Hungry Himbo (Patreon)

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Joan was absurdly muscular the first time he stepped onto the talk show stage, so enormous that people instinctively laughed before they could even process what they were seeing. At 5’11” tall, his height barely mattered anymore because everything else about him had expanded so far beyond normal proportions that he seemed to exist beyond what a human could achieve in a lifetime.

His pecs were two immense slabs of muscle that pushed forward, so ridiculously heavy and dense that every shift of his stance made them bounce and settle again. His arms hung at his sides like massive tree trunks, obviously not only built to perform but seemingly capable of carrying something far greater than a man should ever need to support.

Even then, standing there, wearing a tiny pink thong—which would’ve been enormous on anyone else—Joan looked like he weighed close to 1000 pounds, which wasn’t far from reality, his body packed so tightly with exaggerated muscle that it felt less like flesh and more like something engineered.

“And you’re saying this isn’t your max size?” the host asked.

Joan grinned, posing to tease the host and the audience. “Nah, not even close.” He flexed harder, shifting his stance to make his massive pecs and heavy bulge bounce. “Give me a couple of months and invite me back. I’ll show you some progress.” He was completely unfazed because he was convinced that he wasn’t even close to reaching his limit.

In the days following the show, Joan’s life continued—he woke up and stretched, feeling his joints popping loudly under his enormous mass, and immediately felt hungry. It wasn’t a casual hunger; it was so consuming that he felt like his body had burned through everything he had eaten the day before and was impatiently asking for more. He didn’t question it, only shrugged to himself, smiled, and made food—a lot of food.

Breakfast stopped being a meal and became a whole feast—plates stacked on plates, and portions that would have been unreasonable for an entire group disappeared in minutes. He ate without breaks, almost absentmindedly, as if it were another part of his routine.

He’d sit there afterward, blinking and rubbing his overfilled stomach. “Huh… I’m still kinda hungry,” he’d say, and within minutes, he’d be eating again.

His training matched the hunger, probably escalating even faster. The gym that already barely accommodated him felt too small, the equipment too light, and the space too narrow. His muscles weren’t only growing—they were thickening, compacting, and becoming so much denser that each flex looked heavier than the last. His pecs pushed further outward, making it even more impossible for him to find clothes to cover them—not that he even tried to. His arms swelled between sessions, gaining mass and girth at a ridiculous speed.

Two weeks in, he stepped on a scale out of curiosity. The scale struggled for a moment before displaying the final number. “1,347”

Joan tilted his head, processing the number. “I guess I put on a little,” he said to himself casually, as if talking about a few extra pounds instead of over 300 pounds. He flexed one arm experimentally, watching the muscle swell under his skin. “Yeah, looks bigger. But not enough.”

Anyone else would’ve been more than pleased with such a massive gain in just two weeks, but for Joan it was only a reason to keep pushing himself even more and aim for a real gain. He started eating even more and worked out longer and harder. His life only consisted of the things he had to do to get bigger.

By the end of the first month, the changes stopped being subtle. His body had begun adapting even more to his new routine. His shoulders broadened, the distance between them increasing as if his skeleton itself were stretching to keep up. His chest was so heavy that it forced his posture to adjust, and his back thickened in response to keep him balanced. His hips widened, spreading his stance as his legs spread to support the increasing load.

His thighs were a lot thicker, looking like massive trunks of muscle that worked overtime to carry his immense mass around. They brushed together so firmly that it was impossible for him to walk normally. Every step was slow and had a sway to it, but Joan never seemed bothered. If anything, he looked comfortable—even eager, as if his body knew what it was doing.

His stomach expanded well, but not like most people would expect from the overeating—it wasn’t soft or loose. His abdomen looked permanently full, rounded, and taut at the front of him, stretched outward by the amount of food he was consuming daily. It shifted slightly when he moved, like a reminder that his appetite was scaling as fast as everything else. He also noticed how the thicker core helped him carry his upper body.

“Man, I eat so much now,” he said one afternoon, staring down at himself as he rested between sets. “That’s kinda cool.” He grabbed another protein shake—one of many—and kept going as if the only thing that mattered was getting bigger.

The second month was when things started to feel different, a lot more intense. The hunger wasn’t only physical anymore—it took over his whole life. It never faded, always nudging him toward the next meal, the next workout, and the next opportunity to push himself further. His thoughts, already simple to start with, became even more streamlined: hungry, eat, train, grow, and repeat. He liked the simplicity, and it made sense. It felt right.

Every session in the gym became longer, not because he was pushing himself harder, but because he could. His recovery was almost immediate. Muscles that should have been fatigued bounced back within minutes, ready for more. He added sets without thinking about it, then added more weight, then more reps, all while maintaining that same easygoing grin.

By six weeks, he had passed 2,000 pounds. He laughed when he saw the number. “Whoa, okay, that’s kinda big,” he admitted, scratching his head. But even then, there was no sense of achievement. He flexed again, watching how his muscles pushed forward even more. “Yeah, definitely working. But it’s time to stop playing.”

His body kept adapting. His legs thickened further, and his calves swelled to match the size of his calves. His back broadened again, layering more muscle to support the immense weight of his front. His stomach pushed outward more noticeably with a permanent fullness that made his silhouette even more exaggerated and imposing.

Still, Joan felt light. “Dunno why people keep saying I’m huge,” he said to a friend one day, shrugging his enormous shoulders. “Feels pretty normal.”

His mindset locked on one single thing: getting as huge as possible to go back to the talk show and show the host some progress—not necessarily his final size, though.

Two months after the show, the host introduced Joan again as the audience held their breath for a moment before the backstage doors opened. For a second, nothing happened, and then two guys from the staff had to run and push the doors aside, beyond what they usually gaped at on their own. There was a heavy creak that echoed through the studio, followed by a deep, rhythmic thud, then another, and another, each one slightly stronger than the last, as if distant impacts were getting closer.

The audience got quiet without being told to. The floor trembled slightly all over the studio. A few people laughed nervously, then froze when they saw Joan walking—kind of—onto the stage. Joan’s frame was beyond overwhelming, taking over the whole space as he came forward, swaying from side to side as his thickness didn’t allow him to move straight. He was only wearing the same kind of tiny thong from a couple of months ago—which somehow looked even smaller despite being as huge as a circus tent.

He was still 5’11” tall, which would’ve looked average if not surrounded by hills upon hills of immense muscle. He weighed a bit over 3,000 pounds of dense muscle, which moved dramatically with every step he took. He was so enormous that the whole studio shook when his feet landed on the ground. The boards creaked in protest, seemingly on the verge of breaking if he moved too fast. The whole place was not designed to hold so much mass in one spot.

People had to look at him in phases because there was too much body to process it all at once. His legs had grown far beyond pillars and looked more like structural supports, enormous columns of muscle that spread outward from his hips before tightening again toward his knees. His thighs were so thick that they pressed heavily against each other even as he walked, and each step forced them apart with visible effort before they settled back together. His calves also bulged outward in overdeveloped shapes that looked like they could anchor him to the ground if they wanted to.

Above that, his hips had widened enough to support everything else, giving his stance a natural spread. Behind him, his ass had grown to ridiculous proportions. It looked like a pair of overinflated beach balls that swayed and bounced hypnotically as he moved. The tiny thong disappeared between the perfectly rounded globes, making the sight even more impressive and making some people in the audience gasp.

His abdomen projected forward with such roundness that it was impressive even with his overall proportions. It was heavy, full, and firm, designed to help him support his upper body. His belly shifted slightly with every step he took, not jiggling but settling after so much motion. It was the clear result of everything he had been eating, every day, every hour, feeding the machine his body had become.

Then there was his absurd chest. His pecs had grown to a size that felt unreal, far bigger than overinflated yoga balls and packed to the limit with muscle. They hung heavy but controlled, pressing down on his belly and bouncing beautifully when he moved. When he breathed, they lifted; when he stepped, they settled; and when he stopped walking, they gave one last bounce that made the whole world around him stop.

His arms had followed suit, swelling into exaggerated tree-trunk structures, too large to belong to a human frame. His biceps rose high even at rest, pressing outward against his chest, while his forearms had become dense masses that made his hands look small by comparison.

And below it all, the thong strained to contain everything it was supposed to cover. The fabric looked painted on, pulled so tight it had a glossy sheen under the lights. Every step forced the material to shift and readjust against his enormous balls and immense cock. There was a downward pull to it, tugging at the thin straps and drawing the eye because it didn’t behave like anything people were used to seeing.

As he walked, his massive bulge dragged on the ground, making his steps feel slower and more dramatic. Each of his balls was as big as his chest, and his 8-foot-long cock made the fabric strain to the limit even at rest. The thong wasn’t really containing anything anymore—it was holding on, stretched to its absolute limit, outlining everything so much that the audience could barely breathe while looking at it.

After a long silence, the entire studio finally reacted with gasps, laughter, applause, and a wave of noise as people tried to process what they were seeing.

The host stared in shock. “Okay,” he said after a second, blinking, clearly trying to reset his brain. “Okay, you—you weren’t kidding.”

Joan grinned, like none of this was unusual. Even then, his body was so immense that breathing made his whole upper body rise and fall. “Told you I’d make progress,” he said with the same easygoing and casual voice.

He flexed, and the whole stage trembled even more. His arms rose, and every thick muscle tightened as they lifted. His pecs expanded outward, pushing even further forward, almost pushing against the host, who was standing several feet away. Veins traced across the surface, emphasizing how dense everything had become.

The audience burst into cheers, laughter, and disbelief. Every flex looked incredibly heavy as thousands of pounds of muscle shifted only because he decided to show it off. Joan held the pose for a second, then relaxed, letting every enormous muscle settle again.

“Nice,” he said to himself, nodding slightly.

“People, I don’t even know what else to say,” the host said, shaking his head in disbelief. “So let’s just move into a fun part that Joan had suggested,” he said, looking at the camera, struggling to keep his eyes off the immense body right there. “A food challenge.”

Within seconds, the staff had brought several tables, filling them with enough food to feed a whole town. Joan only smiled at it, posed some more for the audience, and then started going through the food as if it were a mild lunch. Plate after plate disappeared as he ate, barely slowing down to chew.

The more he ate, the fuller his whole body looked as his abdomen pushed outward even more, stretching further, and rounding even more prominently as he kept going. The audience watched in disbelief as what should have been excessive barely registered as effort for him.

When he finally finished, he leaned back, resting his hands against his overpacked stomach. “Pretty good,” he said, sounding satisfied—at least for a while.

Then, without thinking, driven by instinct, he stood again. The stage creaked under the shift of weight, and he flexed harder this time. His chest tightened, his arms swelled as he brought them up, and his legs tensed beneath him. He knew his body was built to show off the mass he had gained so far.

The thought made him smirk, and his massive cock stirred in his thong, making it creak. The fabric strained even more, dangerously close to ripping as the whole bulge expanded within seconds, responding to Joan’s sudden horniness. Everybody could see the outline of the massive cock getting bigger, thicker, and pushing forward even more.

The audience froze for a second, then erupted with laughter, cheering, and a few shocked shouts. The cameras shifted to show the growing bulge from different angles, and the host laughed—panicked but excited.

Meanwhile, Joan held the pose for a second before relaxing again. He blinked and looked around, confused because his constant arousal felt natural to him. “What?” he asked, completely innocent, and the laugh only got louder. People were already looking forward to having a third interview with the massive hungry himbo.

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PS. Plot submitted by a Support-tier member as part of the tier's benefits. Scenario based on a muscle morph I did of Joan Pradells.