Bear Den

Pec Toe Rals

“He looks pretty hot. If anything, that’s how I would wanna look like, but fatter.”

Aiden Maxim

You were a video game developer by trade, though business wasn’t going well at the time. Companies in your trade tended to abuse valuable assets like yourself like a nanny used a sponge,. You often left to clean up other people’s’ messes and scrubbed within an inch of your life to do so, and lately you had begun to feel ever so worn. Nearly every day now you came to work completely mentally exhausted with no imagination or inventiveness left to offer. You began to feel very much like an old worn out sponge, and what was worse, your supervisors were beginning to notice. They began to ask you why your work had suddenly become so shoddy and what was distracting you. All the while you felt like you were being wrung out one last time for anything useful left before you were tossed into the waste bin.

Scared that the unemployment line was just around the corner, you delved into your deep pocket of unused paid time off, a drastic faux pas for a programmer like you, and took several weeks away from the office to try and reinvigorate your abilities. That had been two week ago though, and since then you hadn’t regained any of your wits. Your team from work was now calling you nearly daily to ask where you had gone and if there was any chance of you coming back early to help before the latest game’s release. Horrified, you’d jokingly tell them that you were planning to take all of your time come hell or high water. They laughed at first, understanding your need for a break, but after the first week they stopped finding you funny. You were terrified of the prospect that the calls would stop altogether one only for a notice of termination to appear in your mailbox.

Desperate for inspiration, you began playing the newest and hottest games on the market. You were hoping that some new, invigorating idea might come to light through the gameplay, something that was just taking root in the zeitgeist of interactive media that might have been overlooked due to a game’s relative newness or independent status, but unfortunately, you found just more of the same garbage that you had been turning out for awhile now. It was clear that the video game business as a whole was suffering due to situations like yours, and it seemed that your head was just the latest on the chopping block. You had nearly resigned to going back to work to be fired when an interesting little piece was proposed to you through the “suggested” page of your frequented digital marketplace. The recommendations proposed had gotten particularly strange as of late thanks to your most recent purchases being quite irregular from your usual tastes, so you didn’t find it strange when you didn’t recognize the developer company, a “Transformation Foundation Studios,” or the title, “Pec Toe Rals.”

You browsed through the page advertising the game on your T.V. console, your hands delicately playing over the rubbery knobs of the controller as you read the synopsis and reviews. Apparently it was some form of fighting game, the usual fair in which you faced off against some A.I. character in a series of randomized stages. It had a few interesting quirks, such as the ability to customize your character and photo-likeness capabilities to make your avatar remarkably similar to your actual visage, but concerning gameplay, the piece didn’t stand out too much. That’s what made the raving reviews so bizzare to you. Nearly all of the ratings given were five stars, and every set of stars given came with at least a paragraph-long review concerning how this game had changed the player’s life. Being in the gaming field for awhile now, you knew that such a level of gamer response was nearly unheard of, much less with such a relatively inconspicuous game. In fact, there was only one critique that gave the game less than the usual five, a one star review that was joined by only four words: “They ruined my life.”

You were highly intrigued as to what about the game could’ve invoked such in-depth feedback and interaction from so many fans of the game, so you decided that you’d pay the relatively minor fee to purchase it. It downloaded in mere minutes, and you didn’t even need to get up off of the couch before you were greeted with the title screen, “Pec Toe Rals,” in big, bold lettering across your flat screen T.V. You gripped the controller tightly in hand, starting the game and preparing for an extremely flabbergasting experience. Instead the screen went entirely blank. You blinked once in twice in shock, wondering if you’d just broken something by downloading malicious software, before the screen flashed and you found yourself face to face with an image of yourself on the T.V. You were confused for a moment, but toying with the controller quickly revealed that this picture of you was actually the character that you were controlling, and it was actually an eerily exact likeness of your own person. You wondered how the game had acquired a photo of yourself to adapt to without a camera attached to your console and how they were able to make the avatar so like yourself, seemingly proportionate bodily measurements and all, but before you could think too much about it you found that the game was starting.

You found yourself dropped in quite suddenly against an opponent. You’d read in the synopsis somewhere that the foes were all procedurally generated to best fit your avatar, whatever that meant, so you were a bit surprised to encounter a character that seemed quite bulbous in nature. He was wearing a tight black mesh tank top that stretched thinly over a massive gut that swung wide with his idle animation, and when he began moving he did so in time-consuming waddles that shook the entire stage with every step. A brief glance up to the top of the screen revealed your health bar right next to another labeled “Fatty.” You chuckled a little in disbelief. Was the game commenting on your weight? Sure, you weren’t horribly fit, and you were just a hair overweight. These things were to be expected from how much time you were spent to work sitting down in an office chair though. You rolled your eyes as you engaged the enemy, finding it quite easy to beat him given how rotund he was. He moved at a glacially slow pace with every action he took, and what attacks the A.I. could land on your much faster and more able character did a mere fraction of what your abilities inflicted. The fight was over in just over a minute, and “Fatty” collapsed to reveal a floating icon, a power-up of some kind.

You directed your character to pick it up, and doing so brought an interesting metamorphosis over your avatar. Your vaguely pudgy cheeks became more inflated, bulging your jawline into a circular state. Your pixilated belly began to distend like the other character’s, resulting in you experiencing the same subtle swaying during the idle animation. You even noted that the avatar even seemed to move more ploddingly, slowing down and slightly wheezing after going too fast. All the while, your own breath became more labored as you sat on the couch, staring at the screen. Though you didn’t notice it, your hands that held the controller began to move away from your person, your arms having to reach farther around a suddenly growing belly. Your own face became pudgy and fat as a strange and immediate excess of weight began to grow out from all over your belly, and though you didn’t notice it, you had quite suddenly become quite fat. Your focus was entirely dedicated to the game though, so you simply adjusted your laid back position to view the screen over your newly distended stomach and continued playing.

The following adversary was much more difficult than “Fatty.” It appeared that his stage was some kind of dungeon or jail cell. There were an abundance of background NPCs chained and tied to various restricting furnishings, all seemingly intended to keep the captives from moving or escaping. They all seemed to be in quite a bit of distress, moaning and writhing, thrusting their bodies against the air in what you assumed were attempts to break free from the enemy’s bondage. Then the opponent was introduced with a bizarre cutscene of the opposing character stripping one of his prisoners of their footwear before frantically licking and kissing the exposed feet. It was only after you had your character make the first attack that the villain stopped strange assault on the moaning hostage and turned to fight you, a health bar appearing in the corner that read “Pervert.” This opponent actually fought with some skill, requiring you strategize and use your character’s abilities to their fullest. Luckily, while the previous power-up had seemed a complete let down at first, you discovered that it had actually given your character a plethora of new combos and abilities. You were now able to swing your massive belly about in a variety of comedic tackling moves and body slams that all pointed to your avatar’s embarrassingly immense weight as the sole source of damage. Your own bulging belly rumbled with blubberous waves of laughter at seeing the opponent attempt to grab you to expose your feet to a damaging oral assault only to crush him under your gelatinous stomach. It was after a particularly brutal body slam of which the opponent took the full brunt of your belly crashing down upon him that the enemy character vanished as yet another power-up appeared. You happily had your character grab it, excited to see what newer abilities it would bring.

This pick-up was a tad more more subtle in how it presented its newly provided “abilities” though. Their were no physical changes to your avatar, though you waited for them to materialize for a bit, and when you thought that the feature might’ve just been a dud, an error created by the procedural generation process, you began to move your character on towards the next stage. Upon pressing the controls to move your avatar though, you were surprised to find that the character seemed to ignore you, instead moving towards the captive that the opponent was toying with in the introductory cutscene. You assumed that this was going to be a cutscene for your own character, procedurally generated as well, but you were surprised to see your rotund avatar kneeling down at the feet of the restrained NPC, his ankles still restricted in stocks and his feet bare, and begin massaging the captive’s feet. You furrowed your brow as this continued for a few minutes, only stopping when your character paused to look at the soles with rapt interest before easing his face forward to take long, ponderous whiffs of the squirming subjects toes. After a couple more moments you were shocked to see your avatar open his gaping, blubberous maw and actually begin to lick and kiss the captive’s foot just as the villain before him had done.

You watched, stunned at the oddity of the animated scene unfolding before you, but you didn’t notice under the fat bulk of your belly that your nether regions had began to stir. Your finger had been hovering over the button to stop the grotesque scene, but you now found that your finger began to abate from the position, unbidden. You watched in fascination as an animated version of yourself cleaned out the toe jam between his moaning victim’s toes. The noisy slobbering sound of your character vigorously making out with the feet caused your newly plaque-clogged heart to beat faster and faster in unanticipated excitement. It slowly began to dawn on your half-focused brain that you found the prospect of worshiping another man’s feet very arousing. In fact, you began to become partially aware of the throbbing appendage between your legs bobbing its leaking head in agreement to the notion. The thought of you sniffing, licking, and kissing another man’s feet was actually extremely hot, and watching the digital approximation of yourself enact the perverse fantasy was even hotter. You reached beyond your massive belly on an impulse, untucking yourself from your short as you began to knead and pleasure your throbbing knob as you began to imagine how actually worshiping another man’s feet might feel, smell, or taste. The thought only caused your heart to beat faster, the hand still holding the controller now shaking in excitement.

It was at that moment that a new health bar appeared in the top right corner next your’s, but this one bore a longer title than the previous two, “Fat, Pathetic Foot Fag.” You gasped to see that this character was familiar though. This new opponent looked exactly like you. In fact, as the opponent drew closer to your avatar, still kneeling at the feet of the moaning captive, you found it hard to tell which one you were actually supposed to be controlling. Surprised by the sudden arrival of the new character, you tried to release your throbbing cock to have both hands reconvene upon the controller but found your grasping fingers unresponsive. You looked down to see that despite your every desire to release your stiff dick, you still continued to massage and play with your bobbing prick, causing you to moan from beneath your labored pants of excitement. With one shaking hand still on the controller, you attempted to rouse your avatar to his feet so he could defend himself against the equally chubby doppelganger, but just like your pleasuring hand, your avatar didn’t budge. He too was panting and moaning in pleasure.

Instead you were helpless to watch as the opponent stood next to your stooped character, shaking his head as if ruminating on what a pathetic soul you were. The A.I. placed a hand on your character’s shoulder, stopping the avatar from further pleasuring the feet. Taking him by the chin, the opponent guided the digital representation of you to look directly into the other character’s eyes. You and your avatar both began trembling as you both looked directly into the “fat, pathetic foot fag’s” face, finding yourselves suddenly overwhelmed with pleasure. It was if the NPC’s eyes held the hypnotic truth of who you were meant to be from now on. This fat, pathetic foot fag was intended to be you, and looking into his mesmerically engaging eyes, you saw that he embodied all the pleasure that such an identity would forever hold for a wretched creature like you were doomed to be. A small part of you thought about resisting, about the team that was depending on you at work and all of the responsibilities that your career held, but a larger part of you realized how relaxing it would be not to worry about your stressful work life, keep getting fatter, and worshiping every man’s foot that you could. At merely the hint of such euphoria, your avatar creamed his shorts, letting his white and pixelated cum drip down his leg as he looked onto his real self, his “opponent,” with awestruck affection. You yourself experienced the orgasm of a lifetime, bellowing out as you coated your masturbating hand and plump belly with a coating smattering of jizz for over a minute before you eventually calmed down again.

And when you did, you knew that you were going to enjoy being a fat, pathetic foot fag for a very long time.

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