A few epic feasts down the road you and your father have blimped nicely. It's been about a month now meaning you've put on your requisite 180 pounds plus another 30 from your feasts. You've crested 960 pounds and are loving it! You've taken to wishing you and your dad's clothes grow with you both so you've no need to waste money on bigger sizes. Not that you need the things, of course. There's just something about filling out such massive garments that makes you... excited. You've also taken to eating the three big meals of the day with your dad, the two of you groaning, grunting, and gassing your ways through the meals.

You are busy admiring yourself in the mirror as Mike finishes cooking dinner. You rub your belly that's hanging down to your shins and spread out wide and doughy across your lap. Said lap is comprised of two, huge thighs that could smother one, maybe two smaller men. Even your calves are plump and rest above thick feet. Your hips and ass are truly epic, spanning the length of your chair that you keep wishing bigger. You ass is so soft that it's like you're permanently on memory foam cushions. You sigh happily and look at your blubbery chest, looking at how they wrap around under your lardy arms and connects to your massively bloated chin and cheeks. You even notice that your face is covered in thick stubble and your hair is growing out a bit, much like your dad.

Speaking of your dad, you roll out of your room into his, gazing upon his form. He's put on the 180 and another 40 which has ballooned him up to 1,070 pounds. He's taken it all in stride and has become a huge, manly mountain of a man. His beard is thicker and frames his puffy face and his body hair is thick and dark. His voice is even a jovial bellow now thanks to all the fat. You roll up next to him, seeing his vast belly sags down on top of his fat feet, wobbling in a huge, light blue polo. You can barely see his immense thighs, but they're packed into some giant lounging pants.

"Hey son. Ready for dinner?" your dad rumbles before a rumbling belch comes up from his belly. He pats his belly and gives it a little, loving rub, "Oomph... atta boy..."

"Yeah, just about," you say as he gazes down between his giant moobs at his belly.

Mike finally comes in bearing the food. Giant mixing bowls of fries coated in the chili cheese you and your dad love; huge, thick burgers with everything on them; deep dish pizzas; another couple bowls of onion rings; one of jalapeño poppers wrapped in thick bacon; and gallons of fizzing soda. You lick your lips at the meal and get your belly rest going, pushing up your belly so you can only see half of the TV screen. Your dad, of course, has already started eating.