Demon Hunters Part 8

As the waitress went to hand in the demon hunters order, she passed by one of her fellow waitress’, who was leaving with a tray full of empty plates.

“Last time I let you trick me into taking his table”, the short lizard said as she struggled with all the plates. “This is the FIFTH time I’ve had to bring empties back, and he just ordered more!”

The teal peacock chuckled for a moment.

“Hey, I told you I’d cover the other side if you got him, you agreed. Besides, at least you don’t have to walk far, I have to go all across this place and it’s killing my legs and back.”

The peacock was almost the same height as the lizard, but much fatter, having at least 100 pounds on her. Her uniform clung to her fleshy and sweaty body.

“Good point. I just can’t believe how much he can eat!”

“No one can.”

The two glanced over to the table the lizard had been working, sighed, and then resumed their business.

The table in question was occupied by Roger Stephenson. The hairstyle was relatively the same, but that was the only thing on the Doberman that looked like the one who tried to intimidate Tom all those months ago.

Roger had been coming to the dienr everyday for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, sometimes not even leaving in between those meals. He rationalized that he was just in his “bulking phase”, but the truth was he hadn’t seen the inside of a gym in months. In fact, outside of lugging his girth around, he hadn’t held anything up heavier than a fork, knife or spoon in what seemed like forever.

Not that eating wasn’t a workout of it’s own. For one, manuevering his bulk took a great deal of effort; thankfully, he had been a powerlifter and was used to moving massive quanties of weight, but still, lugging around your own nearly 600 pound body was not exactly a cake walk. His entire body would slosh and wobble with each step as he walked the two blocks from his condo to the diner. He’d squeeze past people and to his booth where he would then go about the process of pushing the table up as best he could to allow his pendulous gut to the room it needed for him to be able to get his comparatively smaller, but still boulder sized rear into the chair, before he could lower himself down and be relatively comfortable.

From that point on, it was just a constant stream of food as the Doberman slobbered his way through anything and everything put in front of him. Whereas before he was worried about good carbs and bad carbs, he now only carried about one thing: keeping his demanding hunger satiated. And that took a lot. Burgers, steak, potatoes, cake, pies, ice cream, whole chickens, it all went down his gullet and into the growing flesh ball that was his stomach. If one had used measuring tape, they’d be able to see that stomach stretch further across the table each day, with a belief among staff that he’d eventually have to stack plates on said gut since it would cover every inch of the table.

Not that Roger seemed to mind. He had always loved to eat, he just did it in moderation to prepare for competitions. Now, however, during an apparent “offseason”, he was just letting go and pigging out to his hearts content. He had no shame, which is why he only wore an old pair of gym shorts to the restaurant. They were among the last things that remotely fit on him and since there was no real policy on clothing, he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to be uncomfortable while he ate, there was no need. Thus, he would come in every day with the same ragged shorts that had once clung to sculpted thighs and a chizzeled waist, instead of now looking like they might explode off of his tree trunk thighs and puffy ass cheeks.

As it was right now, the Doberman had a slice of pizza up to his mouth, letting the grease drip onto his tongue before he took it down. Splatters of grease, sauce and cheese dripped onto his vast chest, though his only response to this was letting out a large belch followed by a small moan. It was a sound he was making more and more as he got bigger.

Roger had kept himself mostly “abstinent” and pent up while he trained, but something had happened to him as time went on. It was subtle at first, a slight tinge of pleasure after a particularly good meal, progressing to his dick brushing up against a softer midsection and eleciting a boner. Now though, it seemed the more he ate, the hotter and hornier he got. He couldn’t explain it and honestly he didn’t even want to. It was a glorious sensation, one that was better than any pump could provide. Many times he found himself rocking in the booth, under the pretense of trying to get comfortable but in reality hoping the friction from the tight shorts and his gut would be enough for him to cum. His gluttonous ventures would reward him more often than not, making him want to eat more to ensure he got off, a dangerous cycle that was causing him to get bigger even faster. And, if was being honest with himself, it was something he wanted to continue.

Even still, for as great his gain was, a more surprising one was seated a few feet away at the counter.