Steve's Demise 🥵

Chapter 1

I should have known something was wrong when Sasha showed up at my dorm with three pizzas and that look on her face.

We'd been friends since we were kids. Like actual kids. Elementary school. And yeah she'd always been weird about food. Even back then she'd pack extra snacks and watch me eat them with this intense focus that made me uncomfortable but I was too young to really understand why. She'd bring cookies to my house and sit there smiling while I ate the whole plate. My mom thought it was sweet. Thought Sasha was just a generous kid.

I knew better, even then. There was something off about the way she watched. The way she'd lean in close when I was chewing. The way she'd touch my stomach sometimes, just a quick press with her fingers and laugh.

But we were friends. Best friends really. And when you're a kid you don't question that stuff too hard.

College was different.

I was a freshman at Long Beach State, living in the dorms, trying to figure out what the hell I was doing with my life. Sasha had gotten into the same school. Different major but same campus. She texted me the day after move-in.

"Want to get dinner?"

Sure. Why not. It'd be nice to have a familiar face around.

She took me to this all-you-can-eat buffet place off campus. The kind with the sneeze guards and the heat lamps and the fried chicken that's been sitting there since lunch. I loaded up a plate. Normal amount. She looked disappointed.

"That's it?"

"I mean, I can go back."

"You should go back." She was smiling but her eyes were doing that thing. That focused thing. "I want to see you really enjoy yourself."

I laughed it off. Went back for seconds. Then thirds because she kept encouraging me. Kept saying I looked good, I should eat more, college is stressful and I deserved to treat myself. By the time we left I was uncomfortably full and she was practically glowing.

That became our thing. Two, three times a week she'd text me. Want to grab food? Want to order in? I made too much pasta come help me finish it.

I started gaining weight. Not a lot at first. Ten pounds. Fifteen. My jeans got a little tight. I figured it was normal. Freshman fifteen right? Everyone gains weight in college.

Sasha noticed. Of course she noticed.

"You're filling out," she said one night, reaching over to pat my stomach. We were in my dorm room. She'd brought takeout. Chinese food. Way too much of it. "It looks good on you."

I felt my face get hot. "I should probably hit the gym or something."

"Why?" She pushed another container toward me. "You look better like this. More... substantial."

Substantial. What the fuck kind of word was that.

But I ate the food. And the next time she brought food I ate that too.

By the end of freshman year I'd gained forty pounds. My clothes didn't fit. I had to buy new jeans, new shirts, everything. I felt slow and heavy and weird in my own body. My roommate made a couple comments. My mom noticed over summer break and got that concerned look on her face.

Sasha loved it.

Sophomore year she got more aggressive.

She'd show up at my dorm with bags of fast food. Burgers, fries, milkshakes. She'd sit on my bed and watch me eat and her hand would rest on my thigh, or my stomach, and she'd smile that smile.

"Keep going," she'd say. "You're doing so good."

And here's the fucked up part. I liked the attention. I liked that she was paying attention to me. I'd never had a girlfriend. Never really had anyone look at me the way Sasha looked at me. Even if it was weird. Even if some part of me knew it was wrong.

I kept eating.

One night, middle of fall semester, she brought the three pizzas.

"I can't eat three pizzas," I said.

"Sure you can." She set them on my desk. "I believe in you."

"Sasha seriously."

"I'll help." She opened the first box. Pepperoni. The smell hit me and my stomach growled even though I'd eaten lunch like two hours ago. "Come on. Just try."

I ate one slice. Then another. She kept handing them to me, kept encouraging me and somewhere around slice five I realized I was hard.

Like painfully hard.

She noticed. Of course she fucking noticed.

Her hand slid up my thigh. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." My voice came out strangled.

"You sure?" Her fingers brushed over the bulge in my jeans. "Because it seems like you're really enjoying yourself."

I should have stopped her. Should have said something. But I didn't. I just sat there frozen while she unzipped my jeans and pulled my dick out.

"Keep eating," she said.

I picked up another slice with shaking hands.

She started stroking me. Slow at first. Then faster. Her other hand pushed the pizza box closer.

"Finish the slice."

I finished it. Grabbed another. I was so full I felt sick but I couldn't stop. Her hand felt too good. The pressure was building and I was gasping and she was smiling.

"Good boy," she whispered. "You're doing so good."

I came all over her hand and my shirt and I dropped the pizza slice and just sat there breathing hard, feeling like I'd just crossed some line I couldn't uncross.

Sasha wiped her hand on a napkin. "See? I knew you could do it."

After that it became a pattern.

She'd bring food. I'd eat. She'd touch me. I'd come. Sometimes she'd blow me while I was eating. Sometimes she'd just jerk me off. Once she climbed on top of me, still fully clothed and rode me while I finished a burger. I came in my pants like a fucking teenager and she laughed.

I gained another thirty pounds by winter break.

My mom cried when she saw me. Actually cried. Said I needed to take care of myself, I was going to ruin my health, what was I doing.

I told her I was fine. I'd lose it. It was just stress eating.

Sasha texted me every day over break. Sent me pictures of food. Told me she missed me. Told me she couldn't wait to see me again.

I jerked off to her texts and hated myself for it.

Spring semester she moved into an off-campus apartment. One bedroom. She invited me over constantly.

"It's easier here," she said. "More private."

More private meant she could do whatever she wanted.

She started cooking for me. Huge meals. Pasta with cream sauce. Fried chicken. Casseroles loaded with cheese. She'd sit across from me at her little kitchen table and watch me eat every bite.

"You're getting so big," she'd say and her hand would slide under the table to palm my dick through my jeans. "I love it."

I was up to two hundred and thirty pounds. I'd started college at one seventy. My thighs rubbed together when I walked. My stomach hung over my belt. I had tits. Actual tits. I couldn't see my dick when I looked down.

And I couldn't stop.

Every time I tried to say no, tried to tell Sasha I needed to stop she'd touch me and I'd forget why I was resisting. She'd stroke me or suck me or let me *** and my brain would just shut off.

One night, late in the semester she sat me down on her couch.

"I want to try something," she said.

"What kind of something?"

She pulled out a knife. Small one. Kitchen knife.

"What the fuck Sasha."

"Relax." She held out her hand, palm up. "I just need a little blood."

"Are you insane?"

"Do you trust me?"

I should have said no. Should have gotten up and left. But I just sat there like an idiot while she pricked her finger with the knife. A bead of blood welled up.

"Your turn," she said, holding the knife out to me.

"Why?"

"Because I want to make sure you're mine." She smiled. "Officially."

"That's crazy."

"Is it?" She leaned in close. Her hand slid between my legs. "Don't you want to be mine Steve?"

I took the knife. Pricked my finger. It stung.

She pressed her finger to mine. Blood to blood.

"Say you're mine," she whispered.

"I'm yours."

Something shifted. I felt it. Like a lock clicking into place inside my chest. Sasha's smile widened.

"Good boy."

That night she fed me until I couldn't move. Literally couldn't move. I was lying on her couch, my stomach so distended I looked pregnant and she was straddling me, riding my dick while she fed me cake with her fingers.

"Swallow," she'd say, and I'd swallow.

"More," she'd say, and I'd open my mouth.

I came three times. She didn't stop until the cake was gone and I was crying from how full I was.

"Perfect," she said, climbing off me. "You're perfect."

I couldn't get up. Had to sleep on her couch. Woke up the next morning feeling like I'd been hit by a truck.

Sasha made me breakfast. Pancakes. Eggs. Bacon. Sausage. Hash browns. Orange juice and coffee and a protein shake.

"I can't," I said.

"You can." She sat down next to me. "You will."

And I did. Because something in me couldn't say no anymore. Couldn't resist. The blood thing. Whatever she'd done. It was like she'd flipped a switch in my brain.

I gained fifteen pounds in two weeks.

My clothes didn't fit at all anymore. I had to buy 3XL shirts. Size 42 jeans. I was sweating all the time. Out of breath from walking across campus. People stared.

Sasha loved every second of it.

She started taking pictures. Me eating. Me shirtless. Me bent over her bed while she fucked me with a strap-on and called me her fat pig.

I should have been humiliated. And I was. But I was also so fucking turned on I couldn't think straight.

Summer came. I didn't go home. Told my mom I had a summer job. Stayed in Long Beach. Stayed with Sasha.

She fed me every day. Multiple times a day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks. She'd wake me up in the middle of the night with food. I'd eat half-asleep while she jerked me off.

I hit two hundred and eighty pounds. Then three hundred.

My body was unrecognizable. My stomach hung down to my thighs. My tits were bigger than some girls'. My ass was huge. My face was round and puffy. I had a double chin. A triple chin.

I couldn't fit in normal chairs anymore. Couldn't fit in my old clothes. Could barely fit through doorways.

Sasha would run her hands over my body and moan. Actually moan.

"You're so fucking fat," she'd whisper and then she'd push me onto the bed and ride me until we both came.

I was addicted. To the food. To her. To the way she made me feel even though I knew it was destroying me.

Junior year started and I didn't go back to classes. Couldn't. I was too big. Too slow. Too embarrassed.

Sasha didn't care. She liked me at home. Liked having me available whenever she wanted.

She started doing this thing where she'd touch my stomach and I'd feel... weird. Like something was moving under my skin. Shifting. And I'd get fuller. Heavier.

"What are you doing?" I asked once.

"Making you perfect," she said.

I was three hundred and fifty pounds. Then four hundred.

I couldn't stand for more than a few minutes without my back hurting. Couldn't walk more than twenty feet without getting winded. Couldn't shower without help.

Sasha helped. She'd wash me, her hands sliding over every roll and fold and then she'd dry me off and lead me back to bed and feed me.

Always feeding me.

One night she brought out a funnel.

"No," I said. "No way."

"Yes way." She smiled. "Open up."

"Sasha please."

"You're mine remember? You said so. Blood pact." She tapped my lips with the funnel. "Open."

I opened.

She poured some kind of shake down the funnel. Thick. Sweet. I had to swallow fast to keep from choking. She poured another. And another.

My stomach swelled. I could feel it stretching. Growing. I was hard as a rock and she knew it.

She set the funnel down and climbed onto the bed. Straddled my face.

"Keep drinking," she said and lowered herself onto my mouth.

I drank and licked and she ground against my face until she came, shaking and gasping, and then she moved down and rode my dick while she poured more shake down my throat.

I came so hard I saw stars.

Four hundred and fifty pounds.

I couldn't get out of bed without help. Couldn't dress myself. Couldn't wipe my own ass.

Sasha did everything. Fed me. Cleaned me. Fucked me.

"You're mine," she'd say. "All mine. My first."

My first. Like there were going to be others.

I asked her about it once. She just smiled.

"Maybe," she said. "Would you like that? Would you like to watch me do this to someone else?"

I didn't answer. Didn't know how to answer.

Five hundred pounds.

My body was enormous. Grotesque. I had rolls on top of rolls. My stomach was a massive apron of fat that hung down past my knees when I stood. My thighs were so big I couldn't bring my legs together. My arms were thick and heavy and useless.

I couldn't see my dick anymore. Couldn't reach it. Sasha had to dig through the fat to find it when she wanted to get me off.

She still fed me. Every day. Multiple times a day.

I'd given up fighting. Given up resisting. I just ate whatever she gave me and came whenever she touched me and tried not to think about what I'd become.

One day, late fall she told me we were going somewhere.

"Where?" I asked. I was lying in bed. I was always lying in bed now.

"To meet a friend." She smiled. "I think you'll like her."

"I can't go anywhere."

"Sure you can. I'll help."

It took an hour to get me dressed. Sweatpants. 6XL shirt. Shoes I could barely squeeze my feet into. Another hour to get me out to her car. I had to sit in the back seat because I didn't fit in the front.

"Oh hey Jess," I mumbled as Sasha led me through the door.

Sasha had told me all about Jessica and I knew Jessica had heard plenty about me too. We had even met briefly once before but back then I was not waddling around like a beached sea lion. Now I was shuffling into her living room, sweating through my giant shirt, carrying well over five hundred pounds of miserable suffocating blubber.

Jessica was sitting on the couch. She took one look at me and went completely pale, putting two and two together.

"Why are you here?" she choked out.

"Well Jess, as you know, you were around 200 pounds when we started this," Sasha said, sounding way too happy about the whole thing. "You've gained about fifty pounds in the last ten hours or so. So let's see what we can do now! How much do you want to lose Steve?"

Sasha guided me over toward a heavy-duty scale resting on the floor. I stepped onto it, wincing as the platform creaked under my bulk. The red digital readout blinked and locked in at 523.4 pounds.

I stood there rubbing my sweaty hands together, totally unable to look Jessica in the eyes. I was mortified. Deep down I felt terrible about what was about to happen but I was also sickeningly desperate to not be trapped under all this weight anymore. Even if I wanted to back out the blood pact hummed in my veins, making it completely impossible to disobey whatever Sasha wanted.

"I... I um... want to be around 250 pounds if possible," I said sheepishly.

"So a total transfer of 273 pounds? Are you sure Steve?" Sasha beamed, grinning ear to ear. "You'd be burdening Jessica with 273 pounds of your fat. Forever! Are you ok with that?"

While she said it Sasha moved in close. She grabbed me all over, digging both hands into my sides, squeezing my thick waist rolls and jiggling the huge slab of my hanging belly to make me feel as gross as humanly possible.

The blood pact pulsed hot behind my ribs, leaving no room to argue and the thought of dumping the weight was just too tempting.

"Y... yes Sasha," I said, staring hard at the carpet.

"Then place your hand on her foot Steve. Make her as big as a whale!"

I reached down with a trembling hand and gripped Jessica's bare foot.

The moment skin met skin a brutal sucking sensation hit me. It felt like someone pulled a plug at the bottom of my stomach. The crushing heaviness in my chest and gut started draining away at top speed. Wave after wave of dense greasy weight ripped right out of my torso and thighs, funneling straight through my arm and into her.

I let out a ragged gasp as the suffocating pressure melted away. My bloated belly deflated, my sides shrank and my stretched skin suddenly hung loose and empty as 273 pounds vanished from my frame.

Right in front of me Jessica inflated like a balloon. The fat poured into her body, blowing up her hips, swelling her legs and piling massive wobbling rolls onto her stomach. Her clothes ripped at the seams as she expanded into a massive round mountain of dough. She looked down at herself in pure terror, gasped for air and then passed out cold from the sheer shock of it all.

I pulled my hand back and stumbled upright. I was still soft and heavy at two hundred and fifty pounds but I could actually breathe again. I looked at Jessica buried beneath my fat, then at Sasha's delighted hungry expression, feeling a sick mix of relief and horror at what we had just done.