Divorced Dad Lead to Obese Sons - Chapter Two: Whatever You Need
It happened during a perfectly ordinary Tuesday night.
Marcus sat in his recliner, beer in hand, watching Tyler demolish an entire extra-large meat lover's pizza while simultaneously playing Elden Ring. His son had developed an impressive ability to multitask - controller in one hand, pizza slice in the other, barely looking away from the screen as he shoved food into his mouth with mechanical efficiency.
Tyler had given up on wearing real pants at home weeks ago. Now he lived in athletic shorts that had become increasingly strained, the elastic waistband digging into the soft flesh of his belly, creating a distinct muffin top that jiggled every time he shifted position. His t-shirt - an XXL now, though Marcus suspected they'd need to size up again soon - had ridden up to expose several inches of pale, soft stomach.
Marcus watched his son reach for another slice, watched the way his puffy arm jiggled slightly, watched him cram half the slice into his mouth at once. Tyler's cheeks bulged comically as he chewed, a small string of cheese dangling from his lip. He didn't bother wiping it away, too focused on the game.
And that's when Marcus felt it - unmistakable, undeniable arousal.
His cock stirred in his jeans as he watched Tyler swallow, watched his thick throat work, watched him immediately take another massive bite. Marcus stared at his son's soft, round belly, imagining it bigger. Much bigger. Imagining Tyler so fat he could barely move, dependent and helpless and constantly eating...
"Fuck," Marcus muttered, adjusting himself.
"You okay, Dad?" Tyler asked, not looking away from the screen.
"Yeah, buddy. Just... yeah." Marcus got up quickly, heading to his bedroom with a half-hearted excuse about work emails.
He locked the door, sat on his bed, and pulled out his phone with shaking hands. He knew what he was going to search for. He'd been dancing around it for weeks, feeling the wrongness of his fascination, pushing it down. But now...
The results flooded his screen. Stories, forums, videos, before-and-after photos of men who'd gained hundreds of pounds. Feeders and feedees. Gainers. Encouragers. A whole world of people who got off on exactly what Marcus had been doing to his son.
He read testimonials from feeders who talked about the power, the control, the pleasure of watching someone balloon up under their care. Read from gainers who described the bliss of giving in, of eating constantly, of letting their bodies expand without limit.
Marcus's hand was in his pants before he'd even realized it.
He came hard, muffling his moan against his pillow, images of Tyler - bigger, softer, massive - flooding his mind. His son, utterly dependent on him. His son, too fat to leave. His son, eating and eating and eating...
Afterward, lying in the dark, Marcus waited for the guilt to hit. The horror at what he'd just done, what he'd been doing. The realization that he needed to stop this, needed to get Tyler help, needed to be an actual fucking parent.
Instead, he felt clarity. Purpose. He knew what he wanted now. And he knew Tyler - sweet, simple, eager-to-please Tyler - would let him have it.
Marcus got up, cleaned himself off, and started planning.
The cameras arrived two days later. Tiny things, barely visible, with WiFi connectivity and night vision. Marcus installed them while Tyler was passed out in his room - the boy slept like the dead these days, probably exhausted from doing nothing but eating and gaming all day.
One in the bathroom, hidden in the smoke detector. One in the shower, tucked into the ceiling vent. Marcus told himself he just wanted to monitor Tyler's health, track his weight gain. Make sure his son was okay.
That first night, after Tyler had shuffled off to bed around 2 AM, Marcus opened the camera app on his phone with trembling fingers.
The bathroom camera had motion-activated clips from earlier that evening. Marcus clicked on the first one.
Tyler stood in front of the mirror in just his boxers, examining himself. At three months into their arrangement, the changes were dramatic. Tyler had to be pushing 240 pounds now, maybe more. His belly protruded significantly, hanging over his waistband in a soft, rounded mass. His chest had developed into proper man-boobs, nipples pointing slightly downward. His face was cherubic, with a definite double chin and chubby cheeks that made him look younger despite his size.
Marcus watched his son turn to the side, watching his gut stick out. Tyler grabbed it with both hands and lifted it, letting it drop. It jiggled for several seconds. Then Tyler did something that made Marcus's cock instantly hard - he smiled. Not embarrassed, not ashamed. Just... pleased.
"Getting thick," Tyler said to his reflection, voice carrying that same uncomplicated cheer he brought to everything. He jiggled his belly again, laughing. "Mom would fucking freak."
He didn't sound upset about it.
Marcus watched the clip three more times, then moved on to the shower footage.
Tyler had showered that afternoon, and the camera had captured everything. Marcus watched his naked son squeeze into the shower - when had the space started looking small on him? Tyler's ass was huge now, dimpled and round, jiggling as he moved. His thighs rubbed together. His belly hung down, covering his cock when he stood straight.
Marcus watched Tyler wash himself, the boy's pudgy hands soaping up his expanding body. Watched him spend extra time on his belly, rubbing it in circular motions like he was proud of it. Watched water stream down the soft curves of his body.
Marcus came again, right there in his recliner, Tyler's door safely closed down the hall.
Afterward, in the crystalline clarity of post-orgasm, Marcus made his decision. He wasn't going to feel guilty about this. He was going to lean into it. Tyler was happy - happier than he'd ever been with Jennifer and her rules and expectations. And Marcus had never felt more alive than he did watching his son transform into a fat, lazy, dependent blob.
He just needed to accelerate things.
"Hey bud, you ever tried beer?" Marcus asked casually the next Friday night.
They were eating Chinese food - three family-sized entrees for just the two of them, though Tyler would definitely eat most of it. Tyler looked up from his orange chicken, a grain of rice stuck to his chubby cheek.
Tyler's eyes went wide. "Mom said I'm not allowed until I'm twenty-one."
"Well, Mom's not here," Marcus said, popping open a Budweiser. "And you're basically a man now. Figured we could have a guys' night. If you want."
He could see Tyler processing this. The boy wasn't smart, but he knew rule-breaking when he heard it. And Marcus could see the exact moment when Tyler decided that breaking Mom's rules sounded fun.
"I mean... yeah, okay," Tyler said, grinning. "Sure."
Marcus handed him a beer, watching his son take a tentative sip. Tyler's face screwed up. "Ugh. It tastes like... weird."
"You get used to it," Marcus promised. "Try another sip."
By the end of the night, Tyler had put away four beers and was giggling on the couch, stuffed with Chinese food and pleasantly buzzed. Marcus watched him, noting how the alcohol made him even more uninhibited. Tyler kept rubbing his belly, making comments about how full he was, how he felt like he might explode.
"This is awesome, Dad," Tyler slurred slightly. "You're like... the best dad ever. Mom never let me do anything fun."
"Well, you can do whatever you want here," Marcus said. "You know that."
"Yeah..." Tyler's hand was still on his stomach, rubbing slow circles. "Can we do this again?"
"We can do this every night if you want."
Tyler's face lit up. "Sick."
Beer became part of their routine. Marcus started keeping the fridge stocked with it, and Tyler developed a taste for it quickly. The empty calories helped too - a six-pack on top of all the food Tyler was already eating added up fast.
Two weeks later, Marcus pushed further.
"You smoke?" he asked casually, pulling out a pack of Marlboros.
Tyler looked confused. "Cigarettes? Those are like... super bad for you."
"So's all the shit we eat," Marcus said with a shrug. "But we're living our lives, right? Not letting anyone tell us what to do."
He could see Tyler's himbo brain processing this logic and finding it sound. "I guess..."
"You don't have to," Marcus said, lighting one for himself. "Just figured I'd offer. You're old enough to make your own choices."
That was the key phrase - making his own choices. Tyler had spent sixteen years being told what to do by his mother. Being given agency, even if it was to do something objectively stupid, was intoxicating.
Marcus hid his smile. "Sure, buddy."
Tyler coughed through his first cigarette, but by the third one that evening, he was getting the hang of it. Marcus watched his son smoke, watched him drink, watched him eat, and felt a dark satisfaction.
Every vice Tyler picked up was another chain tying him to this life. To this apartment. To Marcus.
The weight piled on faster now. Beer bloat made Tyler's belly even rounder, pushing it out further. The reduced lung capacity from smoking meant even mild exertion left him winded. And Tyler, sweet dumb Tyler, just kept going along with it all, trusting that his dad knew what was best.
Marcus started ordering bigger portions. Multiple entrees for Tyler at every meal. Snacks constantly available. Dessert became mandatory.
"Dad, I'm actually kind of full," Tyler said one night, staring at the second pizza Marcus had ordered just for him.
"Come on, buddy. You've got room." Marcus patted his son's belly - bigger than ever, a round, firm mass that stuck out obscenely. "Don't want to waste food, right?"
Tyler looked at the pizza, then back at his dad. Marcus could see him struggling with the fullness, the discomfort... and then giving in. Because that's what Tyler did. He gave in.
"Yeah, okay," Tyler said, reaching for another slice.
Marcus watched every bite, his cock hardening in his pants. He was getting bolder about it too, not even trying to hide his interest. Sometimes he'd walk by and grab Tyler's belly, giving it a good shake. Or he'd pat Tyler's ass when the boy bent over. Tyler never objected, probably thought it was just guy stuff, roughhousing.
The innocent acceptance made it even hotter.
At night, Marcus would review the camera footage obsessively. Tyler's showers became his favorite content - watching his son's body expand week by week, watching new rolls form, watching Tyler's movements get slower and heavier. The boy had started sitting down in the shower sometimes, too tired or too big to stand for long.
Marcus had hours of footage now. Tyler examining his growing gut in the mirror. Tyler struggling to tie his shoes. Tyler eating in his room, surrounded by wrappers, shoveling food in with both hands while watching videos on his phone.
One clip showed Tyler trying on his old football jersey. He'd found it in a box of his stuff and apparently decided to try it on for fun. Marcus watched his son struggle to pull it over his head, watched it get stuck on his wider frame. When Tyler finally got it on, it looked obscene - riding up to expose his entire belly, stretched so tight across his chest that the numbers were distorted.
Tyler had laughed at his reflection, slapping his exposed gut. "Holy shit, I got fat," he'd said to himself, almost admiringly. Then he'd shrugged and taken it off, tossing it aside, already moving on to the next thing. No shame, no resolution to lose weight. Just acceptance.
Marcus had cum three times to that clip alone.
Four months in, Tyler hit 260 pounds. He'd gained seventy pounds in a third of a year. His clothes barely fit anymore - Marcus had to keep buying bigger and bigger sizes. Tyler lived in 3X t-shirts and elastic-waist shorts now. Real pants were too much work.
Marcus upgraded them to a larger couch - the old one was getting worn down from Tyler's weight and constant use. The new one was bigger, more comfortable, with a built-in cooler in the armrest that Marcus kept stocked with beer and soda.
"Whoa, this is awesome!" Tyler had exclaimed, flopping down on it. The couch groaned slightly under his weight. "It's got cup holders and everything!"
"Only the best for you, buddy," Marcus said, meaning it in ways Tyler couldn't understand.
They fell into a rhythm. Marcus would wake up, go to work, and spend his day hard knowing what Tyler was doing at home. Eating. Gaming. Getting fatter. He'd installed cameras in the living room too now, and would sometimes pull up the feed during his lunch break just to watch Tyler snack and play, watch his belly rest on his thighs, watch him absently scratch at his chest fat.
Marcus would come home to find his son exactly where he'd left him, surrounded by food wrappers, often buzzed from day-drinking. They'd order dinner - always huge portions now, Marcus pushing more and more food on Tyler. They'd eat together, drink together, smoke together. Sometimes Marcus would put his hand on Tyler's belly while they watched TV, rubbing it, feeling how full and tight it was.
"You're getting huge, bud," Marcus would say, and Tyler would just laugh and nod.
"Yeah, I know. It's crazy."
Tyler would think about it with that slow, thoughtful expression that meant his brain was working overtime. "Nah. I feel good. Like, I'm happy here, you know?"
"Good. That's what matters."
At night, Marcus would retire to his room and review the footage. Every angle of his son's expanding body. Tyler in the shower, Tyler eating, Tyler sleeping with his belly pushing up under his shirt. Marcus had started saving his favorite clips, building a collection. Documenting the transformation.
He knew this was wrong. Knew that any objective observer would call this abuse, corruption, a father deliberately destroying his son's health for sexual gratification. But Marcus had stopped caring about objective observers. This was between him and Tyler. And Tyler was happy. That was enough justification for him.
Besides, it was going to get so much better.
Marcus had been researching weight gain, metabolism, the point of no return. He knew that once Tyler hit a certain weight, it would become nearly impossible to lose it all. The body would fight to maintain the new set point. And Tyler - lazy, incurious Tyler who'd never stuck with anything difficult in his life - would never have the discipline to fight back.
Marcus was going to make his son permanently, irrevocably obese. And then Tyler would need him. Would depend on him. Would be his in a way that went beyond normal father-son bonds.
The thought made Marcus harder than he'd ever been in his life.
"Hey Dad?" Tyler called from the living room, pulling Marcus from his thoughts. "Can you order more wings? I'm still kind of hungry."
Marcus smiled, reaching for his phone. "Sure thing, buddy. How many dozen you want?"
"Let's make it four," Marcus said. "Growing boy like you needs plenty of food."
Tyler laughed, the sound warm and trusting. "Whatever you think, Dad. You're the best."
Marcus placed the order, then pulled up the camera feed on his phone. Watched Tyler shift on the couch, his massive belly rolling as he moved. Watched him crack open another beer, chug half of it, let out a satisfied belch.
This was only the beginning.
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