Big-and-Tall, The: Part 1

Big-and-Tall, The

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By BBMSN

Two weeks into my new job at the local Big-and-Tall store, and I've come to the conclusion that those national surveys were right about one thing: there were a lot of overweight people in this country. I've seen plenty of big fat dudes coming in here to support the evidence. Not that I'm one to point fingers, cause I'm a big guy myself. Six feet tall and 250lbs, mostly muscle. Well, it was mostly muscle when I was playing college ball anyway, but since that time I guess I've let it go a bit. Haven't been to the gym much at all in the three years since then, and am maybe closer to 265 right now, judging by how my pants are fitting, but what the hell. I still got power. I've always been strong, and the extra weight makes me feel even more powerful. I've seen the way the pretty boys look at me at the bars. You know the type, the ones who spend all their time on their pretty muscles, and snicker at guys like me with a bit of a gut hanging over the belt. But push come to shove, and I could put any two of them through a wall if I chose to. So far, I've never chosen to, although I've come close a couple of times. Anyway, speaking of fat dudes, my manager just left me to run the store on my own. The guy has to be pushing 400lbs, and it ain't at all pretty. I don't know how the guy fits behind the wheel of that little Saturn he's driving. I'm sure he's taking it down the street to that White Castle on the corner. Bet he can shove down 50 of those sliders in one sitting, easy. But I don't give a shit. Keeps him out of my hair. It's never busy in here, and most of the guys that come in here to shop don't ask for help either. They just pick out a big ugly shirt, or some size 48 waist pants, and leave. I hear the bell ring as someone comes into the store. I look up to see a big, powerfully built man walking in. He's got jet black hair that's greased up a little bit, and brushed back. He's wearing a dress shirt with the collar loosened to allow his thick bull neck some room. His big barrel chest stretches the buttons tight, as does his big full gut. He's definitely in the right store. I let him wander around the racks for a while before I approach him and ask if he needs help. Up close, the guy is a mountain. At least two inches taller than me, and broad and thick everywhere. He makes me feel small. "Do you need any help, or are you just looking?" I ask him. He turns to look at me, his thick neck creasing with power. He looks me up and down, slow and hard. The man has a presence, an aura that is intimidating. I take a step back. He holds up a pair of pants. "Just ran into some spare change. Thought I'd get some new threads. Where can I try these on?" he says deeply. "Right over there," I say, pointing to the far corner. I watch his broad back as he heads down the aisle. I can see the thick muscle under his dress shirt. Then I remember that I have the key for the dressing room, so I follow him. When I catch up to him, he's pulling on the dressing room door. He looks like he could easily pull the flimsy door right off its hinges, so I unlock it for him. "Thanks, little buddy," he says. I don't get called "little" very often. It's kind of hot. I listen as he pulls off his shoes, and hear him strip out of his pants. I wait a few feet away. No one else is in the store. After a minute or two, he calls out. "Hey, bud, can you come here for a second." I go over to the door and ask him if he needs something. "You got a tape measure?" he asks me. "Yeah, I do, right here in my pocket," I answer. The door pops open a bit. "Well step in here, bud, I need you to measure out my inseam." My heart is pounding like a piston as I push the door back. The big bruiser is standing there in his boxers, which are stretched tight as a second skin by his thunder thighs. His big hairy legs are veiny and solid as oak. The room smells like a man. I step in. "Get down there and measure, boy," he commands. And I obey. I reach up and under his thick loins. He grabs my hand and pushes it into him. "Get in there good and deep, babe. I want that measurement right." I can feel his sac. He's got big heavy bullballs that are pressing against my hand through the fabric. He looks down at me, his hands on his hips. "Yeh, you like that, babe? Those boys are pumping out the test, man. Making me bigger and stronger every day. I just won a strongman contest, and am gonna win plenty more, so I got some money to burn in here, son. Measure me out good, and I'll buy all my clothes from you. In fact," he says, " I want you to measure out my chest next, cause I'm sure it's growing. Unbutton my shirt." I swallow, then stand up. I undo the first button, his big hairy chest spreads the shirt open wide. The next button exposes even more of the powerful barrel chest. My hands shake by the time I reach his gut, and expose the big rounded flesh of his stomach. He pulls his shirt off and stands before me, a big powerful strongman. The room is thick with his smell. He sees me eyeing his gut. "You like that big ball of a man gut, kid?" he says to me. "Go ahead and touch it." I reach out and lay my hands on it. His skin is stretched tight over it, and it's hard. Real hard. "That's right, babe," he says, sensing my amazement. "Hard as cast-iron. Go ahead and punch it." I look up at him, and he nods. I rear back my fist and hit his big gut. It just thumps off of him. "That all you got, boy? Here, wait." He reaches into the pocket of his pants, and pulls out a set of brass knuckles. "Try it with these." I slip them on, then rear back far, and slam into him full force. THUD. Nothing. Again, BAM, no effect. "You can't hurt me, boy. No one can." He flexes his arms into a double bi shot.

"Now, measure my chest." I bring the tape up to his chest. There's no hope of me reaching around him, he's so wide. I walk around to his backside, trying to hold the tape to his front. He laughs, and takes the start of the tape while I work around him. As I come around his other side, I am face to face with his deep pit. I inhale deeply to breath him in. He laughs again. "You like that, babe? Go ahead, lick it." I bring my face into his deep, impossibly deep, muscle pit. I lick the deep gorge. I taste the briny, musky sweat. I'm harder than I've ever been. I come around to the front of him, dizzy with desire. He looks me in the eye. "Unzip yourself, boy," he says, so I do. "Now pull it out." So I do. He puts his hands under my pits, and lifts me like a kid, pinning me up against the wall. "Now I'm gonna feed off you, boy. And I'm gonna get bigger and stronger than ever from your protein." I watch him lower me into his mouth. Holy shit, he's works me good, making my toes curl. I watch his hairy traps mound and flex as he bobs me up and down. Goddam, the big fucker is skilled. He wants my paste, and he wants it bad. And I can't hold back. I give it to him, hard and full, groaning and arching into him as I do. He drinks me down, draining me fully. He lowers me down slowly and gently, then steps back. Is it possible that he's bigger? "How'd you like me to breed you, babe? Make you bigger and stronger too?" he asks me. Just then I hear the shop bell ring. "SHIT," I say, zipping up. "I'll be back!" •

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