“Pa-pawpa!” Declin sputtered, sending gobs of frothy gainer shake flying. It oozed about his chins and down his curvaceous cheeks – his papa had been feeding him right and good for the past four hours straight. “A-ah! Paaaawpa!” he gasped. His fat, stubby tapir snout and fat cheeks shook as his body mass shuddered – all thirteen thousand pounds of it. The fatass tapir hog was land-locked in his own body – he was a true specimen, a blatant homage to gluttony itself. His wobbling gut sat like a bloated sack, big enough to fill a sizable pool with his flab. His ass was similarly massive, but divided into two huge mounds topped with the bean bag-sized dollop of fat his tail had become; its only recognizable trait was some fur sticking out of a central divot. His useless limbs were stretched wide apart, as though he'd been mid jumping-jack before being suddenly enclosed in tons upon tons of cumbersome lard. They were bloated and buried in rings of encircling fat. His entire, disgustingly obese form shook and shuddered under a repeated and phsysical assault from his adopted father. Liam was a sick and twisted fuck – from the word go, pretty much immediately following the signing of the adoption papers, he'd spent the past three years cramming every scrap of food down his new son's throat. The young tapir – now well into teen years, though unrecognizably so – was his personal outlet for a series of devious and disgusting urges Liam had been dreaming to enact since his own teen years. Liam was an elephant, and as far as he was concerned an elephant should be fucking massive. Life got in the way of his own gainer career, what with responsibilities and all that insufferable trash. However, as he got older he realized that he could have his cake and eat it too; with another person, a proxy, he could get off morning and night and still make his afternoon meetings without so much as a single, judgmental sideways glance. And so he started window-shopping for a willing such someone he could stuff massive and do with as he pleased. Declin was no elephant, but with his cute little tapir snout he'd do just as well. And had Liam not fed the little pig into a massive, elephantine lardass anyway? Yes, he had. Liam stood in his four-car garage (the big doors of which he'd long since sealed shut), his gray-skinned ankles swallowed in tapir-flab, his shorts on the floor and his sweat stained tank-top rolled up to his chest, and repeatedly speared his gigantic fucking cyclopean meat-log of a cock into his kid's sunken and silky guthole. “Puh-PAAAAWPA!I” Declin shrieked, his voice dripping with ecstasy as gallons of sweat sluiced off his mountainous topology in sheets. His papa released his jiggling boy breast from a vicious jaw-grip, and his humongous grapefruit-sized nipple slipped from the elephant's lips with a slick pop. “You like that, pup? You like it when your papa sucks your tits into his mouth?” The elephant never stopped jackhammering his son's belly-button, his hips slapping against that unmovable yet wobbling wall of fat in a desperate tattoo. Declin was distraught. He looked down at his papa now (Because hadn't he become so massive that the core of his body had elevated? Didn't his head now rest less than three feet from the ceiling?), his face squashed and buried in his chins, his voice muffled. “Puh-puh-Pawpa, please!” he gasped into his own face-fat. “You desperate slut!” Liam roared, then took the tapir's other breast into his mouth, pulled tit-flesh down until the nipple nudged the back of his throat, abused that tapir tit thoroughly until his boy squealed like the beached whale of a pig he was. Liam shot rope after rope of potent elephant spunk into that gut, and it took several seconds to fill that reservoir of a navel before jizz sprayed out from around his dick like a backed up firehose. He screamed into Declin's moob as he came, Declin clenched his digits the full centimeter they could flex within their imprisoning shrouds of lard, and after nearly a full minute of mutual climax the elephant's entire body slumped in sudden relaxation. They panted together for what felt like hours, though it was only a few moments. “Did... did it take, boy?” “...N-no, papa.” the boy wheezed. “Why not, son? Why ain't you knocked the fuck up yet, eh?” “B-because, papa...” he wheezed. “I-I'm not a girl, papa.” “Not a girl, eh?” Liam asked, and reached up to cup a couch-cushion cheek in his hand. “Then what are you, boy?” “I... I....” “Are you a good boy, Declin?” Declin nodded with sudden enthusiasm, because he knew what came next. “And what do good boys do, Declin?” “Th-they do... as their... papa says, papa....” “Well, yeees... and what else, Declin?” “They squeal lahk a stuffed piggy when their papa wants 'em to, papa....” “True, true.... You know what else they do, don't you Declin?” “Ye-yes, pawpa....” the tapir wheezed, anticipation evident in his shaking voice. His papa climbed up his great tum to whisper directly into his ear, and he said “They EAT, you fatass! They. Fucking. EAT!” And the elephant slammed his mouth against his son's, and did with his tongue to that face what his dick did so often to that belly. When he finally pulled away several minutes later, the both of them exhausted and their faces tied together with sticky strands of saliva, he shoved a thick hose into Declin's mouth and opened the valve. The hose engorged with soft-serve, and the elephant's boy-belly breeding fuckrod engorged for a second time that evening. “EAT!” He howled to the rafters, rattling them with his deep booming voice, and slammed home into that belly button once more. “FUCKING EAT!”