Zombie Chub

Chapter 1

“No,” Calvin said, as patiently as he could manage. “I don’t want to meet your girlfriend’s bestie. I’m sorry, dating’s not my thing at the moment.” Because, like, we’re in the freaking zombie apocalypse!

Even in a zompoc safe zone, he thought, you can’t escape. He got on reasonably well with the other survivors, you kind of had to, when you might be the only people not shuffling and moaning in the entire city. But there would always be someone keen to help you fix your love life. He waited for the next question.

“So, uh, you gay?” Scott asked. He was Cal’s present partner on watch duty atop the makeshift wall they’d put together out of cars, building site materials and the odd shipping container. Cal liked him well enough; he was younger only mid twenties to Cal’s tough, tanned thirty four, but everyone had something to talk about these days – how they’d survived. There was little chance they’d have this in common, though…

“Because I think Rafe’s gay. You know him? Tall guy, glasses, not much older than you.”

Cal scoffed, making it sound easy, not too wired. “Like I’m telling you about my sex life, dude.”

He knew who Scott meant all right and for him there wasn’t a question. Rafe had tentatively come on to him not long ago and Cal had put him off as gently as he could. There was nothing wrong with Rafe; he was fairly good looking, fit, intelligent...but he didn’t set off any sparks. Cal wondered what Scott might say if he just came out with it. Rafe’s just way too thin.

“Give it a rest,” he added, before Scott could say anything else. “You’re worse than a old lady.”

Cal had been a truck driver before the zompoc; now he worked to maintain the camp’s vehicles, which ran on scavenged fuel. But unless they could find a way to prolong the useful life of gas, they’d be back to horses and buggies before too long. Still, no need now to go to the gym to stay in shape. Cal did stay in shape, but now it was everyday life that took care of that. What he liked in a partner though, what he wasn’t about to tell anyone, was something very, very different from himself.

He still remembered the last night of fun he’d had, before everything kicked off. He’d met the guy through one of the chub networks, he’d posted that he wanted a “fit stud to drill him,” and after a while of messaging to check things were genuine, Cal had gone to an apartment downtown and found a deliciously gasping, near-naked fatty who’d only just been able to get out of his chair to answer the door.

He had barely bothered with the preliminaries before he pressed Ted [or Fred] down to the floor on his back and fucked him thoroughly, hands gripping and roaming over the heaving lard of his body. Between five and six hundred pounds, at a guess, a heart attack waiting to happen, yet eagerly devouring the cakes Cal had brought him, even as Cal satisfied him on the other end.

Cal had had every intention of going back, as Ted had begged him to do, lying on his back, huge legs spread, with his fat rolls almost covering his face, while Cal tilted him back and penetrated him. He could still hear Ted’s breathless cries of pleasure. But before he could, the world went to hell, and he expected that along with so many, Ted had died in that apartment. Unable to run, or even to waddle past a few laboured steps – the thought of that waddle went straight to Cal’s dick – the superchub would have had no chance. And that meant his love life, so called, was pretty well doomed. You were limited when you liked fat men and when the whole population around you was short of food and staying fit with more physical activity than they’d ever expected to need to do.

“I’m gonna sign up to do some salvaging,” Scott commented, dragging him from his thoughts. Just as well; Cal was definitely hard now as he remembered that last night, and he didn’t want any questions about that. “Not that I don’t appreciate being here, you know, but this is worse than being a bouncer.”

“Don’t think so, dude. At least the clubbers weren’t going to eat your brains.”

*
Maybe Scott’s words had prompted him to sign up for the patrols. If so, he owed Scott more of a debt than the other man would ever know.

It had led him to this apartment block which they were clearing. Not so many zombies, not beyond the first floor, but some supplies in places where the people had ventured out to look for help, or because they just didn’t believe what was going on. Even small pickings were valuable, when you added them together, and there were at least a hundred apartments in this building. Cal had begun to think, though, that this was a mistake.

No fresh air, in fact the air stank. Nothing interesting; you just grabbed anything edible, threw it into a bag, set it outside the door, went along to the next apartment. Another team member took the bags out to the vehicles and so on. More stood in the corridors with weapons, in case the clearance team had missed a zombie, one which had stayed unaccountably quiet.

There was one moment where he’d heard voices calling out and grateful sobbing from some survivor who’d been holed up with their supplies, which were just about at an end, Cal guessed, after over a month of apocalypse. But until he opened the door of unit 35, he had not thought there would be any more. One per building was more than any of them expected.

The man facing him was vast. He made Ted/Fred seem small in Cal’s memory. He wore only a kind of skirt and he balanced unevenly as he tried to stand. Seven, eight hundred pounds? Cal’s mind asked him, staring in disbelieving sexual hunger at the massive form before him. The large recliner behind the fatty was surrounded by boxes of food, stacks of them. Now Cal could see that the whole room was full of supplies, leaving a passage out of the room, perhaps to a bathroom, barely wide enough for this man to fit through.

He shut the door to the corridor slowly behind him and wondered how to proceed. Despite the lack of running water, this guy had obviously had enough forethought to cache food and water, way ahead of time. Either he was an armchair prepper or he had had a feeder who was. Who wasn’t here. Cal’s mind and body thrilled with the thought of it. But the others would be along in minutes. There was no way he could do what he truly wanted...fuck this superchub to satisfaction and satiation until he screamed with lust.

Was there?

The superchub saw his stare and Cal was surprised to see a matching hunger on his bulging features. He reached a flabby arm forward, touched himself, eyes still on Cal. Really fat guys often had a problem finding partners. Anyone but a chaser would be repulsed. Cal understood the theory of it, knew that most men didn’t react with the blazing lust that thrilled through him as he regarded the bloated form in front of him. He didn’t care. It left this wonderful fatty for him.

Once the others saw this superchub, there was no way Cal would have the privacy for what he wanted. There was little privacy in the camp and Cal liked freedom to make whatever noise he wished, and for his stupefyingly obese male partners to do the same while he enjoyed them. He smiled as he imagined the entire team struggling to lift this vast, swollen body, and failing. The image had him hardening with need.

“I think we might want some privacy,” he said. “I’ll come back.”

He went to the door, opened it. Behind him, he heard a sort of gasping moan. Did the fatty want him to come back, or was he about to call for rescue? Cal didn’t know, but he slipped out into the passage and moved along, trying to will his erection to fade. Thinking of what he had left behind didn’t help him. Or the knowledge that it could be days before he had a chance to leave the camp. They weren’t forbidden, but you had to have a good reason.

*

Two days later, Cal is able to return

Cal washed the fatty, hands caressing deep into the flabby folds as he searched for his hidden dick, finding and gripping the buried treasure while the superchub moaned against him. His name was Theo and his partner/feeder had been a cop, thus a first defender when the zombies erupted into the world. It made Cal desperately hard to hear how the cop had battled the hordes valiantly in the city, and helped to create the very barricaded camp he lived in. Then the cop had come home to fuck his 800-pound secret for stress relief, night after night...until he didn’t.

Cal suddenly threw the washcloths aside and climbed aboard the lard mountain before him. He pushed him down on to the bed, half thinking that Theo would try to fight him, but if he did, it wasn’t noticeable. Cal pushed his hand into the vast fat pad, enjoying the softness around him. He could not wait one more moment. One glorious chubfuck before he went back and said he’d missed this apartment and now found the strangest person inside it. Before he pretended not to be overwhelmed with lust and need.

He’d find some way to fuck Theo in the camp, of course he would. But it could take time. He could not refuse to pleasure Theo now, not while he had the fatty helpless and willing under him. Cal pressed his own body into the giving flab of Theo’s vast body, well experienced in the mechanics of penetrating a man of his size. He held rolls of fat up so that he could prepare Theo, until the moment when he eased his dick into Theo’s hole, moving and positioning legs shaped like flabby balloons. The superchub’s body shook in waves of lard and he screamed his way to long-denied orgasm under Cal’s brutal, welcomed assault.

In the next moments, Cal shot his own load deep into the shrieking fatty, and felt Theo’s body shudder with impact. “So damn good,” Cal whispered against the fat neck.

“So how’m I going to get back to your camp?” Theo asked. “You said you’d organise that.”

“I will. But we don’t have to hurry. You’ve got plenty of supplies left, and once I tell them, they’re going to take a lot of this food. And privacy’s a bit hard to come by.”

Theo didn’t like the idea of losing some of his food, Cal could see that. He was still gasping with effort, like a sexy living waterbed under Cal, who was wishing he could work up the effort for another round. Once he was back in camp, he couldn’t find a pretext to leave again for a few days. Yet he wasn’t willing to lose his exclusive access just yet.

“I guess we can wait a bit,” Theo said.

Cal smiled, glad the superchub couldn’t see his undoubtedly predatory expression from where he lay panting on the bed. “I’ll get us some lunch,” he said. “Then maybe we can have some more fun before I need to leave.”

Six lunches for Theo against one for him, and once he’d had a bit of time to digest it, he lubed his dick and again mounted the massive, gasping fatty, thrusting hard and fast now into his hole, while Theo moaned under him. Heart attack waiting, Cal thought and thrust into the delicious, quivering lard once more, stimulated anew by the thought of how out of breath Theo was at the slightest exertion. If he had an attack right now, I’d still finish. His pleasure built up swiftly this time as he lay spread out atop Theo, his dick rammed to the hilt as he shot a final load deep inside the quivering superchub.

No way would he give this up. No way would he share. The doctors in camp would be aghast when they saw Theo. They would immediately begin a program to force him to lose weight, saying his survival was drastically compromised. He couldn’t defend himself and he could do nothing to help the survival of others. There was a very short period of time during which other survivors would be willing to help.

Cal had to come up with a solution.