Work Text:
Arthur doesn’t often go into candy stores. He’s never had the money to waste on something as needless as dessert, especially when canned foods are so much cheaper, and much more filling. Even still, Charles has been telling him he’s too frugal with his share of every heist they do. “No reason to hold onto all that,” he had said, “Just asking to lose it.”
Arthur had brushed him off at first, but maybe he had a point. Sure, Arthur was a simple—albeit, wild—man, but even he could find joy in the occasional luxury, right?
The bell above the door chimed as he entered, causing the rotund man behind the counter to turn and face him. Arthur’s eyes were almost immediately drawn to his stomach. His buttoned-up shirt seemed just a bit too small, tight against his round belly.
In the back of his mind, he compared himself to the other man. Sure, Arthur wore big shirts, but he was broad, not fat. His arms were thick from muscle and stretched out his sleeves, while the placket was loose around his stomach, hardened with abs. They both filled out their clothes, showing off their bodies to the world, but if it was a contest Arthur was winning.
The man clearing his throat snaps Arthur out of his trance, but he doesn’t look angry. “How can I help you?” he asks.
Arthur scratched behind his head awkwardly. “Er… I ain’t really sure what I’m supposed to get.”
The man laughs, reaching behind the counter and pulling out a long metal tin. “I always recommend Hedley Baking CO Biscuits for newcomers. We even got chocolate-covered ones, if you like. They’re my favorites!”
Arthur almost chuckled at that. ‘Course , he thought to himself, He probably eats most of his supply . He replied: “Nah, I don’t need chocolate. Regular’s fine.”
“That’ll be one dollar and eighty cents, please.”
Arthur hands him the cash and takes the box, thanking him on the way out. He pops off the lid, counting the biscuits inside. Fifteen, all lined up. Arthur smiled to himself, he could spread them out over a couple of weeks and make the most of his money. He thought back for a moment on Charles calling him frugal, but shook it off. Arthur was a simple man after all, he wasn’t about to change anytime soon.
That night, however, he tried a biscuit for the first time. He was sitting around a campfire out in a field just north of town, having already eaten a cooked can of beans for dinner. Pulling out the tin from his bag, Arthur popped off the lid and grabbed his dessert for the night. A single square biscuit, about the size of a boot’s heel.
Arthur took a bite, surprised at how soft it was. He chewed through it quickly, enjoying the sugary taste more than he had expected. It was gone in under a minute, and Arthur groaned out loud in disappointment, licking the remnants off his fingers.
Once all remnants were gone he turned back to the tin, planning to put on the lid and shove it back in his bag. A thought crossed his mind instead: I got fourteen left, I can have another.
The second seemed to taste even better, and Arthur finished it off quickly, licking around his lips as he turned back to the tin. I can have one more , he thought, shoveling another in his mouth, quickly followed by another, and then another. With only ten biscuits left, Arthur couldn’t justify eating more without seriously dipping it into what he had left. He knew he should just put the lid back on. Even still, he had another thought: I’m still close to town, I can ride back in the morning and get another before heading out. It ain’t like I’ll eat this many again, I can finish the tin, just this once .
He grabbed two biscuits in each hand, alternating which one he took a bit out of. His cheeks filled up with the dessert from eating so fast, forcing him to sometimes stop and focus solely on swallowing so he could breathe better. Those few seconds were nightmarish. Not because he was almost choking, but because he had to stop eating.
The tin was empty in minutes, and he tipped it into his mouth to get whatever crumbs had accumulated. His stomach ached harder than it ever had in his life, but Arthur didn’t even realize it till there was nothing left to eat. Exhausted, he fell back into the grass, adjusting his hat over his eyes before letting himself fall into a food coma.
Arthur had woken up much later than planned, but still found himself turning around to stop back at the candy store. The bell rang, and when the man behind the counter turned to see him, he was surprised.
“Oh!” he said, “Welcome back sir, how can I help?”
“You, uh, got anymore of those biscuits left?” Arthur answered.
“Sure, regular or chocolate covered?”
Arthur had forgotten about the chocolate, but forced his mind away from it. “Just regular’s fine.” His mind jumped to another thought, and he said it before he could think it through. “Two tins.”
“Of course, sir,” the man smiled, but couldn’t hide the surprise in his eyes. “We also have a beer that pairs well, if you’d like.”
“Y’all sell beer here?”
“Only the kind that works with dessert.”
Arthur thought for a moment. “Well… why the hell not, I’ll take two of those too.”
“Of course, sir. That will be five dollars and sixty cents.”
Arthur handed over the money, putting the goods in his bag before rushing back to his horse. He’d have to skip lunch, but he could make it back to camp before nightfall.
He doesn’t skip lunch, his stomach can’t take it, so he wastes an hour starting a fire and cooking some beans. He has to force himself back onto his horse without dessert, despite wanting to dig into a biscuit.
Dutch, of course, is mad. He yells at him before sending him off to grab dinner, a stew. He eats a large portion but his stomach still begs for dessert, but he puts his foot down. He won’t be able to go back to town for a bit, he had to make them last. He could just get full off another bowl of stew and be fine.
The two servings leave him stuffed, and he retreats into his tent to rest soon after he’s done cleaning up. He sets his bag down by his cot, then stops. He pulls out the tins and beers, Just to set them out, they’re heavy , he tells himself. But when his thumb slips up and pops the lid off the first tin, he figures he can have one.
It spirals to two, then three, then four, and it continues until he’s almost choking from eating so fast. That’s where the beer comes in. He knocks the cap off before chugging, forcing the food down his throat. The beer is sweet and light, easy to drink a lot of at once, and very bubbly. When he finally pulls the bottle from his lips, he lets out a loud burp that makes him cover his mouth.
There’s no response, everyone is probably asleep. In that case , he thinks, grabbing more biscuits. He drains the first tin, and then the second, using the beer to speed up how fast he can eat. By the end, his stomach is so heavy he can’t even stand, and he’s so drunk that even if he did he’d probably fall over.
His bloated belly pushed against his shirt, now tight against his body. I’ll work it off on the next heist , he thinks, massaging the gut to try and soothe it. It feels nice, letting himself relax. He could get used to the occasional luxury.
It becomes far from occasional. With all of his biscuits gone in a night, Arthur has to eat twice as much just to stop himself from going back for more. It continues like that for a couple of weeks, Arthur almost running out of his canned supplies by the time they’re ready for the next heist. Dutch comments on how much he’s been eating lately but ignores the drinking, still taking a hungover Arthur with him on the job. The moment he gets his share he hops on his horse and is off back to town, already knowing what to spend it on.
He stops himself from sprinting into the store, choosing instead to force a casual walk inside. The bell rings, but Arthur greets the man behind the counter before he even has time to register that he’s back.
“Do y’all still have those chocolate-covered biscuits?”
“Oh, uh, yes sir,” the man says, reaching under the counter.
“I’ll take six tins, and throw in some of those beers too.”
“That’ll be twenty dollars, sir.”
Arthur hands him the money and shoves as much as he can in his bag before gathering the rest in his arms. He pushes out of the shop and pulls into an alley, setting everything down before cracking open a beer. He uses one hand to start drinking and another to open the first tin. The chocolate is sweet and melts on his tongue, making him moan in delight as he takes another bite. He can feel his stomach pressing up against his shirt, but soon it gets tighter and he can feel the buttons dig into his stomach. Not to mention his jeans, which have looked painted onto his thighs for a while, but now they were beginning to hurt.
Arthur ignored it, driven by his hunger to keep eating at all costs. The first tin disappeared into his mouth, followed by a beer, then another tin, and another. When he finishes chugging his second beer the button by his belly button flies off, bouncing against the wall across from him. Startled, he slumps back against the building behind him, and as he slides down a bit his jeans tear near his upper thighs.
“Sh—uRp—shit,” he says to himself, shoving the rest of the food and beers in his bag as he stumbles out into the street. He has to buy a whole other outfit now, probably more since there was no way his clothes back at camp would fit. He straightens his back and stabilizes his walk as much as he can, pretending his best to be sober as he walks to the tailors.
Everyone notices as camp but no one says anything. It’s clear Arthur is changing before their eyes. He spends every second he has off traveling back into town for more food, booze, and desserts, not to mention replacement shirts for every time he grew out of them. Dutch even started to keep him off heists, claiming that he’d just slow them all down. Fine by Arthur, that meant he could drink and stuff himself every night. He deserved a break anyways.
He spends months using every moment he wasn’t off working to eat, and his waistline showed it. With every shirt Arthur grew out of his belly pushed an extra inch out, beginning to sag down towards his crotch as it spilled out over his waistband. His thighs didn’t fare much better, outgrowing his jeans and too big for even his largest belts. Eventually, Arthur starts to wear suspenders instead.
His pecs even turn into full breasts, growing over the top of his stomach. He’s lucky he stopped trimming his beard because it hides the growing second chin he has, though everyone knows it’s there.
Eventually, Charles yells at him about it all. Sure, Arthur may have been leaving some of his empty bottles, tins, and cans around but with all he’s done for the camp, he saw no reason as to why someone else couldn’t clean it up. And while Arthur’s beard told otherwise, he still cleaned himself in the lake often. Sure, he smelled worse more frequently now, but that was just because he had more places to sweat.
Still, he gives into Charle’s nagging and decides to have a bath the next time he’s in town.
It occurs to him, as he forks over the cash for both a bath and an “assistant” that he’s running low on funds. Spending so much so fast had started to catch up with him, and he needed to be careful now with what he bought.
Of course, he still picked up some candies on the way over to the bathhouse, and he popped one in his mouth as he stripped. He took himself in, lifting up his belly before letting it fall back down against his things, making his whole body jiggle. He had to squeeze himself into the bath, resting his still muscular arms on the side. He had grown so wide that the sides of his breasts touched the side of the tub, and he couldn’t help but be in awe at his new size.
The door to the bathroom opened, and a young man entered.
“H-hello, sir,” he said, “all the girls are busy with other clients, but I can offer a refund—”
“Nah,” Arthur cuts him off, “You can help me.”
“Sir, I don’t—”
“I wasn’t asking,” he glares at him, “First things first, get me the chocolate from my bag. And a cigar, while you’re at it.”
“Sir, you can’t smoke—”
“Does it look like I give a shit!?” Arthur yells, bath water spilling out onto the floor, the tub always almost overflowing with how much space Arthur took up. “Don’t make me get out!”
The man doesn’t have the gall to even respond, choosing instead to stare at his feet as he scurried over to Arthur’s bag. He obediently brought Arthur one of his chocolates and a cigar, even unwrapping the candy for him before passing it over with shaking hands.
The chocolate melts a bit on his fingers as he eats, body warm from the bath. In between bites he puffs on his cigar, blowing out smoke as the man watches, too nervous to do anything.
“You,” Arthur says, looking him up and down, “Get over here.”
The man obliges, “Y-yes, sir?”
“My hands are a bit full,” Arthur smirks, “gonna need you to wash me.”
The man can tell by Arthur’s expression that he won’t accept no. Reluctantly, he picks up soap and a cloth, quickly getting to work at scrubbing Arthur’s now enormous body. Arthur’s head spins with ecstasy. He can barely imagine how he lasted so long without these luxuries, so worried about his money running low, when all he had to do was take . And Arthur was good at taking, he had been trained his whole life to be good at taking. But up until his first splurge he had limited himself. Now, there was no holding back.
He finishes the chocolate, sucking the rest off his fingers before taking another puff of the cigar. Once he’s done, he blows the smoke in the man’s face, laughing to himself as the man coughs. It makes his fat wobble, spilling more water out of the tub. Still, the man continues to clean, lifting up Arthur’s belly to scrub at his privates and upper thighs. Arthur enjoys it, the feeling of his fat being moved and massaged. If the man notices his erection, he doesn’t mention it.
Soon enough, he’s all clean. He even has the man trim his beard, though not enough that it exposes his second chin. After, the man remains next to him, awaiting more orders. And Arthur is ready to give him some, just as soon as he gets out of the tub.
The problem is he can’t. His love handles push against the sides, trapping him in as he attempts to push up. The man, noticing that Arthur can’t move, tries to turn and run but is too slow. Arthur catches him by the arm, putting out what remains of his cigar against his skin in punishment. The man hisses in pain but comes back.
“Easy there boy,” Arthur growls, “don’t you think you’re forgetting something? You still have to pull me out.”
The man sighs but nods, grabbing Arthur’s still muscular (but much flabbier) arm and pulling as hard as he can. At the same time, Arthur tries pushing himself up. With both of their strengths combined, they are eventually able to tip the tub over, and Arthur comes spilling out with the water.
“Towel,” Arthur orders, pushing himself up. The man grabs the nearest one, begging to dry Arthur before he’s even told. “Good boy,” Arthur smiles.
Once he’s all dry, the man helps him get dressed. Arthur has to suck in his stomach twice. First to make the pants fit, then to button his shirt. Even still, his fat presses tightly against both, making his outfit look ready to burst off him at any moment.
He puts on his hat as he turns to the door, the man now standing by the far wall as he waits for him to go. Arthur starts to leave, but stops himself. He makes his way over to the man instead, pressing him against the wall with his stomach, feeling the smaller man sink a few inches into his belly.
“You got your wallet on you?” Arthur asks. And wouldn’t you know? He does.
Arthur spends many of his days going to the candy store.. He’s wasted his money there for almost a year, chasing the taste of indulgence. He didn’t see the gang anymore, hadn’t for over a week now. The whole group had gone and left the last time Arthur was away, leaving nothing at their camp but his tent and a whole bunch of wrappers, tins, and bottles. It didn’t matter to Arthur, it was easier to eat and drink all day when he didn’t have others breathing down his neck.
The bell above the door chimed as he entered, causing the rotund man behind the counter to turn and face him, unsurprised to see him again. Arthur’s eyes are drawn to his stomach, like when he first entered the store.
He compared himself to the other man. While the owner was definitely large Arthur was certain he had surpassed him. While the owner’s belly spilled out a few inches, Arthur’s stuck out over a foot. The owner’s face was pudgy with big cheeks, but Arthur has a second chin that drooped far enough to cover his neck. And the breasts were no contests, Arthur’s so large he had to clean under them. Sure, they both filled out their clothes, showing off their bodies to the world, but if it was a contest Arthur was winning.
The man clearing his throat snaps Arthur out of his trance. “How can I help you, sir? The usual?” he asks.
“Actually,” Arthur smirks, cheeks red from the booze he had chugged before, “I wanna clear out your whole supply!” He picks up the nearest candy, a small bag of jelly beans, and pours the whole thing in his mouth as he reaches for more.
The man stops him, “Sir, are you sure you can pay for—”
“That’s the thing,” Arthur interrupts, pulling out his revolver and placing it against the other man’s head, “I ain’t paying.”
In time, he’d become known as Massive Morgan , the fattest outlaw in the west. He rode from town to town raiding their food supply and terrorizing tailors and bathhouses. His body swells larger and larger with each town he hits, pushing out against his blanket-sized shirts until the buttons burst off.
A loud burp escapes him after he downs a can of cold beans, too lazy to build a fire and cook them. He realizes that it’s sobering him up and he solves the problem by smashing off the top of the nearest bear and pouring it into his mouth, getting an immediate head rush.
His hands find the nearest tin, ripping off the lid as he grabs as many biscuits as he can hold at once. He shovels them all into his mouth, fat cheeks strained from all the food, too full to even close his lips all the way as he chews. Crumbs fly out and cover his shirt as he eats, but he doesn’t mind. He follows up the dessert with another beer, then follows that up with more biscuits, and then repeats.
Eventually, the buttons on his flannel can’t take anymore and they fly off into the dirt, his horse momentarily spooked by the noise. Smiling to himself, he rips the rest of the cloth off his body, using it now as a napkin.
Content but not full, (he’s never full these days) he allows himself to drift off to sleep beneath the stars as he massages his belly. Tomorrow he’ll hit another town and resupply himself with food. It won’t last long, but there will always be a next town, a next feast. All Arthur has to do is take.