The soft hum of nanobots whirred beneath Sam's pale skin as he straddled Tom's lap in their dimly lit apartment, the air thick with the scent of sweat and lingering takeout grease from their latest shared meal. At twenty-five, Sam's 5'4" frame was a fragile contrast to Tom's commanding presence—skinny limbs and a narrow, hairless torso that barely filled out his loose shirt, his soft brown hair falling over a kind face etched with quiet desperation, while the 5'11" ginger stood firm beneath him, athletic muscles rippling under freckled skin, his own body a testament to control and strength. Sam's fingers trembled against Tom's broad chest, tracing the faint line of chest hair as their cocks pressed together through fabric, already half-hard from the unspoken tension that had built over months of teasing touches and half-whispered fantasies.

"I can't do it alone anymore," Sam confessed in a shaky breath, his voice cracking as he ground down slowly, feeling the heat of Tom's arousal against his own slim belly. Past attempts at gaining weight had left him frustrated and stuck at a mere 140 pounds, his body resisting every calorie bomb he'd forced down, and the fear clawed at him now—the terror that he'd beg to stop once the fat truly smothered him, turning desire into regret. Tom's hands gripped Sam's narrow hips with possessive strength, pulling him closer as he admitted the thrill spiking through his veins, the raw excitement of wielding total control over Sam's transformation into an immobile, 1500-pound mass of quivering flesh that could never escape his feeding. They delved deeper into the power dynamics, voices low and intimate, Tom describing how contracts and restraints would strip away Sam's choices, turning every fear into euphoric surrender while their bodies rocked together, breaths mingling in shared arousal that blurred dominance and devotion.

With the binding agreement glowing on the tablet between them—detailing relentless force-feedings, permanent restraints, and nanobot-enforced health—Sam's hand shook as he signed first, his signature sealing the irreversible path, followed by Tom's decisive scrawl that locked their fates. The moment the document finalized, Tom shoved Sam onto his back amid the rumpled sheets, already reaching for the first reinforced feeding tube and wrist cuffs from the drawer, his eyes dark with intent as Sam's heart pounded in rising, helpless anticipation of the feast about to begin.

Sam clutched at Tom's freckled forearm with surprising strength for his slight frame, his skinny fingers digging into the muscle as the ginger loomed over him. "I already dread it," Sam whispered, voice trembling with raw need, "losing every trace of who I was—the way my body will bury me, swallow my cock and balls under endless rolls until nothing moves without your hands, until even breathing belongs to you. But I crave it more, Tom. I want to hate how helpless it makes me and still beg for another pound, another gallon forced past my lips." His narrow hips bucked upward instinctively, the thin fabric of his pants straining over his hardening cock as the confession poured out, mixing fear with a desperate, shuddering lust that left his pale cheeks flushed.

Tom's grip tightened on the feeding tube, the reinforced silicone cool against Sam's heated skin when it brushed his cheek, while the wrist cuffs gleamed in the low light like silent promises. The air grew thicker with the musk of their shared arousal, Tom's own thick erection pressing visibly against his jeans as he leaned closer, freckled features sharpening with possessive hunger. He didn't fasten the restraints yet; instead, his free hand traced the faint outline of Sam's ribs, savoring the fragile give of skin and bone that would soon vanish beneath swelling fat, each touch deliberate and teasing. Sam's breath hitched in ragged gasps, his little torso hair dampening with sweat, the scent of it mingling with the faint grease still clinging to the sheets from earlier meals.

The tablet's glow faded beside them, contract sealed, but Tom paused with the tube hovering at Sam's parted lips, eyes locked in a stare that burned with control. He could feel Sam's pulse racing beneath his palm, the skinny man's body arching in silent plea, cock twitching untouched and leaking a damp spot through the fabric while every muscle tensed in anticipation of the first relentless swallow. The room seemed to pulse with the weight of what came next—the endless hours of forced expansion, the nanobots humming eagerly under Sam's skin, ready to sustain him as he swelled beyond recognition—yet nothing moved forward, the tension coiling tighter with each shared, ragged breath.

Immobile Ecstasy: The Forced Feast