Chapter 3: Degradation Redux
The doorway framed him like a portrait of excess. Gavin stood on the threshold of Leo’s apartment, his breath whistling slightly from the climb. The doorjamb brushed against both hips. It was a tight, familiar squeeze he’d come to expect. He shuffled forward, turning his shoulders sideways in the practiced, ungainly motion that had become his only way through standard apertures.
This time, something caught.
A sharp, biting pressure cinched his love handles, just above the crest of his ass. He grunted, pushing forward. The pressure didn’t give. It was the doorframe itself, gripping the widest part of his body in a vise of painted wood. He tried to reverse, to back out and readjust. His belly, leading the charge, had already cleared the interior space and now hung over Leo’s clean floor. It was too late. He was wedged.
Panic, cold and liquid, shot through him. He wriggled, a futile jiggling of immense flesh. The frame dug in harder.
“What the fuck are you doing, pig? Get in or get out.” Leo’s voice came from the living room, irritated.
“I’m… stuck,” Gavin breathed, the humiliation immediate and total.
Silence. Then footsteps. Leo appeared in his field of vision, looking him up and down, his expression shifting from annoyance to cold, clinical interest. He walked a slow circle around Gavin’s trapped form. From behind, Gavin heard a low chuckle.
“You’re fucking kidding me.” Leo’s hand slapped the mound of fat pinched by the doorframe. Gavin flinched. “You actually outgrew the door. Holy shit.” The laugh wasn’t kind. It was a sound of triumphant discovery. “You’re a prisoner of your own goddamn blubber.”
“Pull me out,” Gavin pleaded, his voice thin.
“Why would I do that?” Leo leaned close, his breath hot on Gavin’s ear. “This is perfect. You came here to be used. Now you can’t even leave until I say so. You’re literally stuck here, you fat fuck.”
Leo’s hand slid around Gavin’s front, palming the great, hanging swell of his belly. He gave it a rough, possessive shake. “On your knees. Now.”
“I can’t, the frame—”
“Squeeze. Suffer. I don’t care.”
Gavin, tears of shame pricking his eyes, tried to lower himself. It was an agony of compression. The wooden frame sawed into his sides as his body descended, his gut bunching up under his chin. He gasped, finally collapsing onto his knees with a shuddering jolt that made the entire doorframe creak. He was now fully inside the apartment, but his upper thighs and hips were still wedged inextricably in the entrance. He couldn’t stand up. He was anchored.
Leo unzipped his jeans. His cock sprang out, already hard. He stepped forward, nudging Gavin’s lips with the head.
“Open.”
Gavin opened his mouth. Leo didn’t thrust. He pressed forward, slowly, relentlessly, using Gavin’s trapped, immobile body as leverage. Gavin’s head was pinned against the doorjamb behind him. He had no room to retreat, no way to control the depth. Leo fed him his cock, inch by inch, until the head bumped the back of Gavin’s throat.
“You’re just a warm, greedy hole,” Leo murmured, his hands finding Gavin’s soft, full cheeks, gripping hard. “And now you’re a trapped one. Perfect.”
He began to fuck Gavin’s face. Slow, deep, punishing strokes. Gavin gagged, saliva dripping down his chin. He couldn’t move his head to alleviate the pressure. He could only take it, his nose buried in Leo’s crisp pubic hair with each inward shove. The doorframe bit into his fleshy hips with every one of Leo’s thrusts. The pain was a bright, clarifying counterpoint to the suffocating fullness in his throat.
“Look at you,” Leo grunted, picking up the pace. “A stuck pig. My stuck pig. You can’t run. You can’t even crawl away. You’re just a piece of meat lodged in my doorway.”
The crude words, paired with the brutal, inescapable physics of his situation, shattered something in Gavin. Resistance was not just futile; it was impossible. His body, this massive, betraying thing, had seen to that. A profound, terrifying submission flooded him, hollowing out the panic. He relaxed his throat. He let his jaw go slack. A low, guttural moan vibrated around Leo’s cock.
Leo felt the surrender. “There it is,” he hissed. “There’s the pig who knows his place.” His thrusts became erratic, frantic. He grabbed handfuls of Gavin’s hair, holding his head steady as he hammered into his throat. Gavin’s vision spotted. He couldn’t breathe. Just as the darkness began to curl at the edges, Leo pulled out.
Gavin gasped, drool and pre-cum stringing from his lips to Leo’s shaft. Leo tapped his cock against Gavin’s flushed, bloated cheek. “Now the main event. Stay there.”
Leo walked away. Gavin knelt, trapped, listening to him rummage in another room. He returned with a small, clear bottle of lube and a thick, black silicone plug. He knelt behind Gavin.
“This is going to stretch you more than last time,” Leo said, his voice conversational. The cold lube was dribbled directly onto Gavin’s exposed hole. A slick finger, then two, pushed in without ceremony. The stretch was immediate, painful. Gavin cried out, the sound muffled against the door.
“Quiet,” Leo said, twisting his fingers. He scissored them, the burn making Gavin’s legs tremble. “You need to be ready. You’re going to wear this for me. A reminder.”
The tapered tip of the plug pressed against him. It was obscenely wide. Leo pushed, using his body weight. Gavin screamed as the thickest part stretched him open, a searing, ripping fullness that eclipsed the ache in his hips. With a final, brutal pop, the plug seated inside him, the flared base resting against his clenched, burning rim.
Gavin sobbed, full of cock and now full of this foreign, unyielding object. Leo stood up, admiring his work. He stepped back to the front, his own cock still glistening and hard.
“Now,” Leo said, his eyes gleaming. “Let’s see if you can still come like this.”
He spat into his hand and reached down into the valley of fat between Gavin’s belly and thighs. His hand vanished, fishing blindly in the soft, warm flesh. After a moment, his fingers closed around Gavin’s soft, small cock. He pulled it out, a pathetic, pink thing from its fatty sheath. He began to stroke it, his grip tight and impersonal.
The sensation was bizarre, distant. Gavin’s nerves were overloaded—the ache in his hips, the deep, throbbing stretch of the plug, the brutal handling of his most sensitive flesh. Leo jerked him off with a mechanical, relentless rhythm.
“Look at this little thing,” Leo sneered. “Buried under a mountain of lard. You’re not a man. You’re a fucking toy.”
Humiliation burned through Gavin, but it was fused now with a terrifying, electric arousal. He was a toy. A stuck, useless toy. His hips twitched, a feeble attempt to fuck Leo’s fist. The movement made the plug shift inside him, a shockwave of sensation.
“That’s it,” Leo coaxed, his voice dripping with contempt. “Try to get off while you’re lodged in a door. You disgusting animal.”
The dual stimuli—the rough hand on his cock, the invasive fullness in his ass—collided. A tight, hot coil sprang to life in Gavin’s gut. It wasn’t the sweet buildup of before. It was a frantic, shameful scrambling toward release. His breath hitched in ragged, desperate gulps.
“I’m… I’m gonna…” he slurred.
“Come then, pig,” Leo growled, twisting his wrist on the upstroke. “Spill your pathetic load on my floor.”
The orgasm ripped through Gavin like a seizure. It was dry, agonizing, a series of wrenching, empty spasms that made his whole vast body shudder and clench. The plug inside him pressed mercilessly against his prostate with each contraction, magnifying the sensation into something unbearable. He screamed, a raw, broken sound, as his body convulsed against its wooden prison.
When it was over, he hung in the doorway, limp, spent, tears and snot smearing his face. Leo let go of his soft cock, letting it retract back into its fatty hiding place. He wiped his hand on Gavin’s shoulder.
“Pathetic,” he said, but it sounded almost like praise.
He stepped back, zipped his jeans, and looked at his trapped, used property. “I’m going to order food. You’re paying. And you’re eating all of it.”
Gavin, broken and hollow, could only nod, his cheek pressed against the cool wood. The plug inside him felt like a permanent claim. The doorframe felt like the bars of a cell he had built with every single bite.
An hour later, the food arrived. Leo brought the bags to the doorway and placed containers on the floor in front of Gavin. Cheesesteaks, dripping with grease and cheese whiz. A giant basket of chili cheese fries. A chocolate milkshake, thick enough to stand a spoon in.
“Eat,” Leo commanded, settling on the couch with his own, modest salad. “Clean your plates.”
Gavin’s stomach was a tender, overfilled ache. The thought of food made him want to vomit. But he looked at Leo’s cold eyes. He looked at the doorway holding him captive. He picked up a cheesesteak.
The first bite was a struggle. The second was easier. The salty, fatty meat, the gooey cheese, the soft bread—it was a punishment and a comfort. He ate mechanically, shoveling it in, bite after bite. He sucked down the milkshake, the cold sweetness a contrast to the hot, salty fries he crammed into his mouth afterward.
Leo watched, saying nothing, a smirk playing on his lips.
Gavin finished the last fry. He felt like he would explode. His belly, already monumental, pushed out further, straining against his shirt, pressing into the doorframe with renewed, agonizing pressure. He groaned, a deep, pained sound.
“Good pig,” Leo said from the couch. He stood up and walked over. He surveyed the empty containers, then looked at Gavin’s devastated, bloated face. He placed a foot on Gavin’s heaving stomach and pushed, gently at first, then harder.
A wet, involuntary belch erupted from Gavin’s lips, followed by a trickle of milkshake and cheese.
“Disgusting,” Leo whispered, his eyes alight. He removed his foot. “You can leave now. Try.”
Gavin, feeling the food and the plug and the sheer mass of himself, didn’t want to move. He wanted to die right there. But the command was given. He placed his hands on the floor and tried to rise. The wood bit deeper. He cried out, stuck fast. The meal had sealed his fate. He was wider now, more thoroughly imprisoned than before.
He looked up at Leo, his eyes wide with a silent plea.
Leo smiled, a genuine, chilling smile. He walked to the door and slowly, deliberately, closed it. The door met the resistance of Gavin’s body, stopping an inch from the latch. The apartment was now sealed, with Gavin serving as a living, breathing doorstop.
“I guess you’re staying,” Leo said, his voice soft. He turned off the living room light, plunging Gavin into darkness except for the neon glow from the street below. “Night, pig.”
Gavin listened to Leo’s retreating footsteps, then the click of a bedroom door. He was alone in the dark vestibule, on his knees, stuffed with food and silicone, wedged into the architecture of his own degradation.
He let his head fall forward. The plug shifted inside him. His stomach gurgled, a deep, aquatic sound of digestion and overload. A strange peace settled over him, heavy and final. This was his place. He had eaten his way into it. He had fucked his way into it. There was no going back.
Outside, the city moved on, uncaring. Inside, in the narrow space between the door and the frame, Gavin drifted into a numb, bloated sleep. A part of him knew, in the last flicker of conscious thought before oblivion, that tomorrow the door would open, and the cycle would begin again. And he would not try to leave.
He woke to the sound of his own stomach, a low, grinding gurgle that vibrated through the layers of fat pressed against the doorjamb. Dawn’s grey light filtered through the window, illuminating the empty containers on the floor. His knees were numb, fiery pins and needles shooting up his thighs. The plug in his ass had settled into a dull, persistent ache, a permanent reminder of occupancy.
The bedroom door opened. Leo stood there, already dressed, sipping from a mug of black coffee. He surveyed his trapped property with an expression of detached evaluation, like a mechanic inspecting a broken-down car.
“Still there,” he noted, his voice morning-rough. He took a slow sip. “I was half-hoping you’d suffocated in the night. Would’ve been a bitch to get you out.”
Gavin’s mind, foggy with sleep and a deep-seated metabolic stupor, fumbled for a response. Words felt thick, too far away. He managed a wet, phlegmy sound.
“Hungry,” Gavin finally grunted, the single word an instinct deeper than thought.
Leo’s smile was a thin, cruel line. “Of course you are.” He stepped closer, the toe of his boot nudging a chili-stained container. “You emptied six thousand calories onto my floor last night and your gut’s already screaming for more. Your body’s broken. Your brain’s next.”
He walked to the kitchen. Gavin heard the familiar, torturous sounds: the refrigerator opening, the sizzle of butter in a pan, the crack of eggs. The smells wound through the apartment—grease, salty meat, melting cheese—and Gavin’s mouth flooded with saliva. He drooled openly, a string of it dangling from his lip to the floor.
Leo returned with two plates. One held a simple piece of toast. The other was heaped with a mountain of scrambled eggs, a pile of bacon glistening with fat, three sausage links, and a stack of pancakes dripping with syrup. He placed the feast on the floor just beyond Gavin’s reach. He sat on the floor himself, his back against the wall, with the toast in his lap.
“Breakfast,” Leo said. “But you have to earn it.”
He unbuttoned his own jeans, freeing his semi-hard cock. He gave it a few lazy strokes, watching Gavin’s eyes lock onto the movement. “Get me hard. Use your mouth. And don’t you fucking dare touch that food until I’m finished with you.”
Gavin didn’t need to be told twice. A frantic, hungry energy seized him. He strained forward against the wooden vise of the doorframe, the pressure on his hips a bright, white pain he barely registered. He lurched, stretching his neck, his tongue lolling out like a starved animal. He could barely reach.
The head of Leo’s cock brushed his lips. Gavin sucked it in, engulfing the soft flesh, working it fervently with his tongue and throat. He slurped, groaned, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration. His mind had emptied of everything—shame, reason, time—and contained only this: the taste of skin, the goal of hardness, the promise of the food waiting so close he could smell the maple syrup.
“Look at you,” Leo murmured, his fingers tangling in Gavin’s greasy hair. “A animal. A perfect, stupid animal.” He rocked his hips, feeding Gavin more length as he stiffened. “Your brain is just fat and horny sludge now, isn’t it? All you can do is eat and suck cock.”
Gavin mumbled an affirmative around the shaft, the vibrations earning him a sharp thrust deeper. He gagged, eyes watering, but pushed forward, taking it. The plug shifted inside him, pressing a sharp bolt of pleasure-pain through his groin. His own dick, buried and ignored, gave a feeble twitch. The sounds were obscenely wet, rhythmic, punctuated by Gavin’s desperate snuffling breaths.
Leo was fully hard now, his grip tightening. “You love this more than the food, don’t you, pig? Being used. It’s the only thing that makes you feel anything.”
He began to fuck Gavin’s face in earnest, short, punishing jabs that hammered the back of his throat. Gavin’s nose was flattened against Leo’s pelvis. He couldn’t breathe. Spots danced behind his eyelids. He didn’t fight it. He embraced the suffocating darkness, his body jerking with involuntary need.
Just as the world began to tunnel, Leo pulled out. Cool air hit Gavin’s battered lips. He slumped, gasping, strings of saliva and pre-cum webbing his chin to his chest.
“Good enough,” Leo said, his voice tight. He didn’t touch the food. He reached for the plug instead, gripping its base. “Now for the real meal.”
With no warning, he twisted the plug and pulled.
A cry, raw and sharp, ripped from Gavin’s throat as the thick silicone stretched his ravaged hole on its way out. It popped free with a sick, wet sound. Gavin shuddered, feeling horribly empty, gaping.
Leo didn’t give him a second to recover. He was on his knees behind him, the head of his cock already pressed against Gavin’s loosened, dripping entrance. He leaned his full weight forward, using the doorframe for leverage.
“Take it, you worthless dumpster,” Leo growled, and sheathed himself in one brutal, burying thrust.
The stretch was immense, brutal. Gavin screamed, his voice echoing in the small space. He was so full, split open, impaled. Leo didn’t pause. He set a relentless, deep rhythm, each drive pounding Gavin’s trapped body against the unyielding wood. The doorframe creaked in protest. The entire apartment seemed to shake.
“You’re so fucking fat I can barely get my arms around you,” Leo grunted, his fingers digging, seeking purchase in the rolls of Gavin’s sides. He found handfuls of soft love handle and gripped them like handlebars, yanking Gavin back onto his cock with every thrust. “Just a blob. A warm, jiggling blob with a hole.”
The pain was astronomical, a screaming fire in his ass. But beneath it, underneath the tearing ache, a profound, degrading fullness blossomed. It scratched an itch he could never reach himself. His cries softened into choked, rhythmic sobs. His mind went blank, blissfully empty, filled only with the punishing slide of Leo inside him.
“This is all you are!” Leo snarled, his pace becoming frantic, sloppy. His hips slapped against Gavin’s ample ass, the sound a rapid, wet tattooing of flesh on flesh. “A tight hole in a mountain of lard! My personal fuck-stuffed toy!”
Gavin babbled, nonsense words, “yes” and “please” and “more” all tangled together. He was hornier than he’d ever been in his life, a wire pulled taut to snapping. The food was forgotten. His body was just a receptacle, a vessel for this use.
Leo’s movements stuttered. He buried himself to the hilt and held there, his body rigid. Gavin felt the hot, sudden flood fill him, pulse after pulse, a claiming. Leo groaned, low and long, his fingers bruising Gavin’s fat.
He stayed there for a moment, panting, then pulled out with a soft, wet sound. He left Gavin there, kneeling, dripping, utterly destroyed. Leo stood, tucked himself away, and picked up his cold piece of toast.
He took a bite, chewing slowly as he looked down at the feast on the floor and the broken boy stuck before it. “Now you can eat, pig.”
Gavin didn’t need encouragement. With trembling, clumsy hands, he grabbed the nearest sausage link and shoved it whole into his mouth. He didn’t chew properly. He swallowed chunks, then grabbed a fistful of eggs and syrup-soaked pancake, mashing it into his gaping maw. He ate like something digging out of a grave, grunting, sucking bacon grease from his fingers. He was ravenous, a bottomless pit, his earlier pain subsumed by a consuming, primal need to fill the void Leo had just carved open.
Leo watched, finishing his toast. “You’re getting fatter by the hour,” he observed casually. “I can see it. Your cheeks are swallowing your stupid eyes. That gut’s gonna touch the floor soon.”
Gavin, his mouth crammed with food, could only moan in agreement. He was fatter. He felt it. The doorframe was tighter, the wood biting into softer, newer flesh. His thoughts moved like cold oil, simple and slow: food, cock, sleep. Repeat.
He finished every scrap, licking the plates clean. He felt monumental, grotesque, a queen ant gorged in her chamber. He groaned, his overstuffed gut a solid, aching planet pulling him toward the floor.
Leo stood. He placed a hand on Gavin’s sweat-damp head. “You’re not leaving today. You can’t. Look at you.” He pushed, testing. Gavin’s body didn’t budge; it was seamlessly lodged. “You live here now. In my doorway. You’re furniture.”
Gavin, in a stupor of saturation, found this logical. He was furniture. A useful piece. He had a purpose.
“I’m going to class,” Leo said, gathering his bag. “I’ll be back. You’ll be hungry again.” He stepped over Gavin’s legs and opened the front door, which swung wide, its arc now permanently limited by Gavin’s immobile bulk. “Don’t go anywhere.”
The door closed, locking Gavin in alone with the empty plates and the smell of sex and syrup. He rested his forehead against the wood. He was fatter. He was stupider. He was hornier, a low, relentless thrumming in his blood and guts. He was Leo’s stay-at-home toy. And he would not try to leave.