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DEVIN MEETS HIS COACH
🕑 Added 2024-10-13 17:42:33 +0000 UTC
It wasn’t a question. Coach steered Devin out the back door, through the alley and into his car. The Jock was fully drunk now, focusing hard to keep his balance as Coach firmly guided him down into the passenger seat. Devin thought about a seat belt as Coach came around to the driver’s side, but there was no way he was going to pull it over his belly. It felt huge - bigger than he’d ever seen it. Devin gingerly felt the sides of his beer gut. Coach’s hand planted on the top arc of his belly too, testing its pressure.
“You’ll want to give that thing some room.”
Devin was about to ask what that meant, when he swore he felt his gut expanding. He looked down through beer-blurred vision. That couldn’t be. His belly couldn’t be growing.
“Yeah, give it some room, Fatboy.”
Devin leaned back. “What the . . .”
His belly swelled some more – hard – tight - round like an inflating ball. It pushed out another good 6 inches. Devin’s dick throbbed seeing his belly grow before his eyes.
Coach tested the pressure again. Devin looked pregnant with another few inches of swelling. It seemed to slow, but Devin was so drunk, he couldn’t tell. He wondered if the whole thing was his imagination.
“How do you feel now Fatboy?” Coach was massaging Devin’s belly bulge.
“I – um - I . . .”
It couldn’t be.
“Yes?” Coach grinned devilishly.
“I’m . . .”
“Out with it, Devin.”
“Coach, I’m - I’m HUNGRY!”
“Excellent! That stuff works.”
To his shock, all Devin could drunkenly think about was food. He barely heard Coach explain that the mixture in the vial would make any liquid Devin drank swell in his belly, and then it would make him hungry enough to eat ravenously until the entire volume of his stretched-out gut was stuffed to capacity. His stomach rumbled, aching to be fed. All he heard was that he was going to eat.
Coach drove for a few minutes as Devin rubbed his belly in amazement, feeling more and more ravenous. Soon they were parked in another alley, and Devin was pushed to the back booth of a dark greasy spoon. His gut seemed to lead the way and bumped the table as he tried to sit. Its solid swell rattled everything on the surface as he steadied himself, surprised. Devin tugged at his shirt to try to cover his fat ball. His head was still swirling. Coach refused the menus and just leaned into the gruff waiter’s ear to place the order. Devin was given no say. The waiter wrote furiously and left with an ominous look at Devin. It seemed Coach had accomplices everywhere. Soon the waiter was back, smirking darkly, piling plates on the table. The aromas made Devin’s stomach growl. He was nearly salivating.
“What are you waiting for Fatboy? Dig in!”
Devin tore into the food, ravenous as if starved for a week. He ate and ate and ate, stuffing burgers and sandwiches into his mouth, shoveling in heaps of pasta, gorging in a total trance, driven by a hunger that demanded he reach for plate after plate of food. He had never felt so hungry in his life. All he could think about was one more plateful of food, and there it was, ready for him to devour, over and over.
He finally fell back satiated, flinching when his packed belly again grazed the edge of the table in front of him. He looked down to see his shirt stretched well up over his navel. It looked like Coach had pumped his belly up like a spare tire. It felt just as hard, tight as a drum, round as a sphere. Devin wanted to take a nap. Instead, he was being told to move again.
“Back in the car Fatboy.”
To be continued
