Stoner Slob - Part 7

“Hey, there’s no smoking in here,” Harold said as his client entered with a lit cigarette. After a few moments, the odor told Harold it wasn’t just a cigarette.

“Aw c’mon man, it’s legal now,” Benjamin replied, sucking down a deep lungful of smoke. “Besides, it’s medicinal.”

The big linebacker was right--it was legal now, which was an entirely new concept to Harold. He’d gone his entire life believing the school-mandated mantra that all drugs were bad. The fact that marijuana wasn’t an immediately arrestable offense went so against Harold’s worldview that he didn’t really know how to respond.

Benjamin never gave him the chance. The big man stripped down to his skivvies and plopped himself face-down on the massage table, the still-lit reefer somehow slotted expertly through the whole left for patients to breathe. That was probably a fire hazard in addition to being against clinic protocol, but Harold was still so caught off-guard that he just oiled up his hands and got to work.

Harold had been providing physio and massage to Benjamin for years. He’d gone pro straight out of college, and although he’d certainly made his money after some lucrative trades, years of violent sports hadn’t been kind. Benjamin’s back was a minefield of knotted muscles that would take strong hands to unwind, which was why Harold was his preferred therapist.

He’d almost made it into the big leagues himself, but a knee injury in college had ended his career before it could begin. Thankfully, his upper body remained strong as ever, which gave Harold a fine career as a physio and massage therapist. Strictly medicinal of course--Harold never even considered working for a new-age establishment where massage was as much about relaxation as it was about maintaining a body’s form.

The marijuana stink filling his office certainly made it smell like one of those establishments, Harold thought with a disgusted grunt. Benjamin must have thought he was exerting himself in his work as he didn’t offer the sound any comment.

Benjamin had always been a big guy, but today he seemed especially swollen. And not with muscle; as Harold applied pressure to his back, legs, and shoulders he noted how much softer they all felt. It wasn’t too uncommon for a linebacker like Benjamin to put on a few pounds during the off-season, but to Harold, it really seemed like he was letting himself go to pot well before his expected retirement age.

While trying to get at a particularly nasty knot in his lower back, Harold stopped when he heard the distinct sound of tearing fabric. “Problem?” Benjamin asked, but Harold continued as if nothing had happened. A second tear didn’t stop him, but his normally chaste gaze fell to the big man’s mountainous glutes, which seemed to be pushing their way out of boxers that were desperately straining to contain them.

“Wow, those look good,” Harold thought and immediately felt a wave of disgust. How could such a fat ass appeal to him? At this size, he’d be on the verge of being benched and risking those big league contracts.

But the sound didn’t go away. As he pressed an elbow into a massive shoulder blade, Harold’s eyes remained glued to Benjamin’s ass cheeks as they seemed to move with a life of their own. Then a loud tear revealed a crescent of flesh, then another, and then a third. Finally, all three connected as Benjamin’s boxers tore completely up the center revealing the biggest, deepest, and most cavernous asscrack Harold had ever seen.

Harold stopped his ministrations once again. How could Ben have not noticed his ass was just hanging out in the open air? Or the clearly audible tearing sound as the rip steadily grew and separated what was becoming two distinct strips of cotton. But then Harold noticed similar tears at the end of each leg as thighs that were already powerful enough to move a car slowly inflated past the initial volume limits of the garment that contained them. In seconds, each leg of the boxers also split open, leaving Ben completely naked.

“Hey man, I don’t pay you to ogle the goods,” Ben said with a gruff voice as he exhaled a plume of smoke. “Get to work.”

Harold was shocked back into action, but he couldn’t help but note Ben’s tone seemed to imply something. It was getting hard to think with the smoke filling the room--he’d have to open a window when he was done. Whenever that would be. Ben was a big client at the best of times, but now… now he seemed enormous.

The height to which each ass cheek rose was eye-catching, to say the least, but it hardly compared to Ben’s girth, which spread far past the edges of the massage table. Whatever wasn’t supported drooped down, almost as if the former linebacker’s body was trying to envelop the platform that held him aloft. The back that Harold had so recently been attempting to jam his elbow into was awash with stretch marks and folds where the slabs of beef covering his shoulders connected with the tectonic plate of Ben’s expansive chest. Even without him standing, Harold somehow knew that Ben’s impressive pecs had long since been replaced by an equally impressive rack that sagged atop an even more impressive gut.

God, even looking from the side, Harold could still easily follow the line that went from hip to hip defining where Ben’s belly normally cascaded over his lap. Face-down as he was, it merely unfurled to either side like thick, flabby wings.

Smoke permeated the room. It was so hard to remember who this ludicrously obese man laying next time was. Why Harold wanted to run his fingers over the ridges at the back of his neck or the dimples on the backs of his arms. Why he wanted to flick the rolls flowing down his backside or the folds between his thighs. Or why he desperately, desperately wanted to dive between those mountainous globes and stick his tongue in the treasure he’d find between them.

“Look man, I ain’t got all day,” Ben’s muffled voice griped. “You gonna do what I pay you for or what?”

Pay? Right, pay. He was paid to do a job. To make his clients feel good. Although, for Harold, he’d have done this job for free.

Eyes red and watery, Harold brought his face slowly towards the biggest ass he’d ever had the pleasure of eating out. Of all the clients Harold had, and there were many, Big Ben was the one he looked forward to the most.

Strong hands parted Ben’s cheeks and revealed a pink rosebud deep down below. Even practiced professionals would have trouble reaching that far down, but Harold had a secret weapon.

Face planted between two sweat-coated walls of flesh, Harold opened his mouth and stretched his tongue as far as it could go. First, he started by merely brushing the tip over the long-buried rosebud, but after a few moments, Harold could insert it fully inside. The musky flavor was indescribable and it made Harold all the more desperate for more.

“Oohhh yesss,” Ben sighed from below. “That’s what I pay you for.”

As Harold’s questing tongue stretched further and further, lapping up the cavernous sides and pressing ever deeper still, a flood of memories assaulted Harold’s senses. Memories of how he and Ben had gone to college together, had both tried out for the college team, but Harold didn’t make the cut while Ben got to play his way through school. No, that wasn’t it--Ben had twisted his knee up bad and had to quit before he could go pro. Got pretty depressed and ate his way to graduation, too.

But it wasn’t just the food. Weed helped with the pain of training, the pain of losing, and the pain of injury. It’s what brought him and Ben together, sharing weed, sharing food, and sharing each other's bodies even as they both blew up huge when they both stopped training.

Harry didn’t even register the feeling of cool air on his stomach as it suddenly lurched and fell out the bottom of his polo shirt. A sudden snap followed as Harry’s belt succumbed to his expanding waistline as he went from a size 32 to a size 48 in seconds. His own sizable ass practically erupted from slacks that were suddenly many sizes too small, sturdy thighs from a career on his feet growing until they rubbed against one another as Harry continued to lash at Ben’s hole.

“Fuck baby, you really know how to eat a big man out…” Ben said. Harry reached to wear he instinctively knew Ben’s hard and thick cock would be, pointing straight down thanks to his own massive bulk. It was already wet with excitement--Ben didn’t even need to reapply the massage oil that coated his thick and hair-covered hands.

He tugged and ate, and as he did Harry remembered more. How he stopped shaving when he no longer had to share a shower with an entire football team. How he and Ben started dealing to the team. How the two even went legit when weed was legalized and used their connections to introduce weed as a therapeutic product for pain management.

And how he and Ben would often spend afternoons roleplaying as customer and massage therapist having an illicit tryst.

“Oh fuck baby,” Ben whined, “you better get your fat ass all up in me before I blow a load on this table.”

Harry hoisted himself up, his fur-covered tits and belly jostling at the forceful movement. For a moment Harry lost his balance before he remembered how maneuvering as a 350-pound man required more careful, deliberate movements. It also required that he lift up his own gut in order to ensure his long, hard, and uncut meat had enough clearance to reach Ben’s hole.

Although a master with his almost freakishly long tongue, Harry was no slouch with his other extremities. With a practiced click, Harry lowered the edge of the massage table holding Ben’s legs aloft so he was now standing and bent over, his legs suddenly on the ground and his amble excess wobbling from the motion. Harry kicked those legs as wide as they’d go to give him as much access as possible, then he lifted his gut and unceremoniously flopped it onto Ben’s back as he pressed home.

Well worked over with saliva, Ben’s hole immediately gave way to Harry’s tool. Both moaned as a fat pelvis and even fatter ass was bridged by love and lust, facilitated by the cloud of smoke that continued to fill the room. Harry reached around and plucked the spliff from Ben’s lips, bringing it to his own to finally inhale a fresh toke for the first time that afternoon. The familiar fire burned his lungs with a comforting warmth just the same as Ben’s gracious hole provided Harry’s cock.

At their combined size, their lovemaking was more like watching a battering ram attempting to tear down an imposing fortress. Each time Harry withdrew, he’d slam back with enough force to send ripples along both his front and Ben’s backside, although the waves traveling through Ben’s ample adipose never quite dissipated before Harry would slam home just as hard. Again and again, Harry relentlessly pounded, the wet slapping sounds surely loud enough to be heard on the street let alone in the small reception area outside Harry’s office.

“Oh fuck baby, I’m gonna-” Ben began, and then groaned low and long. Harry heard the splatter as Ben came hard on the leather massage table, his explosive load coating his groin, belly, and thighs in jizz that slowly began puddling on the floor. The spasms that wracked Ben’s body were enough to send Harry over the edge as well, and with a roar, he filled Ben’s hole to capacity with his spunk.

Harry collapsed onto Ben’s back, the massage table creaking mournfully under a half-ton of exhausted and sweat-covered man. The two stood there panting for a few moments before Harry playfully swatted at Ben behind, a minor aftershock compared to the earthquakes that shook both men moments ago.

“Send in my next patient,” Harry said with a grunt as he stood up and extracted himself with the lewdest of sounds.