Hansel, Part 3 (Patreon)

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Note: This is the male version of Gretel.

Summary: Connor is kidnapped then forced to eat exorbitant amounts of food. Contains: Male: weight gain, stuffing, belly expansion, breast expansion.

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Connor woke up just in time for dinner. It seemed he was always just in time for his meals these days. To Connor's surprise, Edna allowed him to sit at the dining room table, where the meal seemed even more expansive than usual - maybe it was. Bite by bite, Connor forced the food down, shoveling it into his mouth - Edna seemed pleased by his complete lack of resistance. Connor had gotten used to the drill. And as painful as it was to stuff himself to the brink of bursting, and as horrifying as it was to see his body change day by day, maybe he was enjoying it, on some secret, surely demented, level.

When the meal was over, Connor sat there, panting, clutching his firmly rounded gut. He trembled. Groaned. Sweat dripped from his brow.

It was always the worse just after meals - those first few hours of bloated discomfort. Connor wanted nothing more than to make his way to his corner of the floor, but a new tray was set down in front of him.

Connor looked up to spot several thick vanilla milkshakes, each at least a liter in size. But that wasn't all. Edna was bringing out another large tray, this one piled with a tower of fudge.

"Edna," said Connor weakly, rubbing his hand over his firm belly. "I can't take in anymore." His stomach trembled, and a grunt escaped his lips. "Errgghh...I'm going to burst."

"Eat it," said Edna firmly. She pushed a shake forward, in front of Connor's chin. "Every day that you're obedient is another day that your little sister gets to live."

Connor flushed in anger, his fists clenching at his sides. Taking in several more gasps for breath, he leaned down and closed his lips around the straw.

The shake was not only thick and sweet with ice cream and heavy cream, but there was an underlying buttery oiliness that made his stomach gurgle unpleasantly. Connor sucked the shakes down, one after the next, until he truly did feel on the verge of bursting. He yelped as his belly button popped outward. He cupped his distended navel, allowing himself only a moment of deep breathing, then he got back to work, fearful that he wouldn't be able to if he took too long a break.

Connor made sure he consumed every bit of every milkshake, his belly feeling as though it was pulsating by then. He rounded on the fudge, his cheeks puffed out as he furiously worked it into his mouth and down his throat. It was so rich, so heavy. Connor worked his exhausted jaw as Edna watched on in apparent contentment.

When it was finally over, Connor shakily lifted his napkin to dab some chocolate off his face. His stomach gurgled and ached but he breathed through it. The mound felt truly pressurized, stretched - felt as though it was presently stretching, the pressure growing rather than easing. Connor covered his mouth as a small belch escaped his throat.

Connor whimpered as Edna gave his belly a light pat.

"You're welcome to sleep on the couch m'dear," said Edna, gathering up the trays and bustling off.

Connor stared after her. Pushing back his seat, he attempted to stand, but grunted in discomfort and sat back down. He felt too full, too taut and heavy. Moving just made it worse. Connor held his belly, feeling terribly drowsy. He began to doze off right there at the table.

He awoke sometime in the middle of the night. The cabin was dark and Edna was nowhere in sight. The tightness in his abdomen was almost bearable. Connor managed to stand.

He made his way over to the couch, and collapsed against the soft cushions. He awoke the next morning just in time for breakfast. He looked down at his belly, which was still full and round, but a good deal softer. His belly button was no longer sticking out.

Over the next few days, Connor went through a cycle of his belly button popping outwards only to have returned to its inward state by the next morning. He came to realize that when he gorged, if his belly button popped outwards, he had reached his capacity - though Edna seemed to find enjoyment in stuffing him far beyond it, to the point that Connor could barely move after his meals.

Most of his weight gain was centered at his belly, and by then, if he was a woman, he would have looked as though he was eight months pregnant, especially at the end of the day, when he was always terribly, firmly round.

One morning Connor awoke to find his belly still uncomfortably firm, rather than having softened as it usually did by morning. On top of that, his belly button was still protruding. It didn't look as though he had managed to digest any of the prior day's meals at all. Connor started to sweat as Edna called him for breakfast, but forced himself to get up from the couch. His day was sure to be a difficult one.

The same thing occurred the next morning, and the several subsequent mornings. Connor would awake firmly round, button protruding, face flushed, forehead already dotted with sweat. Maybe his body had given up on him. Maybe this was the end. He didn't imagine he could go on like this for much longer.

And yet he did, his body plumpening day by day, his waistline slowly pushing forward.

After dinner, Connor was usually so exhausted, he doubted anything could wake him. And in the mornings, that horribly taut state, his belly no softer than it had been before.

Strangely enough, when Connor awoke, he noticed it was often with sweet tastes in his mouth, even though he always made sure to rinse it out before going to bed.

He could barely get down his breakfast anymore, let alone his other massive meals, but he managed.

Connor huffed and puffed though his pile of french toast one morning. His pants no longer hoped to button. His belly pressed the table, protruding from the bottom of his shirt to perch on his lap. His chest had softened and plumpened somewhat beneath his tightening shirt. Connor's jaw worked. The fatter he got, the more his prospects for escape diminished. He had grown ungainly, fatigued, slow, and compliant. He didn't know what he was going to do.

One night, Connor awoke from a dream of more eating, only to find that his jaw was working. It took him a moment to realize that there was something actually in his mouth. Nearly choking, Connor opened his eyes, and he could make out Edna through the darkness. The woman was seated in a chair beside the couch, hovering over him. Against Edna's lap was perched what appeared to be a cake - it looked like a cheesecake, and it was massive. At least six inches high, and as wide as a platter. Or it had been wide as a platter. It looked like almost half of it was gone. And the woman was holding a spoon. Was Edna feeding him in his sleep!?

Connor swallowed what was in his mouth. He held his belly, which felt uncomfortably tight. "What are you-!?" he was interrupted as yet another spoon of cheesecake was stuffed into his mouth.

"Now now, deary. Don't fight, just eat up. Think of your dear sister," said the woman.

Connor's protest was muffled as yet another spoonful of dessert was stuffed into his mouth. He struggled to swallow, and contained a groan, his belly gurgling. How long had Edna been feeding him in his sleep? Was this the reason why he was always so full in the mornings?

His face burning in anger, Connor closed his eyes. He tried to relax. He felt more violated than he had ever felt before as Edna's captive, were that even possible. Though he continued to eat, he somehow dozed off again. It was like his mouth was on autopilot by then.

Connor became resigned in the mornings, suddenly aware of why he felt so full and exhausted, and why his mouth was coated with some dessert or the other. He was aware of what was being done to him in his sleep, and there was little he could do about it but resent Edna more. His belly was becoming a bulging dome and Edna seemed absolutely thrilled. Connor was in emotional despair, particularly when he surveyed himself in the bathroom mirror, holding either side of his bloated belly. He looked as though he was overdue with child, the rest of his body seeming small and thin compared to the mound.

Connor clutched his belly on the few occasions it wasn't being stuffed with food, groaning in discomfort and massaging the packed fat in hope of finding some relief. His back was starting to ache. He was getting so heavy.

His belly pressed hard into the table when he awkwardly reached for his meals, and it pressed against the bathroom sink when he washed his face. It was getting bigger and bigger, as were his food portions.

He was constantly flushed and sweaty, and getting increasingly lethargic. He now took extended naps following each of his meals, before heaving himself up for the next one. And his metabolism seemed to finally be catching up with the pace of his binges, his belly mercifully softening - at least somewhat. Connor clutched it as he waddled about, huffing and puffing in his endless trips from the kitchen to the couch, then back again.

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