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debu-neko-kun · 10 months

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Weighty Wager

Crossposting this here, a story I wrote a little bit ago! Contains: XWG of the male variety, magic weight gain, gay boyes as always, fun fetish stuff. Viewer beware, you’re in for a... I dunno, have a good time. :3

Jesse whistled to himself as he fumbled with the wads of cash in his pockets, turning the tight rolls of paper currency between his fingers. He strolled by mahjong parlors and poker dens, smoky clubs crawling with their usual suspects and public gambling halls flooded with tourists looking to make it big in the entertainment district. There was comfort in the flashing lights, the gaudy music, the lucky cheers, the unlucky cursing; this was a place where both sides of the coin were visible at once. Thankfully, he’d always been on the up and up here, lady luck kissing his cheek every time he rolled. Didn’t matter what game he played, he won all the same. Jesse supposed it had always been like that; ever since he was a kid playing old maid with the seniors on the corner, he’d just been winning. Born like that, maybe; entering the world on a perpetual up.

Didn’t matter, the whys and the hows, only that it just kept happening; he loved the complimentary drinks, the complimentary suits, the complimentary penthouse rooms, the complimentary lovers… hell, maybe it was just the luck again, but it seemed like the more money he made, the less he had to spend. But spend he did: manicures, private gyms with personal trainers, hundreds on haircuts and thousands on jewelry. Cars and planes, glitz and glamor… but there was only one thing that made him happy, and that was the thrill of the game. There wasn’t a single gambling hall in this whole city that he hadn’t visited, no game left un-dominated, no prize un-won… that was, until yesterday.

Nobody could tell him when it was built, who owned the place, or even what games were played there. He didn’t notice any construction on the lot in the weeks prior; it was like it had suddenly appeared, bloomed from the ground into a grand temple of tempting chance on the very edge of the district.

The Devil’s Deal… Jesse stared up at the smiling cartoonish devil that loomed over him, the sign all lit up with ember-red swirling letters. Suddenly noticing the encompassing quiet, he looked around, realizing that the street around the building was decidedly empty and lit only in the red of the sign.

The only sound came from beyond the doors, a piano number he couldn’t quite make out. Tears formed at the edges of his dark green eyes as he stared into the dark glass of the doors, and took a moment to breathe; what was he so spooked about? Slow, quiet night just meant fewer people to crowd him once he started really raking in the cash; he smoothed back the stylish swoop in his chestnut hair, settled his pocket watch chain, adjusted the dark waistcoat on his toned, muscular torso, and pulled on the ornate brass handle of the glossy black doors.

At once, he was overwhelmed by the decor of the place: everything was new and pristine, but looked plucked straight out of an earlier age. Red velvet flooring, big purple curtains hanging down from a tall vaulted ceiling, chandeliers sparkling with a thousand tiny glass gems. Deep, dark wood comprised the paneling of the walls, swirling into intricate patterns at the two archways he could see ahead of him; one arch, further ahead and to his right, had a large sign above it, announcing the “Dining Room” in large gold letters. The wide wood doors were shut; just as well, he thought, wandering deeper into the building; he was hardly hungry, stomach too tightened by the prospect of the games that awaited.

He wandered up to a large, marble counter, large barred windows built into it peering into a room beyond. This was clearly the chip exchange counter, but where was the attendant? The clinking of a glass drew his attention to the bar at the back of the room, where a bartender busied himself mixing up drinks for the only other occupant in the room besides Jesse-- a young man, seemingly slightly younger than Jesse himself, perhaps 21 or 22, sat with his elbows on the bar. Like Jesse, he was dressed well, his coat hanging on the back of his chair leaving him in dark slacks and a nice white button-up shirt.

Realizing there wouldn’t be anyone else to help him, Jesse wandered toward the bar, passing by well-spaced slot machines-- all themed on the seven deadly sins-- that were situated in front of odd-shaped stools; the seats were large, almost like tables, and lower to the ground than normal high stools. Probably for elderly tourists, he thought, or the sort of fatties looking to spend a few minutes at the machines before spending a few hours at the buffets. And yet, this didn’t seem like the sort of place that catered to the casual wayward gambler. Hell, it didn’t even look public, more in line with what he saw at flashy invite-only locales.

“Oh, good evening, my good sir!” the bartender smiled warmly, setting the young man’s drink on the bar, wiping his chubby hands with a small towel. “The name’s Bacchus; what can I get you?”

“Jesse. And some chips would be nice.” Jesse said, gesturing back towards the counter.

“Ah, food is served in the dining hall-” he began, but stopped himself with a little chuckle that sent his soft belly bouncing. “Oh! You mean for the games; many apologies, but Kharon is measuring winnings in the back at the moment. He should return any minute-- you can wait here with a drink, if you’d like. On the house.”

“None for me, thanks; not before I play.” Jesse waved him off, but the bartender waved him forward.

“Doesn’t have to be alcoholic; come on, I’ll mix you up something tasty for the wait.”

Jesse paused, glancing back towards the counter, and finally approached the bar with a little sigh. He sat next to the young man, the two seats-- like the seats at the slot machines-- were wide enough that it wasn’t awkwardly close.

“Oh, another one! I was starting to think I was the only person here.” the young man spoke, words rolling off his tongue in a friendly french lilt. His blue eyes sparkled even under the warm light of the bar. “I’m Claude. Claude Benoit. Lovely place, is it not?”

“It’s certainly something.” Jesse said, leaning against the bar. A moment of quiet passed, and Claude spoke again.

“So, did you get an invite too?” he asked. “I was surprised they’d send me one so far away; perhaps my exploits in Paris precede me.” he giggled, his soft, wavy blonde hair bouncing.

“So it is by invite only, then.” Jesse began, letting out a sigh. “Better beat it before security kicks my ass-”

“Oh, nonsense; the invitations were only to add some excitement to the grand opening.” the bartender spoke, rolling ice back and forth in two silver containers, deep red liquid flowing over and over between the two. “Attract a handful of the luckiest the world has to offer, give them first dibs on chancing fate. But of course, the doors are open to all; besides, you seem like just the sort that should be here.”

“I do alright for myself.” he shrugged, but Claude scooted in close.

“Aha! Not merely a casual player; you live life on chance too, a man after my own heart!” he laughed, propping his head up on his hands with an expression like a smitten lover. “Tell me, what’s your fancy? Poker, slots…?”

“Blackjack. Err, twenty-one, as some people say.” Jesse said.

“Aha, cards! Lovely, lovely; my fortune passed to me from poker tables, but blackjack is near to my heart as well. Though, I do enjoy the simplicity of these electronic games; just push a button or pull a lever, and luck is dispensed! Or, well, not dispensed, I suppose.”

Bacchus placed a short, pink glass on the bar in front of Jesse, who listened on to Claude’s enthusiastic rambling about the various types of gambling machines in his home city. Jesse picked up the beverage, sipped it; the fresh taste of strawberry nectar filled his mouth, washing down his throat in a waterfall of frosty, sugary sweetness.

“Oh, that Kharon sure is taking a long while, no?” Claude whined, looking around at the slot machines. “I’m so eager to give these a spin…”

Before Jesse could respond, the double doors at the back of the building rushed open, their heavy wood settling against the walls with an impressively deep thump. A man stepped out from the room beyond, pale hands clasped politely together. A Dealer, from the looks of him; he was simply dressed, in matching onyx-black slacks and waistcoat, with a burgundy tie that stood like blood on marble against his pure white shirt.

“Gentleman,” he regarded Claude and Jesse, his pale blue eyes unblinkingly moving from man to man. He seemed to Jesse a young ghost in the dim light, stark white hair combed neatly and flesh as smooth and uncorrupted as a coroner’s subject. “Allow me to extend an invitation to the VIP lounge as our guests of honor for the evening.” Claude gripped his half-empty drink, eyes opening wide. "Tu te moques de moi? I-I mean, surely you jest! We’re the only ones here, and haven’t even had a chance to play; hardly very important, no?”

The ghostly Dealer simply smiled. “An opportunity to become very important. We’d like to offer you both the chance to play against the house; our game for the evening will be twenty-one, with yours truly dealing.”

Jesse straightened up in his seat, leaning towards the Dealer now. “Twenty-one, you say? Color me interested… but it’s like my friend here said, we haven’t even had a chance to buy chips yet.”

“A small sum will be provided for the purposes of the game. Call it an incentive to join me. You’ll only need to repay what you lose if you lose a bet beyond the summation of the pool. But something tells me you won’t have that issue.”

Jesse nodded, and pushed himself off the bar to a stand. “Alright… you have yourself a deal.”

“Splendid! Will your friend be joining us?”

Claude, rosy cheeked and looking bashfully through the bottom of his glass, quickly set it down and wiped his soft lips. “Non, non; you must pardon me, sir, for your invitation is gracious, but I’m afraid I can’t touch cards after I've had a drink. I’d like to stick to the machines; binary bets treat me better when my belly is warm, aha. You two go ahead, play away; I shall await this Kharon and have my fun out here.”

“As you wish.” the Dealer nodded, smile never falling from his pale pink lips. “Sir? If you’ll follow me.”

Jesse stepped away, leaving the half-drunk boy in the company of the bartender.

“Win big, yes?” Claude called after him, his joyous laugh bouncing around the room.

“You bet.” Jesse spoke to himself as he entered the VIP area. It was more of the same classically-styled furnishings, only here they seemed of an even-finer caliber; long, deep-set booths of deep red cherry and purple velvet arranged against the walls, thickly padded wingback chairs of similarly substantially-disproportionate depth and width arranged around green-furred tables. Serving carts with several tiers were arranged at the ready by the booths, seemingly prepared to serve many gamblers wine and steak to keep them playing. But for now, the room was empty, save for Jesse and the Dealer.

Jesse turned in time to see the Dealer shutting the double doors. Through the gap between the rapidly closing doors, he could see a man step up to the counter-- the elusive Kharon, maybe-- and give him a knowing smile. And then, the doors were closed, and the Dealer was gesturing to a chair in the middle of the room.

“If you’d like to have a seat there, I’ll begin by explaining the rules of this evening’s event.”

Jesse did as he was told, swinging his arms to loosen his shoulders as though he were a baseball player stepping up to bat, and sat down at the chair. It was like resting on a velveteen pillow, though it was perhaps ill-fit for somebody of his size; he was no slender waif, shoulders and biceps broadened by his excess free-time spent at the gym sculpting his body just shy of muscular formidability, and yet he felt like a child in a recliner. Too wide to be a chair, yet just shy of a love-seat… Jesse shrugged off the strange taste in furniture and sat cross-legged on the seat, as silly as it made him feel. The Dealer sat on a simple wooden stool across from him, though properly sized for his slender build.

“Now then.” the Dealer spoke, drawing a wooden box from the edge of the table towards him. The lid was designed with a carved wooden tree, each branching bowing under the weight of many ornately-designed fruits. It seemed there were multiple round shapes reaching what appeared to be swollen limbs up towards the fruits, but Jesse couldn’t quite make them out. The Dealer placed his hands over the lid, and folded the sides out like a book; inside the velvet lined box, a deck of cards, elegantly gold-leafed on their backs, looking freshly made and never-before-touched, despite the antique quality of the box they were housed in.

“For your inspection,” the Dealer spoke, raising the deck from the box and placing them before Jesse. “So you understand, win or lose, it’s only chance that decides the hand you receive.”

Thumbing through the cards, Jesse took the time to peruse the designs imprinted on them. They were seemingly hand-painted, each portraying unique representations of the face cards; the king seemed more princely, youthful with a cocky grin on his sharply feminine face, eyes painted gold. The jack was painted with the figure of a knight, imposingly muscular, black hair flowing down to his broad shoulders and framing a proudly serious expression. He expected one figure for the queen, but instead there were two figures painted together, holding a box with the suit inscribed upon it between them: a woman with dark brown skin dressed in silk finery, and a bronze-fleshed man, shirtless, gold piercings on his chest and ears. The numbered cards were simply numbers, the aces simply aces.

“Satisfactory?” the Dealer asked, extending his hand toward him. Jesse nodded, placing it in his hand, feeling for a moment the intense heat radiating off of his palm. It made him shiver, this warmth; he loosened his shirt collar, undoing the top button.

“Excellent.” the Dealer smiled, beginning to shuffle the cards. “The rules are simple; there will be five rounds, and each round begins with a bet. The maximum for each player will be 200: I will provide this first pool to you. Try not to lose it all at once.” he chuckled, though whether it was to himself or for Jesse, he couldn’t tell. “To make things more interesting, I’ll have free reign to bet as I please, not merely a match of your own amount. Once this is finalized, each player will be dealt two cards, one face up and one face down. You may choose to hit or stand. Whichever hand is closest to 21 without going over at the end of the round wins. If you go over-”

“You lose. Don’t worry, I’ve played before.” Jesse said.

“So you have. Wonderful; now, your prize for joining me.”

The Dealer reached under the table, dispensing chips from an unseen dispenser, placing twenty chips in two neat stacks in front of him. Each chip was black, seemingly made of shiny volcanic stone, and had a gold “10” etched on the face of each one. “200 actual dollars? That’s generous.” “Pounds, sir.” The Dealer corrected. “Makes things interesting. They’ll be converted at the end of each round, and you can surrender your tokens to the front desk before you leave.”

“British? Huh.” “I hail from the marshes of England, but have not been in many years.” the Dealer said, and simply smiled.

“Well… alright then.” Jesse shrugged, and placed one token in front of himself. “Deal me in.”

“Testing the waters, I see. Very well.” the Dealer nodded, and reciprocated with one token of his own. “The current total bet is twenty.”

With graceful movements, the Dealer carefully placed two exposed cards in front of Jesse, and then two in front of himself with one hidden, face down. The Dealer held a three; Jesse’s hand consisted of a nine and a king, the pretty face of the painted gentleman staring up at him in his eternal smile. And there it is: the feeling of the scales tipping in his favor once again, like waking up to sunlight on his skin.

“I’ll stay.” he spoke, looking intently at the Dealer’s hand. The Dealer turned over his own card, revealing a ten. He drew one more… and drew another ten.

“And that’s a bust. The winnings are yours.”

Jesse always told himself he’d never do drugs, since he already knew nothing would compare to this: nothing else in the world made him happier than a win. And yet, as the two tokens passed the threshold from the betting zone on the table to his own little square, he couldn’t help but notice a strange tingling sensation welling up in his abdomen. It was like goosebumps, only deeper; a momentary tingle that echoed through his core and abated rapidly to nothing. He adjusted his waistcoat, undoing the top button, and fiddled with his belt.

“Is something the matter, sir?” the Dealer smiled, hands folded patiently on the deck of cards.

“No, it’s nothing. Just had too big of a lunch, I guess.” Jesse said, settling back into his seat casually, brushing away the odd sensation.

“Then we shall commence the second round. If you’ll place your bet, please.”

Jesse took a deep breath, rubbed his smooth cheek in contemplation… and then pushed the entire pile of tokens forward. “All in.”

“My my…” the Dealer grinned, and similarly pushed his entire pile forward. “Go big or go home, eh?” The way he hovered on the “or” sent a strange tingle down Jesse’s back.

“The total bet is currently 400 pounds. Dealing will begin.”

Same as before, the cards were dealt. And same as before, the endorphin rush of risk flooded his system, sending his heart thumping like nightclub bass. Jesse watched the ten be placed, and then the ace; another easy win passed unto him by the gods of luck, he thought with a grin, whoever they may be.

“And that’s blackjack. Goodness, you weren’t kidding, you’re quite good at this game. That’s 400 big ones for you, my lucky friend.”

“Well, what can I say.” Jesse responded coolly, reaching out to scoop up the whole pile of tokens. And as they plinked together on their way towards him, the odd sensation in his middle returned, rippling out beneath his flesh like a warm tidal wave. It overwhelmed; he let go of the chips, pushing himself back into the chair to keep himself from slumping forward.

“Wha…?” he slurred, holding his hands out in front of himself, wondering if he’d see his very flesh melting from his muscle, for that was the sensation that throbbed beneath every pore on his body. Not pain, far from it; a sudden and all-consuming relaxation, like being dunked into a pool of warm honey.

Drugged… he had to be, for why else did it seem like his hands were changing before his very eyes? The definition of the slender bones in his hands blurred, then vanished. The gaps between his fingers began to close, flesh rose to swallow his wrists; a pinch at his middle drew his eyes down and away, sending his head reeling at the sight below.

A belly, fat and saggy, rose in a buttery swell of flesh beneath his waistcoat, forcing his shirt tails out of his too-tight pants. A muffin top had already formed where once there were tight abs, starting to dip down towards thighs that pulled the fabric skin-tight around them. He dreamily moved his head to both sides of his body, watching rolls form beneath his swelling tits, pushing his shirt to his limits; his ass blobbed out to either side of him like pizza dough pressed in slacks, making the oversized chair seem ever closer to a “normal” size.

“What’s happening to me?...” he huffed in horror, mind still stuck between dull panic and stubborn disbelief.

“Your winnings are being transferred. It should only take a moment.” the Dealer spoke, that same calm smile never leaving his lips. He began to dispense more tokens, slowly setting them out in front of himself one by one.

“No… no, this can’t be real…” Jesse muttered, his voice foreign to himself, broadcasted from plump lips, chubby cheeks and a chest swaddled in lard.

“I assure you, it’s all real. Every pound, all 400… we’d never cheat an honest winner. Now, are you ready for round three?” Jesse ignored the Dealer, struggling to stand. He rocked forward, belly rolls bunching together beneath his shirt, busting a trio of buttons from his waistcoat and ripping a seam down the seat of his pants. Everything jiggled as he dropped the inch to the floor, from his rounded neck to his pudding bag thighs. God, he was so heavy… just standing was an alien sensation, the perpetually added mass of his curvaceous front and thick back forcing him to recalculate his stance. Shakily, he took a step with his jiggly arms out ahead of him like he was wading through waist-high water, seams popping and ripping here and there in a cacophony of cloth catastrophe with every movement. If he could just get outside, get some help…

Sweat from a mix of exertion and fear dripped down his cheeks, landing on his chest. Beads formed on his perky pink nipples, which he realized-- with no small shame-- were attached to two bulky bags of milk and lard that obscured the view of the gut that he knew was still getting larger by the way it slapped his thighs lower and lower. One step, two step, one waddle, two waddle, jiggle, grow… at last, with great effort, he reached a saggy arm out towards the door, grasped the handle…

...and found the door stuck tight.

“Now now, my lucky friend,” the Dealer spoke, placing one card in front of himself, and one in front of Jesse’s chair. “It’s quite healthy to get up and stretch your legs after a few games, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t wander too far. After all, we still have four rounds left.”

“No… no more… let me go...” he panted, leaning against the door. He expected it to creak and pop against his immense weight, but it held steady as stone. His gut spread out against the cool surface, offering a small respite for his misty flesh. At least it felt like the growth was slowing… and yet it didn’t make him feel much better. 400 pounds… and combined with his early win of 20, that would put him somewhere in the ballpark of 600 heavy, heavy pounds.

“I’m afraid quitting isn’t an option now. You agreed to five complete rounds, and five complete rounds we’ll play. The devil’s in the details.” he chuckled, a laugh of many voices. “To run with your earnings now would be cheating. You wouldn’t want me to accuse you of cheating, now would you?...”

The Dealer glanced back over his shoulder toward Jesse, his eyes burning with a fiery orange light, like molten gold. His smile widened, revealing sharp silver teeth like knife tips.

“I’d suggest you have a seat now, Jesse Ward. Allow me to help.”

Jesse yelped as a strange force wrapped around his midsection, like a giant invisible hand that plucked him from the ground, carried him through the air, and placed his considerable girth back in the chair. Where it had seemed like a loveseat before, the sides of the chair gently pressed into the swell of his butt, though it was simple fright that held him there.

“Splendid. Betting has begun.”

The words caught in his head, jammed by recurring waves of fresh panic. What could he do? Just play?

“What are you?” he blurted, gripping the chair arms tight to stop his wobbly trembling.

“Why don’t we talk while we play? Place your bet, please.” he smiled, hands clasped together in front of himself as if in unholy prayer. His breaths exuded steam now; whatever facade he held before was slowly failing, dripping off like a wax mask.

Jesse looked at the pile of chips in front of him, their awful weight unbearable. He could hardly stand to touch them, but with no way around it, he slowly reached out and pushed a single chip forward.

“Aha! Hardly giving me a chance to win it back, are you? Ah well, I’m feeling pretty good about this one, so I’ll take it upon myself to make this interesting…”

The chips slowly floated up one by one from their rows, all twenty of them, settling down in a spiral formation around the single chip.

“The bet is now 210. The game is now afoot; good luck, my girthy gambler.”

The Dealer placed another card ahead of himself. As he reached across the table, card in hand, Jesse mustered up the courage to ask again.

“What are you?”

“Oh, dear Jesse, that might be playing my hand too early… but perhaps it’s obvious by my poker face?” he giggled, the sound sending a chill down his spine. “From an underworld, a place that man finds himself from time to time since time began. I… simply found my way to the realm of man instead. It’s a goldrush up here; all sorts of fun can be had with all of these delightfully mortal wants and desires.”

The Dealer set the card in front of Jesse. A jack, with the picture of the knight, but the picture had changed; the once imposing knight had been rendered round as a pumpkin, gut bursting forth from his armor, tired expression painted on a face softened into round, feminine features. The discomforting card brought his total to 15.

“So… why this? Are you going to take my… my soul?” Jesse whispered the last part, thinking of all of the faustian tales he’d heard since he was a child.

“Not unless it’s on the table, my dear; I’m simply offering what every gambler wants in the end. I want to see the desires of men and women taken to the extreme, but unlike some others, I don’t want anyone to bargain for it. For what do mortals have that I don’t? No, I want people to play for it… a chance at excess.”

The word rolled from his tongue in a cloud of hot steam that set a fresh wave of perspiration over Jesse’s belly. Jesse shuddered; was he telling the truth, or was this another veiled trick? Though, he hadn’t lied to him yet, just obscured the details to this terrible game... as important as they were. He was playing fairly… which gave him an idea.

The Dealer held his hand out, palm up. “And speaking of… your move.”

“Stay. I’ll stay.” Jesse spoke quickly.

“If you’re sure…” the Dealer said, turning over his cards to reveal a 7 and a 2. He drew one more, pulled a four, and drew another, turning it over.

“No…” Jesse whispered, heart sinking fast. The king of hearts. He had drawn a king of hearts, the princely man on the card drawn morbidly obese, maybe fatter than Jesse-- it was hard to tell how tall he was in the portrait, but he certainly seemed wider-- with a look of hunger in his eyes that mocked him.

“Don’t look so down, Jesse: that’s a bust for me. I’ve lost. Which means you won! My, how truly lucky you are.”

The spiral of chips began to float again, lining themselves up ahead of him. Tauntingly, they hopped, bounced off his gut, and landed with the other earnings, each thump adding another ten pounds to his frame. Thump, grow, thump, grow… he could feel the pounds pouring into him like melted butter in a latex balloon, belly sagging towards his shins like a lardy volcanic flow.

“I’m so big…” he whined, gripping his breasts as if to hold them back. And yet, they simply sagged between his fingers, growing fatter and rounder, pancakes of side-roll fat forming beneath them that reached around to his sagging rolls of his back. His shirt began to pull itself apart, jiggling water wing arms growing far too big for any fabric to contain them, broad shoulders ripping it down the back.

“Some might start to think your game was more strip poker than blackjack if they saw you in such a state as this, Jesse.” the Dealer tittered, watching him grow fatter still.

Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen; the chips continued their little trapeze act, and he his growing one. His arms, uselessly laid on his belly, rose up higher as his upper belly roll rose like so much pizza dough. His hips flared out tremendously wide, the swell of his buttcheeks below pushing into the sides of the chair, wedging him in like a titanic loaf of bread in a pan. The last chip bounced off his belly, adding a third rolly chin to his face, and bringing his earnings--and added weight-- to 630.

“Huff… ha…” he panted through bloated lips pushed together by his obscenely fattened face.

“You know, in the early days of my residence in this world, weight was a signifier of wealth. I’d dare say kings might be envious of your current heft… and perhaps a prince or two, but perhaps only because they’d still be small enough to wiggle a toe or two. Oh, the fun I’d have with royalty, aha!”

The Dealer’s eyes glowed brighter, thin rivulets of gold dripping out to gild his cheeks. He didn’t seem to notice, or else didn’t much care; he simply cued up another selection of the cursed chips, providing a twenty-second countdown to the next round.

I can’t take much more of this… I’m fatter than a cow, fatter than a hippo, fatter than… fat! It’s all so heavy… every part of me is so full, so soft, so wobbly… if I go over my weight any more, I’ll never be able to walk again. There must be a way to lose… Think, dammit, think!

“Round four will begin shortly… please, place your bets.” the Dealer smiled, snapping Jesse back to reality. Once again, Jesse reached out-- with some added difficulty, struggling at leaning his bulky body close enough to get his flabby arm to the table-- to push a single chip forward.

“That’s just a show of poor sportsmanship, Jesse… you’re truly lucky I’m here to raise the stakes.” the Dealer hissed, shoving all of his chips forward again. “The bet is now 210. Round four has begun.”

Jesse watched with exhausted anticipation as the cards were placed one by one. A seven and a two… at least it’s not an instant win. It felt strange pushing back against luck; wrong, even, to force a loss. But if he wanted to walk out of here…

“Hit.” he nodded, feeling the roll of his neck bunch up like a blubbery donut as he did so. Another card was placed; a three.

“Hit.” he said again, heart thumping between his mammoth breasts. Another card; another two.

“Hmm… pushing your luck, eh?” the Dealer grinned.

“Come on… hit me.” Jesse spoke, voice trembling. This was it; he just had to go over. Just one more card…

“And another seven. That’s-”

Impossible…

“Blackjack. Perhaps it was a fool’s errand to try and win against you, but I have to say: I’m having a ton of fun.”

“T-That can’t be! You… you have to be cheating!”

“Cheating?” the Dealer laughed, the sound throaty and indignant. “But you’re the one who’s always winning. No, dear Jesse… lady luck just won’t leave your side. Now, your winnings…”

“Wait, j-just hold on-”

Jesse raised his hands in protest, hoping to block the slowly levitating chips from adding to his pile, but he couldn’t get close enough to reach; his fat belly pushed into the sturdy table, limiting him to futile swats at the approaching chips.

*Guuuurble…*

His gut groaned ominously as the chips transferred into his pile at a slow, methodical pace, the Dealer savoring the show beyond the expanse of green felt. At the third chip, whatever scraps of clothing that remained on his body tore free, slipping off his misty flesh and down to the floor. Even his underwear, stretchy and pulled tight between his cheeks like a cheap g-string, utterly failed with a perceptible snap that sent his butt jiggling.

Bigger, bigger… at 900 lbs, he was already the fattest person he had ever seen by a long shot, and still he was getting bigger. His fingers swelled into little sausages, fat hands dimpling into buttery mitts, wrists melding into fat forearms that in turn melted into fat arms that sagged against his buttery under-tit rolls even if he raised them as far as they could go-- which wasn’t very far. His breasts spilled out against his belly in two overly-full swells, udders that would make even the chestiest supermodel green with envy. His nipples ached; he felt like a proper cow, ready to be relieved of his milk… it was quickly becoming obvious that this place was shaping him, molding him beyond a simple addition of weight, turning him into the definition of overindulgent plenty.

The chair beneath his form had seemed so big before, and now he was practically bursting out of it, back fat oozing around the backrest, belly rolls creeping up over the sides, butt pushing up beneath them to further consume the arm rests. The titanic, churning belly at his front spilled far past his knees, creeping forward like a massive melting yoga ball, eating up his playable space on the table in front of him. Even his face swelled into obscenely round shapes, cheeks melding directly into his fat neck, jawline utterly missing with only the barest dimple commemorating his first of three rolly chins; if anyone saw him now, he doubted they’d have even a hint at who he was-- who he used to be.

“Mm, getting rich there… and I’m not just talking about your milk.” the Dealer chuckled, followed by a surge of growth in Jesse’s chest that pushed him up another cup size or three… if they even made bras that big. Jesse simply groaned as the last eighty pounds surged into his body in tens like kinks in a hose of cream, pushing every swollen roll just a little bigger, weighing him down just a little more until it finally stopped, leaving him as a half-ton pile of defeated fat rolls.

“Well, it seems we’re at the final round. I’m sad to see it come to an end… but I saved the best for last.”

Jesse looked over his cleavage, holding his breasts like a massive fertility idol just to keep the sensitive blubber from rubbing against his belly too much with each heavy breath. He watched as the Dealer withdrew a single solid gold token from below the table, this one inscribed with a deep-set ‘500’.

“The final round will be a high-stakes game. The maximum bet for this round has been raised to 500… with a minimum bet of 500.”

“Buh… But if I win…” Jesse panted, still awash with the strange sensations that overwhelmed him after the last growth spurt. Things tingled and sloshed and wobbled at nearly every roll and crevice of his wide, wide body, sending him flushing and fidgeting in his chair.

“You’ll be more than 1900 pounds richer than when you started… in both pocket and body, aha.” The Dealer chuckled, the sound like sharp rocks falling down a mountain.

“I… I can’t…” Jesse huffed, fat hands pressed to the curve of his sloshing gut.“I’m big… too big…to reach…I can’t play.”

“Nonsense, my porcine player! I’ll appoint you some attendants; they’ll be more than willing to help you out.”

A draft like an open oven rolled across Jesse’s sweating backrolls, and just as quickly diminished into nothing. He tried to look for the source of the sudden heat, but found the range of his vision was greatly reduced by the new addition of flushed saddlebag cheeks and the neck roll that bulged up towards his soft brown hair.

The answer didn’t take long to arrive, however; emerging from his left and right were two slender male forms, clad in identical latex booty shorts that clung tightly to their exaggerated hips. In fact, almost everything about them was identical; the same light blue flesh, the same bright, round white eyes surrounded by gothic black makeup, the same golden bars piercing their deep purple nipples, the same swirling black ram horns.

“Aww, need some help, darling?” the incubus to his right purred, wrapping his slender arms around his bloated, hammy sack of a bicep, resting his smooth, alluringly pretty face against his shoulder.

“Allow us to help… after all, there’s still *loads* of fun left to be had, ehehehe~” the incubus to his left responded in the same seductive tone, covering his black lips with his hand as he giggled to himself.

“Now now, Cassy, Cress; do you gentlemen mind arranging things for our guest here? It’s our final hand of the evening… you can have all the fun you’d like in the dining hall once this game of ours is finished.” the Dealer spoke sternly, holding out two cards between his fingers towards them.

“Aye aye, captain.” they spoke in unison; in one fluid moment, Cassy pushed the requisite chips from Jesse’s pile into the betting pool while Cress reached across the table to accept Jesse’s two cards, showing off his exaggerated bubble buns as he did so. He leaned back and gave a knowing smirk before placing the cards on Jesse’s soft belly.

“A seven…” Cassy purred, rubbing the side of his gurgling gut in slow circles.

“...and a four.” Cress finished, rubbing his belly on the opposite side. If he wasn’t gripped by anxious fear, he might’ve admitted how good it felt… but the only thing he could focus on was the heart thumping behind his fat breast.

“Aha, it seems we have similar hands; how interesting. And how will you proceed, Mr. Ward? Will you hit… or will you stay?”

How, indeed. What could he do? 11 was a lucky hand; if he hit, he’d undoubtedly land a blackjack. If he stayed, the dealer could just bust and make him win anyway. He never lost; what options were there for a man who always wins?

Unless…

The twin swells of his chest rose as he took a deep inhale, and let it out slowly.

“...I’ll stay.”

The Dealer shrugged. “If you say so. Now then… my turn.”

A fat drop of sweat rolled down Jesse’s cheek as he watched the dealer place his finger on the deck, pulling one card slowly off the top.

“Let the best man win, hmm?” he grinned, and flipped the card onto the table. His grin faltered, lips tightened into a thin line.

On the table in front of him sat the portrait of the Queen and her lover, the two smooshed into the frame with a burger between them. They had sauce on their lips and chins and looked exhausted, as though they had been eating for days straight… and judging by what little of their blobby bodies Jess could see–mostly just their ballooned-up tits and fat faces–may not have been far from the truth.

“...well. It appears I’ve won.”

“Depends on how you look at it…” Jesse threw him a look of smug self-satisfaction. “...’cause I was aiming to win my mobility. Looks like I really never lose, huh?”

“Well played, sir. Well played indeed.” the Dealer spoke, curls of smoke drifting out of his nostrils. Cress and Cassy let out disappointed “awws” at the same time, shuffling dejectedly up to the table. From his chair-bound spot, Jesse could hear them muttering to themselves: “I wanted a new whale to play with; Angel’s totally gonna rub this in my face…”

“And he was so top heavy! Imagine how big his boobs would’ve gotten…”

The clinking of chips permeated the air as the twin incubi re-sorted the chips to the proper piles. Almost immediately, Jesse could feel himself getting lighter, pound after pound vanishing from his frame. His belly moved back from the table, his breasts shrank; his side rolls diminished, and his backside became less mountainous. When he became small enough to unwedge himself from the chair, he immediately rolled his body to a standing position while he continued shrinking. It almost felt like he was approaching some kind of normal body shape… when the shrinking stopped. While smaller, he still looked like a pro sumo wrestler… or at least just a professional eater. His belly slapped down against rolly thighs, which wrapped around to equally wobbly buttcheeks. Oversized breasts, fat as cantaloupes and just as juicy, bounced against his chest. At least he could still walk…

“Shame to see so much potential wasted, but alas… all good things must come to an end. Enjoy your winnings, Mr. Ward. Perhaps you could try your hand at another game while you’re here?” the Dealer called after him, framed by the two twink-ish twins.

“Go to hell…” he huffed, shakily wobbling his naked bulk towards the door, jiggly arms outstretched like he was walking a tightrope.

Jesse ignored the trio of laughter echoing out behind him as he pushed against the door, his bellybutton engulfing the doorknob as he tried his best to maneuver himself into a less awkward position to grab the handle.

“Come on, Jesse, figure it out… get it open and you’re free. First stop, liposuction clinic, then I have to warn somebody before anybody else gets roped into one of these awful games-”

His heart leapt when he finally found the doorknob.

Claude.

He was so wrapped in the whirlwind of a situation that he had forgotten about him, the pretty Frenchman from the bar; if he was still in the building, he could be in danger too! He hoped he could find him, warn him before it was too late, before he was taken for a wicked game and blown up into some kind of blimp…

The door flew open silently despite his impatient belly slam, sending him stumbling into the main room. There, standing across from the door, drink in hand, was Claude; his soft, manicured hand was just pushing a token into the slot machine in front of him.

“Claude… wait…” he huffed breathlessly, trying his best to awkwardly stomp forward in his unfamiliar new state. Just a bit further…

The blonde man took a lucky sip of his drink, steeling himself for the pull. He raised his hand, grasped the lever…

“No!...”

In that moment, surrounded by sneering devils adorning the hall of slots in front of him, Jesse reached his hand out for Claude, wishing he could cover the last six feet and just yank him away; instead, his legs failed to support his speedy approach and he tripped. Panicked, Jesse let out a yelp and grabbed onto the closest machine to steady himself. The sound startled Claude, who lept out of his chair and dropped his drink with a strawberry splash.

"Monsieur! T-Tu es nu!” he exclaimed in confusion, his cheeks flushing with astonished embarrassment. Just as Jesse was about to breathe a sigh of relief, Claude saw his swaying breasts and stepped back in a flustered daze, slipping on his spilled drink. He also caught himself with the bar of the machine, but this one lurched forward and sent the three wheels spinning. Suddenly, the handle unlocked under him, and his own machine also spun to life.

“1 FREE PLAY!” the letters flashing above him exclaimed, sending a wave of dread through his expansive body.

Jesse could only watch in shock as he watched the wheels spin, each one stopping with a loud thunk one after another, each displaying matching sixes.

Across the room, behind a still-stunned Claude, his own machine displayed three matching symbols, these ones depicting donuts.

“UNHOLY COMBO: SIX HUNDRED SIXTY SIX POUNDS AWARDED”

The machine cheerily announced the spine-chilling statement above Jesse, a rain of the cursed chips bouncing onto his back rolls. He groaned as he began to swell up again, belly raising him up off the floor as he filled right back up to his last colossal size at the table… and larger beyond.

Behind Claude, a veritable fireworks show erupted from the machine, with jets of fire and dazzling sparkles shooting up into the air. Over the loudspeaker, a bright chime sounded, followed by an excited announcer proclaiming:

“DAILY JACKPOT: THREE THOUSAND POUNDS AWARDED! ”

“Claude… run!” Jesse puffed through pudgy cheeks pushed into his chest, but it was too late. Claude’s middle began to expand like a hose was pumping butter directly into his center, sending the frenchman into a shocked stupor. One by one the buttons popped off of his fine shirt, falling soundlessly to the carpeted floor. Pale breast flesh rapidly bulged through the gaps made by the remaining buttons before these two failed, his round, delicate breasts bouncing out. He grasped them in his hands as if to stop them from encroaching any further, but still they grew, going up a cup size every few fleeting seconds; as if to spite his efforts, his ass quickly took a surge of growth, blasting his pants off like cheap latex; his underwear band couldn’t handle the onslaught and tore free, leaving him nude from the waist down… not that you could see anything particularly naughty, so buried was his manhood in a pillowy fupa and covered with a belly hanging down in double-stacked rolls.

Jesse fared little better, groaning as his body slowly took on the pounds, spreading his flab like pancake batter on the floor. Even amongst the madness, he couldn’t help but be enraptured by the womanly form Claude was taking on, with his huge pink-nippled breasts that blobbed out towards his bellybutton paired– or should he say peared– with his double-wide hips and fat-packed asscheeks that sat wider than anything else on him. He looked like a statue of Venus, an image of fertility and abundance despite his male presentation, though perhaps even ancient sculptures would be hard pressed to capture his girth. Arms hung down like pale flags announcing his body’s surrender to the tide of fat flowing into him, and soon his thick calves began to wobble as he struggled to simply stay standing.

Two demons in skimpy leather harnesses sauntered through the wide wooden doors leading to the dining hall, dragging a kind of chariot seat behind them; the width was considerable and it sat low, covered in deep purple cushions like some kind of pillow for a car-sized jewel. The only object of value here, however, was gaining pounds by the second, and so they wasted no time in positioning it behind Claude’s bare, sagging butt that sagged lower and blimped further outward to greet it. Just as he thought he might find his center of gravity, the two demons positioned themselves on either side of his lardbag arms and pulled him back, sending him falling back to the cushion.

The impact sent him wobbling like a glob of jelly, his sweat-drenched rolls slapping meatily all across his body. He could feel his back-fat touch his ass as he continued to swell, larger and larger still; in the cushioned divot, he looked like dough in a pie tin, the overwhelming roundness of him moving out to fill every available space.

“Hah… hah…” he panted, the sheer act of growing exhausting him; he felt like he was sinking into himself, and he practically was; his neck was engulfed in concentric rings of thick fat, and his cheeks bloated into blubbery watermelon-sized sacks on his face. He could see his cheeks encroaching into his vision, but mercifully the growth moved to the rest of his face too, softening his masculine features into buttery androgyny.

Two more barely-dressed male demons crept out of the dining hall, one sporting a pair of huge bubbly breasts, pierced nipples shining against the casino lights, while the other’s ass swallowed up his skimpy painted-on shorts. The bottom-heavy one carried what looked like a square board with wheels on it, made of some kind of dark wood and decorated with smooth gold. They moved to Jesse now, who had stopped growing by this point and was too focused on Claude to care about the demons at his sides.

“Come on, big boy; can’t lay around forever.” the top-heavy demon spoke commandingly down to him with a grin, straddling his butt.

“Or maybe he can? Give him another spin.” the bottom heavy one giggled, hugging the wheeled board against his chest.

“Now now, that would be cheating… plenty of time for more games later, anyway. Ready?”

The bottom heavy demon nodded, and the one straddling his ass leaned over, warm breasts pushing into his back fat, and hooked two muscular arms around his own sizable chest. He pulled up, and suddenly Jesse was lifted to a standing position. The bottom-heavy demon lifted his gargantuan belly and placed the rolling board beneath it, letting the mass plop back on top of it quickly after.

“There. Now you’re at least a little mobile… won’t take you quite so long to waddle that blubbery ass around, anyway.” the demon behind him chuckled, releasing him from his grasp.

“Now then,” one of the lusty creatures spoke beside Claude, but the bottom-heavy one by Jesse continued, “why don’t we get to the dining hall? There’s plenty there for winners like yourselves..”

“All on the house, of course.”

“We’re sure you’re simply starving.”

“I know I could go for a bite… I’m always hungry for stuffed pig.”

With this, the demons laughed, and began pulling Claude’s cart like horses on a carriage, moving him towards the doors. Jesse was pushed forward to follow behind, the wheel letting him rest forward on his gut to move, though he would’ve followed behind even if the demanding demons weren’t directing him. What else was there to do in hell but go deeper and see where it all leads?

He shuddered, expecting a huge oven, or perhaps pitchforks waiting for him on the other side of the doors, and as they passed into darkness his breath hitched– yet the darkness lessened as they walked, brightening slowly until they came to the end of a dim hall. Two more doors just as wide as the last opened by themselves, and the pair rolled into a huge, lavishly decorated room. It almost looked like a theater, with wide viewing boxes forming towers that surrounded a stage, more spaces in front of the stage allowing more up-close viewings of the performance. Moans low as whales and high as birdsong yet no less passionate emanated from the boxes, putting images of the passions the audience engaged in in Jesse’s mind. And as Claude and Jesse were moved to the ramps on both sides of the stage, they came to the collective realization that *they* were this evening’s show.

“Lardies and jellyman, tonight’s special show…” a voice from above spoke, booming yet smooth and melodic, “winners that just keep winning. And my, how they’ve won big tonight…”

Claude’s cart stopped in the spotlight shining in the middle of the stage, Jesse set next to him. They exchanged tired glances as the quad of demons disappeared behind the stage curtains, returning just as quickly with several food carts piled high with pastries, cakes, puddings, and pies.

“These two will get a choice… eat something from the cart, or feed it to their new friend. Greed begets gluttony.. But will gluttony beget lust?” the voice above questioned. “Place your bets as our contestants decide…’

Jesse stared at Claude, the light turning him into a radiating beacon of glistening flesh, his many rolls practically sparkling. He was immense, obscenely and impossibly fat… yet something about how utterly engulfed in himself he was captivated Jesse. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from how his legs sat uselessly saddled with hundreds of pounds of fat, arms laying out against his sides like gloves taped on bin bags full of lard.

“J-Jesse…”

The word was enough to shake him from his enamored, confused daze.

‘Claude… Claude, I-”

“Please… Jesse, I can’t…” he huffed, panting over his own immensity, boy boobs bobbing on his chest with every breath.

“N-No, I… I understand.” Jesse spoke, taking a heavy step towards him. Pushing their guts together to get close enough, Jesse placed a hand on the edge of his huge belly. “I’ll have to eat… I promise I won’t let you get any bigger if I can help it.”

He felt immediately guilty thinking the opposite, thinking obscene and uncontrollable thoughts about stuffing every one of the hundreds of pounds of bakery delights into him, making him so much bigger…

A loud gurgle rumbled in Claude’s belly, and a flush rose from his nose to his blubbery chest.

“No… Jesse… please… feed me. My belly… so hungry…” he huffed, biting his lip. “This weight… is driving me wild… nom de dieu…”

Jesse stopped, stunned, watching this blob of a man moan in a sea of himself. And then, grabbing a thick slice of chocolate cake, he leaned forward to press it to his lips, practically laying on him to get close enough. Their soft rolls mingled together in the warm embrace, and as Claude took the first bite, the two couldn’t help but wonder…

Was this truly hell?

Or their own personal heaven?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rumors sprouted quickly of the haunted casino off Chance Avenue, with its darkened doors and unlit signs. The winds around the building carried hints of music: dulcet, jazzy tones that vanished as soon as you listened for them, and yet the scents of sweet liquors and fine meals lingered beneath the nose. Nobody truly believed the place was still open despite these vague echoes of life, or if it ever was; it was merely another abandoned building, another empty parking lot. And yet, once every-so-often, an invitation is extended, or else another gambler exhausts all other avenues of luck-based-thrill the city has to offer and finds themselves approaching the edge of the avenue, and once more the grand building comes to life... for some devils are always waiting to make a deal.

#fatboy #fatmen #weightgain #magicweightgain #demonweightgain #gayfat #fatgay #thefattestofallthegays #itshardtothinkoftagssometimes #mywriting #fetishlit #kinklit

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