000 dollars to be a trial patient for two new supplements, one for weight gain, the other for weight loss. The trial was a month long, and he would be paid ten thousand per week. He left a voicemail immediately, and by the time he returned home, he had his answer. He’d been accepted. As a bodybuilder, he was no stranger to weight cycling, and could absolutely make use of both supplements. The genius behind the operation wanted to meet him the very next day.

Connor agreed instantly, and the next morning, headed out to the address that was provided. On the outside, their lab was a dingy back-alley apartment, but on the inside, it was cozy and furnished, equipped with a waiting room. The doctor himself was a kindly man, and a well-established name in the fitness community, a tall, nicely-built man by the name of Dr. Paul Fletcher. Fletcher greeted Connor enthusiastically, and explained the procedures they’d be following. They would induce weight gain, and then weight loss with their supplements, at varying strengths and with varying methods until they landed on one that could be commercially viable.

Connor found himself presented with a page-long contract, and deciding that the money was more than worth any risks he may suffer, skimmed it and hastily signed at the bottom. They wasted no time getting started, and the doctor himself situated Connor inside their trial room. The first method they would try was a combination of injections and orally consumed liquid, Fletcher explained. The injections would induce a greater appetite in the patient, and as a result they would consume more calories to gain weight more efficiently. They had formulated their own version of a mass gainer shake specifically to pair with the injection treatment.

First, they administered the injections to Connor. After a few minutes, he felt himself growing deeply, ravenously hungry. His stomach growled particularly loudly, and so Fletcher began the next phase, fitting Connor’s face with a mask, and attaching a tube to the mask, which snaked up inside the ceiling. Fletcher explained that this was the most efficient way of administering the shake, as it meant they could control the strength and dose. Connor was sat in a cushy chair at least three times larger than himself, allowing him freedom of movement and comfort. They gave him time to relax, and five minutes later, liquid began to fill the tube.

By this point, Connor was absolutely starving, and swallowed the liquid greedily. It had a velvety chocolate taste, but it was considerably thicker than Connor expected, and soon he felt himself filling up. Despite his stomach groaning, he was unable to stop himself, still desperately hungry and sucking up as much of the shake as he could. His stomach ached, filling up to a point he had religiously trained himself to avoid. His distended stomach pushed his shirt up over his belly button, aching with the volume of shake pushed into it. A nurse stepped into the room and administered another shot, and after a couple seconds, the pain began ebbing away into warmth as Connor’s stomach stretched and softened. His jeans started digging into his hips and stomach, and soon, the buttons burst and his muffin-top emerged, forcing the zipper open.

Red, angry marks made themselves apparent where his jeans were doing their best to contain his new fat. His bloated gut surged forward, no trace of his six-pack to be found. His shirt rolled up on top of his hefty stomach, exposing stretch marks and cellulite, and soon even that filled out as his chest began to swell, mounds of fat forming on top of carefully sculpted pecs. It tore open after a minute of this, his new flabby moobs settling on his shelf of a stretch-mark ridden gut, still growing and bloating. The only thing left of it now were the sleeves, clinging like sausage skins to what used to be well-defined biceps. Now, they were flabby chicken-wings, and rapidly swelling, shredding open the sleeves of what was once a flattering t-shirt.

Connor didn’t seem to mind, swallowing down the shake, overwhelmed by hunger and sinking into the warm feeling of filling up his expanding gut. Desperate, he took swallow after swallow, ignoring how his overfilled stomach groaned and gurgled. Every time he began to feel full, he softened, growing and growing until his stomach’s protests turned into cries for more. His designer jeans didn’t last long either, as his thighs ballooned up, cellulite piling onto the trim ass he worked so hard for. They split and tore until they were nothing more than strings, digging into the rapidly adding flab. His thighs began to squish into each other, and his hips expanded outwards, meeting his gut where it started to spill over the sides of the chair. Said chair creaked under his weight, well over triple or even quadruple his original slim 160 pounds.

By the time the liquid stopped, several minutes later, Connor was unrecognizable. His muscular build was completely erased by flab. Removing the mask revealed a wobbling triple-chin, man-tits to rival any modern beauty, and to top it off, a mountainous, gurgling gut that spilled over his vast lap and sagged down towards his knees. Panting and moaning, he rubbed his stomach, until the doctor’s voice came over the intercom.
“Congratulations, Connor. The first trial was a success.”