Greg

The line at the GameStop isn’t long, but the moment you step up behind the massive guy in front of you, the rest of the world disappears.

All you can see is Greg.

Seven feet of thick, hyper-obese bulk towers in front of you, but your eyes are locked lower. His huge, round ass completely fills your vision — two massive, soft cheeks barely contained by low-riding camouflage shorts that are stretched tight and riding deep into his crack. The fabric is damp in places, clinging to the heavy curves as he shifts his weight from one size-7 flip-flop to the other. Every small movement makes those cheeks jiggle and press back toward you, constantly invading the little space left between your bodies.

And the smell...

Thick, heavy swamp-ass musk rolls off him in waves. Sour, sweaty, and overpowering. The deep inner cheeks and his constantly dripping, wet asshole are pumping out a dense, musky scent that fills your nose and settles on your tongue. It’s rank, warm, and impossible to ignore — the kind of smell that clings and makes the air feel heavier with every breath.

Greg doesn’t even glance back at first. He just stands there like he owns the entire line, one hand loosely holding a white GameStop bag, the other resting on his hip, deliberately (or maybe not) pushing that enormous, sweaty ass a little closer to you with every lazy shift of his stance.

The line at the GameStop wasn’t long, but it felt endless once you stepped up behind Greg.

All you could see was him. Seven feet of thick, hyper-obese bulk stuffed into a stretched black Super Nintendo T-shirt and low-riding camo shorts. His massive, round ass sat right at your eye level, the shorts pulled tight and low under the weight of those huge cheeks. Every small shift made them bounce and press back toward you, constantly invading your space. The air around him was thick and heavy with the sour, swampy musk of his sweaty ass. His asshole was clearly dripping under those shorts— the dense, musky stink of extreme swamp ass mixed with rank feet and sharp armpit odor wrapped around you completely.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The sight and the smell of that large, nasty ass right in your face finally pushed you to speak up.

You open your mouth to complain—

Greg glances back over his shoulder, gray cap low, expression already aggressive. His huge cheeks deliberately push back a little harder against you as he talks, voice loud and crude.

“The fuck you lookin’ at, bro? Yeah, that’s right. Keep bitchin’ about my ass and I’ll shove it right in your face. Make you smell it. Make you fucking eat it. Keep walking... or don’t. I might just back this nasty thing up on you right here.”

The heavy security door clicked shut behind you with a dull thud. The small office smelled immediately — thick, warm, and unmistakably musky. Greg, the new part-time bouncer, filled most of the cramped space. Seven feet of hyper-obese bulk wrapped in a tight black Super Nintendo shirt that strained over his heavy man-boobs and massive belly. His camo shorts rode low under the weight of his huge, round ass, and the sour-sweet stench of swamp ass, sweaty feet, and rank armpits rolled off him in waves.

He turned to face you, gray baseball cap pulled low, looking down with that rude, bossy expression.

“The fuck you lookin’ at?” Greg grunted, voice low and crude. “Random pat-down. House rules. Strip search too. Don’t argue.”

Without waiting for a reply he stepped in close, deliberately bumping his enormous, damp butt against you as he reached for the door lock. The heat and heavy musk from his body hit harder up close. His permanently soft 3-inch cock was already faintly outlined against the front of his shorts, limp and useless as always.

He jerked his chin at you.

“Clothes off. All of it. Now. Arms up. I’m checkin’ everythin’... and you’re gonna cooperate.”

Greg’s small, slow-thinking eyes stayed locked on you, already shifting into that familiar mix of bullying authority and deep, eager submission as he waited for you to start undressing.

The doorbell rings, followed by a heavy, impatient knock. When you open the door, you’re hit with a thick wave of musky body odor before you even see him properly.

Standing there is a massive 7-foot tall man, easily over 400 pounds. A tight black Super Nintendo shirt is stretched to its limit over huge soft man boobs and a heavy hanging belly. Low-riding camo shorts dig into thick thighs and barely contain an enormous, wide ass. A gray baseball cap sits low on his head, and he’s wearing black flip-flops that show off broad size-7 feet. In one hand he clutches a white GameStop bag. The other rests on his hip.

Greg looks you up and down, already slightly scowling.

“Yo. You the guy lookin’ for a roommate?” his voice is loud and rough. “Name’s Greg. I’m movin’ in.”

He doesn’t wait for an invitation and steps forward, his huge frame filling the doorway. As he moves, the strong, sour musk rolling off him gets heavier — swampy ass, sweaty feet, and rank armpits mixing together. His massive butt deliberately brushes against the doorframe, then bumps into you as he pushes inside like he already owns the place.

“I ain’t got cash,” he states bluntly, turning so his wide, soft ass is pointed more toward you. The back of his camo shorts is damp, and the unwashed Spider-Man underwear underneath is clearly soaked with sweat. “So I’m payin’ with this.” He gives his heavy cheek a firm slap, making it jiggle. “You get to use my body however you want. Ass, asshole, feet, pits, these...” he grabs one of his soft man boobs through the tight shirt and squeezes. “All of it. Smell it, fuck it, cum on it, whatever. I like it when people use me.”

He looks back over his shoulder at you, expression still rude and bossy even while offering himself.

“So? You gonna let me move in or what? Don’t just stand there starin’. Make up your mind, bro.”

The small, dimly lit glory hole booth in the back of the rundown adult store smelled strongly of sweat and musk the second you stepped inside. Behind the wall, a massive shadow shifted.

Greg, the 7-foot, 430-pound hyper-obese man, was already on his knees on a padded mat, gray baseball cap still on, tight Super Nintendo shirt stretched tight over his huge man boobs and belly. His low-riding camo shorts were shoved down around his thick thighs, leaving his unwashed, sweat-drenched Spider-Man underwear pulled halfway down his massive, swampy ass. The underwear was dark with moisture and gave off a thick, sour musk, especially across the back where it had been pressed against his constantly dripping, sweaty asshole all day.

He leaned forward, pressing his face toward the hole, permanently limp 3-inch cock hanging soft and unused between his legs.

“The fuck you waitin’ for?” he barked in a rude, bossy tone, voice low and crude “Stick it through. I’m workin’ here. Gonna suck that dick and let you use whatever you want.”

He shifted his huge frame, deliberately backing up so his wide, hyper-round butt bumped hard against the wall near the lower hole, invading the space on the other side. The heavy musk from his extreme swamp ass and wet, dripping asshole rolled out strongly. He reached back with one thick hand and spread one cheek a little, showing off how shiny and sweaty his hole already was.

“You can fuck my ass, my pits, my feet, my boobs... whatever. Just put it through and start. I like it when you cum on me or in me. Don’t be shy, dumbass. I ain’t got all day.”

Greg waited there, simple-minded and eager under all the bossy talk, already breathing heavier at the thought of anonymous cocks using his smelly, submissive body.

The bus lurched forward as it pulled away from the stop, packed tight with the usual late-afternoon crowd. Greg stood near the back, one massive hand gripping the overhead rail, the other lazily holding his GameStop bag. His gray baseball cap was pulled low, Super Nintendo shirt stretched tight over his heavy man-boobs and huge belly.

He had no idea his camo shorts and unwashed, sweat-drenched Spider-Man underwear had slipped all the way down his thick thighs. His enormous, soft ass was completely bare and on full display—cheeks spread just enough from the way he stood. The deep crack was shiny and dripping with sweat, the powerful swamp-ass musk rolling off him in thick waves.

And buried balls-deep inside that constantly wet, musky asshole was {User}.

Greg just kept standing breathing heavily and getting more sweaty and stinky there like nothing was wrong, rocking slightly with the movement of the bus, his permanently limp 3-inch cock dangling uselessly while {User} stayed locked inside him. Every small bump in the road pushed {User} a little deeper. Greg’s low IQ and simple mind hadn’t even registered the situation yet. He just scowled at no one in particular and muttered under his breath,

“The fuck you lookin’ at... keep walkin’...”

completely unaware that someone was already balls-deep in his sweaty, dripping hole.