The leprechaun: part 2 of 3

Chapter 7

At 12:45 PM, after his deepest sleep in years, Patrick awoke to few surprises. The first, was that, despite the excessive alcohol he consumed the night before, he felt refreshed, and energetic; like a child, eager to watch Saturday morning cartoons. Briefly, he wondered if Erin's magic had cured his hangover, but seconds later, he realized, that, the second surprise would have had a little more to do with it.

He felt constrained; like he'd been mummified, crammed into a small sarcophagus. The explanation for this was revealed when he pulled the covers away, and saw the 400 lb body he possessed, trapped in sleepwear fit for a man half his size. Either he had slept so soundly that his clothes didn't tear, or his clothes were so tight, that, they held him in place, making it impossible to toss or turn.

At least his body mass had absorbed the whiskey, he thought.

It was the first day of his deepest, darkest fantasy, and was just as exciting as the Christmas mornings from childhood. It was time to see how he looked and felt as a fat man, but his excitement moved too fast for his new body. Unable to perform the sit-up he normally did to get out of bed, he now had to rely on momentum to roll out. It spooked him briefly, but this was a feeling he'd wondered about for many years, and if it got to be too much, he could always wish it away, and enjoy his billions.

Already resting on his left side, he challenged the constraints of his gym shorts, and swung his right leg over the left edge of the bed. The shorts would loudly split down the back, nearly breaking his concentration, almost causing him to spill onto the floor.

Once he had his footing, he was once again distracted, for his new double-chin now pressed into his moobs, entirely burying his neck, and hindering his breathing. Resting on his belly, and strangled by his own fat, he pushed himself up with his hands. Elevated now, he could breathe easier, but even in this bizarre variation of upward dog, his belly never left the bed, thus breaking his focus with delicious arousal.

He was almost free. All he had left to do was slide his left leg around to join his right. He'd succeed, but not without challenge, for his thighs now felt crowded. His own fat was pushing his knees further apart than he was used to, and while he so desperately wanted to see how it appeared, his big belly obstructed his view.

With a slow push from the bed, he transferred his weight to his feet, and rolled his spine back until he stood upright. His tank top was now a tight bra while his gym shorts were obliterated, but the waistband, now buried deep under belly fat, was too strong to break, causing painful discomfort.

There was no time to waste, he had to see how it all looked. Walking was out of the question, for his fattened thighs pushed his feet further apart. Carefully, he held his arms out for balance, leaned on one foot, and swung the other in front of it, getting a steady stride started.

This waddle felt like a great achievement, parallel to whenever he outdid himself at the gym. His great belly shook with each step, a persistent reminder of how fat he'd become. The sensation was so overwhelming, that, he nearly forgot where his new body was headed, and why.

After just a few steps, he arrived before the vanity mirror in his bathroom, where anticipation and arousal continued to build. He was anxious to see how he looked, but suddenly remembered the 550 lb scale he kept under his bathroom sink; the same scale that came out for pleasurable company. Feeling the weight was one thing, but seeing it on his scale was another, and he was more excited for this number than he'd ever been with the feedee partners of his past.

Retrieving it from the cabinet was no simple task, as he now had several inches of thick belly fat in his way. With his left hand, he gripped the edge of the bathroom countertop, and with his feet spread apart, his right hand reached for the scale beneath the sink. Thankfully, it was a talking scale, because history had shown, that, hearing the number was more stimulating than just reading it.

"Hello", its robotic voice said. "I'm ready."

Patrick was ready, too, but his body was not; he was still 'learning' how to be a fat. Bracing the bathroom wall, he carefully stepped onto the scale, bringing his feet as close together as his thighs would allow. Once he was firmly on his feet, he pulled his hand from the wall, and closed his eyes.

"Four...hundred...and...three...point ...six pounds", the scale said, and immediately after, Patrick felt something brush up under his belly.

It was his own penis, now fully erect over the great news of weighing 403.6 lbs, and hiding under whatever was left of his gym shorts.

Bracing the wall once more, Patrick stepped back, eyes still closed. Keeping them closed, he took a moment to enjoy his feelings of naughtiness, accomplishment, and freedom; the same feelings he had when his own feedee partners weighed in, only heightened now. Was this common for all feedees? Did they all experience this when the scale told their tale? Or was the reaction his, and his alone, while his partners were simply amused by his arousal? This was not the time for such questions, because Erin's magic came through, and Patrick could wait no longer to examine his new form.

Opening his eyes and looking at his mirror, he did not recognize the fat man that looked back, nor did he see the stiff penis that brushed up under his belly. Desperate to see it, he grabbed hold of the fat rolls now covering his pelvis, and lifted his belly up as far as he could. Sure enough, his penis was there, so engorged that it might have even stood straight up, had it not been for his tight shorts holding it down...or was his fat pad to blame?

The fat pad, the big belly, the weight, it was all stimulating, but not quite as much as the feeling of becoming the man he was meant to be. This felt right---like he was born for it---and it would no longer be denied.

He let go of his belly. As it dropped, its weight pulled him forward slightly. The bounce and jiggle sent chills up his spine, while his cheeks were fully blushed, and pushed out by his lustrous grin.

Now standing sideways before the mirror, he examined how far out his belly could reach. Its pronounced arch must have pushed out from his spine by two feet, maybe more, and thick layers of plush fat now wrapped around the muscle tone in his legs and buttocks, producing a strong, statuesque look. Without thought, he grabbed his belly again, and firmly shook it. Up and down. Left and right. He was becoming entranced. Shake after shake, he enjoyed the feel and sight of his own blubber, rippling and jumping.

The look, the sensation, the pride of being fatter than the average man, and even fatter than some of the women he'd dated...it stimulated him with a force he had never felt before. Bloated, taut, and rigid, his loins begged for release, but alas, his torn shorts weren't easily removed.

Why not prolong the stimulation, he thought. Facing forward now, elevated belly in his hands, he leaned over the bathroom counter, and dropped his belly into the sink. Unbothered by the cold porcelain, he desperately repositioned his pelvis, and tugged at his belly, hoping to fill the sink entirely. Alas, there would be no victory over the sink on this day, but before he pull his belly back out, a third hand snaked its way around it, giving it a gentle pat, and a soft, sultry voice would then be heard.

"You'll fill that sink tomorrow, fat man."

It was Erin. Goodness knew how long she was standing there, spying him as he admired the gift made possible by her magic.

"Let's get ya out o’these clothes", she said, taking his hand, and leading him back to the bedroom.

Hearing those words---especially in the gentle, seductive tone she used---normally would have thrilled Patrick, but in this scenario, he was embarrassed. Erin, to his knowledge, was not a fat admirer, and was offering to help remove his tight clothing because he was unable to do it himself. He felt helpless, and at her mercy, and wondered if this wish was a smart one. That slightest hint of regret had turned his arousal into shame and frustration, and by the time they had reached the bed, his raging erection had been reduced to a limp semi.

"It's okay, darlin'", Erin said. "Ya didn't see this comin'. I'm going to help ya."

She spoke like a loving mother, helping him to his feet after a bad spill from his bicycle. There was no trace of judgment in her voice; no 'I told you so'. He was calm now---safe---and whatever would come over the next few days, Erin would be there, and would have his back.

"Hold up yer arms and lean forward, big boy", she said, playfully sliding her finger down his plump left cheek. Was she enjoying this? As he pondered, Patrick did as he was told. Erin grabbed at the bottom of his tank top, gently pulling it over his head, and off his body.

The first half of the job was done, but that was the easy part. The second would be quite a challenge, as the waistband of his torn shorts had far less give, and still held tightly under his belly.

Erin dropped to her knees, and with her left hand, she lifted his belly while her right tried to find the waistband. She succeeded, but the garment would not budge. Her hand continued to explore, trying to pull his shorts down from several different spots along his waist. The valiant effort set forth wave after wave of jiggle and ripple, from the bottom of his belly to the tips of his moobs. Such a wonderful sensation, he thought, and found himself closing his eyes, feeling light as air; his entire body slowly rocking back and forth. Alas, the shorts would not move. His penis, once again stiffening, felt a little pinch, bringing him back to reality.

"I don't think this is helping", Erin said with a smirk.

"No, probably not", joked Patrick. "You'll have to cut me out. There's a pair of scissors in the cutlery block in the kitchen."

Erin, with hungry eyes, winked at Patrick as she left the bedroom. It was cute, but also concerning. By her own admission, Erin took advantage of men who deserved it. Is that what was happening here? Did he deserve whatever she was up to? Or did the proud, lustful howls of his inner feedee awaken her inner feeder? Maybe she was just trying to make 'fat problems' easier to solve, hoping he would learn something over the next few days.

The truth might yet reveal itself, but first, he needed out of these shorts, and Erin had returned with the scissors. With the front of his shorts tightly locked under his belly, it was a foregone conclusion that she'd need to cut from behind. Carefully, she slid the blade under the waistband, and with a few snips, she cut him loose.

Instant relief. Finally, he was free from his prison. Patrick turned around, and looked Erin in the eyes as he thanked her for her help. Erin glowed in response, appreciative of his gratitude.

"So", she said, "I don't suppose it's acceptable to waddle around like a naked babe, is it?"

"Depends on your age, and how big your tits are", joked Patrick, thinking about the many drunken college girls who bared their breasts on Fremont Street, while wicked men surrounded them.

"Tell ya what, then", she said, with eyes glowing bright green. "This one's on me, because you're a nice Irish lad."

Erin then nodded to the bed behind him. Patrick turned to see what she was looking at. Waiting for him on his bed was a size 4X polo shirt---green, of course---with a size 52 pair of black slacks, and a belt big enough to hold them up.

In that instant, Patrick came to the grim realization that not one garment in his wardrobe would fit him at his current size. Again, he was at this leprechaun's mercy, and she had just done him a tremendous kindness. With a semi still jutting from his crotch, he felt amorous enough to spin around and kiss her. Before he could, a large, disturbing growl had sounded from inside his belly, reminding him that his fatter body required more food. Immediately.

"Get cleaned up and get dressed", she commanded. "You're takin' me around Las Vegas today, but first, let's get ya fed."