"Jake's New Regimen" by Exjockfeeder. Part II chapter 7: Getting Serious (Patreon)

Jake got in the car to head home and thought about hitting the mall for a new shirt. One look at how little of his flesh was covered, though, and he knew he couldn't walk in there like this. He headed straight home, wondering what he had left over after his weekend eating spree.

When he got to the door, there was a delivery guy waiting. "Hi, are you Jake?"

"Uh, yeah. That's me."

"Okay, this is for you." The guy handed him two bags. Jake smelled the distinct aromas of pasta and sauce. The bags weighed a ton.

"But I didn't order any of this." Jake was taking in the smells.

"Don't worry. The guy who ordered it paid for it all and said to just drop it off. If you're Jake and you live at t his address, looks like it's for you."

Jake chuckled. "Okay then. Thanks." He unlocked the door and dropped the bags in the kitchen. The doorbell rang a few seconds later. It was the delivery guy, holding two more bags.

"What the . . ?"

"Yeah, that was just part of it ¬ all I could get in the first run. This is the rest of it. Have a good night and enjoy the party." Jake laughed at the guy's presumption.. "Oooh, I will," he thought.

The last bag had a note from Tom, with instructions to keep up the training for the contest.

Jake spent the rest of the night stuffing himself like a prize pig.

The next day greeted Tom with Jake's pasta grown belly and Jake with even more food. He had found one sweatshirt that he could barely zip over his belly, and he shed it the minute he got to the job site with Tom. His tee shirts would be riding up more as the week progressed, but the sweatshirt at least got him to and from work. Tom kept him eating like a trained sumo all day, all week, demanding he hit another helping when Jake was certain he would bust. He kept surpassing his own limits. He was the competitive jock out to impress his coach. The construction was progressing slowly between his constant helpings. His gut seemed to be progressing the most.

By the fourth week, Jake couldn't come close to tugging his sweatshirt over his belly, and there wasn't a shirt in his stock pile that would reach his belly button. Jake's gut felt rounder by the day. He would lumber into the job site good and fed, where Tom made damn sure Jake ate progressively more each day, sending his stud home looking ready to blow. Jake would diligently race home to gorge nonstop the rest of the night. He avoided hitting the gym the bigger he grew. He felt guilty and broke out his free weights at home. He would get as far as pumping his pecs, arms and shoulders, and then he would be back in the kitchen stuffing his face until he was groaning. Each feed ended with him beating off furiously while rubbing his tightly packed belly.

All he did was work a little, lift some and eat and eat and eat for a weeks. He had never been so transfixed on anything in his life. He couldn't get enough of that feeling of being stuffed to the max. The reinforcement he got from Tom made him feel like a total stud ¬ like he felt when he was first seriously packing on muscle in college and his buddies would grab his chest or squeeze his growing biceps. He loved being admired for the transformation. He once again felt like the biggest stud on the team and ate up the attention. He saw hardly anyone but Tom during those weeks. He wanted to impress him. He became addicted to hearing he looked better each day. To him, it was like having someone rub his muscles when Tom patted his belly each morning and pointed him to the food. He found himself pushing his gut out for Tom to admire. His belly was ballooning fast.

Eventually, he just stopped bothering to completely cover his gut. He strode out of the house with his belly in full, barely-clothed view, knowing he would see no one but Tom or the delivery guy who brought the endless stream of fattening dinners. Gut mounded in front of him, Jake would leave each morning and head straight to the drive through for his first meal of the day, making sure to show up to work good and full ¬ as Tom had ordered. The denim on his jeans distorted and stretched to accommodate his heft, but they also reached their utter limit. While most of his gain was landing on his rotund gut, he was definitely getting a beefier ass and thighs.

The side seams were tugged to the exposed threads across his meatier muscled legs. The denim grabbed his rounded ass and hoisted it high to admire. Jake again had to resort to opening the top buttons of his jeans in order to sit down in his truck. He would go nuts at the feel of his heavy fat as he reached under to pop them to sit or wrestle them shut when he stood. He could just barely tug his shirt over the top half of his gut when he got to the drive through, but that only highlighted his size more. The jeans finally were toast. Jake swore he heard a tear during his last helping and couldn't get them closed for his ride home, no way no how. His giant dinner delivery came that night with a bigger pair of faded jeans. Jake was glad for the room, but Tom had him on such a mental track, his first thought was how long it would take to tighten them up as much as the pair he had nearly busted. While wearing his new pants and constantly checking their fit, he ate until he nearly collapsed that night.

To be continued.