Office Growmance- Complete Story

Chapter 1

It was a slow hiring morning at the little warehouse office, and Mike was already there at dawn, slumped in his chair with a stack of shitty resumes spread across his giant beer gut. He wasn't optimistic. The company made those custom disposable burger wrappers for greasy little fast-food joints, and apparently only five desperate people in the whole city wanted the job. Mike sighed, let his belly rise and fall under the wrinkled papers, and waited for the day to suck.

Around nine the rest of the crew rolled in,
loud, laughing, already talking about pussy and football like every other morning. There was Dave and Tony, the warehouse meatheads: big, dumb, married, covered in kids, the kind of guys who once trashed the office Christmas party so bad it took a full year to fix the drywall their wild brats punched holes in. After that disaster Mike banned family events. Staff only. Short.
Boozy. Perfect.

Then there was Ryan. Thirty, single, lean, ripped, always bullshitting with Dave and Tony about women and gym gains, but Mike had caught him staring way too long at the water-cooler guy's thick hanging belly every month when the delivery dude lumbered in with those heavy jugs. Ryan's eyes would glaze, his words would stumble, and he'd suddenly forget how to form sentences. Mike, married but quietly bi as hell, knew that look. He knew hunger when he saw it. Ryan was deep in the closet, playing the straight bro role to perfection, but Mike liked to tease him anyway: stretching so his shirt rode up and showed a hairy roll of gut, or walking past with three donuts stacked in one meaty paw just to watch Ryan's throat bob.

Almost noon. A knock. A cute, nervous kid stood in the doorway, strawberry-blond hair, baby face, wearing a dress shirt and slacks two sizes too big like he'd borrowed them from his dad. Husky build, wide hips, thick thighs, chest that looked strong until you realized it was just soft pudge.

"Hi sir. I'm Mark Evans," the kid said, offering a sweaty hand.

"Mike Dickerson. Owner." Mike gave him the firm grip and caught Mark's eyes flick down to the massive dome of belly resting on Mike's thighs, then snap back up, cheeks flaming.

The interview was a disaster. Mark barely graduated high school, five years of flipping burgers and smoking weed in the walk-in freezer. Mike could smell the blunt on him, could see the red glassy eyes. But something clicked. This lazy, chubby stoner parked next to a bottomless donut table every day? That was a recipe. And Ryan would have the best seat in the house.
Mike leaned back, chair groaning, belly straining every button. "Where do you see yourself in five years?"

Mark shrugged. "Uh... stable job. More money. Something where I'm not on my feet all day. Slower pace."

Mike smirked and patted his own gut so it jiggled. "Careful with desk jobs. Easy to end up looking like this."

Mark's face went tomato-red but he laughed. "I got no problem with that. None at all."

Mike grinned wider. "Ryan's the only one who stays skinny around here. Guy's got iron will. Me? I sneak drive-thru every night before my wife smells the fries on me."
Mark laughed again, that low husky chuckle that made Mike's cock twitch under the desk.

They talked salary, data entry, easy spreadsheets, Ryan training him. Mike offered the job on the spot. Mark practically vibrated with excitement.

Monday Mark showed up in the same oversized interview clothes and sat right in front of Ryan, desk positioned so the donut boxes were literally an arm's reach away. Mike had moved the table himself over the weekend. Ryan noticed but said nothing. Within ten minutes Mark was already reaching, grabbing two glazed, setting them beside his keyboard. They vanished in under sixty seconds while he stared blankly at the screen. Ryan watched, biting his lip, half-hard already.

The routine locked in fast. Mark rolled in with a bag of breakfast sandwiches, demolished them, then grazed donuts until lunch. Ryan started offering to drive, double bacon cheeseburgers, large fries, milkshakes, then buffet runs where Mark would stack three plates high and go back four times. Afternoon was more donuts, cookies Mike "accidentally" ordered extra of, then home to giant pasta pots drowning in butter, garlic bread by the loaf, whole pizzas. Easily twelve thousand calories a day. No gym. No walks. Just eating and sitting.

Two months in Mark hit three hundred. His interview outfit finally fit, then immediately started splitting at the seams. Three-fifty by month four. Four hundred by month six. Mike upped it to five boxes of donuts in the morning, three more after lunch. Mark never questioned it. He just ate. Constantly. One hand typing, the other wrist-deep in a box.
His body bloomed. Huge soft tits that bounced when he walked. Wide hips. Ass so fat the chair creaked every time he sat. Belly sagged lower and lower until it swallowed his crotch completely. Double, no, triple chin that wobbled when he talked. Dave and

Tony started calling him "Tits" behind his back, then to his face. They stared openly now, dicks visibly thickening in their work pants whenever Mark waddled past.
Ryan jerked off in the bathroom three times a day thinking about Mark getting so obese his own cock disappeared forever, buried under rolls so deep he'd never fuck anyone, never even touch himself again. Just eat. Just grow. Just become a helpless, jiggling blob that existed to be stuffed and fucked.

Birthdays became obscene. Sheet cakes the size of tabletops. Ten large pizzas. Buckets of wings. Trays of brownies so fudgy they left chocolate smeared across Mark's chins. Dave and Tony would joke about his "bottomless pit," but their eyes never left his chest while he inhaled food like oxygen. One party Mark ate an entire sheet cake by himself, two full trays of lasagna disappeared down his throat while Ryan kept sliding more plates in front of him.

When he finally couldn't stand, Dave and Tony half-carried, half-dragged him to Ryan's car. His gut hung so low it slapped his thighs with every step.

The holiday party was the breaking point.
Mike and Ryan turned the office into a buffet of sin: six sheet cakes, two cheesecakes, mountains of chips, eight kinds of dip, platters of wings, ribs, sliders, eight pizzas, cookies, brownies, donuts by the dozen. Beer tubs. Liquor. Dave and Tony walked in, saw the spread, and just laughed.

"Gotta feed the hog."

Mark arrived late in sweatpants and a stretched-out tee. The second he stepped inside everyone smelled him, weed, sweat, hunger. Gus no, Dave immediately started groping. Slapped Mark's ass so hard the cheek rippled for ten seconds. "Look at this fuckin' dump-truck."

They got him drunk fast. Beers replaced the second he finished one. Food pushed into his hands, then directly into his mouth. Dave kept grabbing handfuls of Mark's tits, squeezing, jiggling, pinching fat nipples until they poked through the wet cotton like thumbs. Mark moaned around mouthfuls of pizza, eyes glassy.

Shirts came off. Mark's first, Dave yanked it over his head, leaving him bare from the waist up. Huge pale tits swaying, nipples dark and puffy, belly hanging over the waistband of his sweats like an apron of lard. Dave stripped too tattooed, thick, hairy, cock already straining his jeans so hard the zipper looked ready to burst.

They bent Mark over the table. Face-first into leftover frosting and pizza grease. Dave yanked the sweats down. That ass two giant pale globes, red from sitting all day, quivering. Dave spread him open, spat on the hole, then fed the fat head of his cock in slow.

"Relax, pig," Dave growled. "Open for Daddy."

Mark whimpered, then moaned deep when the head popped past the ring. Dave sank in inch by inch, grunting, until his hairy balls rested against Mark's taint. Then he started thrusting, slow at first, then harder, making the whole table shake. Food splattered. Mark's tits slapped the surface with every stroke.

Ryan stepped up front. Mark opened his mouth like a baby bird. Ryan fed him cock. Mark sucked like he was starving, tongue swirling, throat working, moaning around the shaft while Dave pounded his ass so hard the desk legs screeched across the floor.

They talked filthy the whole time.

"Gonna breed you, pig. Gonna knock you up."

"Keep eating. Get so fat your dick disappears forever."

"Dave wants you bed-bound. Wants to jerk off on your rolls every morning."

Mark came hands-free, tiny cock spurting uselessly into the fat pad that used to be his groin. Dave roared, slammed in to the hilt, and unloaded, pulse after pulse, flooding Mark so full cum leaked out around the shaft and ran down thick thighs.

After that there was no going back.

A year later Mike called Ryan and Mark into the office.

"We bought a house. One-story. Wide doors. Reinforced floors. You two move in tomorrow. Mark works from home your only job is eating. Ryan, your job is feeding. Supply. Care. Whatever it takes."

Mark blinked. "What if I-"

Mike slid a triple-chocolate donut across the desk.

Mark ate it in three bites.

Mike smiled. "Good boy. You've got a ten-thousand-calorie daily minimum. No upper limit. Ryan you keep him gaining. Even when he can't move. Even when he cries. Even when he begs. You force it. Call Dave if he fights. Dave knows how to handle pigs."
Ryan's cock throbbed in his jeans.

"Get him so fat we need a crane to weigh him," Mike said quietly. "That's the job now. All the way. Understand?"

Ryan nodded. "All the way."

Mark just licked chocolate off his fingers, already reaching for the next donut Mike had waiting.

Moving day they carried Mark into the new house on a furniture dolly. He was already over six-fifty. The fridge was stocked floor to ceiling. Freezer full of pizzas. Pantry stuffed with cases of snack cakes. A feeding pump sat in the corner for when chewing got too hard.

Ryan locked the door behind them, dropped his pants, and pushed his cock between Mark's soft tits while he shoved the first funnel of heavy cream down that greedy throat.

The pig was home.

And the feeding had only just begun.