The interrogation room

by Pragmaton

 A suspect from a motorcycle gang is interrogated in a small room. But the officers soon find out they are unable to contain the big bellied bubba…

Added: Feb 2022 8,024 words 1,917 views 5.0 stars (5 votes)

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Ten feet by ten feet. Four white walls. One table. Three chairs. One 1-way looking glass.

These were the specifications that were imposed by the state. They were the specifications imposed on the room where his life would end.

But he did not mind.

Ignacio Gomez had lived a pretty good life compared to the standards of his small hometown in Southern Texas. The neighborhood wasn’t perfect; it was always rife with crime and illicit dealings that took place in back-corner alleys. He had taken part in those dealings himself when he was just a young kid, but eventually an opportunity arose that set him upon a path that differentiated himself from a common thief or drug dealer.

He was nicknamed Iggy by the friends in the gang he rode in. “Rode” is the correct term, because Iggy was actually a member of a motorcycle gang dubbed “Blood-Iron”. Each biker in the gang wore a black leather vest when he rode, depicting the two crests that represented their creed.

On the left side, a picture of a heart that was half muscle, half machine. Blood and sinew tissue trans-morphed into metallic gray, with engine pistons emitting black smoke as gears whirred. It represented their passion for both “the ride” and the work they did. No matter what crimes or misdeeds they committed, they were still human on the inside.

However, this did not lessen the impact of the insignia on the right side of the vest. A gleaming, silver skull could be seen cackling, eyes alive with forbidden secrets. Those eyes told a tale, that if any single member of their biker family was crossed or hurt in any way, there would be fucking hell to pay.

Iggy escaped the cycle of petty crimes and desolation that he had seen so many of his childhood friends and cousins fall victim to. When Blood-Iron first rode into town, he was mesmerized by the sheer force and respect that they commanded, which was way more intimidating than the self-acclaimed drug lords that squabbled over trivial control of street territories. People cleared the streets in fear at the approaching roar of their bike engines.

The gang’s visits were infrequent. They came to town every couple of months, seeking business with the local drug dealers. There was a day, however where they came back only a week after a previous visit. Apparently the drug lords from Iggy’s hometown provided some bad cocaine to the bikers, who in turn attempted to sell it in different cities.

Blood-Iron was a good customer who nearly always cleaned them out, so to take advantage of that, some of the drug lords decided to dilute the quality of the cocaine by mixing it with various pain relievers in order to increase their overall profit. Unfortunately, they did not have time to test the product before the bikers came to town. Once used, it became immediately apparent that there were some serious side effects of the drug. Users were subject to fainting and seizures, while a handful ended up dying after a few days of regular use.

Needless to say, with their reputation damaged, Blood-Iron was out for…well, blood. They came back to the town, occupying it until every drug dealer was rounded up and felt their wrath. Fortunately, they did not show any interest in punishing the citizens of the small town. For a gang, they had an unusually strong sense of justice, only seeking to do harm on the ones responsible for the deceit.

Ironically, for the time that the bikers inhabited the town, the townsfolk experienced an era of peace like none before it. Streets were free of crime for the first time in years. To show their gratitude, they provided living quarters and home-cooked meals to the bikers. Iggy’s family did its part in making sure that their stay was as comfortable as possible.

It was then that Iggy had made a decision. He was only a teenager, but he did not grow up like other kids. Even 10-year-olds were used as messengers for turf wars in those days. He knew every nook and cranny that the drug lords were using as potential hiding spots when the bikers came to town. However, his plan was a big risk to himself and to his family. Anyone else who knew where the drug lords were hiding would have shrugged it off, not wanting to get involved or a bullet in the head. If it were to be done, it would have to be a clean sweep, or not at all.

Iggy told the bike leaders where all of the drug dealers could be found, helping to eradicate them from the town and securing the trust of Blood-Iron. The biker gang was so taken by the support of the town and its hospitality that it decided to use it as a base of operations for rebuilding their reputation. The town realized that it was better to be inhabited by one large gang with familial ideals than a bunch of smaller gangs that were constantly warring with each other with no consideration of who would be caught in the crossfire.

Iggy initially served as a clerk for the gang, preparing shipments of high-quality product for distribution. However, as soon as he turned 18, Blood-Iron surprised him with a motorcycle of his own, extending an invitation for him to become an official member. The bike itself was a hand-me-down, but Iggy was moved nonetheless. He recited the creed and became a member, protecting the city where his family lived while also being able to ride with his new family, accruing new customers across the state.

Fast forward twenty years.

Iggy had certainly grown into the role he had sought to fulfill. Because of his dedication to the gang and their higher standards of conducting business, his hometown had flourished, renovated with the money that the gang accumulated. The bikers did not forget how the townsfolk took care of them, so they poured a portion of their profits back into the town, jumpstarting many businesses in the process. Iggy learned quite a bit about the ins and outs of their trade, and was heralded by many as a founder of the town’s rebirth into a wealthy city.

However, Iggy had grown in more ways than one. Being a business leader in a biker gang and constantly traveling from city to city was hungry work. Additionally, it didn’t help his growing waistline when each time he came back from a trip his family and old neighbors buried him in dozens of traditional Mexican meals. By the time he was 25, he was quite the rotund biker, his brown, hairless gut pushing out beneath his vest and quivering jovially while he rode. He preferred to ride shirtless, the side rolls of his moobs making their debut through the arm holes of the leather vest.

Over time, he decided that the work he engaged in required a certain level of fitness if he were to serve the gang to the best of his ability. He was quickly blimping up to be the heaviest member, and he needed to be able to properly protect himself and his fellow gang members every time they were thrown into jail on a technicality. Fortunately, they were always bailed out due to the expertise of some of the best defense attorneys money could buy.

However, one could never be too careful. The day may come when one of them would have to do serious time for the sake of Blood-Iron, and Iggy did not want to die in prison because he was simply too fat to hold his own. Over the years, he found it increasingly difficult to maneuver his bulk with his constantly overstuffed gut swaggering heavily over his tightened belt. There had to be a change.

So Iggy decided to hit the weights, gratefully accepting advice from his fellow bikers on how to build muscle mass. His pecs thickened considerably, his arms bulged, and his belly shrank, although his gut was still a force to be reckoned with. By the time he was 38, he had achieved serious Latino muscle bull status. Other members would call him “Big Igg” but the large Latino didn’t mind, rather, he enjoyed the attention.

So what lead Iggy to his current situation? A bad drug trade gone wrong.

Blood-Iron received a tip from a reliable source that a potential customer was interested in their goods, requesting to assist with distribution. However, the area was close to corrupt cop territory. Some of their bikers had already been busted once in that area a few years prior, so the penalties would be much higher this time around if they were caught. The cops of that city were not very happy when their lawyer pulled a rabbit out of his hat and got them off on a minor detail. Since then, the gang had taken special care to avoid that area altogether.

But the allure of hiring a third party to distribute there for the gang was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Iggy volunteered to be sent alone in order to check the validity of the tip. He knew that if he were caught, the gang would have to deny its connection with him in order to protect its impartiality. They would insist that they had nothing to do with his plans. He, in exchange, would have to serve an indeterminable prison sentence alone. However, he was not afraid to make that small sacrifice in order to give back to the family that had made him the man he was.

Unfortunately, it turned out the tip was indeed too good to be true. It was a sting set-up arranged by the police department. The supposed client pulled his gun out on Iggy inside the restaurant where they met, as the place swarmed with cops. Iggy made a show of raising an eyebrow and yawning, as he lifted his fork and stuffed a few meatballs into his mouth, savoring the taste. Seconds later, a gun butt cracked across the back of his head, sending him to the floor while a few cops threw a couple of kicks his way. They made sure not to damage his face, though. The bruises on his body would be attributed to a jail fight, he knew. Bastards.

A day later, he found himself inside the interrogation room. He stared impassively at the two cops as they glared back at him. They would not get any information from him, no matter what. He’d rather die than betray Blood-Iron. If these crooked cops decided to torture him, he probably wouldn’t have any other choice except to take his own life.

He shifted uncomfortably in his metal seat. His hands were tightly handcuffed on his lap and he was forced into an orange jumpsuit about two sizes smaller than he was. Big, straining bulges could be seen creasing his front caused by his sizable potbelly, but the full-body zipper that ran up it managed to tolerate them.

Cop #1 slammed his palm on the table and began to scream unintelligible threats and curses at Iggy. Judging by the demonstration of force and maturity level, he figured the guy was a rookie detective. Too many years spent exercising power over others had developed a very poor interrogation technique. It wouldn’t work on a seasoned veteran with as much life experience as himself. The guy was all talk.

It was cop #2 that made him a bit uneasy. He looked to be slightly older than Iggy by a few years, characterized by salt and pepper hair, with a belly of his own to match. He was a big guy who had probably done his fair share of exercising some good ol’ fashioned police brutality back in his hay day.

However, it wasn’t his age or size that made him intimidating to Iggy. The most striking thing about him was that he had icy, blue eyes that seemed to bore right through him. He did nothing but stare at Iggy unblinkingly while his partner tried to work him for the past hour. He kept a folder clutched loosely in his right hand as he kept his arms crossed. His demeanor gave off the distinct impression that he had something dirty up his sleeve, and Iggy did not like it.

Turned out he was right.

Cop #2 stepped forward and held up a hand to silence his partner. Cop #1 closed his mouth mid-curse, lowered his head and retreated like some kind of whipped dog. Iggy’s eyes flicked to the folder in Cop #2’s hand before it hit the table. He then quickly glanced at the cop’s name plate before returning to those cold, blue eyes. It read “Sandusky”.

Sandusky cleared his throat as he opened the folder. His voice was oddly calm.

“Seems like you have some very interesting family members, Mr. Gomez,” he said nonchalantly.

Iggy’s eyes widened when he saw the 5x7 photo of his 25-year-old nephew paper clipped to the corner of the first page. Sandusky flipped through it lazily, giving Iggy plenty of time to view the folder’s contents. Page by page, photos and lengthy reports of Mark (Marco) Gomez’s daily activities were provided. At the ATM. Driving to work. In the supermarket. One photo was bold enough to reveal Mark sitting in the living room of his high-rise apartment while watching tv, unaware someone was taking pictures of him from the building across the street.

“Very successful career, in my opinion,” continued Sandusky. “Top of his class, works now for a major pharmaceutical company currently contracted by the U.S. military.” He raised an eyebrow. “So why, I ask, would he contact you, a leader of a criminal gang, out of nowhere a few weeks ago? Family or not, seems like an unwise move for someone of his security clearance.”

Iggy almost pursed his lips in response, but felt that would be too much of a tell. Instead, he responded.

“Guess we raised that boy right,” he answered gruffly. “I don’t know what you fuckers are used to, but where we come from, family is very important.”

Sandusky sighed. He turned to the one-sided mirror and signaled to someone Iggy could not see. Overhead, two small speakers suddenly crackled to life. There were about five seconds of silence before the sound of a voice filled the room. Iggy’s heart skipped a beat when he realized that the magnified voice was his own.

“Hello? Who’s callin’ me?”

“Tio Iggy! Is that you? It’s me, Marco!”

“Marco?! Really? How the hell have you been, mijo? I haven’t seen you since you left for school! How long has it been?

“Five years,” Marco laughed. “I finished school kind of early and got hired on immediately. It’s been like a whirlwind. I’ve barely had time to think about anything else!”

“I heard! Your mom told me. You were always our little genius, haha! So when are you coming down to visit? I’d like to see ya again!”

“Actually, tio, that’s kind of why I called.” A pause. “I can’t talk for long, but I wanted to come down to visit you. I’ve got something to show you that I think you’ll like. It has something to do with that conversation we had before I went off to school.”

“Huh? I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Remember, tio? What you said about the capsules? The pills?”

“Oh that! Haha I was just kidding! I think I was drunk too. That’s some James Bond shit, it doesn’t exist. To be able to-”

Marco cut him off. “Oh, it’s real all right. And I got my hands on some. I’ll be coming down soon. I’ll contact you, okay? Be expecting me. Love you!”

“Wait, Marco—”

Click. The phone conversation ended, leaving Iggy with a dial tone. After a few seconds he hung up the phone.

Back in the interrogation room, current-timeline Iggy barely realized that his hands were clenched tightly upon on his knees. Sandusky, however, noticed everything.

“I’ll be honest, we don’t really know what you both were talking about. Frankly, the phone conversation and the contents of this folder weren’t retrieved by the most… legal of means. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

The cop pulled out his chair and sat opposite to Iggy, glaring directly at him.

“So here’s the situation. Your gang was our original target, but this recent development has piqued our interests. Not only did your nephew contact you, but he has been engaging in numerous conversations and meetings with internationals of a questionable nature. In other words, he has become quite the high-profile, white collar criminal nowadays, possibly leaking government information for profit.”

Iggy could not help but swell with pride upon hearing that, but also felt a pang of guilt. He knew Blood-Iron was being watched closely, but never did he dream that the surveillance on him would cast suspicion on his innocent (well, kind of) nephew. He had led these dogs to the promise of tastier meat without realizing it.

Seeing how none of this conversation could ever be permissible in court, Iggy decided to speak freely.

“So you want my help?” he scoffed. “What makes you think I’ll help you put my own family in prison?”

Sandusky smiled, showing two rows of gleaming, white teeth. He looked like a shark.

“One family member is a small sacrifice compared to the entire family,” he said. “If you don’t assist us, we’ll release our illegal evidence to the press. It will be submitted by an ‘anonymous source’, safely leaving us out of the equation. You can bet the government will be forced to launch an internal investigation after the media storm, and not only will your nephew be caught and charged, but so will every single person he came in contact with concerning his illegal dealings.”

Sandusky paused for dramatic effect. “That includes you and your gang. We won’t be able to receive credit for putting your nephew away, but at the very least we can ensure that ALL of you are put away for a long time. Unless, of course, you lend us your aid.”

Iggy grimaced. He knew what information they wanted. They wanted to know what the “capsules” in the phone conversation were. To have a more concrete case against Marco, they needed to know what they were dealing with. The police probably thought he had gotten a hold of some kind of new street drug.

But it wasn’t. It was something entirely different.

Iggy remembered all too well the conversation between himself and his nephew during his visit.


“C’mon, Marco, you really didn’t have to get these,” sighed Iggy. “I told you I was drunk when I mentioned it.”

“Don’t worry about it, tio!” responded Marco, pushing the small pouch into his uncle’s hands. “I know how much you care about the secrecy of Blood-Iron and being able to protect it. Also, I wanted to pay the gang back for putting me through school. It’s the least I could do!”

Iggy took out one of the fake white teeth and held it up. “So we just get one of our molars removed and get one of these installed?”

Marco held up a white business card and gave it to his uncle. “Here is a dental surgeon in Houston who can put it in place. He works for an acquaintance of mine, who currently owes me a few favors. I’ve notified him of the situation. He said he can do the procedure for you and two other leaders of Blood-Iron.”

Marco gave his uncle a hug and turned to leave. He paused at the door and turned his head.

“I made yours special,” he said quietly. “Much quicker process, less pain. I think you’ll be surprised at the results.”

“Results?” Iggy raised an eyebrow. “I only need it to do one thing, mijo. As long as it does its job, then that’s the only result I care about.”

Marco laughed. “The tooth that belongs to you has my initials engraved on it. I hope you’ll never have to use it. Be careful out there, tio.”

And then he left.


Iggy had the surgery done immediately after. The procedure was simple, plus he got a complimentary teeth cleaning done afterward. He never asked who the dental surgeon worked for, but he got the feeling the guy was used to receiving odd jobs like this, and even more used to not talking about it.

That was only a few days ago. Iggy was saddened by the fact that he would have to use his nephew’s “gift” way sooner than he had hoped for, if at all. There was no way he would put his own family in prison, or betray his fellow comrades in the gang.

Mouth clenched tight, Iggy let his tongue wander to his bottom-left back molar. According to Marco, it was designed dissolve naturally in the body without leaving a trace. If it came down to an investigation, no evidence of the stuff would be found on his part. He just hoped his death would signal to his nephew that it was time to get out of the country or request help from his friends. He was a smart kid, he would figure it out.

He began to grind his teeth. The tooth stuck out further than the others, making it easier to loosen. Sandusky eyed him suspiciously.

“So what’s your answer?” he barked impatiently. “A man like you has responsibilities you can’t turn your back on. One person is a small price to pay to save the colony.”

The tooth broke free, leaving the artificial roots behind. It was as hard as a small jawbreaker.

“It’s just a lot to digest,” Iggy said, smiling bitterly. “It is a very difficult decision to make on the spot.”

“Well, that won’t be a problem,” replied Sandusky with an evil grin. “We got some motivation for you until you decide. Turns out you got a lot of guys in jail right now who would like a piece of you. However, I’m sure they won’t mind if you are already softened up before you get there…”

Sandusky pulled up his sleeves as Iggy chomped down on the tooth, breaking it in half. Instantly, he could feel a hot, bitter liquid seep onto his tongue. He swallowed the contents, tooth and all. He would die before they got any information from him.

Sandusky narrowed his eyes as he walked around the table toward him, fists raised.

“I don’t remember you having any gum or candy on you,” he said curiously. “Guess the cavity search guys aren’t doing their job thoroughly enough.”

Iggy felt Sandusky’s right straight plow into his face. His cheek ground against the side of his teeth as a few specks of blood hit the ground. His mind reeled. When was the shit supposed to kick in? He felt his stomach gurgle in violent protest at the alien contents within it. So far, the suicide capsule had done nothing except cause him extreme gastrointestinal distress.

Sandusky wasn’t done yet. He forcefully grabbed Iggy’s limp head with his left hand and raised his other fist to strike him again. He paused, however, at the sudden growling emanating loudly from Iggy’s belly.

“The fuck?” he said. “You didn’t eat or something, Gomez?”

“Damn, that shit was loud!” laughed cop #1. “Maybe the fucker’s got gas. I saw him stuffing his fat face earlier without a care in the world. Stand him up, boss, maybe I could pummel his gut a few times to work that shit out.”

The gurgling was low and continuous. Iggy could feel something building inside of his stomach, and it was only getting worse. He had to come up with an excuse before he aroused any more suspicion.

“I told you assholes, it was… a lot to digest,” he managed, grimacing from the pain. “So much, that just thinking about it is giving me cramps.”

Sandusky, still clutching Iggy’s head, leaned in until his face was only a few inches from his. Iggy could smell the faint, sickly odor of his cologne, which only intensified the queasy feeling in his gut.

“You still think this is funny?” growled Sandusky, his tobacco-laced breath blowing directly into Iggy’s face. “Just wait until I’m through with y—”

Iggy’s eyes widened as his mouth involuntarily opened, releasing the most raucous belch he had ever summoned. He was afraid his jaw would break off from the sheer force of the gas literally erupting from his mouth into Sandusky’s face.

Startled and blinded by the onslaught of gas, Sandusky instantly let go of Iggy’s head as he stumbled backward and slammed into the wall.

It all happened so fast. He could hear cop #1 yell something, but Iggy was distracted by the sudden movement of his handcuffed hands as they shifted without his direction. It was a strange feeling; his arms had jerked upward suddenly, rising higher until they were almost chest level. However, they felt light, as if he was not using any strength to move them. It was then, he realized, that something was horribly wrong.

His hands and arms weren’t moving at all. They were being carried upward. He saw a wide expanse of quivering orange underneath them, as the mass gurgled and swelled with a vengeance. It was at that moment he realized that the orange mass was him. His belly was growing. And growing fast.

Iggy looked down in shock as the creases in the orange jumpsuit cut deeply into his burgeoning flesh. He had no idea what was going on, only that the suit only had a few more seconds before it would split.

Sandusky watched in horror as the criminal in their custody had suddenly ballooned into a much, much fatter man in only a few seconds. Ignacio Gomez slowly overfilled the metal chair as his ass cheeks began to swell out rounder and fuller, stretching the jumper pants to their absolute limit. He was getting seriously top-heavy, as the zipper down the middle of his jump suit ruptured apart, letting loose a mountain of flesh all at once.

Iggy squeezed his eyes shut as he felt several dozen pounds of blubber pour out between his zipper as his gut pushed the interrogation table away by three feet. It expanded greedily, hungry for more size, as it continued to pulsate wider and heavier at a continuous rate. The split in the jumper had grown until it reached the top and bottom of the zipper. Iggy felt like he would choke as his swollen neck pushed into the top where the zipper connected both sides of the jumper. A sudden growth spurt seized him then, as his pecs throbbed, rapidly plumping up like oversized melons. In the span of a few seconds, his pecs had painfully grown into massive man-moobs, causing the zipper top to burst apart. He moaned as he felt them plop heavily upon his gut, released from their orange prison. His nipples had stretched much larger, the slightest agitation or movement causing a charge of sensitivity to shoot through them. The tattoo “Blood-Iron” along with heart and skull insignias became elongated and distorted upon his fattened moob-flesh.

The tattoo above his belly button did not fare any better. At normal size, the words “Big Igg” could be read easily in a playful arc upon his gut. As his belly continued on its unstoppable quest for girth, faint black lines of the tattoo had stretched beyond recognition, giving his belly the impression that it had semi-transparent racing stripes, which were only growing fainter.

The sound of orange nylon threads snapping brought Sandusky back to reality. The interrogation table continued to be pushed back toward the wall as the blob of a belly continued to swell. He watched as Iggy’s legs were forced apart as it distended between them, almost brushing against the floor. Multiple tears in the orange bottoms appeared simultaneously as two wobbly, ass cheek globes inflated beneath him, causing him to rise in height by roughly a foot. He teetered unsteadily, as his feet slowly began to lose contact with the ground. Tears in the fabric also snaked their way up his arms, which had beefed up considerably as his biceps and forearms ballooned with fat. All over, Sandusky could see bulges of tan brown skin overtaking and folding over thin orange strips of jumper suit material, with the exception of the gargantuan brown sphere of a belly, which had escaped its confines long ago.

Sandusky turned to his colleague to tell him to go get help, but he was already long gone. A sudden crash caused him to look back at his detainee. His jaw dropped when he saw that the metal table had already been pushed against the wall by the gargantuan gut, as the belly rose in both size and power. The front of the mass divided as it continued to push against the table, but found no give. The top and bottom halves of gut continued to grow over and below where the table met them.

Iggy moaned loudly when he felt the sudden pinch of his gut being forcefully split in half. Most likely, whatever was happening to him was definitely not gas related. The globular mass attached to him felt as real as the ass cheeks and moobs continuously swelling around him. It was as if he was being pumped with solidly-packed fat, forming instantly onto his frame. His overstuffed belly ached and groaned as it accumulated pounds upon pounds of blubber every second.

Mortified, Sandusky watched as Iggy’s hands were slowly forced apart by his behemoth weight gain. The chain connecting the handcuffs nestled itself tightly in the space between belly and moobs as his body widened endlessly. Suddenly, his hands popped apart as the chain broke, unable to hold against the growth of such epic proportions. Sandusky could barely see Iggy’s face over those inflating man tits, but was repulsed to see that there was a smile on his fat-framed, goateed mug. The cuffs must have been causing a shitload of discomfort until that point.

Relief washed over the cop’s face as well, when several armed officers suddenly stormed the room, pistols and shotguns raised. They came just in time, because the fattening monster before them had already taken up over half the room. They edged as much as they could to the side where Iggy’s head could be seen. His eyes widened when he realized that they intended to blow his head off. Sandusky smiled darkly. He had no idea how this bastard had grown himself into an overblown blimp, but it was going to stop now. They were in control again.

Fire!!!” he bellowed to the officers.

Just as they were releasing fire, Iggy felt the metal chair beneath him suddenly give way, sending him crashing to the floor. His head disappeared from view, giving the firing squad no target other than the expanse of his swollen gut to unleash upon.

Wave after wave of bullets hit the gigantic mound of flesh, causing it to jiggle wildly in response. The bullets sunk into the skin, but did not pierce through it. The vast, quivering stomach absorbed them like some kind of twisted memory foam mattress, causing a multitude of small dimples to form upon its surface.

Iggy felt the pinpricks of the bullets all over his pressurized belly. The feeling it generated was both agonizing yet somehow pleasurable. His girth was so massive that it protected him from any meager firearms the police were able to muster. The increased agitation caused the contents of his pulsating stomach to slosh uneasily, signaling to his body to do the only thing it could do in response to such a threat. It got bigger.

He grunted, feeling his cheeks partially obscure his vision as his entire body swelled rapidly. The metal table crunched forcefully, unable to hold back the tidal wave of flab any longer. The firing squad yelled, pushing against each other to avoid being crushed by the mountain of tan blubber. Sandusky was knocked against the one-sided glass as they rushed out. By the time he regained his bearings, he found himself face-to-face with the blob of flesh as it gurgled indignantly at him. He panicked as he realized that the exit would soon be sealed, trapping him inside. He sidestepped toward it as fast as he could, but it was too late. He felt intense pressure on his own paunch as the much, much larger one pushed into it. From within the next room, his colleagues could do nothing but watch him push and pound against the inhuman stomach helplessly as he was pressed up against the glass. There was almost no give in the dangerously overstuffed belly. The blob of fat had taken up the entire room, part of it bulging a few feet into the next room where the other officers had escaped.

Sandusky feared that he would be crushed. Instead, he was pushed up against the glass as the belly surrounded him, absorbing him like it did with the bullets earlier. He felt like he was going to pass out from the lack of oxygen, but then he heard the sudden sound of cracking glass. The one-sided mirror exploded outward from the intensified pressure of the room beyond it. He felt the belly instantly regain its firm rigidity as it went “BLOOMP!!” launching his body into the room as he sprawled onto a table. The cops inside scattered, one of them pulling the emergency fire alarm on his way out, signaling to the entire police department to evacuate the building.

Iggy had a small corner within the room in which his head was safely concealed. However, all he could see was a small fraction of white wall and ceiling. His moobs and cheeks threatened to close his airway, so his chubbified arms tried their best to keep them out of his face. Every stroke across his hyper-sensitive nipples caused him to spasm. Somewhere under all that belly, his dick was somehow getting a kick out of his transformation. The only other sensation he could feel was on the endless surface of his expanding gut, as it destroyed the wall and glass separating him from the next room. Camera and computer equipment poked against his tender belly as it slowly overtook them, causing multiple jolts of pleasure to course throughout his body. Every obstacle to be overcome seemed to upset the mysterious substances gurgling within him, which signaled that it was time to grow yet again.

He was starting to become scared. He was seriously becoming a ballooning, dangerously overfed giant of a man. When would it stop?


Marco Gomez waited expectantly in an old, beat-up car across the street. He took extra care to hide his appearance by wearing a disguise so that he would not be recognized easily. He slouched in his seat whenever a police car pulled into the department building.

A radio crackled quietly on his lap.

Picking it up, he held the transmitter button. “Go ahead,” he whispered.

“Yo man, you sure Big Igg is still bein’ worked over in there, Marco?” came the reply.

“Don’t worry, I have a contact who shares mutual interest in tio Iggy’s safety,” Marco answered back. “One of the cops inside is on our payroll, so he has been feeding me information. We should be getting a signal soon, I promise.”

“All right, we’ll be waiting to rock and roll on your signal brother. Don’t let us down,” the Blood-Iron leader replied.

“Understood,” said Marco.

He placed the radio back on his lap. He had been tracking his uncle’s whereabouts since his arrest two days ago. He had a feeling something bad was going on, so he pulled some strings with one of his clients, explaining that his own cover may get blown if he did not receive any assistance. The client agreed, offering his resources. One of those resources had been the confidant on the inside of the police department, who had been sending him play-by-play text messages for the past couple hours.

Marco’s hunch had been right. This was not a simple matter of Blood-Iron hiring a top-notch attorney to help his uncle duke it out in court. His uncle was in trouble because of the correspondence call between the two of them a few weeks earlier. Now he had personally put his own family and the gang that saved his hometown at risk because of the illicit dealings he engaged in. He had a responsibility to resolve it.

Fortunately, his “gift” he gave to his uncle had taken effect. A freaked-out text message from the confidant inside was enough to tell him that.

“SOMETHING WRONG WITH UR UNCLE”

Followed by:

“OH MY GOD”

There were no more messages after that.

The company Marco worked for engaged in experimental food products designed for military rations and delaying hunger for long assignments. It was the main reason the company had been contracted by the government. One such experiment resulted in the creation of a highly volatile chemical, capable of increasing and multiplying calories in even the smallest morsel or treat, which would allow for the typical soldier to last for weeks on small meal pellets. That way, only water would be the soldier’s primary concern, not food.

However, there was one small problem. It affected whatever it came in contact with. A crumb of bread would transform into a huge loaf. A tiny strip of beef would grow into a massive slab of steak. As far as its reaction when put in direct contact with a human body…well, the reports he read did not go that far. The pages had been locked away, as well as any evidence of human trials.

But if his theory was correct…

A building alarm snapped him out of his trance. He watched expectantly, as dozens of personnel evacuated the police station. Several of the police officers just kept on running, expressions of intense fear etched on their faces. They kept looking over their shoulder, as if expecting something to come out after them.

The grinding of metal and cracking mortar pierced the air as the police stationed seemed to crumble and fall apart. No, fall apart was incorrect. The walls themselves were being forced outward by something inside. Huge chunks of cement and debris fell off, revealing gigantic tan bulges that continued to push away at the confinement.

“Holy shit,” murmured Marco. “No way.”

The crowd of onlookers screamed, backing up as pieces of the building crashed dangerously close to it. Many turned tail and ran. Marco watched as the colossal brown sphere emerged from the building, as it made its final swell of defiance. Somewhere underneath all of that blubber was his uncle.

Iggy clenched his eyes shut as he felt the building collapse around him. Fortunately, the sheer will of his girth seemed to be protecting him as his growth sputtered out of control. His own lard shielded him from falling debris and steel beams, which bent to the unstoppable power of his gut. Finally, with no more harmful obstacles in its way, the belly’s growth seemed to slow down as soon as it felt the unrestricting, nighttime air outside.

Iggy felt no more pressure in his stomach. In fact, it seemed to be lessening. Second by second, a curious sensation flowed through his body as the pressure subsided and the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach went away.

He could not believe it. He was actually shrinking!

Sure enough, Marco watched as the belly sphere throbbed lower and lower, as it diminished in size. More pieces of the building began to slide off of it as it shrank, no longer the behemoth it had once been.

Marco had to act fast. He picked up the radio.

“That’s the signal! Go, go, go!!” he yelled.

A roar of motorcycles filled the air as dozens of Blood-Iron bikers snaked from between the alleyways of nearby buildings. They were hidden in numerous crevices that no police car would be able to navigate or search.

They drove in wild circles, terrifying unarmed police officers and civilians alike. Marco started the beat-up car and drove straight through the chaos. People screamed as they dived out of his way. He maneuvered between large chunks of the collapsed building, getting as close to it as he could. Shoving the driver-side door open, he ran toward the center of the crater.

He passed unidentifiable remains of what used to be cubicles, evidence lockers and bathrooms. Every wall had been obliterated, making his path extremely easy.

Then he saw what he was looking for. Gasping and grunting was a man, eagle-spread in the center of the crater. Tio Iggy was nearly back to his normal size, but it seemed a side effect of the chemical had taken its toll. His body was no longer shrinking, but he looked to be over a hundred pounds fatter than he was before taking the capsule.

“C’mon Tio, let’s get you out of here,” Marco grunted, as he pushed his uncle’s upper body into a sitting position. The increased girth of his newly-gained belly threatened to force his uncle back to the ground.

Iggy groaned as he gingerly rolled sideways, in order to get a better position that he could get up from. He huffed as he got to one knee. With a mighty push and a lot of help from his nephew, he got up on both feet, causing his belly to wobble heavily from side to side. He was completely naked, but fortunately the apron of his gut covered his balls and dick from view. His belly button anchored low upon the globe of fat, but seemed to be three times wider than it was before.

“What…just happened?” he breathed, allowing his nephew to wrap an arm around his shoulder and belly, respectively.

“It’s a long story tio,” replied Marco. “You didn’t really think I’d let you go off and kill yourself, did you? Someone who gets in trouble as much as you do needs a little more…padded protection.”

Iggy grinned at that. “Am I padded up enough now?” he said, cupping underneath his prodigious stomach and giving it a hard jiggle for emphasis.

Marco laughed at that.

“You got my bike ready?” his uncle asked suddenly.

“We brought it, but…” Marco paused. “We didn’t expect to have to bust you out like this.”

“Shame,” Iggy replied. “Guess I’ll just have to upgrade to the next size up!”

Both uncle and nephew made it back to the car while the commotion still roared on the streets. Some of the bikers took time to poke fun at Iggy’s increased size, some even going so far as to rub it for good luck. One biker even asked what comes after “Big Igg” now that the nickname didn’t bring his recent weight gain justice.

Iggy just slapped his belly and laughed. “I’m sure we’ll come up with a name for this monster soon enough. Now shut up and let’s get the hell outta here!”

Iggy squeezed into the small vehicle as Marco started the ignition. The car roared to life, leaving the scene with a cocoon of bikers escorting it safely down the street. As fast as it came, Blood-Iron disappeared from the area, leaving the police department personnel in a state of utter confusion.

Miles away, a thought suddenly struck Marco. One of his hands left the steering wheel to check his coat pocket. There was nothing there.

“Shit,” he fumed.

“Something wrong?” said Iggy, both hands resting on his belly, which now pushed hard against the dashboard.

“It’s nothing,” said Marco. “One of my clients was curious about the stuff I gave you, so I had prepared an extra to give to him. I think I dropped it somewhere. I can always get more, though. Just glad to have you back tio.”

Iggy smiled and rested his eyes. He went from preparing to die one moment, to preparing to lug around a fatter body. In retrospect, it wasn’t a bad trade at all. What a day…


Back at the crime scene, numerous officers and investigators combed the area as they attempted to gather clues as to what happened. State and federal agents would be there shortly, and they were expecting some sort of preliminary report containing evidence and eyewitness accounts.

One person put on the investigation detail was obsessed with exploring a certain area. It was the epicenter of where the disaster had started, but only he and a few others had secretly known about it.

Kneeling in the middle of the ruins of the destroyed interrogation room, the man noticed an item that did not belong. A small, immaculate white pouch sat there, surrounded by dirt and rubble. The man’s hand trembled as he picked it up and gently shook the contents into an open palm.

A small, white tooth, resembling a molar tumbled into his hand, along with a small booklet. The words on the cover of the booklet read “WARNING: HIGHLY EXPERIMENTAL”. He flipped through it, eyes widening as he read its contents.

“Hey, Sandusky, did you find anything in your area?” an investigator called.

Back facing him, Sandusky pocketed the tooth and booklet in his jacket.

“Nah, just a bunch of junk,” he called back.

The other investigator turned away. Absentmindedly, Sandusky looked down and felt his hand run across the expanse of his well-developed table muscle, feeling the way it strained against his uniform’s buttons and poured over his belt. He continued his work, suddenly feeling a different kind of bulge beginning to swell underneath his pants.

Sandusky grinned.

Author’s Note

If you liked this story, check out my Deviantart or Tumblr pages for vignettes or content not currently stored on Metabods.

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