Max Reynard | Morphelio

Product Description

As punishment for stealing food from a man of nobility, the criminal is sentenced to a public display inside the lard chamber, from which he’ll emerge as a round butterball.

Eric shuffled forward as his captor prodded him from behind. Clasped in irons, bare feet stepping against little pebbles scattered over planks of wood. A crowd of men, whipped into a frenzied chorus, threw their fists into the air and cheered for his arrival to the tank.

There was a stage, to bring these shows into the air, where the townsmen could watch in angry amusement. Center to the stage was a cylindrical tank of steel and glass, with modifications made to suit its purpose. A man dressed in all black, face cloaked, directed him to enter the tube, shoving roughly as his only response to Eric’s whimper of protest.

Before the door was secured, Eric was made to sit on the metal stool inside, then the man pulled Eric’s hands and feet out through their respective holes in the tank and tightened the portals around his wrists and ankles. The attachment in the seat of the stool dislodged from its casing, tearing open a hole in the inseam of Eric’s trousers, and worming its past nervously sweaty cheeks.

A grimace, a squirt and a squeaky grunt, then the probe entered Eric’s hole and traversed his bowels until it was deep inside of him. Eric’s crimes of breaking and entering, and of food theft, from the lord of the kingdom no less, were announced to a crowd who could not hear the words over their voracious calls for justice. The cloaked man flipped the handle of a large switch, connecting the tube in Eric’s ass to an 80-gallon chamber that was perched on supports from above the stage tank.

Pure, unfiltered, and undiluted, lard began to flow down the tube, entering Eric’s guts and finding its new home.

Grimacing, grunting, sweating profusely, Eric squirmed in his bondage, feeling hot lard pour into him with rapidity. His guts were quickly filled and began expanding into his lap, a massive bloat. Inside the tank, his cries for mercy against the fattening were muted, and the crowd was cheering too loudly to listen.

His bloated gut jostled about, now, violently, and the next stage was commencing. The skin of his belly blushed red, turgid with pressure, and the lard drained into his bloodstream as it continued ballooning his stomach larger. The taught ball of his gut grew a blubbery flat tire, which blebbed out and oozed over this lap, and towards his hips as love handles. His nipples lifted forward, projected forward by fat, which filled his chest, dragging each nipple down and out towards his armpits, before each pectoral started swelling rounder. His hips softened and widened, taking up more of the stool, ass cheeks growing bigger, rounder, sweatier, expanding and swallowing up the edge of the seat. His arms and legs next swelled, rolls of fat and soft blubber obscuring any former shapes of muscles. Even his hands and feet were not spared, as his neck thickened, jaw puffed out, extra chins blossoming, face filling in and rounding out.

The lard continued its pummeling assault. Continuing to fill, stretch and expand him as it converted and became newly his. His body grew increasingly round and doughy, no longer recognizable. Stretch marks traversing his skin. His fat body was becoming nearly spherical and swallowing up his limbs and neck, as the plump mass slammed against the glass walls of the chamber. Straining the metal with a loud creak. Nearly exploding him …

Then the cloaked man flipped back the switch, sealing off the lard, which had just about emptied anyway, and released the clasps of metal holding the tank closed. With a slimy burst, fattened flesh sprung out from the opening and bounced like gelatin. A scream like an exaggerated orgasm rang out and a stream of lard gushed out from the tank, being spewed out from Eric’s cock and asshole.

The restraints around Eric’s ankles and wrists were loosened and the man in black reached his hands inside. Wormed them between Eric’s sweaty padding and the glass tank, until he could get enough of a grip to begin yanking. His immense muscle and size becoming necessary as he worked on un-wedging Eric, until he finally popped out like a cork and landed as a wet mess, sprawled out on the ground, groaning.

With his punishment completed, a handful of men helped Eric to his feet and walked him offstage. He was now to live out his life as a fat, round, lard boy who needed to waddle wildly on fat, giant feet, with bubbling guts and vicious gas.

The Lard Chamber | Audio on Max Reynard Tube