Stoner Slob - Part 8

Business was booming ever since Ray and Greg opened their first retail location. Online was more than enough to get their operation off the ground, but there was something about a physical store that really spread that word-of-mouth advertising. Plus, after months of lockdown, people were looking to go places, and a headshop like Ray’s wasn’t just a place to restock your stash. It was both exotic and exciting to go into a real shop that sold real weed, and it drew foot traffic like he’d never believed possible.

It also drew all kinds of people. The stereotype that marijuana was a drug for long-haired hippies was dead wrong in Ray’s experience. Sure, occasionally there were the wiry, raggedy, long-haired hippy types (who often left significantly heavier than they’d entered), but there were plenty of business suits looking for something a little mellower than cocaine, soccer moms needing something to take the edge of taking care of the kids, and party bois just out for a good time.

And then there were Ray’s favorites. The geeks. The nerds. The guys who’d roll in with a neckbeard and a belly sticking out from beneath a Star Wars t-shirt who’d ask for Ray’s most potent sativa/indica blend, quoting THC and CBD content and the phenols that each strain produced for the perfect aroma. Half of them didn’t know what the hell they were even talking about, but a few were true connoisseurs.

Ray didn’t know who this one would be, but he certainly fit the trope. A wide, scruffy face, hair that was probably buzzed most of the time but hadn’t been in a few weeks, widow’s peak revealing the first signs of male pattern baldness. The scruff of his face seemed to lead into more scruff below the neckline of his t-shirt, from what Ray could tell, although the bright anime characters on his chest were somewhat distracting.

Ray could tell from the face alone he was a proper fat boy, but his impressive frame more than confirmed it. A jutting belly that sagged over a well-concealed belt, perky moobs capped by nipples large enough to be visible through sweat-dampened cloth, and a double chin that wasn't quite camouflaged by the scruffy beard, nor was it able to conceal the acne that likely followed all the way around to the folds of flesh at the back of his neck. He wasn’t quite up to Ray’s superchub stature, but he was close, and he’d probably endured his fair share of teasing in high school.

He didn’t look too winded walking through the front door, however, the sweat droplets on his forehead and the stains framing his pits revealed whatever short walk he’d been on was enough to start the waterworks. He certainly didn’t look the type to run to the weed store. The dark colors of his t-shirt were likely a deliberate choice to hide his pit stains, but they hardly managed to offer more than the most basic misdirection that was easily overlooked in the store’s bright lighting. Ray was sure he’d see stains on his back and probably up the crack of his ass too if he were to turn around.

Ray half hoped he would. But instead, he walked straight up to the counter and got down to business.

“Hi, um, I’m lookin’ for something strong,” he said in the typical way of introducing yourself in a commercial environment. “What do you have?”

Ray smiled politely and raised his eyebrows as if to convey “well, you asked for it.” He reached below the glass countertop and retrieved an unmarked bowl with several bright purple buds, plucked one, and presented it to the sweaty, obese patron.

“My own special strain. I couldn’t tell you how strong it is because we’re still testing it, but trust me,” Ray added with a wink, “it’s strong.”

The fat patron reached out, brought the bud to his nose and sniffed in much the same way a sommelier would smell a fine wine. As though the odor alone would somehow reveal anything about the plant’s effects. Apparently satisfied, he set the bud back on the counter.

“Do you guys do samples?” He asked, perhaps not satisfied after all.

Ray put on a show of considering his request. Sampling the wares was technically not legal due to anti-smoking laws in commercial establishments, and there had been more than one customer who’d come inside asking about a free sample only to leave after having gotten high but without having made a purchase. However, the store was largely empty, and Ray was more than a little curious to see what his special strain might accomplish with such an appealing tub of untapped potential.

“Sure,” Ray eventually said, heaving his heavy shoulders in a shrug. Slipping a pipe from under the counter (pre-packed for just such an encounter, of course), Ray placed it at the fat boy’s lips and produced a lighter seemingly out of nowhere (but in reality, it was tucked under his left tit--corpulence had its perks). To his credit, the customer inhaled deeply, clearly not a novice at all, and exhaled a plume of smoke at the ceiling. Then he closed his eyes as if to savor every sensation for the next few moments.

Ten seconds, then thirty, then a minute went by. Nothing changed. The sweat-stained shirt kept rising and falling with each breath the big man made, but it didn’t rip apart as he transformed into a muscle-bound bear hell-bent on anal destruction. His pants didn’t transform into a tutu as he pranced his way to the nearest gay bar. He didn’t even open his eyes to reveal they’d changed color. He just stood there, mute and unmoving, leading Ray to believe something must have gone horribly awry with his latest harvest.

And then he opened his eyes as a shiver ran through his whole body, sending the ample adipose into its own subsequent tremors. “Fuck,” he breathed out in a husky whisper, “this shit is good.” He placed his hands on the counter and bent down as another visible shiver ran through him. “Oh fuck…”

Something was happening after all, but it wasn’t any of the transformations Ray had become accustomed to. Whatever was going on here was far more subtle--perhaps neural pathways were being rewired or organs were shifting in preparation for a coming, greater change. Ray knew that if that were true he’d need more than one puff, so hustling faster than a man of his size would seem possible, he lumbered to the front of the store to flip the sign from “open” to “closed” and then went back to the sole customer now shuddering over the glass countertop.

Ray was right; plenty of sweat stains on his back and ass too. But as he returned to stand next to the tubby customer, Ray picked up the unmistakable scent of both BO and desperate arousal. Looking at the guy’s crotch in the glass counter’s reflection, Ray saw a tent capped by a growing stain that had a slightly lighter hue than what coated his backside. The fat customer shuddered again and both the stain and the tent grew larger.

“Okay, this is a little different, but let’s get you comfy to ride this out,” Ray said, patting the guy on the back and offering his hand, which the customer took gratefully. “What’s your name?”

“Da-ave…” he practically wheezed as he took a shuddering step to follow Ray’s guiding hand.

“Alright Dave, we’re going to bring you to the back, there ya go,” Ray said in a calm and soothing voice. Normally the changes weren’t so debilitating, or even apparent to bystanders like himself. Ray knew his weed changed people--for the better if you asked him--but he’d only be aware of the changes long after the fact. A new customer would arrive, they’d smoke, a quick and intense sexual encounter would follow, and then only later would Ray come to the full realization that the person who smoked and the person who he fucked weren’t quite the same.

At first, Ray put it down to the notoriously poor memory of a stoner, but repetition seemed to have given him the slightest insight into what was really going on. Or maybe he’d just become more tolerant of his own noxious creation and now better understood its true effects. Either way, Ray had never been disappointed or even alarmed by what he was doing to people.

Even now, as Dave was wracked with what seemed to be orgasmic seizures, Ray didn’t think he was doing anything wrong. Although, he was still slightly concerned that the most recent iteration of his strain wasn’t performing as previously.

Finally reaching the back office, Ray pushed Dave into a well-padded office chair. His jeans were soaked now--half in sweat, and half in what could only be cum. Dave’s zipper was straining to hold back the growing beast that was demanding to be released, its growls for freedom coming in the form of shuddering gasps that made Dave thrust his wide hips into the air and moan out loud.

Now that this seemed to be getting somewhere, Ray lumbered back to the store, grabbed the pipe, and returned to see Dave still shuddering and thrusting with need, his t-shirt completely soaked and sticking to his prodigious curves like a second skin. The anime characters had been replaced by the logo of some band he’d never heard of, but Ray hardly noticed as he sparked the pipe to take a puff, then brought it to the spasming man’s lips.

Even shuddering from seemingly orgasmic pleasure, Dave still managed to inhale, hold, and then exhale a plume of smoke that filled the relatively small office. And just as the final mote of smoke exited the big man’s lungs came the unmistakably metallic twang of a zipper failing. Having already slipped through the pisshole of his boxers, Dave’s dripping cock finally tasted freedom.

“Oh fuck,” Dave said, looking down with wide eyes. Judging by the look of surprise and shock, Ray guessed that what sprung from Dave’s groin was significantly longer than what he’d woken up with this morning. And, as Ray watched with rapt attention, perhaps featuring a few more accessories. Ray could see at the middle of the shaft a metal bolt crossing its width. Dave shuddered and thrust again, and by the time his cock stopped twitching it had gained a second bolt. Another thrust and there came a third as cum began to bubble and surge past a thick prince albert that hadn’t been there moments ago. Soon a veritable ladder ran up the nine-inch cock leading straight to a loop that became mostly covered by the thick foreskin that suddenly grew up and around it like a scarf.

It was only then that the smell finally assaulted Ray’s nostrils. A fat man’s stank was something he’d long become accustomed to, being morbidly obese himself, but the overcharged stench of cock emanating from the metal-adorned dong that was waving in front of Ray’s face was simply overwhelming. Ray felt himself grow instantly hard deep in his gunt as he achieved maximum arousal in record time. Ray had to have that cock, and he had to have it now.

Dave didn’t complain as the obese weed purveyor grabbed both of his ripped-jean-covered thighs and dropped to his knees before running his tongue from the base of the ladder all the way to the top. The taste of chrome was there, but it was but a tiny high note over a bassline of sweat, pre-cum, and overpowering testosterone. Through the huge rips in his jeans, Ray could see Dave’s balls had definitely kept up with his dick as they were now roiling visibly behind a stained jockstrap that was barely containing their combined girth.

With a wicked grin, Dave suddenly grabbed the back of Ray’s head and drove it into his groin. Ray felt each of Dave’s bolts tickle his throat until he felt himself gag, something that Ray hadn’t done even with Greg’s horse-sized shlong. It wasn’t just the prince albert punching his uvula that produced the reflex but the incredible musk that Dave’s ripped jeans did nothing to contain. At first it was foul, but the sickly sweetness eventually worked its way into Ray’s brain, triggering heights of arousal that he’d never before experienced. This was a real man, and Ray would do anything that he wanted. And right now, Dave wanted to fuck Ray’s throat raw.

And Dave did. Thick and hairy hands grabbed either side of Ray’s fog-filled cranium and drove his mouth into Dave’s groin like a jackhammer. He could hear his ladder knocking on Ray’s teeth as he drove in and out, even making an approximation of the power tool’s sound.

For his part, Ray became completely lost in lust. His gag reflex long punished into submission, Ray came to his senses enough to send his chubby hands up Dave’s bulbous torso to find those twin peaks that jostled and wobbled with each thrust. Through the rips in the cotton, he managed to sneak a few thick digits through to grasp the door knockers that pierced each of those delectable tits.

Funny, Ray thought with an internal giggle, he hadn’t noticed nipple rings through the wet fabric when Dave had entered the store. Nor had he noticed the nose ring that hung from Dave’s wide nose. Or the stretchers that gave the Buddha’s earlobes a run for their money. Or the eyebrow ring, the lip piercing or the barbell that ran through the tip of Dave’s tongue as it dragged saliva over his glistening lips. Or the tattoos that snaked up and down Dave’s beefy arms, ending in the words “fuck” spelled out on both sets of hairy knuckles. The widow’s peak filled in as the hair on Dave’s head grew out and slowly changed to a neon blue, his wild mane not quite a mohawk but definitely a striking fringe that completed the punk rock look.

“Alright, you fat fuck, ready to taste the rainbow?” Dave said with a growl before he thrust harder, driving his cock all the way down Ray’s throat before blowing straight into the obese salesman’s stomach. Ray gagged several times and he felt like he was going to throw up, pass out, or both. Perhaps sensing Ray’s distress, or perhaps finally giving a damn about Ray’s wellbeing for the first time, Dave finally released the fat man’s face to gasp and wheeze as he desperately tried to replace the cum that filled his lungs with air.

“Holy fuck,” Ray managed as he staggered to his feet. He surveyed Dave, who’d come in a typical neckbeard and was now leaving a punk chub that seemed to avoid bathing about as much as he did clean laundry. Or any laundry, as the ripped sleeves and the torn jeans seemed to indicate. His musk was still there, emanating from every hole, but it was at least to the point where Ray could withstand it now without creaming between his jiggly thighs.

Dave heaved himself up, the stretch marks of his own excessive girth clearly visible through each tear, and made his way to the exit. He clearly didn’t intend to pay for the weed, and frankly, Ray was a little scared to ask. Instead, he simply offered the customary “have a nice day” as Dave left the store. But not before he threw up a middle finger and grabbed a few of those purple nugs first.