Jack and The Fat Man

Its been a while since I wrote in this category, so I thought I'd give it another go now that I've had some more writing experience. This contains a small amount of incestuous content and cock envy, although it's mainly based around a young man coming to terms with his sexuality. As with most of my stories, it's a slow burner so don't expect a full on sexathon. All names, places are fictional etc etc. Hopefully you'll enjoy it.

Cuthlingford was, like so many small English villages, considered quaint by most people who lived there or visited. Steeped in history dating from the Middle Ages, the parish council had managed to stave off any new development in order to maintain its character and that's the way the proud residents liked it. And like so many the rural villages, everyone knew everyone else. Any newcomers who were "lucky" enough to join the small tight knit community were outwardly welcomed whilst secretly being evaluated by just about every single longstanding local - gossiped about in the one pub, the post office come convenience store, the butchers or bakers. It took a long time for any non local to be accepted. Sometimes years, in fact.

Jack was one of those unfortunate "non locals." His family had been there for 15 years, arriving when he was just 3 years old. His father, a carpenter and qualified electrician, soon became accepted as the "go to" handyman. His mother was a teacher at the primary school and his brother, older by 4 years, had eventually found employment at one of the farms that surrounded Cuthlingford. All his family had become entrenched in village life. All except for Jack, that is.

Unlike Mark, his 6'3" blond haired blue eyed brother, Jack was skinny, 5'4" tall with blue eyes, fiery red ginger hair and a pale white and freckled complexion. The only thing that had any shape or size to Jack, was his bizarrely large and round arse. His buttocks were a freakish anomaly that, given his small stature, drew the attention of just about anyone who saw him. Even his parents were left scratching their heads.

Consequently, he'd been taunted, picked on and ridiculed for his looks throughout his primary school years. His mother became so concerned, that at the age of 10 and worried that Jack may have some kind of disorder, made an appointment with the village doctor. After a thorough examination and agreeing that Jacks's case was indeed quite unusual, his best guess was that it may be a mild form of lipoedema. However, given how rare it was to occur in men and that Jack showed non of the other signs of the condition, he determined that it was most likely genetic. With the usual "if it gets any worse" advice they were sent on their way. As you can imagine, the whole experience was deeply embarrassing for Jack, only serving to confirm that, in his mind anyway, he was some kind of freak.

The bullying continued in secondary school, getting even worse after his first P.E lesson, when it was cruelly pointed out in the showers that he wasn't just small in height. If that wasn't bad enough, when puberty hit, or was supposed to, as every other boy developed pubic hair, poor Jack remained completely hairless. In fact, it wasn't until he reached the age of 15 that any pubic hair grew, albeit barely noticeable. Just the smallest tuft above his tiny cock. However, it was too late by then. Viewed as a "girlyboy" by most of the other pupils, his given nickname of "Jackie" was already well established.

By the time he left, Jack was a very bitter and lonely young man. Thankfully, secondary school was over 5 miles away in the closest town and only a few of the village youngsters were pupils there. But it was enough and his nickname and the reasons why soon became well known. Already viewed as "different" by the village community, the additional gossip only proved to cement his status as someone who was "not normal."

Hoping life would be less painful in the real world, proved fruitless. With little to no prospect of employment in the village, Jack meandered from one meaningless job to another, usually shop work filling shelves in town or something similar. He rarely lasted long before being dismissed for his attitude. That or he left if any of his old school bullies turned up.

In an attempt to find his "identity," Jack fell into rock music, grunge and thrash metal. The music and lyrics gave him solace, reflecting his angst. He changed the way he dressed and grew his hair long, thinking it gave him a more masculine appearance and it worked to some degree. Fortunately, his buttocks seemed to stop expanding by the time he reached 17, but to Jack they felt absurdly large. His world flourished when at 18 he began dating a girl he met at work and for 3 glorious months he felt almost normal. Unfortunately, it didn't last and his life imploded during a particularly amorous encounter in the supermarket storeroom that went further than he anticipated. When confronted with his virtually hairless 3 inch erection, his soon to be ex girlfriend burst out laughing. Impossibly humiliated, Jack stole a bottle of vodka, took it home and drank himself into a stupor alone in his bedroom.

He barely remembered doing it, but later that evening, drunk and angry, he went out and picked on the one other individual in the village that was also seen as "different." Namely Arnold Pickman. He was old, in his late 50's and whilst he was a genuine born and bred local, he was a semi reclusive man who rarely stepped out from his cottage at the edge of the village green.

Not only was Arnold old, but he was fat. Very fat and tall with it. A huge, fat, hairy old man whose parents had once owned the bakery that still bore the family name. After his father passed away, Arnold continued work alongside his mother, living at home. When she finally retired everyone expected him to take over, but instead, they sold the bakery and Arnold had stayed at home to look after his mother. As the years passed, the gossip became ever more convoluted. He was "slow." He was "weird." A "wrong 'un." It was ungodly for a man of his age to live at home with his mother. Some of the more imaginative villagers even began suggesting there was more to their relationship, sniggering whenever they saw him. Of course, it was completely unfounded, but then, gossip often is. When his mother died, Arnold was 42 years old. Over the years he became known as "the fat man" but some called him far worse.

So when Jack drunkenly went out that evening, he saw Arnold as the only other person he could bully. "The fat man" who, if the rumours were to be believed, used to fuck his mum. The only other village pariah. At first he just stood in front of Arnold's cottage and shouted names, the same way he'd done with other village kids when he was growing up. The same kids who now shunned and taunted him. Shouting soon turned into rage however and Jack picked up a small rock and threw it at one of the windows, which duly shattered. The sound of smashing glass gave him a sense of immense satisfaction. He vented his anger further with 3 more rocks and 3 more broken windows, only turning to run home after catching sight of Arnold's huge frame at the open front door.

Within 30 minutes Jack was dragged downstairs by his irate father to face the consequences of his actions. Arnold, dressed as always in brightly coloured baggy shorts and T-shirt, was standing in the kitchen with his mother. After a very detailed description there was no avoiding it. Arnold knew it was Jack and was threatening to call the police and have him arrested.

"There ain't no other short arsed 'gingers' who live here," he spat, wheezing profusely and his face red with anger. "I saw him plain as day. It ain't the first time I've had problems with him either. You should keep him on a fucking leash."

Thankfully his mother, ever the diplomat, eventually managed to placate him. That was when it was agreed that Jack would not only pay for the damage, but would also spend 3 hours every day after work, cleaning and doing odd jobs for Arnold for the next 4 weeks.

The following day, a Friday, Jack trudged across the village green towards Arnold's cottage ignoring the looks and mutterings of the people he passed. Already, everyone seemed to know what had happened. The heat of the summers day still clung in the evening air and in spite of taking a cool shower before stepping out, Jack was already sweating. His father was packing his tools away when he arrived, while Arnold stood watching on. Waiting.

"Right Jack," his father spoke, wiping his hands on a rag. "Don't be thinking that just because I've fixed his windows you won't have to pay. I'll be taking it out of your wages until you're fully paid up." Then looking at Arnold and turning back, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a piece of paper. "Me and Arnold have made up a list of everything that needs doing and there's a cleaning rota on the back," he explained, handing Jack the list. "If you even think about cutting corners or any other mischief, I'll be adding extra days. Do you get me boy?"

Grudgingly taking the list, Jack nodded. "Yes, dad. I get you," he said sullenly, pushing the piece of paper into the front pocket of his jeans.

"Don't forget, Arnold," his father added as he grabbed his tool bag. "Just let me know if he starts slacking."

Jack watched as they shook hands, Arnold's red face smirking as his father walked away. Thoughts of how ridiculous he looked in bright yellow shorts, lime green T-shirt and leather sandals were broken when Arnold gripped him firmly at the back of his neck. The strength in his huge, pudgy, sweaty hand quickly apparent as he 'guided' Jack indoors.

Arnold's 28 stone, 6'6" frame towered intimidatingly over him once they were inside, reminding Jack just how small he was. "It's a fucking hot one today ain't it," he wheezed and Jack, never really having noticed before, was surprised by the high pitch of his voice. It was almost comical given the old man's huge size. "Before you crack on, go get us a couple of beers from the fridge," he told him, nodding towards the kitchen door.

The kitchen, as with the rest of the two-up two-down cottage, was small and dated. It was also grubby. Jack looked around and sighed when it became clear just how big a task cleaning the place would be. Grabbing 2 cans of beer from the small fridge, he noted it contained only some bare essentials. Butter, milk, cheese and a few potatoes on the lowest shelf. Most of the space was occupied by cans of beer.

When he returned to the living room, Arnold was seated in one of the 2 armchairs that, along with a coffee table, an old wooden bookshelf crammed full of books and a dusty small TV, were the only other pieces of furniture. The armchairs were large, too large really and occupied the majority of the available floor space.

Indicating the free armchair, Arnold told him to take seat, holding out a hairy, shovel sized hand in which Jack placed one of the cans of beer. After nervously taking his seat, he watched as the old man cracked the tin open, gulped down a large quantity of beer, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Right then you little cunt," he said, then belched loudly. "First things first. You can forget about that fucking list. You'll do what I fucking tell you to do, when I fucking tell you. One slip up and I'll tell your dad and that'll mean more time doing what I fucking tell you to do. Got it, Jackie?"

Arnold's smug mountainous bulk tensed in a wheezing wobbling mess as he leaned forward menacingly. His forearms, covered in a mass of dark fur, looked as thick as Jack's thighs. The old man really was huge.

Despite being rattled by the nickname that haunted him, Jack cowered in genuine fear. "Y....yes.....ok," he stammered meekly. "But my name is Jack, not....."

"Your fucking name is whatever I want it to be while you're in my house, you little cunt," Arnold snapped. "You look like a fucking girl, so I'll call you 'Jackie' like everyone else. Got it?"

Why he thought Arnold wouldn't be aware of his nickname, Jack wasn't sure. Maybe he just expected that the locals, like they did him, avoided the old man. It took just one look into Arnold's cold, beady dark eyes to make him forget about trying to argue his point. Unable to hold his gaze, Jack looked away, down towards Arnold's huge round belly, his wide open, tree trunk sized hairy legs and........was that his........?

"Yes, I've got it," he muttered quietly. "Sorry," he added, blushing instantly as he tried to avert his eyes from what appeared to be as substantial a sized bulge as the rest of Arnold's body.

"Good girl," Arnold said, settling back. "Carry on like that and we'll get along just fine," he added before downing the rest of his beer, followed by another loud belch. "Drink up, Jackie. The bathroom needs a good clean, so you can start in there."

It seemed to Jack, that Arnold Pickman was not the slow witted mummy's boy everyone seemed to think he was. After taking a few big gulps of cooling beer, he stood up and looked questioningly at the seated man mountain.

"Through the kitchen, at the back," he said casually. "Be a good girl and get me another can before you start," he added with a smarmy, red faced grin.

The bathroom was no different to the kitchen or the living room. Dated and grubby. Guessing the bedrooms would probably be much the same, he looked around for cloths and cleaning products, eventually finding them in a cabinet under the sink. His skin crawled at the prospect of having to clean the toilet, so he started with the dirty white tiled walls, before moving on to the bath itself and then the sink. By the time he'd finished Jack was sweating profusely. Jeans, T-shirt and sweatshirt hadn't been a sensible choice given how hot the day had been. His clothes stuck to his skin uncomfortably. After removing the sweatshirt and hanging it on the doorknob, he dropped to his knees, shuddering as he lifted the toilet seat.

"Make sure it's spotless you little cunt," Arnold's wheezing falsetto voice caught him by surprise. "You don't want me having to tell your dad what a shit job you did, do you?"

Jack turned to look up at the old man. From his prone position, Arnold looked even bigger. Once again, he caught sight of the bulge in "the fat man's" shorts and briefly wondered how big he actually was. It was something that Jack often did when in the company of other men. He told himself it was purely out of curiosity, just to compare against his own mediocre endowment but, well, maybe it wasn't just that. Even his own brother, who Jack had more than once secretly spied wanking himself off, was at least twice his size. A much bigger spunker too. Jack would usually lay in his bed later playing with his cock, in awe of his brother's ability to shoot off 5 or 6 strong jets of thick cream, while his own climax was barely a weak dribble.

He quickly looked away from Arnold's groin, tilting his head to look further up to his chubby red face. "I'm doing the best I can," he whined. "Just.....just cut me some slack won't you." He immediately regretted his words as Arnold stepped closer, casting a foreboding shadow.

Leaning down and gripping Jack's long ginger hair, Arnold lifted him up as if he weighed nothing, almost lifting him right off his feet. Whincing in pain, he struggled to free himself but he was no match for Arnold, who simply grinned at Jack's puny efforts.

"You don't deserve any fucking slack," he spat, his high pitched voice, suddenly far less comical. "Carry on giving me fucking backchat and I'll put you over my knee and then you'll be cleaning up with a sore arse as well."

Jack had no doubt that he meant every word and knowing he had 4 weeks of this to come, he capitulated. "S....sorry Arnold," he said, desperately hoping to avoid any further threats. Thankfully, Arnold let him go.

"Good girl. Finish up here and get me another beer when you're done."

It would be fair to say that Jack's first evening with Arnold was not a pleasant experience.

He went straight to his bedroom when he got home, ignoring both his parents, which for Jack, wasn't anything unusual. Putting on his headphones and contemplating his fate, he decided to just do his punishment without any arguments. Arnold was just too big and too strong and besides, he knew what he'd done was wrong. If anything, Arnold was in many ways, just like him. An outsider who people gossiped about and contrary to the rumours, he'd seen nothing in Arnold's demeanour to suggest he was anything other than a pretty normal, if lonely old man. The threats and name calling were nothing new and he probably deserved it anyway. He could put up with it for 4 weeks.

Unlike so many other young men, Jack didn't do porn. Even if he had a computer, broadband was still only at the planning stage for Cuthlingford and he certainly wouldn't have risked watching it on his phone. His parents were pretty strict that way, especially given they paid for his phone contract. So he wasn't really sure why he got a hard on when the image of being put over Arnold's knee popped into his head. And he wasn't sure why he began to play with himself when he recalled the large looking bulge in Arnold's shorts either.

It wasn't unlike the times he'd done something similar after watching his brother. Without the benefit of any real sexual experience, all he knew was that his curiosity excited him. He couldn't be gay because he'd got hard with his ex girlfriend before "it' happened and when he watched his brother, well, it was just......kind of thrilling. He liked seeing his hard cock. Mark was everything he wasn't. Tall and blond, with a big, hard, hairy cock and balls. Looking at it and watching it shoot spunk made him both envious and sad. He could only dream of being like his brother. Mostly though, it made Jack excited. Just as he was now, thinking about Arnold who was much taller and much hairier than his brother and.........possibly bigger in other ways too.

He began to masturbate, imagining Arnold naked in his armchair stroking his cock, while he secretly watched on. The fantasy quickly evolved into being caught and Arnold's huge hands pulling him over his knee and yanking his jeans down. His high voice lewdly mocking his big girly arse, like so many of his tormentors at school had. And then the feeling of Arnold's big strong hands gripping his cheeks, mauling them........pulling them open. Jack came quite quickly and watched the meagre puddle of cum gather in the tiny patch of his pubic hair. He did the same thing again on Sunday evening, ejaculating at the very same point. Only this time he also imagined the feeling of Arnold's hard, hairy cock pressing against his own.

Over course of the following week, Jack had almost cleaned the whole of the ground floor of the cottage. Officially classed as heatwave, Jack had begun to wear shorts and T-shirts too. It was just too hot for anything else, but given his fantasies there was unsurprisingly, a small part of him that hoped the old man noticed. In fairness, Arnold's attitude began to change somewhat, even to the point of using his real name. He would often offer Jack a beer and they would sit in the living room chatting. Arnold was actually quite an interesting man and had many tales of village life to recount. They were becoming unlikely friends and Jack began to look forward to the these moments of downtime, and not only for the conversation. It gave him the opportunity to surreptitiously, or so he thought, aim sly glances towards the old man's bulge, burning the image into memory to recall later when he was alone.

By Friday evening and with the last of downstairs cleaning completed, they sat down opposite one another for a beer. As always, Arnold sat with is huge legs spread and Jack once again, allowed his gaze to drift. For a few moments the conversation became a blur as he watched on in disbelief at Arnold's growing bulge. He could definitely make out the shape of a very thick cock beneath the thin material of his sky blue shorts. Then a small wet spot appeared where the tip of his cock was making contact on the inside leg of his right thigh. Briefly wondering why Arnold was getting a boner he looked up, only to see the old man's eyes firmly locked on him and a broad grin on his face. Jack blushed, hoping he hadn't been caught looking.