Chapter 5: The Homecoming
The morning of Amy’s return dawned with a greasy yellow light. The feeder’s hum was a familiar insect drone in the spare room. Dan lay strapped in, his body a landscape of soft, rolling hills under a thin sheet. He’d lost track of the days, of the meals, of everything except the cycle of fill and empty. A profound lassitude had settled into his bones, a warm, heavy contentment that smothered protest.
Emily moved around him, a monolith of curated muscle. She was adjusting the feeder’s reservoir, pouring in a viscous, clear liquid that smelled of synthetic peaches and pure glucose. “Big day,” she said, her voice a low rumble. “We want you looking your best for her.”
She leaned over to check the strap across his chest. Her pectoral, a solid slab of muscle, brushed against his face. He turned his head, nuzzling involuntarily into the warm, hard curve of it. The action was instinctual, seeking comfort. He looked up the sheer cliff of her torso. Her breasts, heavy and full above the drum-tight pectorals, seemed to hover miles above him.
A weak, watery thought surfaced through the syrup in his mind. He whispered it, more to the air than to her. “I don’t even come up to the underside of your tit anymore.”
Emily froze. She looked down, her expression unreadable. Then a slow, radiant smile spread across her face. It wasn’t cruel. It was proud. Ecstatic. She placed a massive hand on the side of his head, cradling it gently against her rib cage. “I know, baby,” she murmured, her thumb stroking his temple. “I know. Isn’t it perfect?”
The feeder whirred to life. The peach-scented slurry began its relentless journey down his throat. He accepted it, his eyes fixed on the impossible shelf of her body above him. The measurement wasn’t a complaint. It was an observation of fact, and the fact felt deeply, fundamentally right.
They heard the front door open around noon. A familiar voice called out, bright and strong. “Dan? Em? I’m back! You will not believe this week!”
Emily’s eyes snapped to the door of the spare room. A flicker of something—anticipation, rivalry, hunger—crossed her features. She didn’t stop the feeder. “In here, Amy!” she called back, her voice deliberately even.
Footsteps, confident and heavy, approached. The door pushed open.
Amy stood in the doorway.
The girl who had left was gone. In her place was a vision of powerful, dense femininity. She’d always been getting bigger, but this was a quantum leap. Her shoulders rounded with new deltoid mass, stretching the fabric of her tight tank top. Her arms were thick with muscle, veins mapping her biceps. Her breasts pushed against the shirt, fuller, heavier. Her quadriceps threatened the seams of her shorts. She was, by any normal standard, huge. Impressive. A dedicated athlete at the peak of form.
She was also, compared to Emily, a child playing with weights.
Amy’s bright, triumphant smile froze. Her eyes, wide and shockingly blue, did a slow, disbelieving tour of the room. They took in the industrial feeder, the console with its blinking lights. They traveled over Dan, spilling out of the chair, his face round and placid, a tube filling him. The numbers on the display: 589 lbs.
Then her gaze lifted to Emily.
Amy’s jaw went slack. The gym bag slipped from her hand and thudded to the floor. Her eyes crawled up the seismic thighs, over the distended sweatpants, across the continent of the torso, up the neck as thick as Dan’s thigh, and finally to the face, which smiled down at her with benign, goddess-like superiority.
“Emily?” Amy whispered. The name was a breath, a prayer of confusion.
“Welcome home, sweetie,” Emily said. She took a step forward. The floorboard groaned. She didn’t just occupy space; she devoured it. “You’ve been busy. You look… strong.”
Amy could only stare. Her eyes were huge, drinking in the details: the vascularity, the striations, the sheer, unbelievable scale. A flush crept up her neck. Her breathing quickened. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips.
“I… I trained,” Amy stammered, her voice faint. “Double sessions. The new supplement…”
“I see that,” Emily purred. She was close now, looming over the powerfully built young woman, making her look petite. “But it seems I’ve been training too.” She flexed one arm casually. The bicep surged, a planet of muscle, the skin straining. A soft, choked sound escaped Amy’s throat. It wasn’t fear.
Emily saw it. The raw, unvarnished arousal. The worship. She reached out with a finger thicker than Amy’s wrist and tipped Amy’s chin up. “You like it.”
It wasn’t a question. Amy shuddered, a full-body tremor. She nodded, mute, her eyes glazing.
“I did it for you,” Emily breathed, leaning down. Her voice was a conspiratorial whisper. “All of it. His softness. My strength. It’s a circuit. His growth fuels my ambition. My ambition… well.” She let her gaze drag meaningfully over Amy’s swollen muscles. “It seems to have inspired you.”
Amy finally found her voice, husky and strained. “He’s so big.”
“He’s not done,” Emily said. She turned back to the console. Her fingers, surprisingly deft, typed a command. The feeder’s hum pitched higher. The flow into Dan’s mouth increased to a rapid, gulping stream. “We have a little time before he’s… occupied. Come here.”
Amy moved like she was in a dream. She walked to Emily, her head tilted back, staring up. Emily’s hands, those world-altering hands, came to rest on Amy’s shoulders. They squeezed. Amy moaned, her knees buckling slightly at the pressure on her newly earned muscle.
“You feel so good,” Emily murmured, her hands sliding down, mapping Amy’s back, her lats, settling on her hips. “All that hard work. Let me see it.”
It was not a gentle undressing. It was a claiming. Emily’s hands pulled and the clothes gave way—the tank top ripping at the seams, the shorts button pinging off the wall. Amy stood naked, breathing hard, her body a masterpiece of youthful, potent physique, trembling before the older woman’s monumental form.
Emily looked her over, a farmer assessing prime livestock. “Beautiful,” she declared. Then she pushed Amy, not roughly, but with undeniable force, towards the wide, padded bench they’d moved into the room for “stretching.” Amy fell back onto it, her eyes wide, expectant.
Dan watched, the slurry flowing, his body inflating. 602. 615. He was a spectator to his own life, a soft, growing audience of one. He saw his mother, a titan of flesh and will, stand over his girlfriend. He saw Amy reach up, her strong hands sliding over Emily’s colossal thighs with reverent hunger.
Emily didn’t bother with her pants. She simply tore them. The fabric split like tissue paper. And there it was, the impossible, the center of this new gravity. Fully, aggressively erect, it stood out from the thatch of dark hair, a terrifying and mesmerizing sight.
Amy’s breath hitched. “Oh, god,” she whimpered. Not in terror. In want.
“This is the surprise,” Emily said, lowering herself between Amy’s spread legs. “The real one.”
There was no gentle guidance. There was alignment, and then a slow, inexorable press. Amy’s back arched off the bench, a sharp cry tearing from her lips. Her hands flew to Emily’s arms, fingernails digging into the granite-hard muscle as she was filled, stretched, redefined. Her eyes were slammed shut, then flew open, locking on Dan’s across the room.
He saw it all in her face: the shock, the pain, the overwhelming, annihilating pleasure. And the triumph. She had wanted a muscle mommy. She had gotten a goddess.
Emily began to move. It was a slow, deep, rhythmic devastation. Each thrust drove a punched-out sound from Amy’s core. The bench scraped against the floor with every drive. Emily’s own grunts were low, industrial.
And Dan grew. The feeder pumped the high-calorie slurry into him, a relentless counterpoint to the fucking in the center of the room. 635. 665. The leather of his chair creaked in protest. He could feel his body expanding, the skin across his belly tightening to a dull, persistent ache. His own arousal was a fat, neglected thing, trapped under the rolling bulk of him. He was a bystander, a bloated witness to the convergence of the two forces that now owned his world.
Amy’s cries grew sharper, more frantic. Her legs, thick and powerful, wrapped around Emily’s waist, heels digging into the small of the colossal back, pulling her deeper. “Yes! Emily, yes! More!”
Emily obliged. Her pace became punishing, a steady, pounding rhythm that shook the bench, the floor, the very foundations of the house. Her eyes were locked on Dan, on the numbers climbing on his console. A filthy, joyous smile was on her lips.
“Look at him, Amy,” Emily grunted, never breaking stroke. “Look at what we’re making. Together.”
Amy turned her head, her cheek pressed against the bench. Her eyes, glassy with rapture, found Dan. She saw the sheer, breathtaking mass of him. The digital readout: 691 lbs.
“So big,” she rasped, a tear of pure ecstasy tracking through the sweat on her temple. “My soft, big Dan. You’re doing so good, baby. Just take it. Take it all.”
Her words, her approval, fired through him like a secondary drug. The last vestige of resistance melted. He was doing good. He was taking it. He was part of this.
Emily roared, a sound of pure, volcanic release. Her final thrust buried her to the hilt, lifting Amy clear off the bench. Amy screamed, her body convulsing, her own climax ripped from her by sheer, overwhelming force.
Silence, but for the gasping, the feeder’s hum, and the soft, electronic beep of the console.
703 lbs.
Emily slowly pulled out. She stood, a colossus glistening with sweat, towering over the wrecked, trembling form of Amy on the bench. She turned to Dan. The feeder stopped. The tube retracted.
She walked to him, each step a tired, satisfied thud. She unbuckled the final strap. She helped him to his feet. He could barely stand, his center of gravity a foreign country. He swayed, a mountain of soft flesh, and she steadied him, her hands easily spanning his back.
Amy staggered up from the bench, legs shaky. She walked over, her gaze hungry, moving between the two of them. She placed a hand on Dan’s stomach, feeling the immense, taut curve of it. Then she looked up at Emily, her expression one of dawning, worshipful understanding.
“The circuit,” Amy breathed.
Emily nodded, pulling them both close. Dan slumped between them, supported by muscle and devotion, a vast and silent testament to their desires.
“Exactly,” Emily said, kissing Amy’s sweaty forehead, then Dan’s. “Nobody leaves. Everybody grows. This is just the beginning.”
The stillness that followed her declaration was thick, vibrating with spent energy and new possibility. Amy, still breathless, looked from Emily’s satisfied face to Dan’s swollen form, her fingers tracing the hard curve of his distended belly. “So what’s next?” she asked, her voice husky.
Emily’s smile widened. She walked to the feeder’s control console, her movements still fluid despite her size. “Next,” she said, popping open a small, refrigerated compartment, “we optimize.” She withdrew two pre-filled syringes of a milky, opalescent liquid. “The S-7. My own little formula. It accelerates cellular uptake. Makes everything… more.”
Amy’s eyes locked onto the syringes with a fierce hunger. “For us?”
“For you,” Emily corrected, holding one up to the light. “To push that beautiful growth of yours further. And for him,” she said, nodding toward Dan. “To help his system assimilate all this,” she gestured at the feeder’s empty reservoir, “more efficiently.” She handed one syringe to Amy.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Amy brought the needle to her own neck, finding a vein with a practiced push. She injected it with a soft hiss, her eyes fluttering closed. A visible shudder ran through her, a ripple of tension that made her muscles stand in stark, sudden relief. She gasped, her back arching. “Oh, fuck. That’s… immediate.”
Dan watched, helpless, as Emily approached him with the second syringe. “Just a little booster, baby,” she said softly, almost sweetly. Her massive hand was astonishingly gentle as she tilted his head, finding the jugular. The prick was sharp, brief. Then a spreading, invasive warmth flooded his veins, a heat that seemed to sink directly into his marrow.
It started in his core. A deep, internal gurgle, a sudden rush of fluid retention that made his already taut skin stretch further. He looked down at himself, a soft cry escaping his lips as he visibly expanded, the numbers on the console beside him beginning to climb faster: 715… 730… 748. The fat was layering on, but there was a new firmness to it, a dense, heavy quality.
“Good boy,” Emily purred, watching the numbers fly. She turned back to Amy. “Feel it?”
Amy was staring at her own hands, flexing them. The tendons in her forearms thickened like cables. Her biceps swelled, gaining a harder, fuller shape even as she stood still. A low groan of pleasure rumbled from her chest. “I feel… everything.” Her gaze, now dark with a predatory intensity, slid to Emily. “I need you.Again. Now.”
This time, there was no lead-up. Amy grabbed Emily, her newfound strength making the action startlingly forceful. She spun the larger woman and pushed her back against the padded bench. Emily let out a surprised, delighted laugh that quickly morphed into a groan as Amy descended on her.
Dan, bloating rapidly, his mind fuzzy from the S-7, could only watch. The feeder had automatically re-engaged, pumping more slurry into him, compounding the expansion. He felt like a water balloon slowly overfilling, a dull, pervasive ache of growth.
Amy was kissing down Emily’s torso, her hands squeezing and worshiping the colossal thighs. When she reached Emily’s thick cock, still slick from their first joining, she didn’t hesitate. She took it into her mouth with a fervent, hungry need, her own body shuddering with each pulse of the drug in her system.
Emily threw her head back, a hand tangling in Amy’s hair. “That’s it, girl. Take it.”
But as Dan watched, something else began to happen. A change in Amy. Between her legs, where there had been only the flushed, smooth folds of her sex, a new swell was beginning. It pushed out, firming, lengthening, a mirror to the one she was currently servicing. It grew with a visible, almost audible tension, a full, thick emergence that made Amy moan around Emily’s shaft, the vibration drawing a sharp gasp from the older woman.
Dan lost track. He lost track of the doses, of the pounds clicking upward, of anything but the spectacle. His mother, a mountain of muscle, being worshipped by his girlfriend, who was now growing her own cock, thick and ruddy and erect, as the S-7 catalyzed her transformation.
Emily noticed. She looked down, her eyes blazing with triumph. “Yes.Perfect. Now, come here.” She pulled Amy up by her hair, guiding her, turning her. Amy understood, her movements becoming frantic. She mounted Emily, positioning herself, and then sank down, taking Emily’s massive length inside her while her own new, impressive cock stood straight out, bobbing with the motion.
They moved together, a chaotic, powerful rhythm. Amy was no longer just receiving; she was riding, grinding, her own hips piston-driving down onto Emily. Their moans mingled, raw anduninhibited.
Emily’s hand snaked out, fumbling for a moment on the console before finding a third, smaller syringe she had prepared. Still pinned under Amy’s furious motion, she reached over Amy’s shoulder, aiming for Dan.
He saw it coming but couldn’t move. The needle plunged not into his neck, but into the base of his own soft, neglected cock. The injection was a sharp, intimate burn. Then the S-7 hit.
The change was violent and instantaneous. It fattened, swelling in girth and length against the looming curve of his belly, becoming heavy and full in a way he had never experienced. It was a foreign appendage, a stark, aching contrast to the softness everywhere else. His weight gain surged, the console beeping in alarm as it raced past 800 pounds.
He watched, his own altered body throbbing, as the two women he loved fucked with abandon, each of them becoming more, becoming other, pulling him irrevocably into their vast, expanding orbit.
He watched, his own altered body throbbing, as the two women he loved fucked with abandon, each of them becoming more, becoming other, pulling him irrevocably into their vast, expanding orbit. The world dissolved into a haze of movement and sound, the sharp chemical scent of the S-7 mixing with sweat and sex. His last coherent sight was of Amy’s new, thick cock, a dark silhouette against Emily’s heaving stomach, before a deep, drugged oblivion pulled him under.
Consciousness returned as a slow, dreadful pressure.
It wasn’t waking. It was surfacing through layers of dense mud. Dan’s eyes scraped open. The room was different. Wrong. The ceiling seemed closer, the walls narrower. A pale, sickly dawn light filtered through the single window.
Then he understood. He hadn’t moved. The room had shrunk around him.
He tried to shift, to lift his head. Nothing happened. A deep, panicked confusion flooded him. He was pinned. A colossal, immovable weight held him fast against the floor. He managed to tilt his chin down, a Herculean effort that made the tendons in his neck scream.
The sight made his breath catch in a wet, shallow rasp.
The industrial feeder’s reinforced chair was gone. Or rather, it was still there, but buried underneath him. He saw only splintered fragments of dark polished wood and torn black leather poking out from beneath the rolling, pale expanse of his own torso. He had crushed it flat. The metal frame was bent into a vague, tragic shape under the sheer tonnage of his body.
His body.
It was everywhere. It spread out from him in all directions, a continent of soft, helpless flesh. His arms, swollen into monumental, pillowy limbs, lay palms-up at his sides, trapped against the floor by their own incredible mass. He willed his right arm to move, to reach the feeding tube still taped to his mouth. A tendon twitched somewhere deep beneath the fat. His fingers, bloated and sausage-like, gave a feeble, pathetic curl. That was all. The arm didn’t lift. It couldn’t. It was a slab of meat weighing hundreds of pounds on its own.
The tube. His eyes, swimming with terrified understanding, traced the line of it from his lips to the machine. The feeder’s quiet, efficient pump hummed. A fresh stream of the peach-scented slurry, cool and relentless, flowed down his throat. He hadn’t been disconnected. They’d just left him on the floor, and the machine had kept working through the night, pumping life into him while he slept, expanding him further, sinking him deeper into this prison of his own flesh.
Helplessness wasn’t a strong enough word. This was geological. He was a landmass. He watched, utterly motionless, as the digital display on the feeder’s console ticked upward. 922 lbs. A soft, electronic beep. 923 lbs.
A sound escaped him, a muffled whimper around the tube. It was the only protest he could muster. He was a spectator to his own endless filling. The ache was constant now, a deep, foundational stretching, a sense of impending rupture held at bay only by the mysterious elasticity of his own changed skin. The memory of the night before flashed—Amy’s transformation, Emily’s triumphant gaze, the sharp prick of the final needle. This was the result. This was the next morning.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the door. Heavy, and light. A dual rhythm. They stopped just outside. He heard Amy’s voice, lower and richer than he remembered. “Do you think he’s awake?”
Emily’s reply was a smooth, warm rumble. “The display says he’s accepting nutrition. Let’s see our boy.”
The door opened. They filled the doorway, side by side, a vision of impossible contrast and shared purpose. Emily, a sculpted mountain of power. Amy, denser and more defined than just hours before, her shoulders even broader, her jaw more squared. A satisfied, animal glow clung to both of them.
Their eyes found him on the floor. Amy’s breath hitched, her hand flying to her mouth. Not in horror. In awe. “Oh, Dan.”
Emily simply smiled, a slow, deep contentment. She stepped into the room, her gaze traveling over the wreckage of the chair, the incredible spread of him. She knelt beside his head, her knees popping, and ran a colossal, surprisingly gentle hand over the curve of his cheek. “Look at you,” she murmured, her voice thick with affection. “You beautiful thing. You just… outgrew it.”
Dan tried to speak. It came out as a choked gurgle around the tube.
“Shhh, don’t try,” Amy said, moving to his other side. She placed her hand, now so large and strong, on the immense slope of his stomach. She felt the tight, full skin, the relentless internal churn as more slurry was added. A shiver of pure arousal went through her. “You’re perfect. You’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to do.”
Emily’s thumb stroked his cheek. “We’ll get you a reinforced platform. Something suitable.” She looked at the console, at the numbers, her smile widening. “A thousand pounds by tonight? I think we can. What do you think, Amy?”
Amy leaned down, her lips close to his ear. Her whisper was hot, and full of a love that terrified him. “Just take it, baby. Let go. It’s easier.” She kissed his temple, then looked at the tube feeding him, her eyes gleaming. “Don’t stop. Never stop.”
Dan’s eyes, the only part of him he could still move freely, darted between them. Pleading. They saw it. They smiled. They watched him watch the machine that was making him more of himself, and less of himself, with every silent, pumping beat.
The slurry flowed on. 927 lbs. The hum of the pump was the only sound in the room besides his own ragged, trapped breath. He was awake. He was aware. And he was utterly, irrevocably, theirs.