Sacha was 22 years old, 1m75 and exactly 60 kilos when he set down his suitcases in his small studio in the 20th arrondissement. Originally from a Breton village where everyone knew him as “the cute little guy who works out,” he had just gotten his diploma and his first real permanent contract in a Parisian com’ agency. He was hot: slim but defined shoulders, flat stomach with a slight line of abs when he stood straight, firm ass and thighs muscled by years in the gym. His messy brown hair, green eyes and light stubble gave him the irresistible look of a country twink. Guys liked him, and he knew it.
At the beginning, everything was perfect. He got up at 7am, did 45 minutes of weight training before work, prepared his evening meals (chicken, rice, broccoli). In the evening, he came home exhausted but proud. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, ran his hand over his flat stomach and smiled. “I’m good like this.”
But the job… it was something else. Way too much work. Impossible deadlines, endless meetings, demanding clients. Very quickly, the gym became an option. “Tomorrow I’ll catch up,” he told himself. Except tomorrow never came.
Stage 1 – 65 kg (two months after his arrival)
The first kilos arrived almost without him noticing. He had replaced his home-cooked meals with supermarket ready meals: lasagnas, burgers, curry rice… No more time to cook. In the evening, when he got home at 9pm, he collapsed on the couch with a beer and a microwave meal. He also went out more with his new Parisian friends: two or three drinks after work, kebabs on the way back.
One evening, in front of the mirror after the shower, he noticed the difference. His stomach, once perfectly flat, had taken on a small soft roundness. When he contracted his abs, they were still visible… but barely. He put his hand on it and pressed gently. The flesh gave a little, soft and warm. A weird shiver ran through him.
“Fuck… I’ve got a belly,” he murmured.
His cock hardened slightly in his boxer briefs. He stroked himself slowly, feeling this new little layer of fat under his fingers. He wasn’t as lean anymore. And it did… something to him.
Stage 2 – 70 kg (five months after his arrival)
The gym had become a distant memory. Work had taken over everything. Sacha now ate almost exclusively quick stuff: McDonald’s at lunch, ready meals in the evening, and often one or two beers when he got home to unwind. He had discovered Uber Eats deliveries at 11pm.
His body was clearly changing. The extra 10 kilos had settled everywhere, but especially on his stomach. A real little belly was starting to show, round and soft. When he put on his favorite black t-shirt, the fabric pulled slightly over his stomach. Sitting at his desk, he felt his belly pressing against the waistband of his jeans. In the evening, he looked at himself in the mirror, lifted his top and caressed this new belly. It was warm, supple, and when he shook it gently, it jiggled.
He was getting hard now when he touched himself. He spent minutes kneading his belly, feeling the new fat under his skin. “I’m gaining weight… and I can’t stop.”
Stage 3 – 75 kg (one year after his arrival – the promotion)
The promotion came. More responsibilities, more money… and even less time. Sacha now spent his days rushing between meetings and eating on the go: kebabs, pizzas, burgers, sodas. In the evening, he came home exhausted and often ordered two dishes at once. Beer became daily: four or five cans to “de-stress.”
His body had completely changed. At 76 kg, he had a real fat belly that spilled over his belt. His pecs had swollen into two soft, sensitive little breasts. His thighs rubbed when he walked. In the morning, when putting on his jeans, he had to jump a bit to pull them up over his wider hips.
In front of the mirror, he could no longer deny it. He lifted his t-shirt, took his belly in both hands and weighed it. It was heavy, soft, warm. When he let go, it bounced. He slipped a hand underneath, felt the stretched and fatty skin, and moaned as he stroked himself slowly. “Look at yourself… you’re turning into a fat little Parisian gay guy.”
Stage 4 – 80 kg (one and a half years after his arrival)
The cycle was in motion. Sacha no longer did any sport. He ate anything quick and caloric. His belly had become huge: a big round gut that rested on his thighs when he sat down. His moobs were clearly visible under his t-shirts, heavy and jiggly. His arms and thighs were thick, covered with a layer of soft fat.
He had gotten into the habit of stroking his belly for a long time in the evening, naked in front of the mirror. He shook it, kneaded it, made it overflow between his fingers. He loved feeling how soft, heavy, full it was. His cock, buried under the fat of his pubis, hardened as soon as he touched his belly.
Stage 5 – 88 kg (two and a half years after his arrival)
Sacha now weighed 88 kilos. He walked more slowly, his huge belly swaying with every step. His fat breasts rested on his gut. He wore XL t-shirts that struggled to contain his body. He had gotten into the habit of coming home, taking off his top and staying in his boxer briefs, his big hanging heavy belly on display.
He touched himself every evening. He loved feeling the fat roll under his fingers, the weight of his belly that weighed him down. He imagined how much more he could still gain.
Final stage – 95 kg (three years after his arrival)
Today, Sacha weighs 95 kilos. He has become a big Parisian bear, huge belly, heavy breasts, enormous thighs that constantly rub together. He kept his job (people had gotten used to his body), but he has completely accepted his new life.
In the evening, he comes home, takes off his t-shirt and stands in front of the mirror. He takes his enormous belly in both hands, lifts it, lets it fall with a soft slap. He caresses it for a long time, shakes it, kneads it. His fat is everywhere: on his love handles, his hips, his massive ass. He has become exactly what he didn’t dare dream of: a big, fat, soft guy and terribly turned on by his own body.
He strokes slowly, one hand on his huge belly, the other on his cock buried under the fat, moaning:
“Fuck… look at what I’ve become…”
blakekathryn
theartofmadeline
turnnoffyourmind
izzy806
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germansingergirl
