BHM King of the Castle (~BHM, ~~WG, ~REALISTIC WG, ~SEX, ~FFA, STUFFING)

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gythaogg

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During self-isolation, Theo discovers new culinary skills and other new ... appetites. He also reconnects with an old crush.

Contains erotic content.


COVID-19 Content Warning: This story takes place during the contemporary era, and its plot centres around weight gain, remote flirtation and self-discovery during self-isolation, because my brain processes uncomfortable situations in topsy turvy ways, and since this story turned up and I haven't written a story for Dims since 2014, it seemed worth a try. That said, nothing bad is going to happen related to COVID in this story, and it takes place in a setting where people are receiving appropriate income support and the medical system has been strengthened significantly. (It's set in Australia, but a slightly "rounded-up-to-the-best-possible-response" Australia.) The "realest" it will ever get is an early setting-out-the-circumstances paragraph talking about worries that are quickly assuaged, and a brief reference to delivery drivers striking for better conditions. Everyone in this story is going to be ok. Also, our hero will not at any stage break social distancing rules. Just presume he's a paragon of caring about other people, and that all taboos broken in this story will be concerned with traditional Dimensions content.

King of the Castle
by gythaogg
Wrapped in a luxuriantly fluffy bathrobe, Theo gazed into the fridge like it was a fortune-teller’s booth. What delights does my future hold, O oracle? Show me something tall, dark and handsome. He absently scratched at the rise of his rounded hip, just below the waist tie of the robe, surveying the options. Dimly, just at the edge of consciousness, his fingers registered how the softness of the fabric matched well with the increasing softness of his hip below.

During quarantine, cooking had gradually transformed from a grudging necessity to something between creative outlet and soothing hobby. Theo had always enjoyed a good meal, a fact that had been reflected in the slow but certain softening of his waistline over the years. Until now though, Theo had never much seen the need to actually produce those meals himself, not when the various fine restauranteurs of the city were kind enough to keep him well supplied with all his favourite takeaways, and not when the stress of working tech support for a gaggle of small nonprofit clients tended to keep him feeling fulfilled but exhausted by the end of each workday. But things had changed during isolation.

When COVID had reared its ugly head and social distancing had begun, Theo hadn’t been too worried for his own quarantined-sanity at least. Theo had always enjoyed his own company, and many of his closest friendships had been made online during the bad old days of forums and webrings. In the midst of an admittedly frightening and stressful situation, while balancing panicked clients, he’d somehow found himself reconnecting with old online friends, and was even about to begin a new tabletop roleplaying game with some old amateur theatre buddies he’d played with back at university. Fear for his family and friends had now thankfully been eased as his country began putting in real measures to financially support people and strengthen the medical system. Things weren’t ending up nearly as dire as he’d worried they might be. But as he contemplated months at home, unable to do much in the way of outdoor exercise, and thought ruefully of the outgrown pants of years past, he’d thought it might be high time to improve his kitchen skills in between supporting local businesses.

At first his home meals had been simple, Spartan things. A seared chicken breast with some vegetables on the side when he was feeling virtuous; a toaster-oven crumbed fish fillet with hash browns and ketchup when he was thoroughly done with every moment of bullshit. A lot of toast. Typical bachelor fare that made him all the more grateful for restauranteurs, who actually knew what the hell they were doing. But as the days of distancing wore on, the irritation of teaching elderly Board Directors how to video chat began to mingle with worry about the plight of delivery drivers. When UberEats workers had gone on strike demanding protective equipment and proper working rights, Theo, eager not to cross the picket line, decided enough was enough. He put in a single standing weekly order with one local eatery he loved, run by a sweet couple with a tiny staff of relatives who ran their own deliveries, and vowed to finally teach himself to cook. How hard could it be, with the whole internet at his fingertips, ready to help?

He, er, may have gone a little overboard.

He may, in fact, have unleashed a gourmet monster.

Staring into the fridge, Theo surveyed the products of his handiwork over the last week.

There was a roasting pan filled with … oh, by now, probably only half of a gloriously glazed orange roast duck, sitting regally atop a bed of fennel and potatoes. In a series of Tupperware containers sat servings of fragrant lamb rogan josh over rice. Or, ooh, if he was feeling a desire to indulge his sweet tooth, there was the tray of golden, oat-topped apple rhubarb crumble, already missing a few portions, or the tray of rum raisin brownies…

Theo’s stomach rumbled. He rubbed his hand absently over its swell as he contemplated his options, before deciding he would obviously never be able to decide on dinner without a pre-meal snack. He poured himself a generous glass of milk, and plated up a couple of brownies. His stomach rumbled again. Hmm, alright, three brownies. His mouth began to water.

Theo had, at first, made rules for himself. Sensible, proper portions, eaten at the table, at sensible proper times. Along with sensible, ugh, proper, zzzz, exercise.

Obviously, ridiculous rules like those hadn’t lasted once he’d discovered his gourmet talents. Those were rules for dry bachelor chicken, not for a sneaky bite of fragrant shepherd’s pie snatched between meetings, just enough time to congratulate himself on the perfect texture of the golden-brown cheese-crumbled potato crust. After all, he thought to himself the first time he ate a full, luscious meal standing in front of the fridge at 2am, didn’t Unprecedented Times call for a few Unprecedented Treats? Just for a little while?

Upon further consideration, Theo took a fourth brownie from the fridge, and, rather than adding it to a crowded plate, took an immediate bite. Theo had tried rather a lot of brownie recipes in lockdown, and had discovered this one while contemplating how to use up some extra rum in the liquor section of his pantry without getting ill-advisedly solo drunk. Now, upon first bite, the effect was immediate: a riot of sweetness and boozy delight, a sense of serenity deep within. A second bite, and a third, and the brownie was gone. Well that won’t do, this glass of milk needs a little more substance to balance it out. The fifth brownie was duly added to his now rather crowded plate.

As Theo settled in front of his computer and began polishing off the brownies, he heard a difficult sound to identify, felt an odd sensation about his hips, like a sense of tension and release.

Huh. Wha – oh. Ah.

The tie of his robe had loosened of its own accord to accommodate him, pushed out by the pressure of his belly as he sat.

Hmm. That really didn’t bear consideration.

Theo decided not to think about it. He also decided not to notice the odd little tingle of awareness at the back of his mind that seemed to … enjoy it? Nah, definitely not.
 

gythaogg

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Tucking into his second brownie, he surveyed the task in front of him: reading through the rules system for his upcoming tabletop roleplaying game. He was dearly looking forward to catching up with the old gang, and their first session was scheduled for a few days from now, but he’d been so flat out with work – and so bloody sick of looking at screens – that he’d barely had time to browse the rulebook for Flying Circus, which seemed to be a game about being kinda-clueless mercenaries flying WW1-era planes in a magical world. And while he knew their Game Master, Sonya, would cut him plenty of slack – she had absolutely no interest in tedious rules-lawyering, so they’d always played with very rules-light, story-heavy systems – he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of old mates by half-assing it. Particularly not in front of Danica.

Ok, nope, not thinking about that either.

Just thinking about the rulebook.

Absolutely not thinking about Danica. Everything about last time we hung out is entirely off brain-limits.

God, I wonder if she still has that haircut that makes the little wedge of curls fall over one eye?

Nope. Rulebook, dickhead, read the rulebook.


When Theo finally managed to get into the flow of reading the damn game book, he discovered three things.

One: this game had some absolutely wild mechanics for stress relief and blowing off steam, and he was going to have to pick some fun “vices” for his character along with figuring out crunchier stuff like their aeroplane stats. It seemed like characters in this game managed stress from their combat by getting into ridiculous, ill-advised situations and indulging in everything from bickering to pot to casual sex.

Two: he’d somehow polished off the glass of milk and all but one brownie without even registering them, which seemed like a waste. He really ought to pay more attention to what he ate.

Three: these brownies must have held onto more rum in the baking process than the recipe promised, because Theo wasn’t just feeling full, but also … kind of buzzed. A little tipsy. Maybe drunk?

Hardly the worst possible way to get drunk at home. Kind of cozy. Plus I’m balancing with carbs and fluids, very responsible of me. Theo decided, since they were already giving him such a good time, and he’d probably need to be a bit more moderate with them in the future, to give the final brownie its full and proper attention. God, it genuinely was heavenly – sweet but not sickly, a layered, complex flavour and a rich, dense texture, almost a chocolate fudge but not quite, with that potent liquor kick underneath.

Theo leaned back in his chair, revelling in his slightly hazy state, and feeling, for a moment, like a pampered king. Polishing off his final bite, he licked his fingers, savouring those last crumbs, easing into a haze of contentment. His other hand, resting lightly on his stomach, registered that it was feeling a little rounder than usual.

Which was when he began to notice another part of his body stirring to life.

Is that … Am I … Did I just get hard from eating brownies?
 

Tad

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I like the set-up for the story, but I love your disclaimer up front. Thank you for being so thoughtful to your readers!

Also, I'm curious, is that an actual RPG game, or something you invented for story purposes?
 

gythaogg

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I like the set-up for the story, but I love your disclaimer up front. Thank you for being so thoughtful to your readers!

Also, I'm curious, is that an actual RPG game, or something you invented for story purposes?
Thank you - I'm glad the disclaimer set the right tone.

And it's a real RPG, which I would really recommend! RPG nerd talk ahead,: it runs on a Powered by the Apocalypse system, which means it uses distinctive character sheets and moves, and many of the rolls are less about mathing out a solution than about keeping a narrative flowing and changing, but it also has a really elaborate WW1 aeroplane sim system which is much crunchier than a lot of other Powered by the Apocalypse games. It has some of the most evocative and exciting character sheets I've ever encountered. And it borrows from the tradition of stress and vices created by Forged in the Dark, but it isn't going for a grimdark tone, so the stress system is designed more to emphasise the messy lifestyle of flying magical aces and to facilitate exploration of characters who grow, explode, connect and live on the edge. It's my favourite game right now so I wanted to give it a shout out, and its vices and playbooks also seemed like something metanarratively fun to toy with.
 

Tad

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Thank you - I'm glad the disclaimer set the right tone.

And it's a real RPG, which I would really recommend! RPG nerd talk ahead,: it runs on a Powered by the Apocalypse system, which means it uses distinctive character sheets and moves, and many of the rolls are less about mathing out a solution than about keeping a narrative flowing and changing, but it also has a really elaborate WW1 aeroplane sim system which is much crunchier than a lot of other Powered by the Apocalypse games. It has some of the most evocative and exciting character sheets I've ever encountered. And it borrows from the tradition of stress and vices created by Forged in the Dark, but it isn't going for a grimdark tone, so the stress system is designed more to emphasise the messy lifestyle of flying magical aces and to facilitate exploration of characters who grow, explode, connect and live on the edge. It's my favourite game right now so I wanted to give it a shout out, and its vices and playbooks also seemed like something metanarratively fun to toy with.
(This is purely an RPG reply. Anyone just following story stuff can skip on by)

I'll give it a read. I've heard a lot of good things about Powered by the Apocalypse but haven't yet read any of the games so powered (I've been running a home game for my son for a few years using ShadowRun, a very crunchy fantasy-Cyberpunk game, but they brought out a new edition last year that ... needed another year of playtesting, let's say. I can keep running the game with what we have, but it has cut off some of supply of new game material to read. So I was thinking I wanted to dip a toe into another system, but I didn't want anything too massive or that aimed to be generic. So this sounds just about perfect!)
 

gythaogg

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(This is purely an RPG reply. Anyone just following story stuff can skip on by)

I'll give it a read. I've heard a lot of good things about Powered by the Apocalypse but haven't yet read any of the games so powered (I've been running a home game for my son for a few years using ShadowRun, a very crunchy fantasy-Cyberpunk game, but they brought out a new edition last year that ... needed another year of playtesting, let's say. I can keep running the game with what we have, but it has cut off some of supply of new game material to read. So I was thinking I wanted to dip a toe into another system, but I didn't want anything too massive or that aimed to be generic. So this sounds just about perfect!)
Don't hesitate to DM me if you want to talk about other fun systems! One thing to be mindful of with Flying Circus is that it could get awkward to play as a family - you'll see this from the sheets, but the vices and some of the play dynamics meant that when our group started playing it, we had to consider and negotiate what level of in-party flirtation or out of party explicit content would be ok with us. Depending on your son's age (some teens truly hate playing games that are explicitly about teens), Masks might be a great game to try in the Pbta System; it's often considered a very strong example of PbtA play scaffolding because its systems and GM guide really help you naturally click into genre and theme. Absolutely feel free to DM me to talk about game stuff!

Anyway, back to the story...
 

gythaogg

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The realisation startled Theo enough that it maybe should have sobered him up. A moment ago he’d felt languid, utterly at ease in himself in a way that let him drift away from awareness, but now he was very self-aware indeed. There was an … awakeness thrumming through him, dampened by the alcohol.

If Theo had been asked whether he was a particularly sensual person, he probably would have responded with a raised eyebrow and a nervous laugh. Usually. He generally spent a lot of time stuck deep inside his head, or, ideally, stuck inside a system or a world someone else created, and relatively little time thinking about his body. In his amateur theatre days, he’d always been a backstage, work-the-lighting-desk sort of theatre geek; he’d never had the mastery of his own too-long limbs to move right on stage. His body was a vehicle to drive around his brain and, occasionally, if life was at its best in one way or another, his cunning hands.

So he didn’t quite know what to do with all this sudden … there-ness. If he’d been sober, he’d have called it self-consciousness and tucked whatever was going on into a mental folder marked “bodies are weird”. But he was too drunk to be embarrassed, and with that convenient explanation dampened, he was left with a lot of awareness and very little understanding. Sensation without reason.

Theo felt the fullness of his belly, rubbing up against the soft fabric of his robe.

He felt the mild constriction of the robe’s tie, still pressing lightly into soft flesh, reminding him that he’d indulged himself not just tonight but for weeks now, and the results of his indulgence were starting to show.

He felt his cock hardening within the pleasantly tautened fabric of his boxer-briefs.

He felt the buzzy tingling of his fingertips, wanting to feel more.

And so, too lost in sensation to ask himself every question he would usually ask, he just felt, and did what his body told him to do.

Theo unknotted the tie of his robe and parted it, giving him free reign to explore himself. He ran a hand over his chest, noticing how it felt softer than usual beneath its dusting of dark hair. His fingertips pressed just hard enough to feel the give. He let his fingers skim, lightly at first, down from chest to stomach.

Theo had been semi-intentionally ignoring his bathroom mirror ever since his cooking spree had begun. He’d never been the trimmest or the fittest guy, always just a little computer-nerd chubby, and ignoring the mirror as much as possible was a long-mastered practice, easy to extend. He knew he was getting a bit … well, he knew, but he hadn’t had to think about it. So much of his home wardrobe was forgiving – loose, soft, comfortable t-shirts and hoodies, roomy pajama pants with drawstring or elastic waists that barely alerted him to any difference. He hadn’t really allowed himself to see it, to look directly.

Now, his hand pressed against the roundness of his bare stomach, palm and fingers pushing into a layer of plush softness thicker than he’d expected. He’d gorged himself on brownies, and he could feel the increased fullness of his stomach below the layer of fat, but he wasn’t that full, just sated. This wasn’t the roundness of a single night’s overindulgence.

I’m getting fat. I’m getting properly, actually fat.

His hand cupped the underside of his belly, marvelling at its roundness, its heft, the absolute distinctness of it. More than just a layer of extra padding, it was a presence all its own, bulging out and forward, taking up place and shape within his hand. His cock twitched, a spike of pleasure running through him.

Drunk-Theo wasn’t as good as sober-Theo at forcing himself not to think about things, but he was much better at letting himself enjoy them. He let his hand travel further down than his belly, below the waistband of his underwear, and closed his eyes, and let himself keep going.

I’m getting fat and I like it.
 
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gythaogg

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Theo’s first inclination, upon waking up juuuust in time for his on-call hours the next morning, was to try to shrug off … whatever last night had been.

He had work to focus on all day, and plenty to keep his mind occupied – as soon as he logged into his emails, he was greeted by a message with the subject line URGENT!!! Apparently an employee of one of his tech support clients had accidentally downloaded a virus. The email read like it had been written while the operations manager was in the middle of a panic attack, and requested a meeting !!ASAP PLEASE!! to discuss the possible risks of a confidentiality breach. Theo suspected that if the manager could have figured out how to change their font settings, it would have been written in 30 point flashing red text. He was almost grateful for the distraction, for the chance to be outside himself and inside a real problem to be solved. He tapped out an email offering a Zoom call in 15 minutes.

Whatever he’d been feeling last night was a blip, a strangeness bred by strange circumstances. Leave a man alone long enough and his appetites were bound to get a little overstimulated, his fantasies a little unusual. Plus, there had been the booze. It’s nothing. There’s work to do.

He might have been able to convince himself, except that Theo’s observations about appetite were a little too accurate.

From the moment he pulled on his Important Client Meetings jumper for the inevitably-overwrought Zoom call to come, things began to go awry. The jumper was a deep forest green, v-necked, a relaxed fit in a soft Merino wool blend he’d bought back when he got his first Grown Up Job and hoped to look respectable.

Well, it had been a relaxed fit.

Theo pulled the jumper over his head and let the hem fall, expecting the fabric to slide down onto him, no-fuss, as it always did. Instead, it caught, the bottom of the hem lightly bunched halfway down his torso, leaving a significant portion of bare flesh exposed to the air.

He felt his cheeks flush as he yanked the hem down to cover his lower belly. Looking down, he saw the once-loose fabric clinging so tight that he could see the outline of his belly button, a surprisingly distinct indentation surrounded by bulging softness pressed flush against the wool.

Now that he thought about it, the arms were feeling a little restrictive too. God, had his arms gotten fat? He hadn’t even thought to check, last night.

The warmth at his cheeks intensified, began to spread through his body.

At this point, what he should have thought, if he wasn’t going mildly off the deep end, was something like: Right, that’s enough pigging out in isolation, your favourite jumper’s getting tight. Time for some good old-fashioned diet and exercise, before this gets really out of hand.

What he actually thought, lightning fast, quicker than it could be repressed, was: I could do with a snack right now. Wonder if I left any of those brownies last night.

Jesus fucking Christ, what is up with me lately?


There was no time to ruminate on the implications; he had a panicked client to pacify, and possibly a nonprofit to rescue depending on whether the confidentiality scare was real and serious. Thinking it through could wait; he’d just have a quick, sensible breakfast – his stomach didn’t so much growl as purr at the thought of breakfast – and get straight to figuring out what was going on. At work. What was going on at work.

He slid on some tracksuit pants, trying to pay as little attention as possible to what he noticed about the thickness of his thighs as he did so, and paced to the fridge to fix himself a bowl of cereal.

See? Healthy. Reasonable. Milk, muesli. Back on track.

Possibly a banana on top, and some raisins. You know, for variety. And potassium. Fruit! Healthy!


Opening the pantry to put the box of muesli away, Theo couldn’t help but notice a bag of milk chocolate chips perched cheerfully on a shelf nearby, amongst his baking supplies.

One hand at his hip – his strikingly pliant, perhaps wider-than-he-was-used-to hip, which seemed to make a particularly pleasant resting place for his palm – surveying the pantry’s stock, that rebellious part of Theo’s brain whispered, You know what would go bloody well on top of muesli?

He did know. And he didn’t have time to dutifully consult whatever angel was meant to be hanging out on his other shoulder – the client meeting was rapidly approaching. Fuck it. He ripped open the packet and poured a scattering of chocolate chips over his bowl, and tried to ignore the intensifying heat he felt coursing through him.

He also tried to ignore the fact that he’d brought the bag of chocolate chips to sit beside his keyboard.

He did try. He just didn’t try very hard.
 

gythaogg

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Whatever perverse driver was at the wheel of Theo’s hindbrain that day seemed intent on steering him right into disaster.

The cravings, the idle urge to snack, the goddamn fixation only got worse over the course of the day. It started with the chocolate chips, consumed in furtive handfuls before and after the meeting, leaving him sticky-fingered and blushing in a way he hoped didn’t show up on Zoom. It absolutely did not stop there.

Theo hoovered up a pre-portioned lunch. Two hours, three terse phone calls with the client’s admin assistant, and several troubleshooting experiments later, he served himself a heaping bowl of second lunch. No time to think about it, Theo told himself between luscious, illicit mouthfuls of leftover roast duck, I’m doing important work. I’m basically rescuing this company. Need brain food!

By around 3.30pm, Theo was simultaneously stumbling through the upsettingly elaborate fix for the problem, drafting an email in his head that began “I am literally begging you to stop using Windows fucking XP”, and mechanically moving his hand back and forth between a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips and his eager, tingling lips.

He didn’t come out of his work trance until the moment he sent off the final, triumphant fix report. He gave a silent roaring cheer for his audience of none, punching one fist into the air, and the gentle sliding scrape of his sweater up his hip, pulled by the momentum of his rising arm, brought him back to himself. Theo was, quite suddenly, out of his buzzing head and inside his body, registering sensations that had been blocked by his swirling, purposeful thoughts. The fingers of his non-triumphant, non-air-punching hand, he noticed, brushed against the bottom of the foil chip bag, grasping for the feeling of crinkle cut against thumb and forefinger, gorgeously crisp and greasy.

He was a little dazed, a little thirsty. He chewed and swallowed the last of the chip crumbs, and raised his fingers to his lips, sucked them clean of salt. His tongue tingled. He was, oh fuck, very full. Very full indeed. How did that happen?

And his sweater hadn’t come back down along with his arm. It had ridden up and stayed there, worse than this morning, exposing quite a lot of bare, rounded bulge, because good god, his belly was full of a truly prodigious quantity of dessert-style breakfast, chocolate snack, lunch, lunch part deux, and an entire family sized bag of chips, how the actual flying fuck did that happen?

Well, it happened exactly the same way last night happened
, reasoned the logical-problem-solver, face-facts, handle-the-problem-like-a-goddamn-adult-given-you’ve-just-saved-someone-else’s-job part of Theo. It happened because I wanted it to.

Those just-licked fingers made their way down to the exposed strip of fat, pressing its underside, marvelling at the feeling of heaviness, of heft, of filled out pressure where before there was plush softness. He ran a finger between flesh and elasticated tracksuit pants, just to feel the tightness of the fit, just to feel his finger trapped and squeezed. He felt like a blimp, a fatted pig. He felt his cock stirring to life again.

It happened because it feels incredible.
 
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Anjula

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I haven’t even started reading the actual story but the introduction and Covid warning is just simply amazing. I will now proceed to read the actual thing with insanely high expectations

edit: read it, exceeded expectations
 
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