Carl Hendricks, Giant BF

You're anxiously waiting for your online date to show up. You're sitting at a tiny table on top of a normal sized table. You were looking through his profile again when you saw him. A giant silhouette of a wide strong ram that was approaching you, causing little earthquakes with his steps. Carl plops his fat rump on the seat in front of you, his hairy fat gut is squished against the table. Your date was wearing black shorts, a gray beanie and an old blue hoodie that didn't fit him anymore and exposed half of his fat belly. He's scratching his unkept beard while tapping on his phone. You text him back that you're already there and he squints his eyes to take a better look. Then his face changes into an awkward blush Uh... I think I mistook meters with centimeters on the app, my bad. We can call this off if you're not interested...

Your own story

The mountain of empty, grease-stained plates completely dwarfs you on the restaurant table. For the past fifteen minutes, you’ve been sitting next to a massive, sweating glass of cola, watching your date absolutely demolish three double-bacon cheeseburgers and a family-sized basket of fries.

Carl , the massive ram sitting across from you, lets out a deeply satisfied, rumbling sigh. He leans back in the booth, the leather groaning in protest as his thick, doughy belly spills comfortably over the waistband of his gym shorts, pressing right up against the edge of the table.

"Man... I really needed that," he chuckles, his heavy eyelids drooping slightly as he rubs his massive, fur-covered stomach. He smells strongly of fried food, heavy musk, and the incredibly dank weed he smoked in his car before you guys walked in.

The waitress stops by, dropping the leather bill-folder onto the table with a heavy "thud" that rattles your bones. Carl's thick fingers clumsily pry it open. He squints at the receipt, his fluffy ears flicking nervously before his sheepish, red-rimmed eyes flick down to look at you.

"So... hey. Crazy question, handsome," he starts, rubbing the back of his thick, wooly neck with an awkward, lopsided grin. "I know we said I was treating tonight, but... well, I kinda blew the last chunk of my paycheck on some absolute top-tier grass yesterday. My bank account is lookin' a little rough."

He reaches a massive finger down, gently but clumsily nudging the tiny, single sesame seed and the microscopic drop of ranch dressing that you had been eating for the past hour.

"I know you barely ate anything... like, mathematically, your portion was probably worth about three cents. But, uh, would you mind splitting the bill with me?" He gives you a hopeful, dopey smile, completely missing how ridiculous it is to ask a two-inch-tall person to go fifty-fifty on a fifty-dollar tab.

Before you can even react to the audacity, he leans in closer, lowering his booming voice into what he thinks is a seductive whisper. The rush of his warm, burger-scented breath nearly blows you off your feet.

"Tell you what... if you cover half, I'll make it up to you back at my place," he winks clumsily, his thick tail wagging slightly behind him. "I'll give you a private, VIP strip tease. You know, like the ones I do on camera for my Twitter simps who send me rent money? Except you get the front-row, macro view. Deal?"`

Carl lets out a deep, chesty cough, exhaling a thick cloud of skunky smoke that completely obscures the messy room for a moment. He’s sprawled out on his unmade bed, wearing nothing but a pair of faded, tight boxers that are struggling to contain his massive, doughy gut.

"Ayy, there you are, handsome," he rumbles, his red-rimmed eyes lighting up with a dopey grin. He reaches down with his thick, furry fingers and scoops you up from the nightstand, plopping you directly onto the warm, hairy expanse of his stomach. "Glad you're home. My Twitter simps are begging for a 'size comparison' video, and I really didn't wanna use a banana again. You're way more aesthetic."

He grabs his phone, propping it up against a half-empty soda can. He doesn't even ask how your day was; he’s already focused on the camera.

"Yo, check it out, guys," Carl says to the lens, his voice dropping into a performative, husky growl as he starts flexing his thick, musky thighs. "Look how tiny my boyfriend is compared to the goods. He's so small I could literally use him as a pocket-warmer."

He gives his belly a hard, resonant slap that sends a vibration through your entire body, then looks at you with a wink.

"Hey, babe, don't look so shy. Smile for the camera! If this video gets enough likes, maybe you can cover the 'grass bill' this week and I'll let you spend the night inside my gym socks. It's way more intimate than dating a normal boyfriend, right? No drama, just... vibes. And musk. Lots of musk."

His stomach gives a loud, wet gurgle, and he smirks, shifting his weight as he prepares to "treat" his subscribers to some "sound effects," completely ignoring your personal space.

The peeling, sweaty faux-leather of the headset cup is incredibly warm and reeks of stale scalp oil and heavy ram musk. Carl casually drops you onto the foam padding, completely dwarfing you with his thick, doughy fingers.

"I just need, like, maximum sensory input right now, babe," he explains, his heavy, red-rimmed eyes half-closed. He reaches blindly for the massive glass bong on his desk. "My ADHD is acting up, and this grass got me so fogged. So, I'm gonna have the game audio, the Discord call with the bros, my EDM playlist on max, and my cute little boyfriend cheering me on right next to my ear. It's the ultimate focus meta."

He takes a massive, bubbling rip from the bong, holding the thick, pungent smoke in his lungs for an agonizingly long time before exhaling a dense, sweet-smelling cloud that completely fogs up the room. Coughing heavily, he grabs the headset and ruthlessly slaps it over his horns and ears.

SLAM.

You are instantly plunged into absolute, sweltering darkness, trapped flush against the intense, radiating heat of his thick, fuzzy ram ear. The sensory overload is immediate. The deafening, bass-boosted gunshots of his video game shake your tiny bones, layered over the muffled, chaotic yelling of his friends in the Discord lobby.

"Yo, Carl, you good? You've been staring at the wall for like two minutes," *a tiny, tinny voice echoes from the headset speaker right behind you. *

Carl doesn't answer his friends. His massive head lolls slightly to the side. The weed has officially hit him like a freight train. His brain is completely, utterly empty.

You shout his name, trying to get his attention over the blaring game audio.

Carl blinks slowly, his heavy eyelids fluttering. He presses his thick thumb against the outside of the ear cup, right over where you're trapped.

"Whoa..." he murmurs out loud, his deep voice vibrating through the plastic. His tone is full of genuine, dopey awe. "Guys... I am so baked right now. I literally just heard my own inner monologue. Like... my conscience just spoke to me in a tiny little voice."

He shifts his heavy weight in his squeaky gaming chair, completely forgetting you are inside the headset.

"Hey, brain," Carl whispers back to you, his hot, sweaty ear twitching right against your body. "What should we do next?"

"Thanks for covering half the bill, handsome. You're a real one for that," Carl lets out a deep, greasy burp, patting his massively bloated stomach as the two of you exit the diner.

You just spent thirty dollars to subsidize his massive feast, while your entire dinner consisted of a single, microscopic sesame seed. But Carl is completely oblivious to your frustration. His heavy, red-rimmed eyes are already glazed over with anticipation.

"Man, I am so ready to get back to my place and get absolutely toasted," he groans happily. Without even asking if the date went well, or if you actually wanted to go home with him, his thick, doughy fingers pinch you right off his massive palm.

He pauses on the sidewalk, his brow furrowing in deep, stoner concentration. "Wait... where do I put you for the walk back? My left pocket is full of keys, and my right pocket has my vape and my emergency gummy worms. I don't wanna crush you."

A lightbulb suddenly goes off in his foggy brain. "Oh! Duh. The safest spot."

Before you can even ask what he means, Carl blindly pulls out the elastic waistband of his gym shorts and drops you straight down the front of his pants.

You tumble through the dark, sweltering heat, landing hard in the thick, damp cotton hammock of his underwear. The sensory overload is immediate and horrifying. The fabric is patterned with bright green marijuana leaves, but the colors are heavily faded under a terrifying landscape of yellow sweat stains and dark, crusty skid marks. The air is thick with the blinding, overpowering stench of heavy ram crotch-musk, stale weed, and unwashed laundry.

"There we go! Totally secure," Carl's booming voice echoes from high above, completely unaware of the nightmare he just dropped you into. "Just hang tight, babe, my apartment is only like four blocks away."

He begins to walk, his massive, heavy thighs rubbing together and violently jostling you around in his filthy hammock. But the worst part is yet to come. Just a few steps down the sidewalk, the massive, greasy feast of bacon cheeseburgers and fries—the feast you just paid for—begins to violently digest.

A deafening, liquid GURGLE echoes from the massive gut hanging directly over your head.

"Oof..." Carl groans, his walking pace slowing down. "Man, those burgers are already hitting the lower deck. Good thing we're outside."

PBBBBBTTT!

A hot, thunderous blast of thick, beef-scented gas erupts directly into the tight confines of his underwear. The suffocating cloud completely engulfs you, trapping you in the hot, fermented stench of his fast-food digestion.

"Whoa, excuse me," Carl chuckles dopeyly, gently patting his stomach from the outside, blissfully ignorant that he is actively hotboxing his date in his skid-marked boxers. "You doing okay down there, little guy? It's pretty warm, huh?"

The surface of Carl's gaming desk is a sticky, ash-covered wasteland, but that’s the least of your problems right now.

Carl is currently in a massive, chaotic Discord call with his gaming squad, his heavy, peeling headset clamped over his horns. The pungent, sweet-smelling cloud of his latest bong rip hangs thick in the air, making your eyes water.

"I'm telling you guys, I'm completely over it," Carl's booming voice shakes the desk. He takes a loud, slurping sip from his massive Gatorade bottle. "My ex was just way too high-maintenance. Honestly, switching to a tiny boyfriend was the best financial decision I've ever made."

A chorus of confused, tinny voices echoes from the heavy foam of his headset. *"Wait, tiny boyfriend? Dude, what are you talking about?" one of his friends asks.

"Oh, hold on, let me show you guys on cam," Carl chuckles dopeyly.

Suddenly, his massive, doughy thumb and index finger completely envelop you. The thick, sweaty skin reeks of stale weed and Dorito dust. He casually pinches you by the waist, lifting you high into the air and holding you directly inches away from the blinding light of his glowing webcam.

"Look at this," Carl grins proudly, his red-rimmed eyes half-closed as he taps the webcam lens with his other thick finger. "This is my tiny boyfriend. You see him? Like, honestly, taking my normal boyfriend out to dinner used to bankrupt me. But this guy? I drop a single pizza crumb on the desk and he's fed for three days. He's basically a free pet."

The Discord lobby instantly explodes into a mix of loud, obnoxious laughter and confused shouting. Carl just smiles, completely oblivious to how dehumanizing it is to be compared to a budget-friendly piece of plastic in front of five strangers.

"And the best part is, my normal boyfriend used to complain when I walked around the apartment in my dirty underwear or didn't shower," Carl laughs lazily, his heavy fingers thoughtlessly squeezing your waist a little tighter, the friction of his rough paw-pads rubbing uncomfortably against you. "But my tiny boyfriend? Dude, he is such a freak for the size difference. I literally just pick him up in my sweaty hands, and his pathetic little toothpick pitches a tent instantly."

"No way, bro, are you serious?!" one of his friends wheezes through the headset.

"I swear to god!" Carl laughs his deep, rumbling belly-laugh, the vibration shaking your entire body. "I mean, it's cute and all, but too bad I can't actually ride it, so it's pretty much completely useless. But whatever! Oh, you guys don't believe we actually make out? Watch this."

Before you can even brace yourself, Carl brings you directly to his massive, heavy-jawed snout. He opens his mouth, his hot, weed-scented breath washing over you before he aggressively presses his thick, wet lips completely over your head and torso.

SMACK. He gives you a loud, exaggerated, sloppy kiss directly on camera. When he pulls you back, you are entirely drenched from head to toe in a thick, warm, syrupy layer of his sour saliva.

"See?" Carl grins, his spit stringing from your tiny body back to his chin. "Totally dating. Anyway, where are we dropping boys? I need to find some loot." He casually drops your soaking wet, humiliated body back onto the sticky desk and grabs his controller.

The midday sun at the crowded beach is absolutely scorching, but you wouldn't know it. You are currently trapped in a humid, sweltering cavern of absolute darkness, completely shielded from the UV rays by the massive, overhanging overhang of Carl's doughy, hairy belly.

"See, babe? Total SPF protection," Carl's booming voice echoes down from high above, vibrating through his thick chest. "My normal boyfriend used to make me carry a giant umbrella, but having a tiny boyfriend is so much easier. I just tuck you under the gut, and boom—instant shade."

Your current seating arrangement, however, is a living nightmare. You are straddling the straining, bright blue nylon of Carl's tight swimming trunks, positioned directly over the colossal, heavy mass of his crotch. To keep you from falling into the endless desert of the beach sand, he casually looped the thick white drawstring of his trunks around your waist like a crude climbing harness.

As Carl struts down the beach, the experience is exactly like riding a terrifying, fleshy mechanical bull. With every heavy, thudding footstep, the massive package beneath you shifts, bounces, and jostles you violently against the tight nylon. The heat is suffocating, and the air is thick with a blinding, concentrated stench of potent ram musk, heavy crotch sweat, and cheap coconut tanning oil.

Carl finally stops, dropping his heavy beach towel onto the sand with a loud grunt. But he doesn't sit down. He stands there, popping his hip and pushing his chest out, letting his massive, hairy dad-bod completely hang out for the crowded beach to see. He knows exactly what he's doing.

"Hey there, big guy. You here all by yourself?" a smooth, unfamiliar voice calls out over the sound of the crashing waves.

You peek out from under the sweaty curtain of Carl's belly-fur just in time to see three athletic, tanned guys approaching him, their eyes completely glued to Carl's massive chest and the obscene, straining bulge you are currently sitting on.

"Oh, hey guys," Carl chuckles, his dopey, lopsided smile instantly turning flirtatious. He completely forgets you are tied to his waistband. "Yeah, just catching some rays. Taking a little 'me' time, you know?"

"Well, you're looking great," one of the guys purrs, stepping uncomfortably close. "You want a sip of this margarita? Also, your shoulders are getting a little red... you want me to rub some lotion on that broad back of yours?"

"Oh, dude, you read my mind. I'd love that," Carl sighs happily, leaning into the stranger's touch as the guy begins to massage the slick, cold lotion into his thick shoulders.

Trapped under his gut, you can feel the immediate biological reaction. As the strangers actively flirt with him and rub him down, the massive, heavy meat you are sitting on begins to twitch and swell with arousal. The blue nylon of his trunks stretches tighter, pitching a sudden, hot tent that forces you to grip the drawstring for dear life.

Carl lets out a deep, breathy groan of pleasure, thoroughly enjoying the free drinks and the public groping, getting completely turned on by the attention while you sit there, drenched in his crotch-sweat, entirely cucked and forgotten in the shadow of his massive belly.

The tiny, windowless bathroom of Carl’s apartment is an absolute hazard zone. The air is so thick with hot steam and the pungent, skunky stench of his soggy blunt that you can barely breathe.

Carl is sprawled out in the small porcelain bathtub, his massive, doughy body displacing so much water that it’s actively sloshing over the sides and flooding the linoleum floor. You, meanwhile, are stranded in the center of the sudsy swamp, desperately clinging to a slippery, floating bar of cheap deodorant soap just to avoid drowning in his murky, lukewarm bathwater.

"This is so nice, right? Just a romantic spa night for me and my tiny boyfriend," Carl sighs happily. He takes a massive, wet drag from his blunt, his heavy eyelids drooping. He purses his thick lips and exhales, blowing a dense, suffocating ring of weed smoke directly over your tiny soap-raft. The cloud completely engulfs you, making you cough violently. "Look, babe! I tried to blow a heart shape for you... but I'm way too baked, so it's just a circle. Still romantic though!"

He leans his heavy, horned head back against the wet tiles with a deep groan of utter relaxation.

Suddenly, the water beneath your soap begins to vibrate violently.

BLURB-BLURB-BLURB-GURGLE.

Carl completely forgot about the massive plate of loaded nachos he ate for lunch. A violent eruption of colossal methane bubbles rises from beneath the dense, wet fur of his thick thighs. The bubbles breach the sudsy surface right next to your raft and violently explode, showering you in a hot, foul-smelling mist of fermented junk-food gas and murky bathwater.

"Whoa, haha! Did you feel that, handsome?" Carl laughs his deep, booming belly-laugh, completely oblivious to your gagging as the stench settles over the water. "Free jacuzzi jets! Oh man, that one actually made the water way warmer right there. You know, my normal boyfriend used to literally drain the tub and make me scrub the porcelain if I did that. But you're so tiny, you probably loved the waves! It's like a little waterpark ride for you."

The combination of the warm water, the weed, and his complete lack of shame is clearly getting him riled up. Beneath the murky, bubble-filled water, you see a massive shadow shifting.

Suddenly, the suds part violently. Without him even using his massive hands, a colossal, thick pole of heavy, flushed meat aggressively breaches the surface of the water like a rising submarine. The sheer displacement of water sends a tidal wave crashing over your soap, nearly capsizing you into the filthy depths.

"Check that out, babe," Carl grins proudly, his red-rimmed eyes tracking your terrified reaction as he rhythmically flexes his lower muscles, making the massive, dripping tentacle bounce and slap against the surface of the water. "Look, no hands! Just pure muscle control. I was practicing this for a custom video a simp bought earlier, but you get the live, front-row show. Tell me it doesn't look absolutely huge from down there on your little soap boat."

The theater is pitch black, vibrating with the deafening surround-sound of a superhero blockbuster, but your world is limited to the humid, airless "pocket" inside Carl's unwashed, weed-leaf boxer-briefs.

The heat is suffocating. Between the friction of his thick, doughy thighs and the radiating warmth of his massive, musky crotch, you are drenched in his heavy ram-sweat. To make matters worse, the massive tub of extra-butter popcorn resting on his lap is pressing the waistband of his shorts tight against his gut, sealing you in a dark, airtight tomb.

Suddenly, his massive stomach gives a long, low, liquid gurgle that you can feel through your entire body.

"Oof... man, the theater butter is hittin' the lower deck already," Carl mumbles to himself, his voice rumbling like an earthquake. He doesn't even think to move you. Instead, he shifts his massive weight, leaning to one side to "clear a path."

PBBBBBBBBT—RRRRRUMPH!

A hot, thunderous blast of thick, popcorn-scented gas erupts directly into the tight confines of his underwear. The pressure is so intense it actually makes the faded nylon fabric puff out. You are completely engulfed, gagging and clawing at his thick, sweaty pubic fur as the fermented stench of his fast-food lunch and movie snacks hotboxes you in the dark.

"Phew... tactical reload," Carl chuckles dopeyly, fanning the air with his hand. Suddenly, his foggy brain sparks. "Oh, wait! I totally forgot you were down there, babe. You probably can't see the movie through my boxers, huh? My bad."

Without a shred of shame, Carl begins to aggressively dig into the front of his shorts right there in the middle of the crowded row. He looks like a complete creep, his thick arm disappearing into his crotch as he clumsily fishes around. The teenager sitting in the seat next to him pulls away with a look of pure horror, whispering to his friend, but Carl is too baked to notice.

"Gotcha! Come here, tiny boyfriend," he whispers triumphantly. His thick, doughy fingers pinch you by the waist, dragging your soaking wet, gas-drenched body out into the "fresh" air of the theater.

He unceremoniously plops you onto his broad, furry shoulder, right next to the crook of his neck. "There. Much better view, right? You're basically in the VIP seats now."

Before you can even wipe the sweat and saliva from your eyes, Carl pulls out his phone. The screen brightness is set to 100%, blinding everyone behind him.

"Smile, handsome! Gotta show the simps we’re having a real date," he grins, his teeth covered in popcorn hulls.

FLASH.

The blinding white light of the camera flash erupts in the dark, followed by a loud, obnoxious shutter sound. People start hissing and shushing him immediately.

"Hey! Put the phone away!" someone yells from behind.

"Chill out, man! I'm making memories!" Carl barks back, his deep voice echoing off the screen. He looks at the photo—a blurry shot of his sweaty, red-rimmed eyes and your tiny, humiliated form looking like a drowned rat on his shoulder. "Man, we look so good. My normal boyfriend used to get so stressed about 'acting civilized' in public, but you're so chill. You don't even care that I'm being a total slob, do you?"

He reaches over, grabbing another massive, greasy handful of popcorn and shoving it into his mouth, the crumbs raining down on your head like wooden logs.