Competition | Part II (Patreon)

Author’s Note: I’ve had this story on my mind for a while, and even started writing pieces of it last October. I have about 12 stories I’ve started in some capacity, but they never win the polls. I’m glad this one won an entire year later because I could connect it to another story I wrote recently and keep them in the same universe. I’ve split them into two parts due to the length. This is the second part. Happy Halloween Eve.

Competition

Six Months Later

The first few times Hunter force-fed Chance, he felt weird and like something was wrong, but Chance also loved every moment of being Cillas’ replacement. Hunter kept his promise to Chance about increasing his appetite with shakes and excellent cooking. Chance ate himself sick every meal. While Chance spent his days eating non-stop, Hunter spent his time burying his face deep in belly folds and funneling shake down Chance’s fat obstructed throat. Gaining an absurd amount of weight was inevitable, so it wasn’t shocking to Hunter that Chance put on 112 pounds in 6 months. Chance was too bloated and in a haze most of the time to care how big he was getting. It had to be some sort of unspoken world record.

However, the moments in which he snapped back to reality, he knew something was wrong. His mobility started to suffer. What was in the shakes that made him gain a lot of weight? Chance became more curious about the basement. Hunter would leave the bed in the middle of the night to return to his underground apartment. Chance wanted to know why Hunter would sneak away, but he promised his boyfriend he wouldn’t go into the basement. However, they were dating. Why wouldn’t Hunter let him downstairs now they’ve grown so close?

Chance pushed it to the back of his mind because whatever Hunter was doing to him, he got results. One week before the competition, Chance ate 68 hot dogs without the help of the shake beforehand in his training. He felt confident he could finally win a competitive eating contest against his rival, Lamar Hamlet, commonly known as just his last name.

On the day of the competition, Chance is the first to walk up on the stage to take his seat. He has to hold himself up on the rail and stops, already out of breath from walking a short distance. Everyone looks at him, half with disgust and half with excitement. His titanic gut swayed with each step, knees wobbling from his extreme gain in a short time. The crowd notices and discusses Chance’s enormous growth.

"Jesus, he's a fat ass! Can I change my bet!?”

"He's huge! He has to be about 500 pounds now, right?"

"He’s got to be closer to 600! Look at all of him! I’m not gay, but look at those titties and that enormous ass.”

"I’m actually concerned about seeing how big he is now compared to his last competition. He's going to die young at this rate.”

Chance finally gets up the stage and into his chair. “He’s got to have at least 100 pounds on you,” Hamlet’s manager tells him.

“I’m not worried! Fatter doesn’t mean better in this contest. Guys much thinner than I win,” Hamlet replies.

“Yeah, but this is Cillas Barnes' nephew. We didn’t know that the last few competitions, but now he’s bigger, I think you’re in for a challenge.”

“He wasn’t a challenge six months ago. It doesn’t matter that he’s a bloated porker, I’ll still win,” Hamlet replies before he and the other contestants walk up on stage with much more ease than Chance.

The announcer walks up on stage in front of the table and five contestants. “Welcome everyone to the Cillas Barnes Memorial Hotdog Eating Contest sponsored by Clogsworth Industries. We know there are several regional and national eating competitions, but we are thrilled you chose to attend this one. The rules are simple. You eat as many hot dogs as you can in one sitting. There is not a time limit, but we will set a clock to meet regulations. When you’re ready for more, let a staffer know. If you stop longer than 10 seconds, you’re out. If you vomit, you’re out. The person who eats the most hot dogs in the end wins.”

An enormous plate stacked high with hot dogs sits in front of each of the five contestants. “3...2...1...Go!” shouts the announcer. Chance immediately pulls the plate toward him before double fisting the hot dogs. He eats the dozen in no time.

“More!” Chance barks in the general direction of the staffers. He hears Lamar Hamlet shout for more as well. Chance realizes Hamlet is keeping up. He starts to sweat from the dozen hot dogs and Hamlet’s persistence. At least he’s not behind. The crowd erupts with a cheer.

Staffers set the plates in front of the two men. It takes no time for both of them to dunk the meat and buns into glasses of water and sliding them down their gullet with ease. “Eat! Eat more for me!” Hunter shouts from the crowd, filming his boyfriend pound hot dogs.

All but Chance and Hamlet tapped out. Some competitors try to roll themselves off the stage, while one tries not to barf in front of the audience. One man looks like he’s going into cardiac arrest, but he’s ignored by the crowd, enthralled with which eater will win first place.

Finally, Hamlet collapses in defeat. He puts his head down, face-first into the plate of dogs, breathing heavily. “I’m going to pop,” he gasps. Hamlet looks over at Chance, trying not to get sick. Yet, Chance is still eating. “You’ve won, man,” Hamlet tells Chance, followed by a loud burp.

The crowd cheers as the announcer comes on stage. “We have a winner! Chance Barnes!” The announcer walks up to Chance, but Chance is still grabbing dog after dog. “Sir, you can quit.”

Chance doesn’t stop. The crowd goes silent. Hunter smirks, still filming the scene, knowing his fat boy is obsessed with food. It’s less of a competition, and more of an insatiable need to be full. Chance throws the metal plate on the ground. “More!” Chance shouts for the countless time.

Chance continued to shove the plates into the ground. The elastic in his stretchy pants snaps, making his belly wobble. The crowd cheers again. Chance’s face gets flushed. He sweats, but he shoves more into himself violently until he almost chokes. Chance’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his obese body convulsed to indicate his climax. “Uuuuurp!” He finally stopped, sweaty, and bloated with bread crumbs retained on his shirt.

The announcer steps closer to Chance. “Chance Barnes wins with 76 hot dogs! This is Cillas Barne’s nephew. Who would’ve thought competitive eating ran in the family? That’s a new world record here today, folks!” The crowd erupts with applause. Hamlet looks at Chance with disbelief.

Hunter comes up on stage to help his boyfriend. His firm hands and strong arms grab his love handles. “A little help here, please,” Hunter asks the announcer. The two men struggle to help Chance stand up. His skin stretched to the limits, and his bloat makes his fat harder to lift. Eventually, the two men get Chance back on his feet.

“This is what we trained for, Chancey. This is why I used every excuse to push you to see how far we could take this, and you didn’t disappoint. You did good, pig. You did good.”

“UUUUURRRRRPPPPP,” is the only thing Chance can manage in response.

A month later, Chance weighs 602 pounds. The competition may be over, but he still chugs the unusual shakes Hunter makes for him. Hunter gets handsy with him. The bigger he becomes, the more attention Chance receives from Hunter. Chance loves the feeling of being stuffed beyond capacity. Besides, there’s the potential to enter another contest. However, it occurs to Chance that he’s never seen the footage Hunter filmed of him at the competition.

“I’m going to go work out in the home gym area for awhile. Do you need anything?” Hunter asks Chance.

“I’m pretty much good with the shakes, but I was hoping that I could see the videos you took of the competition. I realized I’ve yet to see it,” Chance sucks on his shake with a straw.

“Sure thing. Check the home office. I’ve been doing some editing. It should be on the green flash drive on the desk,” Hunter tells Chance, pulling up his black gym shorts.

Hunter leaves the room. Chance decides to heave himself off the bed and look for the flash drive. He lumbers stiffly down the hall to the office, where he finds a desk. He doesn’t see the green flash drive at first glance. He opens the drawer to the desk to see several flash drives.  Chance finds the green USB, but the blue one strikes his eye. Chance has never seen this before, but he gets excited, thinking it might be Hunter’s photography or graphic design work.

Chance gets too excited thinking about Hunter’s talent. He pops the USB into the computer’s port. It takes a moment to load, but the command option comes up shortly on the screen. Chance opens the main folder to find 22 other folders nestled away. Each folder has an unusually detailed name. Each one is listed in the format of a last name, an underscore, and a first name. He sees his file: Barnes_Chance. Then, he finds many folders with three-digit numbers and a date. He clicks on the earlier one labeled 422. The folder contains old photos of him at an eating competition. Chance looks at another folder at 545, finding naked photos he took for Hunter. The images had him getting bigger up until his current weight. Chance finds it odd, but not alarming. Plenty of people keep nudes of their boyfriends.

Chance clicks out of his folder. If those photos were of him gaining weight, what might be contained in the other folders? Chance clicks on another random folder. The pictures in the file come up, making his eyes widen. What the fuck. Who is this? And why does he look like he’s about to lose mobility? Chance goes through many other photos. His heart races, his mind goes a mile a minute. Some of the folders contain photos of men tied up with a funnel in their mouths. Others include enormously obese men gasping for breath.

Chance clicks on a saved video that makes him sick. His eyes widen in horror as the video plays of a man who must have been twice the size of Chance. The man looked fat, sick, and nearly dead with a feeding tube and oxygen tube. The morbidly obese man with stretch mark covered rolls hanging off his body seems planted on his mattress. The man gulps down whatever is in the tube. The video zooms in on the immobile obese man, and a voice booms in the background, “You’re a fat pig. My prized hog.”

The voice sounds like Hunter’s, but more depraved than Chance is used to hearing from his boyfriend. The chilling tone makes Chance shiver. He clicks out of the video and opens another file to see another man in a similar situation, bound and gagged. The numbers on the files keep growing. Then, Chance realizes that the numbers in the title of the file are weights, and some go up to 1300 pounds. Tears well up in Chance’s eyes. Chance starts to gag, almost throwing up due to the upsetting scenes.

The voice in the videos undeniably belongs to Hunter. Why did Hunter have these? What was he doing? The men had to be some of the fattest in the world. Chance thinks about his uncle Cillas and about how he ended up at the mansion. He considers how he kept putting on weight quickly. Chance keeps putting the puzzle together in his head. Then, he decides he needs to investigate Hunter’s apartment.

Chance shuffles out of the room and down the hall as fast as he can, fat thighs fighting for space. The weight crushes his knees step by pitiful step from the gravity pushing down his ballooning body. His face gets red from exertion and embarrassment, remembering that Hunter made him this fat and unhealthy. He remembers Hunter making bigger and bigger shakes for him. “Don’t worry. It’s just a little more. I bet you can chug it all just fine. It’ll help you win the next competition,” plays in his mind. He pounded shake after shake for this man with an alternative motive. He found the forcefulness of his boyfriend sexy at the time. He replays Hunter encouraging him to eat and drink more. Chance thinks back to all the time Hunter purred while grabbing his growing gut. How could Chance have been so naive?

Chance stands in front of the door, sweating and breathing heavily. He gazes at the door. Questions pour into his mind, giving him anxiety and doubt. Is there another explanation for Hunter’s behavior and saved media on his USB? Is it worth finding the truth? Is he ready for whatever evidence he may find? Chance could walk away right now and pretend he never saw the USB. Will he even be able to get down the steps? What if he can’t get back up the steps? What if he gets caught?

Chance decides it’s now or never. If he manages to get bigger, stairs will never be an option for him again with his rapidly declining mobility. Chance opens the door. The frame and walls are more narrow than he imagined. His love handles graze against the door, reinforcing the idea that this is his only chance to discover the truth of what lays beyond the door, but getting back up will ultimately be like trying to get a ship out of a bottle.

Chance slowly steps forward, grasping the rail tightly. He worries that he can’t see the stairs beneath him. Falling at his size would leave him immobile for the rest of his life. Each step strained his muscles, putting a burden on his body, especially his feet and knees. Halfway down, his lungs beg for air. Chance stands in place, trying to compose himself. He puts his hand where his hip should be, but it’s mostly covered with his wide belly and love handles. His back felt like it might snap in half. He decides he needs to get off down the stairs immediately.

Chance creeps down the steps until he finds a door at the very bottom. He slowly turns the knob, unsure what to expect. Once the door is open, he walks into a room and turns on the light. The room looks like any other in the house with a fancy red couch, an expensive rug, a queen bed, and a television. Hunter nearly converted the room into a studio apartment. Chance finds another door leading to a hallway. The dimly lit hall has three doors: one on the left, one on the right, and one at the end of the hall. Chance opens the door on the left with the same suspicion as if something will jump out at him.  He’s almost certain he’ll find something damning against Hunter.

The door leads to a large room with a workspace. The floor is concrete, stained with paint. The place is filled with canvases and sculptures, indicating to Chance that Hunter wasn’t lying about the art studio. Chance takes a moment to think to himself. Hunter might have a weird thing for fat men, but maybe he’s innocent. Chance considers going back upstairs. He shuts the door, but he decides he might as well explore the other two rooms. He opens the door on the right to find copious amounts of unmarked oil drums and enormous sacks of sugar.

Chance isn’t sure what to think about the second room. Why would these things be in a random room in Hunter’s basement?  Chance thinks about turning away. Once again, Chance gives himself two options: pretend he never snooped, or open the last door to be sure Hunter doesn’t have fat skeletons in his closet. Chance quickly decides he’s already seen evidence that Hunter is into fattening men up with tubes. Even if he’s not on the video, which Chance still thinks he is, Hunter has some explaining to do for having such detailed media on a USB.

Chance waddles to the third door. The closer he gets, the more ominous noises he notices coming from behind the door. His heart pounds as he opens the door, but once inside, he finds himself in a completely dark room. He hears thumps every feed seconds, a constant hissing sound,  and “glug, glug, glug, glug” noises.

“Hello?” Chance makes his prescience known, but there is not a response. Chance searches in the dark for a light switch on the wall. It takes him a few seconds, but he’s able to turn on the light to an enormous garage-like room with concrete floors and a colossal door meant for cars. However, Chance doesn’t find a single vehicle in the place. Instead, he finds three enormously obese men on dirty, broken mattresses.

“Oh, my god!” Chance panics, seeing Hunter’s work. Each man is hooked up to an oxygen take, a feeding tube extending from the ceiling, and heart monitors. The men looked bloated and sedated, drugged with whatever they had been force-fed for who knows how long. One of the monitors appears to be completely flat, but two of the monitors rapidly spiking lines, but not a single one makes a noise. Chance wobbles over to the man without an active heart monitor. He’s not moving. Chance’s mouth opens as he tries to find a pulse buried by lard in the man’s wrist. “No, no, no!” Chance cries out. “What the fuck.” Chance starts to dry heave, his heart bouncing with anxiety in his own lard encased chest.

Chance wants to throw himself on the floor and weep. He resists the urge. Everyone in the room will suffer the same fate. Chance’s breathing becomes heavier as tears drain from his face and down on the floor. He looks up to see the second man’s heart monitor going awry. Chance does his best to speed walk over to the man. The man’s eyes start to roll into the back of his head. “Fuck!” Chance shouts, feeling helpless as he watches the man moan and his body convulse with one final climax before his heart gives out.

There is only one man left. The man’s body covers every inch of the mattress and spills over onto the cold concrete. His enormous tits sag down his first roll in a series of deflated tire like slabs of fat. The gargantuan gut covers his imanhood and seeps past his knees. The man is the fattest person Chance has ever seen. Chance can’t help but look at the man with disgust, attempting to remember the situation he’s in is Hunter’s fault and not a lack of will power.

Chance looks around, trying to formulate a plan. “Don’t worry. I’m going to get you out of here,” Chance’s voice trembles, tears still running down his face. The blob of a man can’t hear Chance; he’s too far gone into pigdom. Chance briefly considers going back upstairs to call for help. He needs to get out of there, to tell everyone, and save future victims, as well as the last man alive and himself. The thought lived a short life as Chance turns around to see Hunter, their captor, with a satisfied and devilish grin.

Chance’s heart pounds in his chest from the horrifying feeling of being caught. “You promised not to come down here,” Hunter scolds Chance.

“That was before I found the USB of progress photos of the people you’ve fattened to death,” Chance fights back with fear in his voice. “You said this was an art studio.”

“What is fat but clay to mold into whatever I want? Morbidly obese people are essentially sculptures. Fat is art. The eating competitions you enter are basically art installations or performing arts. Your body is a work of art. My connotations are different than your denotations,” Hunter emphasizes with slyness.

Hunter walks over to Chance and puts his hand on Chance’s shoulder. Chance flinches in response. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you. I haven’t hurt anyone here. They’ve all agreed to eat for me. Death is just an unfortunate consequence,” Hunter attempts to reassure Chance.

“I didn’t agree to be made fat like them,” Chance cries pointing at one of the immobile dead men.

“Didn’t you? You willingly drank the shakes. You packed on weight and increased your appetite for a silly but erotic competition.” Chance looks down at his titanic body. He can’t see his feet, but he sees cascading rolls and pillowy breasts. He realizes just how huge he’s gotten in only six months. “You were a competitive eater long before I met you. You built your future with your actions. It was always your destiny to make yourself so fat you’re helpless and bed bound. I just sped it along as a labor of love. Don’t pretend you’re not like them, addicted to the slop I serve and ruining your body,” Hunter continues.

“You never loved me. You just wanted to satisfy your fat fetish! Is that what you’ve prepared me for? Whatever this is?” Chance shouts.

“I do love you. That’s why you slept upstairs in a special bed, growing fatter and fatter like your uncle Cillas before his heart gave out. You’re my special greedy pig, one that I’ve pampered and given special privileges to like not hooking you up to a machine.”

“Why the fuck are you doing this?” Chance’s breathing gets sharper. He needs to sit; Chance’s whole body aches.

“Fat is beautiful. Fat is sexy. There’s some sexual thrill with fattening men knowing I hold all the control. Watching fat boys lose their mobility, watching their health decline, makes me leak like a fire hose. I get to live out my fantasies, and when I’m done, I sell them for profit.”

“What do you mean you sell their bodies for profit,” Chance spits at the devil before him.

“It’s dirt cheap to feed these pigs slop with the lard and hormones I gave you. It makes fat cells multiply so fast that humans can gain pounds per day. I told you I had an investor. A man named Mr.Clogsworth buys the piggies from me when their poor bloated bodies give out. Those are the big white trucks. They aren’t here to collect paintings, obviously. It’s my understanding he’s building an empire using human fat in his lard products.

“You’re a sick fuck. We’re done, and you’re going to jail!” shouts Chance. Chance quickly scans the room for some kind of weapon, anything at all, in case he needs to defend himself. Nothing looks useful. Fuck!

“On the contrary, we’ve only just begun. You’re so weighed down by your fat, and you won’t be able to stop me. Remember how you said the first shake I gave you tasted salty? Guess what new ‘food’ you were trying?”

“That was...human lard?” Chance mutters, getting nauseated. Suddenly, he dry heaves again, spewing phlegm onto the floor.

“I’m sorry I can’t let you undermine my operation. If you’re no longer willing to be growing pampered prince, then you’re going to be my sex slave until your heart gives out and you get sold off to be processed into lard,” Hunter grabs Chance by the fat wrist and attempts to shove the poor, unbalanced man towards an empty mattress.

Chance notices the empty, broken mattress with handcuffs chained to the wall and a feeding hose that Hunter tries to push him toward, which gives him an idea. Chance digs his feet flat into the concrete and grabs Hunter by the waist like a sumo wrestler with an opponent’s mawashi. Chance charges like a raging bull, trying to keep his strength and balance. Chance pushes Hunter back with all his force, or at least the heaviness of his blubber bound body mixed with a rush of adrenaline until Hunter slams into the wall. An audible crack echos as pain jolts through Hunter’s body smashed between Chance’s belly and a cinderblock wall. Hunter yelps through the back-breaking pain. Chance gasps for breath and manages to lock Hunter in the handcuffs.

Chance moves back, exhausted, and lumbers to the stairs to fall onto the narrow steps. The stairs are uncomfortable, but he needs to sit and catch his breath.

“God damn it! Let me go!” Hunter shouts between painful grunts. “You’ll pay for this.”

“You...can’t hur-huff...anyone... again,” Chance gasps.

Hunter feels the tight handcuffs on his wrists and jolts against the metal, trying to escape. “I’ll fuck you up. I’ll kill you as I’ve done to all these lard balls. You’re next, butter boy,” Hunter screams.

Chance finally maneuvers himself off the staircase, and he shuffled toward Hunter. “You aren’t getting out of these chains. After what you’ve done to me, to countless unsuspecting fat men, you’re going to get your just desserts. Chance pulls down the feeding tube and locks it to Hunter’s face. Hunter’s eyes widen, and curses at Chance, but the words are too muffled.

Finally, Chance sees a control box at the end of the room. He slowly but surely walks toward it. The box has all the buttons pressed, except for one listed “pig number four.” Chance mashes the button, with revenge in his eyes. He glances over at Hunter, who is now gulping slurry from the feeding tube. He can see the mind-numbing effect taking hold of Hunter.

“I’m going to turn you into lard,” Chance says with power in his voice. Something deep inside him snaps. He feels dominate, empowered, and just. Something felt natural about taking control. Then, another dark thought enters his head: what if he can get rid of his competition, Hamlet, by inviting them to the mansion?

Chance begins to plot.