LoakaChunk
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Stoner Slob - Part 9
🕑 Added 2022-05-03 04:11:00 +0000 UTCSorry for the long gap between posts. I've been in the process of buying a place with my boyfriend, which combined with a covid scare, really put a damper on my ability to produce smut. But I've been working on this longer piece to make up for it. Hope you like it!
“Good evening,” the suit said. Ray knew right away the guy was a cop, but he played along like any good entrepreneur in his industry would. “Are you the proprietor of this establishment?”
“Why yes sir, finest green in the city. Why, you looking to partake?” Ray offered a sly grin, but the cop remained stone-faced.
“Detective Jennings,” the cop introduced himself, flashing a badge. “My partner is currently heading to your warehouse. We’re investigating a string of disappearances in the neighborhood, and I was wondering if you might be able to help us out?”
It was a good thing he was normally sweating even in the air-conditioned store as the sudden cold sweat that swept over him might’ve given him away. “Disappearances? Like people going missing?”
“Yes,” detective Jennings replied while taking out a notepad from his back pocket. “Several people have been reported missing. All walks of life, different types and ages, in the middle of various day-to-day tasks, they’ll just disappear. However, a few of them were seen entering this establishment before they seemingly disappeared without a trace.”
That last part confused Ray. He still didn’t quite know how his weed worked, but the transformations had always seemed so comprehensive, like that person’s life history was completely rewritten not just for themselves but for everyone they knew. It seemed that the special blend wasn’t as omnipotent as he once thought.
Worse, Ray knew he couldn’t control what happened after the transformation--like a butterfly emerging from the chrysalis, whatever emerged was free to do as they pleased. One of them--likely that punk kid from last week--probably just decided to fucking skip town and not tell anyone.
“I’m sorry officer, I don’t really keep track of all my patrons after they leave the store…” Ray offered, hoping to throw the detective off balance. It didn’t work.
“All the same, I was wondering if I could check some of your purchase records. We have the credit histories of a few of the reported cases and would like to verify if they purchased product from your establishment.”
Ray’s ass puckered. He had to do something, and the first plan that came to mind was the one that got him into this mess in the first place. “Sure thing, detective. I have those records in the back, if you’d like to follow me.”
But first, Ray went to the store entrance and flipped it to closed. Then, while detective Jennings wasn’t looking, he grabbed a lighter from the front desk and stashed it under his left tit. Those drooping udders were finally coming in handy.
Several miles away, an unmarked car stopped at a warehouse where Greg and Chris were offloading their latest shipment. Or more accurately, Chris was doing the heavy lifting while Greg was smoking a joint and occasionally picking up baggies that fell out of poorly-assembled boxes.
“Fucking things,” Greg griped after bending over behind Chris to pick up another bag. He didn’t notice the car rolling up or the detective that walked purposefully over to the weed “entrepreneurs.”
“Excuse me, who’s in charge here?”
Greg straightened, turned, and came face to face with the imposing form of an officer of the law. He didn’t even need to look at the badge to know this guy was a cop--he knew just from the crop-top haircut, the mustache, and the “don’t fuck with me” attitude the man exuded. He wasn’t quite as big as Chris--nobody was as big as Chris--but he was close.
“Can I help you, officer?”
“Yeah, you can put that out.”
Greg inhaled deeply and exhaled skyward, although he was sure the cop caught a whiff of his defiance if nothing else. “We’re outside and weed is legal. How can I help you?”
This didn’t do anything to improve the cop’s mood. “Detective Thompson. I’m investigating a string of disappearances. My partner is at your retail location where several people were last seen before going missing. I’d like to see your operation and what exactly it is you’re selling.”
“You got a warrant?” Greg asked with a flick of his spliff.
“No, but I can very easily get one.”
Greg stood there for a few moments, thinking. He couldn’t call Ray for advice if another cop was at the store, so he had to handle this on his own. And the only way he knew how to handle it might get them into even worse trouble than they already were.
“That won’t be necessary, officer Thompson,” Greg replied as Chris grabbed the detective from behind. Chris could be surprisingly light-footed for a man his size, and his immense strength meant he could move an entire truckload of weed on his own and also place a man almost as large into a full nelson in less time than it takes to blink.
Detective Thompson struggled, sputtered, and spat curses and threats so quickly they almost blended together. Then Greg casually walked up with a big lungful of weed smoke and blew it all in Thompson’s face.
“I’ve got the computers in here,” Ray said over his shoulder. He couldn’t really turn his head far enough or see past his own bulk to observe the detective following him, but he could still feel those accusatory eyes burrowing into the folds at the back of his neck. They entered the back office, stacks of weed and empty boxes all around them, and Ray offered the computer chair in the back corner. It was made to fit a man of his size, making the comparatively lanky officer look like a child playing CEO when he sat down.
“Can you bring up your sales records?” Jennings asked, and Ray complied. Then as the detective began to search through the sheets of sales records, Ray cautiously backed up to the door and closed it as quietly as he could. Jennings was too focused on the data to note the big man’s retreat or the sound of a door clicking shut, but he did notice the smell as Ray took out the lighter he’d been hiding and lit an almost comically large spliff.
“What the hell are you doing? You can’t smoke in here!” Jennings immediately got up and stormed up to the fat weed dealer, but Ray’s enormous bulk completely blocked the door. Smoke filled the room, and even as Jennings feebly attempted to forcibly remove Ray, his head started swimming from the lack of oxygen.
“Sorry officer, but I don’t think I can let you leave just yet,” Ray said before exhaling another gigantic plume of smoke. The office was well and truly hot-boxed, making Jennings so dizzy he’d collapsed onto Ray’s jutting stomach. Ray felt something hard poking into him, and he hoped it wasn’t the cop’s gun.
Ray pushed the cop backward and was relieved to see it wasn’t a gun--it was the detective’s hardon, already straining against slacks that were rapidly becoming too small for the monster they were attempting to restrain. The lanky officer must have already been packing heat, Ray surmised, as the man’s zipper finally failed and unleashed a thicky, uncut cock into the smoke-laden air.
“Well officer, I can certainly help you with that…” Ray trailed off before dropping to his knees, his belly hitting the cold linoleum first with a loud “plap.” Ray helpfully tore the detective’s crotch completely to allow his swelling balls to drop halfway to his knees before bringing his hands to the shaft and squeezing so his head turned a shiny, desperate purple.
“What’s happening…” was all detective Jennings could say as he felt the fat man’s lips wrap around his enlarging member, his thick tongue dancing down his entire length in ways no man or woman had ever done. It was so good he forgot why he’d even come to this place to begin with, but he was she glad he did.
Greg knew that just one puff wasn’t enough to subdue a man like detective Thompson, but it was enough to get him to calm down and stop shouting. So the dealer inhaled again, this time bringing his face right up to Thompson’s, before diving in to cover the man’s lips with his own. The exhalation this time went straight into Thompson’s lungs, with an immediate effect.
Thompson’s entire body went slack as the smoke filled him. The invasion felt like a fire in his chest that quickly burned to every corner of his body before reconciling in his groin. A heat unlike any he’d felt before, burning with desire so fiercely that he could already feel himself hardening, his long cock snaking down his slacks to form an obvious bulge.
Surprising Greg, Thompson began to push back into his embrace, even thrusting his tongue into Greg’s mouth. In moments, the two were making out like high schoolers beneath the bleachers while Chris held the suddenly horny detective back not from fear of an assault, but for fear the two would just start fucking on the pavement.
Instead, Chris hauled the pliant cop bodily into the truck. Greg followed, wiping his lips with the back of his hand as he shut the truck’s door behind him.
Jennings didn’t know what was going on anymore. All he knew was that he was getting the best blowjob of his life and that he wanted more. So much more.
The lanky officer grabbed the fat man’s head with both hands and began to thrust. Noting the change in action, Ray let his throat go slack so that the giant fuckstick could slide down as far as it pleased. A complete lack of a gag reflex and frequent practice with Greg made the cop’s cock go down easy, and it had been so long since he’d had a good face-fucking.
At first, the thrusts were wild, chaotic, but soon they began to follow a deliberate rhythm, and as they did, each thrust became more forceful than the last. Detective Jennings wasn’t the sort of cop to just go with the flow--he was a take-charge kind of guy. And when he fucked, he definitely took charge.
The hands grabbing Ray’s fat cheeks tightened at first before they started stretching his skin. Not from the pulling or pushing, but from the fingers themselves growing rapidly further apart as the detective grew a pair of bear mitts. Fingers and thumbs thickened as the muscles they were attached to grew, flowing up into powerful arms that had spent decades in the gym and hauling perps off the street. Jenning’s suit arms burst open, exposing hairy, corded musculature that softened slightly as age brought a layer of fat that hid much of the vasculature from his youth.
Age and perhaps a few donuts also gave detective Jennings a powerful gut that jutted beneath pecs straining against a button-down shirt. They didn’t last long, and seconds later the room was filled with the sound of buttons flying off walls and boxes as the detective’s attire went from shirt to vest. Ray couldn’t see past the cock that filled his mouth, but the white fabric that coated Jennings was turning dark and leathery, while the officer’s pants became tight and pleated.
The force of each thrust was building now, Ray could tell, and not just due to the increased strength of Jennings’ musculature. That power was from desperation. He was getting close. But Ray knew that officer Jennings couldn’t just come from a skillful blowjob--he needed to own a bitch’s mouth.
“Aw yeah, you fat fuck, you got the best fuckin’ mouth in this whole city,” Jennings grunted, the first words he’d said since being blown into a giant bear of a man. The city barely tolerated how tight he wore the uniform and how he augmented it with a leather vest, but there was no denying officer Jennings’ commanding presence.
“I’m gonna come down your fat fucking throat,” Jennings’ said, although it was hardly enough warning. The flood that came out of the officer’s dick was unlike anything Ray had ever endured. He choked, cum filled his gullet and came out his nose. It practically filled his sinuses, and Ray knew he’d be blowing this man’s jizz into a hankie for a week. Just in time for officer Jennings to come by the following weekend for another bribe.
Jennings released Ray’s head and took a long step back, his huge cock making the lewdest of sounds as it was removed from Ray’s throat. The fat man crumpled to the ground in a puddle of the officer’s cum. Jennings did his best to step around the obese weed seller--he didn’t want to get any cum on his shiny boots.
Just as Jennings was about to open the door, he turned and said, “I like you, Ray, but you’re going to have to keep this to yourself. I dunno how much longer I can keep the city off your case.” Then he opened the door and lumbered back into the streets.
By the time Greg entered the cargo truck, Chris and detective Thompson were already well into their makeout session. Thompson had already taken off his coat and Chris was busily unbuckling the detective’s belt. His bulge didn’t seem quite as big as Greg’s, but it seemed more than enough to satisfy Chris.
For a veritable giant of a man, Chris could move faster than anyone Greg had ever seen. He deftly had both the detective’s and his own belts undone within moments. A few moments more, a massive “thunk” could be heard as Chris’s heavy jeans dropped to the floor, followed closely by the lesser clanking of the cop’s.
In the dim light of the truck, Thompson’s rod was long, straight, and eagerly awaiting whatever was to come next. It didn’t have to wait long. Chris practically tackled the detective into a pile of plastic bags filled with weed, sliding the long rod of the law into his dripping man-pussy in a single thrust.
Greg leered and took a long draw from his spliff as the two began their lovemaking in earnest. The truck was soon filled with the combined scents of fucking and marijuana--both from the lit reefer and the raw product that was being strewn about as bags tore open beneath the rutting pair. Greg saw the growing mess and realized he had to get these two to wrap things up soon or he’d have to throw away an entire truckload of product.
“Hey pig, glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Greg taunted, “but it’s time you went back to scarfing down donuts.”
Thompson wasn’t really listening, but one word managed to make its way through the rough and tumble sex he was thoroughly enjoying: donuts. He loved the things, ever since he’d joined the force. Some say he became a cop specifically to fulfill the donut-eating stereotype. Not even a year on the job and he’d already put on almost a 100 pounds. He’d almost gotten too large to be on assignment, but his muscle-bound partner Jennings had managed to pull a few strings to check out a warehouse on a missing person’s case.
As new memories flooded into Thompson’s mind, Chris noticed a significant change in the pace of their fucking. The strong, powerful thrusts became weaker, shallower, the big dick plumbing his depths so satisfyingly a moment ago suddenly wasn’t. Meanwhile, the detective’s once-powerful build was suddenly billowing outward, going from taught muscle to slovenly flab in seconds. Soon, the detective’s belly grew big enough that it was becoming a real obstacle to sex.
Grunting with frustration, Chris clambered over the suddenly obese cop and straddled his face, presenting the detective with the manliest muff he’d ever seen. Thomspon’s enormous man-tits had become the perfect perch to use his chubby cheeks like a human massage wand, and Chris ground his cooch into the detective’s face with as much force as he’d previously fucked his genitals.
Greg sighed, seeing this wasn’t going to end until the gigantic trans man had finally gotten off. Judging by the detective’s now rather pathetic wang and obstructive anatomy, Chris was getting there the only means left available to him. Greg knew that he needed to step in, so he unzipped his pants, hauled out his own impressive organ, and drew his spliff down to a roach. Then, he walked up to the obese cop, lifted his legs over his shoulders, and thrust his nearly foot-long dong home.
Thompson screamed. He screamed right into Chris’s muff, which finally got the big man to cum. He drenched the detective’s face in fluid, grunting like a pig in mud, before finally leaning down to lick his own cum off the fat cop’s face.
Greg wouldn’t let a good hole go to waste, though, and he was horny enough just watching the spectacle unfold before him. A few thrusts and he grunted his own orgasm into the chubby cop, who groaned as the massive dong removed what little space still existed in his bowels. A few moments to catch his breath, and then Greg withdrew, leaving a thoroughly ruined officer beside bags upon bags of weed.
It took a few minutes to haul Thompson out of the truck, get him cleaned up, and stuffed back into his uniform. His belly and tits were hanging out as if he’d just been through a hurricane, his eyes were bloodshot, and even his flabby gut couldn’t entirely hide his unresolved boner, but he’d at least pass as a mall cop for the time being. Until Jennings could come by and take his useless partner back to the precinct.
Well, not entirely useless, Greg thought, pinching the chubby cop's ass. Thompson just giggled and winked.
