This choice: Hank doesn't notice anything wrong, and continues to gorge frequently. • Go Back...Chapter #6Hungerstruck by: Unknown The next morning, Hank woke and stretched out the sleep from his limbs. Scratching at his soft gut, he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so... heavily! Admittedly, he'd eaten quite a bit the previous night. After his enormous lunch, he'd managed to hold off any lingering hunger-pangs until dinner with the others, where he'd actually managed to kill several conversations with his enthusiastic glutting of Jean's amazing beef stew and mashed potatoes. By the time he'd finished off his fifth helping, quite a few of his friends were openly staring, their own first servings forgotten. Scott even absently passed Hank his bowl when asked if he was going to finish it. After a satisfied but stifled belch, Hank left the table visibly thicker around the middle than when he'd sat down, belly pushing down against his waistband, sides and rump bulging under the blue fur. But even that hadn't completely sated him, and just a few hours later he'd snuck back to the kitchen for a midnight snack. The empty gallon of ice cream lay on his floor, now, and he stooped down to pick it up, barely registering how his stomach rolled over his waistband with added weight.
He regarded himself in his full-length mirror for a bit as he brushed out his fur, and smiled. He felt... good! It was difficult to explain why, even as the brush passed over his soft blue gut. Maybe he'd had a particularly nice dream? He vaguely recalled something about a gingerbread house, and a kindly old woman... or maybe it had been about discovering the world's largest Twinkie? Either way, he felt eager to start the day, and the only way to do that was with a hearty breakfast! Perhaps Kitty would be making waffles again...
---
As the days went on, each meal Hank ate was just as large, if not larger, than the last. Something deep inside him had decided it could not be satisfied until his belly was achingly full, and so he stuffed himself on three or four large meals a day, and even though he would snack in between and sneak a large midnight morsel, he still felt hungry. The growling of his stomach distracted him from his work, until most of his time in the lab was spent indulging on his hidden stockpile of Twinkies while making excuses about why he'd have to skip the latest training session, or else daydreaming about his next meal. It was only every now and then during an increasingly rare moment of sated lucidity that he recognized how ridiculously tight his clothes were getting, how laughably large his stomach was growing, our how embarassingly snug his chair was becoming. And along with these alarming realizations, he would again grow concerned about Dukes' oddly docile captivity down in the holding cells. The Brotherhood hadn't even attempted a rescue as far as he knew. Maybe once the Professor returned from his visit to the Shi-ar Empire, they would get some real answers... but these concerns would always quickly pass as soon as his stomach growled again, and he'd return once more to his ever greater indulgences.
---
And so it was after a very full week of glutting on a truly epic scale that Hank found himself lumbering to the kitchen for his next meal. His clothes had finally decided that they were much too small (likely just a mishap with the washing machine) and he was forced to wear his snug modesty briefs, with his labcoat pulling tight over his thick arms and across his broad backside. His bared belly bounced and wobbled with every lumbering step, his gait dangerously close to becoming an outright waddle, causing his softened chest and double chin to jiggle a bit as well. His teammates stepped aside, stunned by how large Hank had become in just a week. Was this some sort of new mutation? He certainly didn't seem concerned about it... How could he not notice how he'd practically doubled his weight in so little time?
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