Go to the bar

Looking out at the city in the distance, your insatiable gut growls for more food. As much you love the endless stream of food which comes from your fridge and constant takeout from cute delivery boys you hunger for something different. You’ve spent the past few months cooped up inside, wallowing in your own filth and depravity. You want to go out and stuff your face where everyone can see — and you know exactly where to do it. There’s a bar downtown that not only sells drinks but big greasy burgers as well. It was originally a sports bar but it became known for attracting bears, gainers and chasers alike. The gay bar reputation pissed off the original conservative owners and they ended up selling the place off to new ones who leaned into their clientele by installing a buffet and changing the name to Ursa Major. You always wanted to go but the old you was too afraid of what people might think - but now you can’t think of a place more deserving of being graced by the slob king’s presence. You instinctually pump you cock as you think of all the hot guys there and shoot another hot load at the thought of turning them all into your pets. But before then, you need to prepare a few things.

You leave Brad where he lies, sleeping in the trash, coated in sweat and cum, and make a mental note to get some proper accommodation for him as well as all your future pets. You lumber into your bedroom which has become your temple of perversion and lechery. Every surface stacked high with bigger and better sex toys, floor littered in the same food trash that fills the rest of your home, walls plastered in stained posters of hot mega chubs, battered California-king-size bed covered in a myriad of cum stains and pointed towards the giant wall mounted TV you use to watch porn as you jerk off and stuff yourself all day long. The potent masculine scent just makes you even more aroused than you already are. You turn to the closet door and can’t help but see yourself in the full body mirror.

Your fat hairy gut would hang down to your sunken knees if it weren’t being held up by your permanent and inhumanly large hard-on. Your saggy pillowy moobs are capped with fat, suckable, nipples. A scruffy beard has grown on your fat face and littered with stray bits of food from your endless gorging. Your blubbery ass is wide enough to fill up a small couch. Every inch of you is coated in hair and greasy sweat that gives off a potent and intoxicating musk. Seeing your godly form just fills you with endless lust that makes your cock throb and leak. Without any hesitation you wrap your hand around you cock once again and rub out another load, blasting hot sticky ropes of cum on the mirror before getting back to business.

You can’t remember the last time you put on clothes. You simply chose to laze around the house completely in the nude for the past few months and with your exponential growth you know there’s no hope that any of your old clothes will fit you anymore. As much as you think everyone should be honored to gaze upon your gloriously obese form you know going out in the nude would only create unnecessary complications. You’re going to need a new wardrobe. You take your 2-liter of wishing soda and take a sip.

“I want some new clothes. Something that shows off my fat.”

Within seconds a studded leather harness materializes around your porcine body and tightens to gently squeeze your lard, accentuating your adipose. A similar leather jock strap phases into existence around your massive ass with an extremely elastic front to house your mammoth cock. And finally a crown of real gold and jewels manifests on top of your head. You look even more like a sexy beast than ever but still not quite street appropriate. You might as well prevent any problems before they occur. You take another sip of soda.

“-BBWOURP- I wish nobody questions my nudity.”

You don’t see anything happen but you can feel it in your gut. Now that that’s all squared away it’s time you solved the riddle of your transportation since there’s no way you’d fit into any car and taking the bus is for peasants. Finally, you take a third sip.

“I wish this door always lead wherever I desire.”

The door to your closet seems to shift and glow for a few seconds before settling down, looking like the same plain old door that’s always been there. Before you can reach out you feel something manifest in your hand, a strange key that seems to glitter slightly like the wishing powder. Somehow you instinctively know that this key is for when you want to come back home. You wedge the key safely in the strained waistband of your jock and reach for the door knob. You turn it and slowly open the door.

Behind the door, where there was just some boring shirts hanging on hangers was now the bumping and bustling interior of Ursa Major in the middle of happy hour. You grin and squeeze your way through the door.