Charlie Gyrth

I write gay gainer romance stories. NOTHING on this blog is AI.

[charliegyrth]

Charlie Gyrth's 2026 Stories

Hi, everyone! Charlie here!

Thanks so much for reading my stuff. I mostly write positive romance and erotica about consensual gaining. (If you're interested in my shorter, edgier stories, check out my sister blog Chuck Gyrth.)

I also have a Patreon with a bunch of exclusive gainer stuff.

My first set of stories (February to June 2025) is here.

My second set (July to September 2025) is here.

My third set (October to December 2025) is here.

This'll be my index for all my stories from the end of December 2025 (when my last index ran out of space) until this one runs out of space, too. Tumblr limits the number of links in one post.

Throughout last year, I published a new story or chapter every day, but for 2026, I'm going to slow down a bit. I'll still publish a lot, but I won't do every single day. And instead of shorter chapters across multiple days, I'll combine my longer stuff into single posts. I think readers prefer that.

Please keep coming back to this post (I pinned it to the top of my page) to see what's new.

Long Stories:

Circus Fat Man 1 (ongoing) Fat Gamer 1 2 3 4 5 Fattening My Mormon Roommate 1 2 3 4 5 6 (ongoing) Forced to Be Fat 1 2 (ongoing) Let It Grow 1 2 3 4 5 6 Midnight Cakes 1 / 35 / 90 / 103 / 141 / 168 / 209 (monthly) A Vibrator Makes You Fat 1 2 3 4 / 8 9 / 12 / 15 / 21 22A 22B 23 / 31 / 51 (ongoing)

Short Stories:

Am I a Good Piggy? Athlete Blubber Boy Cliff and Vlad Get Fat Cream Contagious Contrast Daddy A Day at Home Diner Dan An Easy Escape The Ex-Hockey Player Fat and Bald The Fat Gymnast Fat Pokémon Football Uniform Gainer Choices Gasps Hank I'm Gonna Be a Hillbilly Inescapable Growth I Want Victor Back Jonah's Return Just a Little Obese The Last Stairs Malts The Mob Wants You Fat Molding Clay Morphin' Matt My Boyfriend Gives Me a Belly My Rugby Guy Never Too Much of a Good Thing No Reason Numb Old Photos Paying for College Pig Auction (first chapter) Stares Thin Walls Throbs Transformed True Self Vitamin C What Do You Think, Antonio While You Sleep The Wrong Way to Encourage You Ate the Fat-Berries, Didn't You? Your Old Friend Your Punishment: 300 Pounds (first chapter) Zooming with Seth

You're all awesome! Thanks for reading!

[charliegyrth]

True Self

I stand at the edge of the dance floor in an outfit that leaves very little to the imagination. I get the attention I want. Guys are staring at my slender body from all directions. No one's approached me yet (except for one guy who "accidentally" grazed his hand against my hip), but it's only a matter of time.

I should feel desirable. Fuck, I am desirable.

And yet... I can't shake the self-doubt that's plagued me my entire life. I want to step onto the dance floor and rock out as freely as I do at home. But no. All I can do is stand here and watch.

Act happy, Ian, I tell myself. If you look miserable, no one's gonna talk to you.

I really shouldn't have gotten my hopes up. True Self is just a gay bar. Despite what everyone says about it, it's not going to magically take away a lifetime of insecurities.

I met a couple bears last week who raved about the place. They said they felt just like me until they came here for the first time and discovered their true selves on the dance floor. They sounded so believable, too.

But I'm here now, and... nothing. I'm still me. I'm hot but I don't feel hot.

God, I was so stupid to think that a bar would have some profound effect on me.

I consider leaving. I even turn toward the door.

Then my favorite song starts to play. (I won't tell you the name, because it's too embarrassing.) Some boy band song from the 90s.

I take that as a sign. Before I leave, I have to dance. Just once.

I brush a strand of my long black hair out of my face and stroll onto the dance floor. It's crowded with guys of all shapes and sizes, and every single one of them looks 100% comfortable with themselves. Good for them.

The music flows through me and I start to sway. I'm too embarrassed to really go for it. Everyone around me is moving with such joy. Grinding on each other. Showing off.

I can't do that.

Then the song fades into its chorus. People are singing along. I join in.

Slowly, I feel more comfortable. I move a little faster. I raise my arms in the air. I get an approving nod from a muscular guy to my side. He likes my moves.

That compels me to dance faster. Swing my hips. Wave my arms around.

Then... something strange happens. My forehead gets itchy. It's like pieces of the ceiling are falling onto the top of head. I look up. No, the ceiling looks fine.

The itchiness gets worse. Little flecks of something are rolling down my scalp. I reach up. My fingertips connect with bare skin, not hair. I rub my forehead and pull out clumps of black hair. My hair.

What's going on?

With both hands on my head, I can feel wispy strands flake off. My forehead extends all the way back to the crown of my head. Am I...? Am I bald?

Yeah. I am. My hair is still thick along the back and sides, but the top of my head is warm skin and a few determined strands.

I don't understand why my hair is gone, but it doesn't stop me from dancing. And I'm not upset. In fact, the cool air on my scalp feels wonderful.

As I dance closer toward the rest of the crowd, my fingers keep exploring my bare scalp. I can't stop touching it. So warm. So fuzzy in places. So... manly.

I swing my head around, my arms still raised, and see my arms. They're wobbling. They've gotten thicker and hairier. I have flab hanging from my upper arms, twin sacks that wobble as I move. It's like they're dancing, too.

I'm fat!

I look down at myself and see dark chest hair coiling out of my tank top. Then the pink fabric bulges forward with thick, wobble-dancing moobs.

And just below that... I have a belly. My flat, pale, hairless stomach has expanded into a wide tank surging out of the bottom of my top. The way it moves is mesmerizing. My body twists to the left and my belly flops in the other direction.

Its bronze color soaks in the neon lights. Its droop slams against my thighs. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and it's mine!

I twirl in a circle, feeling my new heaviness and the way my rolls and folds react. Each motion is a surprise. Swinging flesh. Rippling fat. Scratching fur.

I have stubble on my face now. It's only uncomfortable because I'm not used to it. (Never had facial hair before.) But after a few seconds, it feels right.

Everything feels right.

Just five minutes on the dance floor has transformed me into a fat, hairy bear. I've never felt more confident. Honestly, I never knew what confidence felt like until this moment.

I'm me! I'm finally me!

That same muscular guy who gave me a nod is now at my side. His pale green eyes stare at me hungrily. He dances a few inches away, waiting for me to react.

I'm the big man now. It's up to me to make the first move.

I dance against him, pressing my belly against his firm body and delighting in the squish. I place my hands on his slender hips and let my softness grind against him.

He places his chin on my hairy shoulder and whispers into my ear. I can't make out exactly what he says except for the last two words: "...better now."

I know it's a compliment. Of course it is. I'm sexy as fuck. "Thank you," I answer back, loving my new, deeper voice.

We dance for the next two songs, exploring each other's bodies and delighting in the contrast. He says his name is Dan.

He's objectively gorgeous. Athletic, muscular, beefy in the right places. He's the kind of guy I thought I wanted to look like. He's the guy I'm attracted to, but I'd never be happy looking like him.

I'm a bear. That's my true self.

I spin him around and grind against his solid ass. My belly strokes his back and my hands rove his abs.

I've never done this before, but I growl into his ear, "Come home with me."

He stiffens in more ways than one. I can't hear his answer, but I see him nod again.

With strength and hunger, I grab his thick arm and lead him toward the exit. Once we're outside, I kiss him with a force that I didn't know I had.

It surprises him. He has to steady himself by latching onto my love handles. Squeezing them tight.

We're out of True Self now, but my body is still big and hairy. This is me now. Forever.

With my arm over his wide shoulders, I lead him toward my car. Except it's not a little Nissan anymore. It's an old truck with fast food wrappers on the seats. There's lumber and paint cans in the back. Somehow, I know this is mine.

"You know," he says, "when I came here, I was 120 pounds and six inches shorter."

I pinch his beefy pec. "I guess you found your true self."

"Back at ya."

The End

Thanks for reading! Check out my novella Secret Bearification for a longer, steamier look at one man transforming his boyfriend into the bear of his dreams.

[charliegyrth]

If you're taking requests, I would love a story about a fat future/fat dystopia. It's a painfully underexplored genre in gainer fiction! 🙏 🧡

Well, I'm sort of doing the opposite with my novel Your Punishment: 300 Pounds. It takes place in a future where medical advances have eliminated fatness completely, and instead of prisons, criminals are sentenced to mandatory weight gain. The bigger the crime, the fatter they have to get. It's a society where there's a huge stigma against fat people (to the point where "chub" is the ultimate slur), and our main couple unintentionally become the big-bellied symbols of the pro-fat rebellion. It's pretty fun.

I'm posting biweekly chapters over on my Patreon if you want to check that out.

I also published a story last month called Inescapable Growth about a sexually transmitted obesity pandemic that transforms the world into proud-and-happy superchubs. It's not really a dystopia, though.

I have one upcoming story about a popular energy drink that causes instant weight gain, so it turns into a fat-future sci-fi thing. But in general, I don't plan on doing any more dystopian stuff, at least for now. It's a bit too much world-building for me. Plus, I write these stories (in part) as an escape from the real world, and 2026 is already pretty dystopian.

But I'll keep this suggestion in mind. You never know...

[charliegyrth]

Hey, could you please write a story about a thin chub chaser/ feeder who finds a huge tall pear-shaped man swimming in a speedo at his local gym. He catches him swimming and can’t believe he’s eyes. He follows him to the showers to witness, the chub’s massive hips, thick thighs, gigantic ass (emphasise on this) , fat arms, back rolls, big man boobs, belly, all wet and soapy etc. The chub notices him peeping and gives him a wink and asks him if he wants to go back to his place for a face-sitting / squashing session. Then when they get to the chub’s place they immediately start making out, grabbing and groping each other etc. Then the big strong chub ends up face sitting and squashing the chaser till he almost passes out. Please focus on the size difference between the two (both in height and weight).

Love it! Here's the story.

(And please check out my Patreon for more stuff like this.)

Numb

Samuel stepped off the treadmill and wiped his face. He always felt exhilarated after a run.

But as he walked through the gym and passed a dozen gorgeous guys grunting and glistening with sweat, he felt the same numbness that always hit him after his cardio.

Samuel was gay. He'd known he was gay since kindergarten. Everyone who saw him knew he was gay. And yet... None of these musclebound hotties did it for him.

Considering his slight, sleek build and a face that was more pretty than handsome, he always drew a lot of attention. He was catnip for muscleheads, and he'd gone home with his fair share of them, but it never felt right. He should be turned on right now. He should be bulging out of his gym shorts. but nope. He was numb.

And the more he came here, the more that numb feeling felt like a knife through his heart. Why wasn't he drawn to all these gorgeous guys who were obviously drawn to him?

He stepped out of the musky gym into the outside pool area. He had to walk past the pool to get to the showers. Once again, there was a couple absolutely ripped guys toweling off. And once again, they checked out his tiny body with a hunger that he just couldn't reciprocate.

Samuel hurried along. The showers were straight ahead.

Suddenly, there was a loud grunt at his side. Another guy was climbing out of the pool. Samuel glanced over, expecting another disappointing non-reaction from his libido.

Yep, it was another buff guy. A redhead this time. Water slid down his chiseled face as two very thick forearms pressed against the edge of the pool.

He had extremely dark eyes for someone so fair-skinned. Those eyes locked on Samuel and his lips curved into a cocky smirk.

Samuel smiled back, even though he knew it would just give the handsome stranger false hope.

And then the man lifted himself out of the water, and Samuel saw two moobs slap onto the pool's edge. They were enormous, with swirls of reddish brown hair matted around his puffy, potato-sized nipples.

Samuel froze in place. How could someone so fat have such a sharp, angular face? He stared as the man lifted more of his soft body out of the water.

The man grunted again as he used the pool steps to climb onto the concrete. It was like he was crossing the border between two worlds. In the water, he'd been graceful and weightless, but on dry land, his movements were slow and difficult. He never stopped smirking, though.

He had a loose, hairy belly that threw water droplets off its curve as it wobbled. His legs were thick, and his hips were so wide and irregular that he couldn't help but sway as he walked.

Was he...? Oh God, was he naked?

Samuel was aware of the other guys around them. They were all staring at the obese man with open disgust. But the man didn't care. He only looking at Samuel.

Damn.

Samuel was numb again, but it was a different kind of numbness. All his blood rushed to his crotch.

The fat man strolled toward the showers, letting his hanging softness slosh around. He didn't bother drying off. He just let the trickles roll down his curves and get lost in his deep folds.

He walked right past Samuel, finally breaking eye contact. When Samuel saw him from behind, he realized that the stranger wasn't naked. He wore a light purple speedo, so tight that it looked like it was being absorbed into his shapeless, dimpled cheeks.

His ass was surprisingly round for someone so flabby, though that roundness was decorated with deep pits and groves of cellulite. Practically lunar. Like twin moons. Like heavenly bodies.

The stranger disappeared into the showers. Samuel stayed frozen for a full minute before he realized that he wasn't breathing. This man had ripped the air out of his lungs and drained all his body heat into the growing length of his cock.

"Fuck," he whispered.

The layer of sweat on Samuel's body suddenly felt cold in the breeze. That coldness brought him back to reality, reminded him that he was physically here instead of some outside observer to the single biggest, hottest man on Earth.

He didn't realize he was walking into the showers until the wet heat struck his face. He was still fully clothed as he rounded the corner into the wide, steam-filled room.

The fat stranger was the only other person inside. He stood under a showerhead, letting the water wash over him. The hot jets were strong enough to send ripples through his softness.

He was still wearing his speedo, probably because it was too much of a struggle to take it off.

Samuel walked toward him. The steam soaked into his clothes, though he was only vaguely aware of the discomfort. Didn't stop him from stepping closer and closer.

He was close enough to feel droplets speckle his face.

The man was soaping himself down, running his hands along his bulging sides, digging between his folds, letting the suds roll down his legs, each one much thicker and heavier than Samuel's entire body.

Samuel watched the man's hands drift lower, reaching behind him to soap up his ass. This was intentional. He was putting on a show. He was...

God. He was gripping his cheeks and spreading them apart. Then letting go so everything would mash back into place.

Samuel had to remind himself to breathe. He watched the sudsy water rove down this man's body in a thousand different ways. There were waterfalls flowing off the jutting shelfs of back fat, splashes against his ultra-wide hips, soapy trails through the irregular nooks and crannies of his unbelievable ass.

Then new creases and waterfalls formed as the man twisted his body as far as it would let him. He looked over his shoulder at Samuel, fully aware that he was being watched.

And then... Oh God. He gave Samuel a wink.

Samuel backed out of the showers in a panic. He leaned against the wall to catch his breath. By now, the pool area was empty except for one other guy. Blond, beefy, objectively gorgeous in a way that the fat man definitely wasn't.

"Disgusting, right?" the blond man said. "Once he's out of there, maybe you and I can... shower together."

"Th-that's okay," Samuel muttered.

The man's jaw tightened. He wasn't used to being rejected. "Whatever, man."

He shook his still-damp hair and walked back into the gym, seemingly giving up on a shower altogether.

Samuel should've left, too. Once he regained some composure (and once his feet would listen to him again), then he'd be out of there, too. He wanted more than anything to get back in the shower. Honestly, he wanted to be the water rolling down that body. Or the bar of soap that he swiped between his folds.

But no. Samuel was too scared to see that man again.

Walk away, he told himself. Time to go.

His feet still wouldn't listen. Just as he was finally able to inch toward the door, the fat man appeared behind him. He had dried off and slipped on a tank top that barely reached his vertical slit of a belly button. No pants, though.

"Hey," he said.

Samuel couldn't form words.

"Wanna head back to my place?"

The directness made Samuel gulp. His hands were covering his crotch and doing a supremely poor job of hiding his arousal.

"I'm only asking once," the man said. With a smile, he walked past Samuel, making sure to brush his hip against Samuel's arm.

Instant goose bumps.

Overcome and cold everywhere except his crotch, Samuel followed him into the gym. It was a good thing he was so laser-focused on the fat man in front of him. He didn't have to see the judgmental looks from everyone else there.

The man stopped at the double doors and pushed them both open. (His hips couldn't fit through just one.) He looked over his shoulder once more. Then he stepped outside.

Samuel followed him to a minivan parked a few spaces from his old Nissan.

Finally, the man introduced himself. "I'm Chaz," he said. "You coming?"

"Uh, yeah. And... uh, Samuel."

Chaz smirked. He opened the passenger door and waited for Samuel to hop in. Piles of McDonalds wrappers spilled onto the parking lot.

Samuel climbed inside. The stench of grease was thick and nauseating, but that only added to Samuel's excitement.

Chaz took a while to climb into the driver's side and fasten the seatbelt around his belly. There was dangerously little space between his body and the steering wheel. He started the car and sped off.

"You're very cute, Samuel," he said offhandedly. "I'm gonna call you Little Man, okay?"

"O-okay." Samuel was a little man: 5'6" and 140 pounds. Next to Chaz, though, he felt so much smaller.

They didn't say anything for a couple moments. The car was silent except for Samuel's pounding heart.

Chaz pulled the minivan onto a side street. "Almost there, Little Man."

"Uh huh."

They parked outside a mobile home stuck in the middle of an overgrown lawn. The place seriously needed a paint job and some mowing, though Chaz obviously wasn't able to do any of that.

Samuel stepped out of the van and waited for Chaz's slow, grunting exit from his seat. It gave him some time to seriously ask himself if this was what he wanted. Despite his nervousness, the answer was yes.

Hell yes.

Chaz wrapped his beefy, damp arm over Samuel's shoulder. It felt nice (and once again made him feel so damn tiny), though he knew that Chaz was merely using him to steady himself.

They walked together. Very slowly. Chaz's heat pressed against Samuel's body like a blanket.

Chaz let his guest open the door himself. It was already unlocked.

If Samuel thought the grease stench in the minivan was overpowering, this trailer was... a cloud of smells. The air was thick with McDonalds, and KFC, and enough stale pizzas to make Samuel choke.

Eventually, he got used to it.

"Speedo, please," Chaz said as he started to pull off his tank top.

Samuel obeyed. He dropped to his knees and dug his fingers into the tight waistband of the purple speedo. His face was crotch-level, and the trailer's grease smell gave way to Chaz's salty musk.

Samuel started salivating. He couldn't help it.

Inch by inch, he tugged the speedo downward. It was wonderfully difficult. The straining fabric kept getting caught on the mountain chains of cellulite decorating Chaz's wide hips.

Once Samuel tugged the fabric down to his cankles, Chaz stepped out of them. His cock was still hidden by a drooping apron...

Until Chaz (now shirtless) playfully hoisted up his gut to show off a thick fat pad forested with red hair. "Say hi," he whispered huskily.

What am I doing? Samuel asked himself.

You're finally getting over your numbness. You're finally discovering what you want, what you've always wanted.

Samuel pressed his face into the red fur. Chaz's cock was buried, a hidden treasure that Samuel coaxed out of its hole with his tongue. He licked a little, explored a little, tasted a wonderful saltiness that felt so right on his tongue.

"Little Man," Chaz muttered. He grabbed the sides of Samuel's head to steady himself. Without holding up his apron, the full weight of his hanging belly fell down on Samuel.

I'm buried, too, he thought. He couldn't breathe. He could barely support himself on his knees. But he kept licking, kept tasting, until his lungs couldn't handle the growing pressure.

He slid free and sucked in air.

"You like that, Little Man? You like being breathless?"

"Yes," Samuel said, regretting his instant answer but not taking it back.

Chaz nodded to the couch. "Get comfortable, please. On your back."

Once again, Chaz's directness both thrilled and scared him. He jumped to his feet and threw himself onto the couch. He didn't know what Chaz had planned. Honestly, he didn't want to know.

"Shorts," Chaz said as he waddled over.

Samuel pulled down his gym shorts and underwear. At this point, they were barely containing him anyway. His cock sprung free. Bigger than it had ever been. Warmer, too.

His short, slender body was stretched across the couch. There were fast food wrappers crinkling under him and digging into his back, but he didn't bother moving them.

Chaz stepped sideways along the couch, letting his belly-droop roll across Samuel like a passing wave. Against his face. Against his stomach. Against his already-dripping shaft. Then he stepped back.

"Go ahead. Touch yourself," Chaz whispered. His voice had gotten deeper and rumblier since they came here. Samuel loved that.

Samuel looked toward the fat man for permission, then slid his hand down to his cock. He gripped it and nothing else. He worried that he was already way too close. Just a few tugs and...

"Go ahead, Little Man," Chaz said.

Nervously, a little scared, Samuel stroked himself. As soon as he did, Chaz started... posing. That was the only word for it. The fat man jiggled himself. Grabbed the sides of his belly and molded it. Lifted up rolls and let them drop.

Oh God. Samuel barely touched himself. He couldn't handle much more, and he didn't want to embarrass himself.

Even if Chaz would've loved a little embarrassment.

Pleasure washed over him. He was seconds from exploding.

Chaz stopped posing. He stepped closer until he was standing at the edge of the couch, just above Samuel's face.

His belly hung over him like a threat. What's he going to do??

Then Chaz turned around. Samuel stared up at those two perfect, beach-ball sized cheeks. "Hold your breath," he whispered.

Before Samuel could process what that meant, Chaz's ass fell down on him like an avalanche. Everything went black. Samuel's entire world was transformed into breathless, heavy darkness.

His face was nestled in the crease between Chaz's cheeks. He was crushed. Imprisoned. Lost in the fat. He couldn't move anything except his tongue, which was instinctively, automatically flicking.

Hundreds of pounds. So heavy. So soft. The whole world was Chaz's fat.

Samuel's body thrashed on the couch. His hand dropped away from his cock, but that didn't matter. He erupted anyway, hot jets shooting out of him before raining down.

Chaz grinded against his face, mixing dangerous heaviness with the full-body pleasure that rumbled through Samuel in wet waves.

This was too much. He was going to die like this. And yet, he wanted this moment to last forever. He didn't want freedom. Or oxygen. He wanted to be crushed.

He was Chaz's Little Man, and it was his fate (his honor) to be flattened into nothing.

His cock kept twitching. And shooting. He'd never released this much before. He was...

Chaz grunted, but the sound was muffled. Slowly, he raised his ass off Samuel's face.

Samuel finally breathed again. His lungs filled up and his heart ached with the disappointment that this perfect moment was finally over.

"That was fast," Chaz said.

Samuel's eyes opened. Chaz was looking down on him with a triumphant little smirk.

"I... I'm..." He didn't know how to finish his sentence. It was a miracle he could still talk between his gasps for breath.

"Do you think I'm too heavy, Little Man?"

"N-no."

"Good. Let's snuggle." He waddled toward the side of the couch, bit his lip, and lowered his entire body on top of Samuel.

Samuel was lost in the warmth and the heaviness and the throbbing of his heart. He wasn't numb anymore. He'd never be numb again.

The End

[charliegyrth]

The Former Gymnast

Hi, people! Today's my birthday!!!! For anonymity, I won't tell you my age. But my weight: 224 pounds, the heaviest I've ever been. Feelin' great!

Anyway, check out my Patreon for daily stories. I'm still posting sporadically here on Tumblr, but there's a lot more over there to check out. And just a reminder, EVERYTHING I post both here and on Patreon is 100% me and 0% AI.

***

Marty returned to the gym for the first time since I convinced him to quit the team. He wore his old gymnast clothes, which fit everywhere except his new spare tire.

The fabric stretched horrible across his belly, so he ended up hiking up his shirt. I assumed that was mostly for comfort, but he was probably showing off, too. I recognized that proud smirk as he strutted around.

"Feeling nostalgic?" I asked.

Marty's smile faded. "Actually, yeah."

We went over this many times before. He didn't miss all the pressure, or the calorie-counting, or the teammate drama; he missed the movement. Back when he was in peak form, flipping around the uneven bars like the Olympics-qualifying stud that he used to be, he felt this supreme sense of freedom that our feeding sessions could never match. He still had the heart of an athlete, even though he'd chosen to bury it under layers of flab.

I pinched his love handle. "Wanna show me what you can do?"

"Sure."

He gripped the bar and tried to lift himself up. After a loud, painful grunt, he let himself fall back to the ground.

He tried again. Same result.

"Damn gravity."

"Damn KFC," I corrected him. "And Arby's. And Panda Express."

He laughed, but there was a cold edge to it. He came here to move, and he must've thought he'd have at least some of his former strength. After all, his arms were still muscular.

"Maybe... I'll try the pommel horse," he mumbled, more to himself than me.

I'm not a gymnast, so I didn't know what a pommel horse was. Turns out, it's the low, wooden plank right behind me. He walked past me, pausing for a second to kiss my cheek, and struggled to climb on.

His red shorts sagged down a bit, giving me an eyeful of hairy crack. His ass was much flatter than his belly, though it was soft enough to jiggle as he hoisted himself onto the plank.

Once he was all the way up, he stretched face-down on the pommel horse. He was panting. Just climbing up was enough to rip the breath out of his under-exercised lungs.

"Whenever you're ready," I said.

He grunted horribly as he pushed himself up. I had no idea what he was trying to do, but whatever it was... he failed. He fell down flat again, his belly flab oozing over the sides. "Fuck it," he whispered. "Help me down."

I grabbed his legs and positioned them to the side, then carefully eased him to his feet.

He looked exhausted.

"Wanna try something else?" I asked.

"I can't," he said. "Nothing here is... (huff) I'm too fat for gymnastics."

Of course he was! Anyone who looked at his belly could see that his gym days were well behind him.

"I'm sorry," I said. Yes, he chose this body for himself. Yes, he asked me to be his feeder. I knew he loved turning himself into a fatass. But I also knew that this was tough for him.

"Don't be," Marty said. Despite the exhaustion on his face, he was smiling. "I needed this."

"You needed to come here and see all the stuff you can't do anymore?"

"Yeah." He scratched his belly. "Now that I know it's impossible... I don't have the urge to exercise. I finally... I don't feel like a gymnast."

I kissed him. Seems like a good time to celebrate. With my arm over his sweaty shoulders, I led him out of the gym for the very last time.

"Buffet?" I asked.

"Absolutely."

The End

Thanks for reading. Right now on my Patreon, I'm in the midst of three continuing projects:

Your Punishment: 500 Pounds (17 chapters and counting)

Fat Trials (interactive fiction)

Fattening the Billionaire's Son (just one chapter so far)

Plus hundreds of one-off stories

[charliegyrth]

Modern werewolf x vampire, trying to fatten eachother by secret but end up both becoming gainers??? (Pls)

Nice! I'm actually working on a novel for the Halloween season called Were-Chubs. Check that one out in October. But in the meantime, here's a standalone werewolf/vampire romance.

***

Cliff and Vlad Get Fat

Vlad

I smelled him across the bar. Who was he kidding? Drinking that beer and scoping out the crowd. Acting all casual. He was one of them and everyone could see it.

That flannel shirt. The forest of chest hair poking out. His short, muscly body that looked ready to pounce on something.

Freaking werewolves. Jesus.

Humans don't have a heightened sense of smell, but surely they could detect that cloud of musk fanning off him. He smelled like a petting zoo.

I was about to leave when his bearded face turned toward me. His eyes locked on mine and he smiled. Flirtatiously.

I hid my revulsion and smiled back. The stupid animal couldn't tell that I was a vampire. What an idiot!

Perhaps I could use that to my advantage. It had been decades since I'd messed with one of his kind. Back in the 80s, I seduced a clueless werewolf named Franco and tricked him into gaining hundreds of pounds. Made him too fat to hunt. And then I left. Triumphant.

Good times.

This guy reminded me a lot of him. (Of course, all werewolves look the same.) It would be so much fun to replay the old hits. Fatten him up. Put him in his place.

I pushed through the crowd, ignoring all the glances that my unnervingly handsome face drew. The werewolf was waiting for me.

I extended my hand. "Hello. I'm Vlad."

***

Cliff

His hand was cold. It took all my wolf strength to shake it without shivering. Or throwing up.

This guy was a real piece of work. Everyone could tell he was a vampire. With his pale skin, slicked-back hair, and dark, Eurotrash outfit, he wasn't fooling anyone. The fangface might as well be on a cereal box.

And he couldn't even tell that I was a werewolf! Damn. Vampires act like they're smarter than everyone else, but they're all morons. He thought I was just some hairy gay guy.

Well, maybe I could use that to my advantage. Clearly, he thought I was hot. All I had to do was gain his trust (easy enough) and I'd ruin him like his kind ruined my uncle.

Back in the 80s, my uncle Franco was the leader of our pack. He stupidly befriended some asshole vampire and got tricked into gaining so much weight that he could barely move. The pack was forced to leave him behind.

As a werewolf, I had a natural revulsion to vampires. Obviously. But every time I heard that story as a cub, my hatred grew. The world would be so much better if we wiped out every single one of them.

I thought about staking Vlad then and there. (Freaking Vlad. I couldn't think of a more vampire-sounding name.) Yeah, it would be fun to turn him to dust in the middle of a crowded gay bar.

But... I couldn't waste this opportunity. If I could befriend this guy, use his obvious attraction to my advantage, then I'd finally get justice for my uncle. I'd fatten him until he couldn't hurt anyone ever again.

"So Vlad? Wanna get out of here?"

He smiled. "Love to."

***

Vlad

The wolf and I walked through Downtown. It only took me a few minutes to get used to his smell. (Thank the Devil!) He told me about his life, and I pretended to be interested.

Cliff worked at an animal shelter (surprise, surprise) and was on a local basketball team. (Ever since that terrible Teen Wolf movie came out in the 80s, literally every werewolf plays basketball. Such a stereotype!)

In turn, I told him that I worked the night shift at the hospital. I could've lied to protect myself, but this guy wasn't a threat. He wouldn't know I was a vampire if I bared my fangs and drank his blood. (Which I couldn't. Obviously. Drinking wolf blood would kill me.)

As I told him about my hobbies, a squirrel dashed in front of us and Cliff froze. Stared at it like a dog.

I had to hold back my laughter. This guy was a joke.

But at least we were hitting it off. He was horny as hell, and he still thought that I was interested.

"Would you like to take me back to your place?" I asked, rubbing his hairy back. For my plan to work, I needed to know where he lived, even if that meant I had to lower my standards and sleep with him.

***

Cliff

Crap! He wanted to go back to my place. The only way my plan would work was if I knew where he lived.

"I'd love to," I said, "but my brothers are there right now. How about your place?"

Vlad's smile tightened. He wanted to say no but he was too damn horny. "That's fine. It's actually pretty close."

Perfect.

He led me past the park where I play basketball with my pack. His apartment was only a few blocks past that.

As we walked, he kept glancing at my neck. Probably didn't realizing he was doing it, either.

It would've given me the chills, but I wasn't scared. If he tried to drink me, he'd drop dead. Or at least get violently sick. Vampires can't handle wolf blood. So if he tried to pull something, he'd get a nice bit of karma.

I'd rather that didn't happen, though. For obvious reasons.

He led me to an expensive apartment complex. The building was tall and grand. Very art deco. Seemed appropriate for a bloodsucker.

I followed him inside. If we had to hook up tonight, I'd be ready. Anything to get him to trust me.

***

Vlad

It felt so wrong to invite a werewolf into my lair. I brought humans here a couple nights a week, when I didn't have the energy to eat out. But they didn't stink up the place.

Cliff looked around, seemed impressed by my sleek, expensive apartment, and then kissed me. Good, he wanted to get down to business. I wanted the same thing.

Sex that night was surprisingly pleasant. Who am I kidding? It was fantastic. As soon as his clothes came off and his thick, hairy body was against me, he lost all pretenses of acting human. He let his hungry, powerful wolf side take over. And in turn, I didn't hold back either.

I had my way with a lot of my victims, but I was only able to give a part of myself. If I fucked a human like I fucked other vampires, I'd break bones. This was my first time in decades that I actually allowed myself to let the passion overwhelm me.

Not since Franco, the werewolf I destroyed. What I did to ruin him was so delicious that I forgot how incredible it felt to seduce him. Their breed was pitiful and stupid, but they could ride you like no one else.

After hours of overwhelming passion, we both collapsed on my bed in a sweaty pile of body heat. And despite my natural revulsion, I actually appreciated his musk. At least in the moment.

He lazily stroked my chest and looked at me like an adoring puppy dog. Yes, he was officially under my spell now. I could make him do anything.

"Where's your bathroom?" he asked.

"Down the hall, to the right." I didn't feel comfortable letting him roam my lair unattended, but what could he possibly do?

***

Cliff

I limped out of the vampire's bedroom. I was wonderfully sore and more satisfied than I'd ever been.

Growing up, I learned all about the horrible, disgusting aspects of the undead. But the one thing they don't tell you is how fucking incredible they are in bed. Who knew?

Vlad had the strength to make me scream and the insane flexibility to challenge me. Humans couldn't do that. And when two wolves got together, it was always so fast and messy. It turned into a play for dominance. But Vlad... my God.

And in the heat of the moment, even his cold skin stopped being disgusting. It was like he soaked up my heat and reflected it back to me.

I never understood how my uncle Franco could be seduced by a vampire. I understood now.

Wouldn't distract me, of course. My mission was still going strong. Better than strong, actually, because after tonight, Vlad would do anything I wanted.

I made sure he stayed in his room and started searching for his blood supply. Didn't take me long. With my heightened smell, I detected the coppery stink of his blood bags behind an unlocked door in the kitchen.

Perfect.

Now all I had to do was wait until tomorrow night when I knew he was at work. I'd sneak in and inject liquified lard into his supply. He wouldn't suspect a thing, and after a few weeks on his new diet, he'd be forever addicted to his full-fat drinks.

I was so excited for what would come next. And to make sure I saw his changes for myself, I'd have to continue our relationship. Considering the last few hours, that excited me too.

***

Vlad

Five nights after we met, Cliff invited me to his house for our second date. I'd been in a great mood all week.

Maybe it was because of my plan. Maybe it was because I was still feeling the effects of our erotic night together. Whatever the reason, I spent that week feeling satisfied and... full. Like there was a sense of completeness inside me that I hadn't felt in centuries.

I didn't go on the hunt that week. I was more than satisfied with my blood bags at home. I didn't even have the good stuff. It wasn't virgin or anything, just standard O and AB. But it tasted more delicious than it ever had before. More filling.

Cliff's house was small and humble. More of a cabin, really. Seemed fitting for a werewolf. He led me to the front door. I had to wait until he verbally told me to come inside. (Vampire rules.)

The living room reeked of animal, though it didn't seem to bother me as much as I'd expected. The smell reminded me of him, of what his body could do to me.

We didn't go straight to the good stuff. We both wanted each other, but he insisted that we sit together on his couch first. He wanted to have a real conversation.

We'd been texting all week, a necessary step toward building trust. I got to know him well enough through those exchanges, so our conversation that night was easy. Natural. And as we talked, his amber eyes kept checking out my body with open hunger.

Yeah, he still wanted me.

His big hands started roving up and down my sides, and pretty soon, the conversation ended and he was on me. We made love right there in the living room, just as raw and passionate as before.

I loved every second. More importantly, I'd gotten exactly what I wanted. I knew where he lived. I saw where his back door led out to the forest. And you better believe I noticed the empty cages behind his house.

Telltale sign that a werewolf lived here. On the three nights of the full moon, animals like him escape their house and go on the prowl. When they're in wolf form, they can't control their hunger and have no concept of how much they eat. Those cages are for snacks. Rabbits, raccoons, house pets. Any small creatures that they can tear apart before they run into the night.

And that's exactly what I was going to use to fatten him. The full moon started tomorrow (which was why we met up tonight). I'd sneak in just before moonrise and line up some fatty pig carcasses outside the cages.

He'd eat them all without realizing, and with that much meat in his system, he wouldn't have the energy to run. He'd be bloated and helpless, unable to burn off any of the extra calories.

It was gonna be fun.

***

Cliff

I woke up on my back porch, naked and sore.

Except... it was a different kind of soreness than I was used to on the morning after a full moon. My muscles didn't hurt. Just my stomach.

Strange.

I got to my feet and lumbered back inside. Oof. What did I eat last night? A moose? Hopefully I didn't tear apart any park rangers again.

With bleary eyes, I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My hairy face was smeared with blood. Not surprising.

What was surprising was my horribly distended belly. I looked pregnant. Musta had a real feast last night.

I rubbed my gut and it felt... kind of exciting. I was proud. A well-fed wolf is a symbol of a good hunt. This wasn't fat, of course. Just heavy food. All the running I'd surely done last night had burned off any excess, and now my body would soak up the proteins. My muscles were gonna get huge.

But there was another reason I kept rubbing my solid gut. It made me think of Vlad. He'd jiggled a little in our second night together. Because of me! Because his blood supply was tainted with lard.

So... I don't know. Having this temporary belly bloat was a nice little reminder of what I was doing to him.

I wanted to see him again, though I had to wait for the moon to wane and this bloat to shrink down to normal. As soon as that happened (just two more nights!), I'd find him and see what real fat was doing to his body.

***

Vlad

I knew it was dangerous. Waiting outside a werewolf's house on a full moon. Very few things could kill me, but a transformed wolf was definitely one of them. A terrible way to go, too.

Still, I was so damn curious. This was the third and final night of his transformation, and once again, I hypnotized a couple human farmers to drop off a big ol' pile of pigs outside his back door.

I delivered four the first night, and Cliff managed to finish them all. (Except the bones and hooves. I had my minions clean those up before he awoke.) I pushed things further with five the second night. All gone by morning.

I believe he slept through the last two days, as werewolves do when it's their time of the month, so I didn't know what he looked like. Tonight, I was finally going to find out. Eight full-grown pigs were laid out by his back door just as the sun set.

I heard him thrashing around inside, screaming as his body morphed.

And finally, he burst outside in his wolf form. He was massive. I assume you've never seen a werewolf in person before. (If so, you're probably dead.) Well, werewolves are raw, hairy power. The most fearsome creatures on earth. They ripple with muscles and can rip apart anything that gets in their way.

Cliff did not look like that. He was muscular, sure. His arms and legs were thick and mighty. But his middle... He had a massive, furry belly that bobbed up and down as he stepped onto the porch.

Just two nights of pig feasting had ruined him. He didn't look powerful at all. He looked bloated and weak.

He paused in front of the pig pile, sniffed the air, and pounced. In seconds, he was tearing into the cold meat with his jaws. Like a goldfish, he couldn't stop eating.

It was hypnotic, really. Watching him stuff himself. Seeing his belly expand right before my eyes. He was eating at least six times his weight in pork. A human stomach would've burst after a few minutes, but he gorged all night.

I had my doubts that he'd be able to finish all eight pigs. Even Franco didn't eat that much in one night.

But he did. Every last piece. I drank a few thermoses of A-positive and enjoyed the show.

Once the sky started to lighten (my cue to leave), Cliff collapsed onto the ground with his arms wrapped around his stomach. He looked like a sleeping panda with a stomach as big as a bean bag chair.

***

Cliff

What.

The.

Fuck?

For the third morning in a row, I woke up on the back porch. Except, it wasn't even the morning. It had to be mid-afternoon.

I felt heavy and sore, and my stomach was throbbing horribly.

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. This lunar cycle hit me hard. After the first night, I awoke with an insane bloat and ended up sleeping all day. I assumed I'd eaten a large animal or two. Maybe a bear.

And then the second night, same thing. I woke up even more bloated. Hibernated through the day. Ignored all my calls.

And now, after the final night of transformation, I was in the worse pain of my life. I didn't need to go into work today. (I always took three days off every month.) By tomorrow, my body would have processed everything. That's the plan, anyway.

Honestly, I might have to call in sick tomorrow, too. I felt...

"No!" I screamed. I was finally awake enough to look down at myself, and my body was... enormous. My belly flowed out of me by an extra foot. It was so round and stretched that dark red stretchmarks torn into my skin like burns.

And the way my new gut bulged at the sides and felt soft under my fingers... This wasn't just a bloat anymore.

Slowly, I poked into my belly. My fingers sank in.

Oh God! Oh God!

This wasn't a bloat anymore. This was fat. Permanent, soft fat forever attached to my body. How could this happen? My wolf metabolism could work off thousands of excess calories and turn them into muscle. I must've eaten triple the usual amount. At least.

I struggled to stand. When I walked inside, my belly jiggled in front of me. It didn't bob anymore. And it wasn't even round! It drooped!

I rushed to my bathroom, ignoring the loud flops, and saw myself.

Was this karma? Was my plan to fatten the vampire reflecting back on me?

As I tugged at my soft moobs and watched my belly ripple, I realized the truth:

This wasn't karma! This was Vlad! He'd done this on purpose!

***

Vlad

I was asleep in my bed, deeply satisfied after watching Cliff gorge himself all night. Just before sunrise, I came back home and celebrated with a few extra pints of AB negative (the expensive stuff). Then I passed out.

It was still daytime when I awoke to two hands grabbing onto my shoulders and shaking me.

I opened my eyes and saw Cliff's rounder face glaring down at me. He had a double chin now.

"You did this!" he screamed.

I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and finally took in his new body. Damn. He was gloriously fat. He was nearly as big as Franco, and it only took one lunar cycle.

I smiled. "Surprise."

He grabbed my neck and squeezed. (It would've been painful if I actually needed to, you know, breathe.) "Fuckin' vampire."

I easily pushed his hands away. "You know I'm a vampire?"

"Duh!" he said. "Jesus! Look what you did to me!"

I pinched his belly droop. He did not like that. "No offense. I hope you're not mad."

"Mad?! I'm..." He forced himself to calm down. "At least I'm not the only one to change."

"And what does that mean?"

With hatred in his amber eyes, he placed his hands on my stomach and squeezed. It felt... different.

I looked down at his hands, at myself, and saw his pudgy digits sink into my soft belly.

What.

The.

Fuck?

I had a belly. An actual belly. I wasn't nearly as big as Cliff, but I had two thick rolls running across my torso. Vampires don't have rolls! Any amount of softness was... was... unnatural!

Unless...

"You did this to me!"

He smiled. "Lard in your blood bags."

Dammit! No wonder everything was tasting so delicious. No wonder I couldn't stop drinking!

"Pig carcasses on your back porch," I said in return.

We stared at each other for a long, heated moment as the realization sank in. We'd both hatched a plan to fatten the other at the exact same time!

I thought I was so clever, and I guess Cliff thought the same thing.

The room was silent. Cliff's hands never left my stomach. In fact, the longer we looked at each other, the more his fingers sank in, and the more he lowered his massive body on top of me.

There was anger between us, but there was... a connection, too. I couldn't help but respect him for what he did to me.

Sure, my plan was more successful. He was enormous, while I was only slightly chubby. But... with all the empty blood bags by the side of my bed... His plan was more long-term. He'd gotten me addicted to my tampered blood supply, and I knew I couldn't go back to the usual stuff. I'd keep growing. I'd reach his size eventually.

And with his belly flowing onto my bed, with its heat soaking into my cold skin, that didn't feel like a bad thing.

I'm not sure when his fingers started kneading me. They went from clamping down to slowly caressing. The contact morphed from cruel to... exploratory.

And without a word, he climbed on top of me, crushed me with his bulk, and kissed me like the animal he was.

***

Cliff

I didn't come here to fuck Vlad. I came to confront him, to tell him that I knew what he did to me and gloat about what I did to him.

But his belly rolls felt like heaven. And my new size gave me a different kind of hunger. Not for food. For him.

The connection, though... That was the hottest part. He owned my body and I owned his.

Instinct took over very quickly, to the point where the next hour was a blur of grunts and slapping flesh. We honored our softness, tore each other open from the inside out, and reached new levels of pleasure.

At some point, I snatched up one of his blood bags and shoved the nozzle into his mouth. It wasn't a conscious decision, and I didn't even realize what I'd done until I heard his desperate sucking.

Three blood bags later, he collapsed on top of me, his heavy body sinking into me, his rolls melding into mine.

It took me a long time to catch my breath. Vlad, who didn't need to breathe, took a while to recover, too.

And as we held each other, he whispered, "We're fat."

I nibbled his ear. "Very fat."

"Do you like this?"

I grabbed his hand and slammed it into my sweaty gut. "What do you think?"

***

Vlad

Cliff and I walked side by side through the forest. Well, I walked. He used his scooter.

We were both 600 pounds (our bodies forever changed by a year's worth of lard and pigs), though my vampire strength helped me handle my extra weight with grace. Cliff had more mobility issues, unless it was the full moon. When he was in his wolf form, he was weightless.

Right now, there was no moon in the sky, and the darkness danced across his hairy skin.

He reached up and gave my watermelon-sized moob a loving squeeze. "Are you nervous?"

"A little," I admitted.

We continued down the path. My massive thighs sloshed together and his belly (still so much bigger than mine) jiggled from the uneven ground.

And finally, we reached the tiny cabin in the middle of a clearing. It looked warm and inviting. It must've been repainted since the last time I was here.

We stopped in front of the porch steps. There were noises inside. Several voices. Some creaks.

Cliff reached into his basket and pulled out a blood bag. He knew I needed another drink before we entered.

I chugged it in seconds. Then I helped my werewolf husband to his feet.

We held each other, kissed each other, squeezed each other's rolls. Then he leaned against me and I helped him up the steps.

"I'll knock," Cliff whispered. (He knew I was more nervous than him.)

We didn't have to wait long for the door to creak open. A young werewolf stood on the other side. Like all werewolves, he was short, hairy, and insanely hot. His compact, muscular body had that delicious animal scent, a scent I used to despise. Now, I couldn't get enough.

Amazing. Not as musky as Cliff, though.

"Can I help you?" The werewolf stared in shock at my wide, pear-shaped body. He knew I was a vampire. Then he glanced at my big-bellied husband and gave him a "hello" sniff.

"Does Franco still live here?"

The werewolf smiled. "Come inside, please."

Good. I couldn't cross the threshold unless he verbally invited me in.

Cliff held onto my flabby arm and we entered.

***

Cliff

If my husband had a heartbeat, it would be pounding out of his chest. I knew exactly what he was feeling.

Our bodies had more or less synchronized since we got together. I mean, there's a reason we were always the exact same weight. We grew together. We felt what the other felt.

And right now, Vlad was terrified. This was his first time coming face-to-face with my uncle Franco since the 80s.

A 20-something werewolf pup named Lucas led us inside. He was handsome in a way, though a bit too short and hairy for my tastes. I liked 'em tall, pale, and curvy now.

Lucas introduced us to a few other pups milling about the cabin. One was cutting up pig carcasses. One was sticking the pieces in a blender. Two more were making out in the corner.

They each had a different scent, which meant that they came from different packs. They greeted me politely but cast dirty glances toward Vlad. (Except the blender one. All he did was stare at Vlad's ultrawide hips with glazed eyes.)

"He's in there." Lucas pointed toward a door in the back of the room. "I'll give you your privacy."

Vlad gave me a long, nervous look. He waited for me to open the door for him.

We stepped inside. Franco's musk filled the room. (He smelled like me, just a hundred times more pungent.)

He filled the room, too. He was a pile, several thousand pounds of hairy rolls oozing across the wooden floor. I saw his head, but his arms and legs were lost in the piles of fat.

There were three other pups with him. Two were massaging his folds while another one helped him suckle from a tube.

Vlad froze. I had to squeeze his arm to stop him from falling.

"Franco?" he muttered.

All three pups turned to us in unison. Uncle Franco let out a wet grunt. It wasn't an actual word, but the werewolves knew what he meant. They stopped what they were doing and ran out of the room.

I pushed Vlad forward. He needed my encouragement.

"Vlad?" my uncle rumbled. His head looked so tiny atop his shapeless body. I couldn't read his expression.

"And it's me. Cliff. Your nephew."

A smile spread across Uncle Franco's face.

Vlad stepped closer. "Franco. You're..."

"It's good to see you," my immobile uncle said. "I can finally... (burp) thank you."

A year ago, I would've been horrified to see him like this. He was too big to move. All he could do was eat and grow. But now, I felt deeply happy for him. He created a new pack of loving pups who satisfied his needs. He'd built the biggest, most wonderful body I'd ever seen.

He was... He was an example of what I could become with Vlad by my side.

Vlad crouched next to Uncle Franco, around where his right leg was buried. Slowly, Vlad reached out and placed both hands on Franco's hairy expanse. "You're welcome," he said.

"Do you want to... feed me like old times?" my uncle asked.

"Yes!" Vlad shouted. I guess I did, too.

"Pig shakes," Franco instructed. "In the kitchen."

Vlad jumped to his feet fast enough for his moobs to make a loud thwack against him. He waddled toward me, just as graceful as he was almost 500 pounds ago. He took my hand and led me out of the room.

"So he's happy," I whispered to him.

"He's beautiful," Vlad whispered back.

"You think I'll ever get that big?"

Vlad stopped me. Grabbed my shoulders. Kissed me hard. "We both will."

The End

Thanks for reading! Please check out my Patreon for more stories like this. I'll be publishing an Uncle Franco sequel soon.

The End

Thanks for reading! Check out my ebook Fat Vampires for six vampire gainer stories.

NOTE: Everything on this blog is 100% me and 0% AI.

[charliegyrth]

Contagious

Aww. Poor Fitz. He used to be such a handsome guy. Honestly, I was a little jealous of him, back in the day.

And then about a year ago, I ran into him at Walmart and noticed his hairline. He had a lot more forehead space. Not enough to make him bald, but enough to imply that he'd definitely be bald by the time he was 30.

I felt bad for him then, but now, a year later, I feel so much worse.

There he is, checking out his reflection in a window, and... Well, his hair has thinned out a lot more. Not surprising. What is surprising is that new belly sticking out of him. It's like he's aged a decade.

I watch him for a while, not sure if I should head over and say hi. I should, right? It would be weird not to.

"Fitz! Hey!"

He turns toward me and smiles. It's a genuine smile, big and cocky. Even though he's lost his looks, he still seems proud of himself. I guess that's a good thing. "Benny! Long time no see! When was the last time I saw you?"

"About a year," I say.

"Damn! That long?" He pats his belly. "That was over 40 pounds ago."

I laugh awkwardly. He just measured time in pounds. It seems like his way to acknowledging the obvious. But the way he says it, I swear there's pride in his voice.

When I don't respond, he adds, "I've changed a lot in the last year."

I gulp. It's like he's begging me to mention his weight gain. "Um, yeah? What've you been up?"

"Eating." He points toward the building next to him. It's a diner. "Wanna join me for lunch?" (The old Fitz never would've eaten at this place. He was a salad guy.)

"Naw. I'm good."

He steps closer. I think he's pushing out his belly. Then, with a conspiratorial whisper, he says, "You know, it's really fun to just... let go."

What is he talking about?

"You remember my cousin Donny?"

I shake my head.

"He's 400 pounds now."

I step back a little. "Okay?"

"He's the reason I'm on the Gain Train." He says that like it's a phrase I should recognize. The Gain Train? Does that mean...? Is he trying to get fat?

He waits for me to respond. He wants me to ask him. He wants... Fuck. I have no idea what he wants.

This whole conversation makes me feel deeply uncomfortable. "Well, have fun with that. See ya around."

I rush out of there as fast as I can. As I round the corner, I see him step into the diner with a big smile on his face.

***

Years pass before I see Fitz again. I think about him sometimes (that conversation was too weird to forget), but when I ask around, none of our mutual friends have heard from him. He's kind of an enigma in our town. We all assume he and his husband choose to keep to themselves.

And then one afternoon, on the exact same street as last time, Fitz spots me leaving my yoga studio. "Benny! Wait up!"

I spin around and see a complete stranger waddling toward me. If it weren't for his voice, I never would've suspected it was Fitz.

The shaved look works for him, but that's the only improvement on his otherwise ruined body. He hangs out of his stained tank top, and his drooping apron sloshes around as he approaches.

Just 10 steps toward me and he's already out of breath. He wasn't even running!

"I... (gasp) wanted to... (gasp) say hi."

"Hi," I say.

There's an awkward silence between us until he catches his breath. He asks, "Are you mad at me?"

For gaining, like, 200 pounds? No. I'm just... sad, I guess. And confused.

"Why would I be mad?"

"Because you always ignore me," he answers. "You and the rest of the old crew. Every time I see you guys..."

I gulp. So I had seen Fitz in the last couple years. I just didn't recognize him. I look at his round face and try to remember. We must've crossed paths around town, but for the life of me, I have no memory of this. He was just another fat guy blending into the crowd.

Should I tell him that? I don't want him to think that I'm an asshole. "Sorry. I... never recognized you."

"Oh," he says. He looks down at his bulging gut and smirks, as if I'd just paid him the ultimate compliment. "Cool," he whispers, more to himself than to me.

This interaction is just as awkward as last time, but I can't walk away now. I'm way too curious.

"Are you trying to gain weight?" I ask directly.

"Trying and succeeding, my man!" He steps back and raises his thick arms, waiting for me to take him all in. The sunlight draws shadows along his stretchmarks.

"Why?" I ask.

"The Gain Train," he says, just like last time. "You don't know how wonderful it feels to make yourself grow. It's like I never had control over my body until I learned how to change it."

"Uh huh."

"Seriously. Add a few pounds and you'll see what I mean."

"Maybe..." I mutter, because I don't have the confidence to scream, "Hell no!"

He smiles. He actually thinks I'm considering it!

"Good answer," he says. "Wanna feel?"

He grips the drooping edges of his belly and wobbles it up and down. He wants me to touch that thing.

Jesus! I would never!

But...

God, I should've just told him no. And I can still tell him no.

So why is my hand reaching forward? Why do I place my shaky palm on his belly curve?

Why do I let it sink in?

Our eyes meet and I feel the heat from his skin. I'm not letting go.

"Careful," he jokes. "You know fat is contagious."

That gets me to jerk my hand away.

Fitz looks me up and down. "Well, man. Since you recognize me now, maybe you can come over sometime. The hubby's a great cook."

(I forget his husband's name. I only met him once. He was a tall, bulky guy, so if Fitz is this big, I can only imagine how big his husband has gotten.)

"Sure," I say. Why did I say that?

And why is my palm still tingling with his belly heat?

Fitz pats my shoulder. "Well, gotta head back. Call me sometime."

I watch him waddle down the sidewalk, his shapeless ass wobbling under his sweatpants.

I'm speechless.

Confused.

Weirdly nervous.

And despite all that, I feel hungry.

There's no way I'll make myself fat like Fitz. God, that sounds awful.

But then why am I walking toward the diner? Why is my stomach rumbling?

***

Five years later, I waddle down the same street. I'm going to the diner again. Fitz is waiting for me in our usual booth.

I'm already 20 minutes late, and I can't let him order before I get there. He might not ask for enough.

I pass by my old friend Jimmy. His eyes glance toward my belly before he looks away and keeps walking.

I'm not mad that he doesn't recognize me. It happens.

But the next time I see him, I'll make sure to have a little conversation. Tell him what he's missing. Maybe let him touch my growing belly.

After all, fat is contagious.

The End

Thanks for reading! Check out my three-chapter story The Gain Train to see how this all started.

[charliegyrth]

Midnight Cakes - Day 209

In January, you went behind my back and signed up for the Midnight Cakes program, where a company pays you to eat one cake every night for a full year. We're more than halfway through the contract, and you're enormous. Last month, your mobility issues were making you depressed, so I asked the program for a drug that'll help you move at your new size.

The story so far: Day 1 / Day 35 / Day 90 / Day 103 / Day 141 / Day 168

***

Ten seconds before my phone goes off, you spring out of bed. Your heavy footsteps echo through the house. It’s a wonder our hardwood floor doesn’t crack under your 450-pound body.

I rush to catch up. My bony hip accidentally bumps into your mobility scooter, sending a jolt of pain through my side. We really should put that in the garage. You haven’t used it all month.

The extra medication they sent you has worked better than I ever thought possible. Despite being triple my size, you have so much more energy than I do. Like the lady on the phone promised, your muscles are supercharged, and with your constant sugar-high, I get to watch your fat body zip around the house all the time. It’s maddeningly hot.

In fact, you have more energy than I do at this point. I keep trying to get my weight back up. (You’ve even spoonfed me soup a couple times because I asked you to.) But no matter what I do, I keep losing weight. I just… don’t have an appetite anymore. I’m too obsessed with your explosive growth to feel hungry. There are some days when I completely forget to eat until you remind me.

I’m a little dizzy when I make it into the kitchen. By now, you’ve already brought out both of tonight’s cakes. You’re salivating.

You sit on two chairs, one for each shapeless cheek, and slide your pudgy finger across the frosting. You suck it off, but the actual eating won’t start until I’m ready.

“Sorry,” I say. For months, I’ve gotten used to waiting for you to heft your fat body around, and now the tables are turned. You’re the fast one, and I’m holding you back.

You laugh. “Ready, little guy?”

You know I am.

I watch you spread out your arms and press the two cakes together into one messy pile. You give me a wink and then slam your face into the mess. You’ve never eaten this way before.

Like a pig at a trough.

The splatter.

The noises.

The… everything!

This is the most joyful display I’ve ever seen. I want to crouch under the table, dig through your rolls, and pleasure your little nub.

But that would mean missing the show.

Plus, I have zero energy for all that digging. And your apron has gotten dangerously heavy. I could get crushed down there. Suffocated.

And you don’t need any encouragement from me anymore. The act of eating is all it takes to get you going, and my mouth would be more of a distraction than anything.

So I just stand there as you bury your face in your goodies, let out your piggish snorts, and take in huge chunks at a superhuman pace.

You’re superhuman now. Bigger than any human I’ve ever seen but with the energy and stamina of an elite athlete.

I press my palms against the table to steady myself. I’m close enough for globs to pelt my face. I’ve never been happier.

Ten minutes later, you’re finished. This is the messiest you’ve ever been. A full quarter of your feast is scattered on the table, on your gasping face, on your gut, on me.

You look adorable, though since Midnight Cakes is paying you to eat everything, all this mess seems like a bit of a cheat. Now you need my help.

I grab a towel from the counter, scoop up the remnants from the table until they’re a lumpy mass, and help you eat it off the towel. Just pour it in.

Ten seconds.

Then you use your hands to wipe your face clean (more or less) and eat those bits, too.

“Nice,” you say proudly. You’re still full of energy. “Did you like my new… style?”

“Uh huh,” I say.

You think for a second. You’re clearly not ready to go back to bed. We have more cakes in the fridge. Do you want to keep going? You’ve only had two.

I wait for directions. You look at me, then at the fridge. You lick your lips.

But instead of asking for more, you slam your hands against the table and push yourself to your feet. Effortlessly. Hundreds of pounds of loose fat hang off you, and you move with total grace.

Well, not total grace. Your thighs slosh against each other and your hanging rolls act like they’re at war with each other (a bouncing little war) every time you move. But otherwise… You’re graceful.

You stroll toward me seductively. You grip your apron and flop it up and down (also seductively). Then, before I can react, you pin me against the wall, flatten me with your heft, and kiss me.

“Let’s dance,” you whisper.

Huh. Not what I expected.

You shout for Alexa to play a slow dance song. When violins and tinkling piano fill the house, you hold me in your arms and sway.

I’m wrapped in your warmth. I’m safe. I’m loved.

And most of all, I’m so happy that you’re like this. Not just the fat part. You weren’t too much smaller last month (just 50 or so pounds), but you were miserable. Now that you can do things again, you’re just…

I’m just…

Everything’s perfect.

I let you lead. I used to be a great dancer, but it’s been so long and I’ve gotten so weak. It’s better this way, with your arms and belly guiding me. In a way, I feel like one of your cakes, like I’m frosting dripping through your fingers.

You kiss me a couple times. You even dip me when the music swells.

God, I love you so much.

The song fades out. The room goes silent aside from my pounding heart. You’re not ready to let me go yet. You just hold me.

You lean forward a little too far.

I stumble back, just two steps, but it’s enough for my calf to collide with the coffee table. I lose my balance.

You do, too.

Your eyes widen and…

You fall.

Right on top of me.

My body slams into the coffee table a microsecond before your body, all 450-something pounds, lands on top of me.

It happens so fast that I feel the pressure of your weight against my lungs before I feel the pain.

But when the pain comes…

I scream.

Both my legs are broken.

***

To be continued next month!

Thanks so much for sticking with this one! It's been very fun to revisit these characters every month.

[charliegyrth]

Zooming with Seth

I missed seeing Seth around the office. He was the nicest guy at work.

Total eye candy, too. With his tall, athletic body and all-American good looks, he was... Well, my pulse raced every time he strolled past my cubicle. I don't think he realized how hot he was.

Or if he did, I don't think he cared. He got married a few weeks after he joined the company, and he was head-over-heels in love with his husband Mike. Gushed about him constantly. It was like he didn't have the mental capacity to accept how beautiful he was because, in his eyes, Mike was the real knock-out.

And the craziest part was, he showed me pictures of Mike, and there was absolutely nothing special about the guy. I mean, he wasn't ugly or anything. He was just average (and a little doughy). Based on looks alone, Seth was way out of his league, but Seth was so smitten that he couldn't see that.

It was adorable, really.

So when Seth arranged to work from home so he could spend more time with the guy, I wasn't surprised. I was sad that I wouldn't get to see him every day, but what could I do?

I got to see his handsome face every Monday during our weekly Zoom meetings. He still dressed up in his work shirts, and he maintained his friendly, hard-working attitude. The only difference was that he wasn't physically here.

Well, there was one other difference, too. His husband always interrupted the meeting at least a couple times. Checking in on Seth. Offering him snacks. Surprising him with a kiss to the cheek, even when he was in the middle of talking.

No wonder Seth was so in love. Mike pampered him.

***

For the next two years, I saw Seth's happy face every Monday morning and I saw his doting husband flitting around in the background of their messy apartment.

It felt so expected (just another part of my work week) that it took me an embarrassingly long time to notice how he was changing.

In fact, I didn't notice until my coworker Sam (another part of our Zoom team) cracked a joke in the breakroom. He brought it donuts for the office and said, "Good thing Seth isn't here to take 'em all."

Everyone laughed except me. I didn't get it.

The next Monday, I finally came to my senses. I saw Seth on my computer, and for the first time, I noticed the new double chin peeking under his jawline.

My crush on him was so strong that it took me two years to realize that he was getting fat right in front of me.

Well, not right in front of me. If he was in the office, I would've noticed it a lot sooner.

But now that I did, I saw a thousand little signs that Seth wasn't the slender hottie he used to be.

His sloping shoulders.

The gaps between his buttons.

The gentle swell of his moobs.

And Mike! Freaking Mike. The guy used to give him an occasional snack, but now he was constantly dropping stuff off at Seth's desk. Seth finished every bite during our meetings, so I could only imagine how much he ate when he wasn't on camera.

For the next year (Seth's third year as a work-from-home employee), the jokes around the office got merciless. I never joined in (and I never laughed) but the rest of my coworkers... They were a little cruel.

One time, we had a minor earthquake. The ground trembled and some of the flyers fell off the corkboard. Sam jumped out of his chair and said, "Do you feel that? I think Seth is back in the office."

Everyone thought it was hilarious, but I felt awful. Poor, poor Seth. He was too kind to be treated like this.

The following Monday, we had our morning meeting. (Seth ate three donuts and some chips.) There was a grease stain on his dress shirt that everyone except him noticed.

We ended the meeting, but I asked Seth to stay on so we could talk privately.

He was a little surprised by that, but he agreed. Once everyone else logged out, I asked Seth point-blank if he was okay.

"Yeah! I've never been happier." He smiled so wide that his chins bunched up.

"And, uh, health wise..."

His smile disappeared. He looked at me for a long time, silently figuring out my intentions, before he answered, "Jesus. It's about time someone said something."

He told me that he'd been waiting for one of us to mention his weight gain. All this time, he heard people snickering when he ate on camera, or when he dropped sauce on his chins, or when he accidentally let his shirt button pop open between his moobs. He knew everyone was making fun of him behind his back, but he refused to say anything until someone else (me, apparently) brought it up.

He didn't sound upset about it, either. Well, he sounded upset that people were mocking him, but he wasn't upset about what he looked like. In fact, there was a bit of pride on the edges of his mouth.

I had to ask: "Are you trying to get fat?"

"No!" he said. "But thanks for having the confidence to ask. I'm just a happy hubby, you know?"

He looked around his room, a little conspiratorially, and grabbed his belly. He raised it up so I could see the huge sack of fat that was forever off-camera.

Damn. His shirt didn't fit at all. His pale, sauce-stained belly flowed out of him in a shapeless mass. So much bigger than I'd realized.

I gulped. "And you're okay, right? You're happy?"

"Very. And thanks, man. See ya next week." He raised his pudgy finger toward the computer and logged out.

Except... He didn't. He thought he did, but I could still see him. With his gut still in view, he looked over his shoulder and shouted, "Mike! Guess who finally said something!"

Off screen, Mike shouted back, "Darren? The hot one?"

"Yep. Told ya he was the nicest one in the office."

I switched off my camera but didn't log out. I felt guilty for spying, but I had to see what happened next.

Mike, who looked a little pudgier himself, walked in with a plate of muffins. "Well, honey. You ready to take a break?"

"Of course."

Mike leaned against Seth's sloping shoulders and brought a muffin to Seth's lips. It was weirdly erotic, especially how his free hand slowly unbuttoned Seth's shirt and played with his moobs.

Fuck! I needed to turn off the camera!

But I couldn't! I physically couldn't. I switched off the audio (that's the best I could do) as Mike fed and fondled his softening husband. I watched Seth's face relax. Get sleepy.

Pretty soon, he was asleep. And yet, Mike was still feeding him.

With the muffins gone, Mike left the room and Seth stayed where he was, fat, happy, and sound asleep.

***

Two more years passed, and Seth didn't stop growing. In fact, his gains seemed to speed up.

His face got rounder, with fat cheeks blending into his massive double chin. He wasn't conventionally handsome anymore, but he looked happier each time I saw him.

Jolly, I guess.

His shoulders widened and softened. His shirts were stretched so tight across his chest that the fabric was practically see-through. I knew he upgraded his wardrobe multiple times, but still... Whatever he wore never lasted for more than a couple weeks.

I never had any one-on-one conversations with him after that one interaction, but occasionally, he'd private message me during the meetings.

"Sam's laughing at me again, huh?"

"Did you see Laura's face when I ate that donut?"

"Cover for me. I need to mute myself and fart."

He had a great sense of humor about himself, and it felt nice to know that his gains, while obvious to everyone who saw him, were also this little secret that we shared.

At a certain point, the jokes around the office stopped. He'd gotten too big to laugh at. Everyone worried about him now. Everyone except me.

Even our boss, who was always at headquarters and stayed oblivious to the office gossip, found out. I'm not sure if someone told him or what, but for the first time in years, he announced an all-hands meeting. The whole staff, including Seth, would have to show up for some teambuilding.

Say what you want about our boss, but he hated teambuilding just as much as the rest of us. He was hands-off (which I loved), so... the meeting had to be because of Seth. Why else would he make everyone come in on a Saturday morning?

The night before, I couldn't sleep. I was... excited to see my coworker. Sure, I was nervous for how everyone else would react but my curiosity outweighed all that. By now, he had to be... what? 300 pounds?

Turns out, he was much heavier. On the morning of our all-hands, Seth rolled into the office on a mobility chair. He'd gotten too fat to walk.

The building went completely silent except for Seth's whirring chair and heavy breathing. He almost got stuck in the front door, but he managed to squeeze through.

And the way his entire body jiggled as he drove toward me... I was hypnotized.

Seth passed right past everyone else without acknowledging them. He kept a big smile on his round face. Pure confidence.

He didn't say anything until he reached me. "Hey, man. Good to see ya in person again."

"You, too," I said.

I truly meant it. He'd buried himself under hundreds of pounds of sloshing flab, but he'd never looked more handsome. His body radiated joy. His extreme size and softness was a testament to the fact that he was one happy hubby.

Good for him.

"Remind me where the break room is again," he said with a slap of his belly. "Gotta load up."

I led him toward the back, where boxes of donuts and pastries were waiting. They were meant for the entire staff, but Seth finished them all.

The End

Thanks for reading! Check out my Patreon for daily gainer stories. I'll be publishing this story from Seth's perspective over there.

[charliegyrth]

Diner Dan

I was only back in town for a few days. I didn't tell any of my friends because I figured I wouldn't have any time to see them. (It was my grandpa's 90th birthday, so I was just there for family stuff.)

It was a total fluke that I ran into Dan, my high school friend, one of the only other gay guys in my graduating class. I was picking up some balloons from the party store on Beale Street when I saw him through the window of Carver's Diner.

The window was smudged and he was looking in the other direction, so I couldn't tell if it was him at first. But when he turned toward me and I saw his beautiful amber eyes, I knew: Yeah. It was him.

He sat by himself in a booth. I guess he'd just finished because there were a couple empty plates on the table.

He caught me staring at him, so of course I had to go inside and say hi.

A handsome waiter (black hair, dark eyes) greeted me at the door.

"I'm just here to see someone. I won't be long." I nodded toward Dan.

The waiter's smile tightened but he let me pass.

When I reached Dan, he was leaning back in the booth. He smiled at me, but he didn't bother standing. And that's when I noticed that Dan had changed.

His face was the same. His muscular arms and dark, messy hair... All the same. And of course, he still had those pale, wolfish eyes and dark lashes that drove all the guys wild.

But his middle...

He wore a tight black shirt that rose up a little, revealing a ring of hairy fat that wrapped around his waist. He was only about 25 pounds heavier from his high school days, but for a guy who used to take such pride in his mountain chain of abs, that little roll was shocking.

"Hey, man. Wanna join me? The pancakes here are top notch."

"I'm good. And, uh, aren't you done?"

He shrugged. "I could do another round. Don't wanna leave just yet."

Silence stretched between us, and I tried my hardest not to look at his sliver of exposed skin. I really wanted to ask him if he was okay, if he realized how much he'd softened. Based on his straining shirt, I worried that he didn't know. He didn't even tug the fabric down to cover himself.

Dan broke the silence. "How long are you in town, man?"

"Just a couple days," I mumbled. "But..."

Dammit. My eyes drifted toward his belly again. He had to have noticed.

"Cool! Wanna meet here tomorrow for breakfast? I'm here all the time."

I gulped. Back in high school, Dan avoided Carver's Diner like the plague. We both did. It was the greasiest restaurant in town, and everyone who ate here was fat. I remember joking with him about it. And now, he came here "all the time"?

What the hell was he doing with himself?

"Uh, no thanks. I don't really like diner food. But maybe we can—"

"I didn't either," he cut me off. "But I learned to like it."

Again, I was speechless. He sounded like he forced himself to like greasy diner food. It didn't make sense.

Was he trying to get fat?

The handsome waiter walked over and asked Dan if he wanted anything else, ignoring me completely.

Dan squirmed around in the booth, obviously packed tight from whatever he'd already finished, and said, "Sure. How about... a milkshake?"

I studied Dan's face. He didn't have room for a milkshake. He was forcing himself to order it.

But then I noticed something else, and everything made sense. The way Dan smiled at the waiter and fluttered his long lashes... I'd seen that look before. His eyes were beautiful and he knew it. Expressive, too. When he liked someone, you could see it in those eyes.

He never looked at me that way. Despite all the times I flirted with him back in the day, he always saw me as a friend. But that waiter... Dan wanted him.

So that's why he'd become a diner regular. He had a crush.

The waiter smiled back at him, though his expression was more... professional. "Coming right up." He hurried off, making sure to sway his muscular ass a little as he disappeared into the back.

"Is he... your friend?" I asked awkwardly.

"I wish," Dan said. "But seriously, this place has the best service in town. You really should come here tomorrow."

I gulped. Poor, poor Dan. He was ruining his perfect body without even knowing it, just because of a one-sided crush with a server who, for all I knew, was straight.

It wasn't my place to say anything, though. In situations like these, I got embarrassingly tongue-tied. Dan would figure it out eventually. Honestly, he'd always been vain, so as soon as he took a long, hard look at himself, he'd come to his senses.

"It was, uh, nice to see you. Take care of yourself, okay?" (I really meant that.)

"You, too!" He smiled again, but his eyes were already drifting toward the waiter, who was arching his back and pushing out his ass as he poured a milkshake. Shameless, really. Dan probably tipped him a lot.

I hurried out of there as fast as I could.

***

Two years later, I went back to my hometown for my cousin's wedding. I kept telling myself that I'd visit more often, but life got in the way. You know how it goes.

This time, I was there for a week and a half. Grant (my cousin) asked me to be one of his groomsmen, so I had a bachelor party to go to. And wedding prep that I had to help me with. And, you know, other family stuff.

I kept busy, but on my third day there, I went back to Beale Street. I think it was curiosity that drew me toward the diner. I'd never forgotten about my brief interaction with Dan, and I always wondered if he'd come to his senses.

Every so often, I'd picture that hairy wedge of belly fat and flinch at how much I'd overreacted at the time. My life experiences had changed my outlook a lot. I was older now. I had a bit of a dad bod of my own, and (more importantly), my taste in men had... expanded.

My last boyfriend was a bigger guy. Michael. His belly was much rounder than Dan's had been, and I thought he was sexy as hell. We weren't together anymore, sadly, but he helped me realize that chubby guys could still be hot.

Looking back, Dan was barely out of shape. I still thought it was sad that he was gaining because of a crush, but I no longer saw him as this ruined ex-jock. I mean, he was barely overweight.

Anyway, I walked by the diner and casually peered inside on the off-chance that Dan would still be there.

And guess what. He was! Same booth and everything. I could only see him from the shoulders up, so the only change I could see was a slight double chin that hadn't been there before.

He was plowing through some pancakes at a comically fast pace. I walked inside to say hi (and check him out), no longer feeling the awkwardness of last time.

I didn't see the hot waiter anywhere. The whole place was empty except for Dan, which made his loud chewing noises pretty noticeable.

He didn't look up when I walked toward him. He was too focused on his food.

Jeeze, he was big. He looked like he'd stuffed himself at this dinner every day for the last two years, which... well, that's probably what happened. He wore a white dress shirt. It was unbuttoned, letting his thick beer gut fill out his lap, free to jiggle as he fed himself.

Okay. This was... more than I expected. By a lot. I didn't feel sorry for him, and there was something magnetic about the joy on the edges of his furiously chewing mouth, but... I mean...

Damn.

I cleared my throat.

He still didn't look up.

"Dan! Hey! It's great to see you."

He finally stopped eating. With his loaded fork still raised, he looked up at me. He didn't recognize me at first, not because I'd changed all that much, but because he was fighting off the food-haze from all those pancakes.

Then his beautiful eyes blinked. Twice.

"Dude! Long time no see!"

Now that the shock of his exposed belly had worn off, I joined him in the booth.

Outside of his double chin, his face hadn't changed. Still effortlessly handsome. He said he was excited to see me and asked how long I was back in town.

I told him about my cousin's wedding.

"Are you free now? Wanna join me for some breakfast?"

"Sure," I said. Why not? And since I wasn't tongue-tied (and he obviously wasn't self-conscious of his new look), I was direct with him: "Looks like this diner food has really gotten to you."

He looked down at himself, laughed, and closed one of the buttons. Just one. It did fuck-all to hide his gut. (In fact, the stretched fabric emphasized his roundness.) "Sorry. My shirts get a little messy sometimes, so it's better when I... Anyway."

He stopped talking. The silence was a challenge, like he wanted me to ask him questions.

So I did. I asked him point-blank if he was trying to get fat.

He laughed again. "Naw, man. I'm just addicted to diner food. Don't mind it, though." He grabbed his gut and wobbled it around. The poor button looked like it wanted to shoot off him.

I didn't mind it, either. I saw the beauty in his size. And the pride on his face.

"So you still eat here every day?"

"Pretty much. Thankfully, I don't have to pay anymore."

"Why?"

He didn't need to answer my question, because right on cue, that handsome waiter appeared out of nowhere. He placed two more plates of pancakes on the table, both for Dan.

Then he wrapped his arm around Dan's shoulder and kissed his cheek. "This your friend?"

Dan introduced us.

I felt so happy for him as he raised his pudgy fingers and showed me a gold band.

I guess all those meals were worth it. Dan married his handsome waiter, and they looked very happy together.

Fat and happy.

The End

Thanks for reading! Check out my Patreon for daily gainer stories, including choose-your-own-adventure erotica published twice a week! (Those are fun, and subscribers get to vote on how the stories will continue.)

[charliegyrth]

Am I a Good Piggy?

A Gainer Mini-Story

I'm asleep, having wonderful dreams, when I hear pig noises from the living room.

Grunts.

Snorts.

Shuffling around.

They're quiet at first, barely enough to wake me up.

I don't move. The background noise will lull me back to sleep and (hopefully) make me dream of you.

Except... The noises grow louder. The snorts become more desperate. Or are they just happier?

It's impossible to go back to sleep now.

I climb out of bed, wipe the sleep from my eyes, and trudge into the living room.

And there you are, sitting amongst a pile of fast-food trash on the floor. There's a KFC bucket in front of you, grease shining from your mouth and a drumstick in your hand.

Moonlight lights up your still-angular face. It makes your pale belly glow, casting slight shadows along the winding stretchmarks (just as pale as the rest of you) that decorate your belly like vines.

I'm amazed by the image. I was saving all this food for tomorrow (Sunday Funday), but outside of that last bucket of chicken, everything's gone. Reduced to stains and crumpled wrappers.

Pretty soon, the chicken will be gone too.

You look up at me with dazed eyes. You're exhausted. Your body needs to lie down and digest.

Why are you awake at two in the morning? Why are you eating tomorrow's food when you know that I'll just have to replace everything in the morning?

With your eyes locked on me, looking but still not focused, you bring the drumstick to your mouth and tear off a chuck of cold, greasy skin. You grunt as you swallow.

It's intentional, that grunt. All your noises were. You wanted me to wake up. You wanted me to see you like this.

Six months and 58 pounds ago, you didn't even know what a gainer was. You laughed at me when I brought it up. You thought I was joking!

And now, well... You're a natural. I still don't know if you like your new life, or if you just like making me happy.

I watch you fight off your sleepiness as you tear into the drumstick, then another, then another. I'm overcome with emotion. Lust, for one. But pride, too. Mostly pride.

In a couple minutes, the chicken is reduced to bones. You don't have the energy to drop them back in the bucket, so they're scattered around you.

It takes you a second to realize that there's no more food left. When that realization comes, you swoon a little. You'd fall flat on your back if I weren't here to catch you and ease you onto the floor.

Two months ago, I would've had the strength to carry you back to your bed. Instead, I make sure you're comfortable on the floor. I push a couple pizza boxes to the side and position a couch cushion under your head.

As your eyes slowly close, you whisper, "Am I a good piggy?"

I kiss your grease-coated lips. "The best in the world."

The End

Thanks for reading! Check out my Patreon for daily gainer stories. (They're usually longer than this one.)

[charliegyrth]

An Easy Escape

You see me walk into your room and immediately open your mouth. It's been months since you begged me to stop and even longer since you asked me when I would let you go. You'd learned that nothing you said or did would change my mind.

You were mine to fatten.

You brought this on yourself, of course. Let's never forget that. You came to me six years ago asking for a feeder. You told me you wanted to get as big as possible. You said you didn't have an upper limit.

So I agreed. I promised you I wouldn't stop until I decided you were big enough.

You loved it at first. Eating out of my hand when you were awake. Suckling on your feeding machine when you slept.

You were in hog heaven until three years ago (right after you crossed 300), when you stupidly tried to escape. That's when I had to bust out the handcuffs. I didn't have a choice, of course. You brought it on yourself.

I had to remind you, over and over, that you'd stop growing when I said you were big enough. I was simply honoring my promise.

Eventually, I fed the fight right out of you. Your eyes glazed over and you accepted your fate. You lost track of your progress, but I definitely didn't. The scale under your special bed showed me the steady march of progress. 500 pounds. 600.

And now, you're 650 pounds of nothing but fat. You're officially big enough. Bigger than my other two feedees combined. I'm so proud of you.

While you stare at me blankly, while your hungry mouth hangs open, I free your hands and help you sit up. "Okay, pig. I'm going to let you leave. If that's still what you want."

I think you understand my words, but I'm not sure.

"However, if you don't, I'll take that as a sign to keep growing you. This is your only chance to leave."

It takes you ten long seconds to understand. Your eyes come back into focus and your weak, pudgy hands poke into your sides. You understand now. The food-haze is gone.

"I can go?"

"Yep. You're welcome!"

You look excited. And scared. And determined. You press your hands into the mattress and try to twist to the side. You can't. Your body is too heavy and your muscles have long since dissolved into nothing.

"Here. I'll help you." I grab your cankles and ease your legs off the bed. I'm gentle. I know you haven't taken a step in ages, and I don't want to hurt you.

Your feet are planted on the floor and it takes all my strength (and a dozen attempts) to pull you to your feet. I seriously doubt that you can stand without shattering your leg bones, but somehow, you do.

Again, I'm very proud.

You're already out of breath.

"Come on, pig. Let's get you to the door."

I have railings on all the walls. You use them to steady yourself, but you mostly lean on me. It takes 20 exhausting minutes to make it through the house.

You don't have the ability to speak. (Each step is torture.) So I do all the talking. I explain that our contract is officially over as soon as you leave my house. And once you're outside, I'll call your family to come pick you up.

After that, you're free to live your life however you want.

You're dripping with sweat and barely able to fill your lungs when we reach the door. You have a death grip on the railing. "I'm... (huff) free?"

"Yes," I tell you. "I'd prefer to keep you here forever, to make you too big to move anything except your eyelids. But a deal's a deal. All you gotta do is step outside."

I open the door for you. You're seeing direct sunlight for the first time in years. You're smiling. With one hand on the railing, you step through the doorway.

Your side rolls brush against the doorframe. You're halfway outside when you stop.

"Almost there," I whisper.

You grunt horribly. You twist around, sending ripples through your back fat.

"I... I..."

"What's wrong?" I ask sweetly. "You wanna stay?"

"No," you groan. "I'm... (gasp) stuck."

You keep trying to squeeze through. You gasp and scream. You push with everything you got and... nothing. You're jammed in the doorway.

Then, you give up. You fall backwards and land on your three-foot-wide ass.

Just as I expected. Once you hit 650, you'd be too big to escape.

I stand over you, smiling down at your defeated face.

"So you wanna stay? You want to keep growing?"

You try to answer, but you're exhausted. And broken. You pass out on the floor.

It'll take me a while to get you back onto your bed, but once I do, I won't need to put you back in your handcuffs.

The End

Thanks for reading! Check out my ebooks for more gainer stories.

[charliegyrth]

Two Novels

Hi, people! I've been having a blast over on Patreon. I still post daily stories and chapters, and I just started doing more choose-your-own-adventure stuff. Twice a week, subscribers vote on how those stories progress. (Right now, it's Fat Trials, where "you" sign up to be a guinea pig for a medical company.)

Anyway, check it out if you're interested. But if you don't want to subscribe, I also have two Patreon novels available for one-off purchase:

Your Punishment: 300 Pounds is my current one. The 16th chapter will come out next Monday. It's a sci-fi story about a dystopian future where prisons are closed and all criminals are forced to gain weight at home. I posted the first chapter here, but the story has taken some hard turns since then. (In fact, I had to retitle it to "Your Punishment: 500 Pounds.")

My other novel is Fat Revenge. This one is finished, but I'll be adding a few spin-off stories in the next month. It's a dark romance about a man taking revenge on his high school bully by fattening him up, unaware that his "victim" knows exactly what's happening. (This one's also available as an ebook.)

Check 'em out. And as for my Tumblr-first stuff, expect more Circus Fat Man, Let It Grow, and a couple standalone stories next week.

[charliegyrth]

A Vibrator Makes You Fat

Week 51

(FIY: This story is much more explicit than my usual stuff.)

Previous chapters: 1 2 3 4 / 8 9 / 12 / 15 / 21 22A 22B 23 / 31

***

Fifty-one weeks ago (I can’t believe it’s been that long), I convinced you to try out a remote-controlled vibrator. You were lean and muscular at the time. Very masculine. Very resistant to bottoming. It didn’t take long for you to be overwhelmed by the backdoor stimulation, and thanks to a little experimentation on my part, you started associating that pleasure with food. Like Pavlov’s dog, your brain got rewired.

Soon, you didn’t even need the vibrator. All you had to do was eat and feel the sensations shoot through you.

Obviously, you grew. You buried your body in jiggling lard and craved constant stimulation. Eating took over your life, so we teamed up with Fat Bulk Media to do livestreams. We made a ton of money, but our boss Mr. Li decided to take things a little too far. At the end of last year, we did a donation drive, and you got so overstimulated that your pleasure sensors shut down. Those backdoor tingles were lost forever, so we had to use our other sex toys. That worked for a while, and your whole body became one big, jiggling erogenous zone.

But then Mr. Li came back and threatened to confiscate all our toys if we didn’t start livestreaming again. You decided to give it another shot, and now, twenty weeks later, we’re both a bit different…

***

I’m asleep on the couch, dreaming of you.

Thwump. Something soft and hot presses down on my face. It blocks my airway and forces me awake.

A face full of your belly skin. I pinch it so you’ll back up and let me breathe again.

I hate when you smother me with your belly. I love it, too.

“Are we filming again?” I ask sleepily.

“Don’t you know what today is?” you ask slyly.

I really don’t. I’m still sleepy and bloated.

“Figured,” you say. “I brought a clue, but you’ll have to find it.” You spread out your arms and wait for me to search.

You’ve lost 90 pounds so far this year (about as much as I’ve gained), so your body is a glorious pile of loose rolls. You’re still impossibly fat, but the more you lose, the more you… hang. Your arm flab sags off you like sugar glider wings and your cascading belly rolls are loose and irregular. A lot of people (most people) are scandalized by your floppy, deflated body. (And we’ve lost a chunk of our former subscribers because of it.) But it’s such a wonderful contrast to my growth, and since every inch of you has become hypersensitive and electric, all your extra acres of flesh definitely come in handy.

And right now, you’re using your body to jolt me awake. You have a clue for me, and it’s time for a little scavenger hunt.

I sit up with a grunt. I’m too excited to be sleepy anymore. I barely even feel last night’s pig-out. I place my hands on your top roll, the one hanging under your shapeless moobs, and dig in. I feel the warmth of your nooks and crannies, but I can’t find the clue. Just sweat.

You grunt. Any time I touch you makes you grunt.

“Okay,” I say. “Not there.”

I move on to your next fold. And your next.

Then finally, when I’m digging into the hot, wet space where your belly button used to be, I feel something long and hard. It’s a stick of some kind. It’s too long to be a kneader. (One of your favorite sex toys. A mini-vibrator that you can stick anywhere so it can jiggle you and dispense lotion.) Plus, there’s some sort of fabric attached to the end.

I pull it out excitedly. Your rolls jostle around before falling back into place.

It’s a tiny American flag, soaked from your sweat.

“Happy Fourth of July!” you say.

I give it a little lick to taste your salty goodness. “Happy Fourth.”

It takes me a second to remember what we have planned for today. We always make special videos for the holidays.

Since we restarted the channel back in February, I do most of the eating while you let your body play around with its many, many toys. It’s the perfect combo: Our subscribers can see my growth (though I’m not gaining nearly as fast as you did) and your rapid-fire orgasms. A standard vibrator doesn’t work for you anymore but the rest of you is supercharged.

I suddenly remember how special today is. We’re going to try something we haven’t tried in months! It might not work, but if it does… it’ll change our lives forever.

I’m filled with excitement. And based on the way you’re tugging on your moobs and biting your lip, I know you’re excited, too.

You help me stand. It’s crazy how you’re more mobile than I am now. I used to be the one helping you move, but all this weight loss has really boosted your strength.

“They’ll be here soon,” you say. “Help me get ready.”

You lead me into the bathroom. We both step into the shower, which has been heavily remodeled (courtesy of Fat Bulk Media) so we can both fit inside. You switch on the hot water and grab the soap.

You clean me first, focusing (as always) on my expanded belly. I don’t really have rolls yet. Not like you. I’m thick and round. Easy to clean.

Then it’s my turn. It’s a joy to clean all your hidden places and let my soapy hands sink in. I could spend hours scrubbing your front clean, but today’s special, so I hurry through that and make you spin around. Your back has a lot less hanging skin than the front, and it’s mostly concentrated in two slabs of back rolls. I clean those fast. Then I go lower.

Your cheeks are loose and lumpy, not nearly as thick as the rest of you. I spread them open and spend a long time flushing you out with a squirt bottle. The water’s too loud for me to hear if this makes you grunt. Probably not. Your nerve endings back there are still fried from overstimulation. I do notice that you clutch the railing to steady yourself. Perhaps that’s a good sign for today. We’ll see.

When I’m done, we step out and help each other towel off. I wriggle into red-and-blue briefs that barely fit. They squeeze painfully into my wide hips, but they’ll be coming off soon enough.

Your costume is an Uncle Sam hat. I place it atop your round head and tie the strap under your chins.

“How do I look?” you ask.

I pinch your moob. “Patriotic.”

But you also look nervous. More nervous than excited, apparently. You really don’t want to disappoint me today. You’re doing a good job of hiding it, but I can see it in your eyes.

Right on cue, the door opens and our film crew barges in. Three twinks, one chub, and a couple cameras. They say their hellos and start setting up.

I follow you to our bed and climb on. You get comfortable with your back against the headboard and your rolls fanning out between your legs in a beautiful pile.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Logan (our lead cameraman) says. Unlike the rest of the crew (all salivating and eager for the show), he keeps his expression neutral. To him, this is just a gig. That's why he's manning the main camera. He has steadier hands.

With the cameras rolling, I say our introductions. For about five minutes, I wish everyone a happy holiday, recap everything you fed me since our last video, and play around with your rolls. Standard stuff.

Then I get to the exciting part. “In honor of our nation’s anniversary, we’re going back to where our journey first started. I know you keep asking for it, and now it’s finally time to see if my big man has regained his sensitivity.”

I glance at you. You’re smiling at the camera, wide enough to bunch up your chins, but I know you’re holding back your fear.

“A little help?” I ask you.

You make a big deal of stripping off my briefs. You tug ’em down to my knees and I do the rest. My cock is already hot and ready. I’m always ready.

Your rolls shift around as you slide your pudgy fingers up my shaft. Barely touching it. Just making sure I’m as hard as I can get. No problem there.

Then you let out deep, machine-gun grunts and bend forward. You position yourself on your hands and knees. Your face is directly in front of the main camera. Your moobs and belly flab flow onto the mattress below. You’re in position.

Okay. Now I’m nervous. We haven’t had traditional sex all year, and… Well, I’m much bigger now.

I get behind you. Our second camera is at my side, filming me as I grab the lube (another product placement) and slick you up.

You’re wide open. Cavernous. Your ring clenches and unclenches around my three fingers. No matter how you’re feeling right now, your body is responding like it used to. Hungry. Desperate to be filled.

One of our assistant twinks places a donut on your sloping back. I eat that hands-free as my fingers prime your hole.

You clench tight around my fingers, tight enough for a slurping sound, but I don’t hear you. I hear your raspy breathing. (I always hear your breathing.) But you’re not grunting or whimpering. You’re not feeling it.

As a little experiment, I pinch your side roll. That makes you whimper.

This isn’t going to work. Even if you fake it for the camera, I’ll know that this part of you is forever ruined.

But I can’t stop now. Thousands of people are watching.

I eat another donut off your back, remove my fingers, and plant my belly on top of you.

“Oof,” you say.

Slowly, I slide inside. You swallow up my entire length. It feels wonderful to be inside you again. So warm. Not very snug, though.

I pump. Twice.

And like magic, you clench around me. Your body wobbles. And for the first time in hundreds of pounds, you buck against me.

I drive into you, increasing my speed and force.

Then I hear the greatest sound in the world. You whimper my name.

You’re not faking it for the cameras. This is real. You’re actually feeling it.

You whimper again and your Uncle Sam hat falls right off.

With your renewed strength, you’re pounding backwards into me, forcing me to go even faster. Pretty soon, I’m gasping for breath. I haven’t exercised like this in months.

Your noises fill the room. Not just whimpers and grunts, but slapping. Flopping. Sloshing. Your body is a factory of sound effects. Even through my raggedy breaths, I hear you crystal clear.

As the pleasure overwhelms me, our assistant slams another donut into my mouth. The sugar blast adds to my joy. My physical joy, of course. But my emotional joy, too. You’re back to your old self. You're feeling the tingles that we both thought were gone forever.

I don’t know how long this lasts. It feels like hours. I could last longer if you let me slow down, but I’m following your bucking rhythm.

When it’s too much, when I don’t even feel like I’m in my own body anymore, you buck against me one last time. I can’t hold back. I flood you.

Your wobbling body is overcome and you scream, “Happy… Independence Day!”

You collapse flat on your stomach and my dripping shaft pops out. Your rolls and folds fan out in all directions.

I’m still leaking. It doesn’t stop. The pleasure doesn’t stop. All I can do is grip into your fat to steady myself and let everything drain out. Then I fall onto your warm, comfortable back.

I look up at the camera. You do the same.

“You’re back,” I whisper.

“And better than ever,” you whisper in return.

***

To be continued…

Thanks for reading, everyone! I love going extra wild with this series. Please check out my Patreon for daily gainer stories. And if you don't want to pay for a subscription, you can buy my Patreon-exclusive novel Your Punishment: 300 Pounds by itself. It's turning out a lot longer than I expected.

[charliegyrth]

Thin Walls

Joey lived in the apartment next door. I didn't know him too well.

We saw each other a lot in the hallway. I came home from work when he got back from his daily visits to the gym. He was friendly, but he always seemed too sore and sweaty to have a real conversation.

Then one day, his schedule changed. I stopped running into him completely. I assumed he changed his gym schedule.

But then I ran into him, after weeks of no contact, and he looked different. His hair was longer. He seemed happier. And his muscular body had sprouted a round gut that bulged into his tank top.

"Hey, Joey! What's new?" I tried to be casual and not out-and-out ask him why he looked so different.

"Got a new boyfriend," he said proudly.

"Congrats." (I didn't know he was gay.)

"Yeah. Great guy. He's a chef!"

Well, that answered my question.

"He's coming over tonight for the first time! Gotta clean up the place!" He hurried into his apartment like an excited kid. I definitely noticed the way his ass had softened under his sweatpants. He jiggled now.

It took me a while to head back inside. I'd never been attracted to fat guys before. Joey used to be exactly my type. (If I'd known he was gay, I would've said something.) But now... he was chubby. He wasn't as hot.

So then why were my cheeks flushed? Why did I keep picturing that jiggle?

I guess it was because I was happy for him. He had relationship weight now. His softer body was a sign of his happiness. That must be why my body was... responding.

I walked inside and tried not to think about it.

Unfortunately, our walls were very thin, so I heard a lot that night. There was groaning and thumping. Moaning noises. And a few times, I heard his unseen boyfriend bark out commands, like "Eat it!" and "Just a little more."

You can probably guess what I kept imagining that night. I had flashes of Joey's boyfriend pinning him to the bed and feeding him donuts and cakes. And because I didn't know what his boyfriend looked like, I... pictured myself doing the feeding.

I knew about the gainer community. I'm not an idiot. But until that moment, I thought it was a weird little kink, something that I'd never be interested in.

Well, those noises unlocked something inside me. I touched myself. I felt like a real creep for eavesdropping, so I didn't jerk off or anything. (Even though I really, really wanted to.) Instead, I sort of... wandered into the kitchen as if my feet had a mind of their own.

I pulled out all the leftovers I had. And to the symphony of their lovemaking, I stuffed myself. It was like a vicarious sexual awakening, and I found myself eating to the rhythm of the grunts behind my wall.

Yes, it's embarrassing. Yes, I never told a soul about it (which is why I sent this story anonymously to Charlie Gyrth, so he could post it on my behalf). But... yeah. That was the turning point in my life.

Afterwards, I was stuffed, woozy, and full of shame. I vowed to myself that I'd never do that again.

But I did. Many, many times. Joey's boyfriend came over nearly every night, and the two of them kept getting louder and more enthusiastic. I cleared out my pantry several times over, and started increasing my trips to the supermarket to keep up.

Two months passed, and I never ran into Joey. I still hadn't met his boyfriend or even knew his name. (Joey always called him "baby.")

And before I knew it, I had a belly just like Joey. Same shape. Same jiggle. I knew my hips had widened, too. (I could feel it in the stretch of my pants.) Though I couldn't tell if my backside looked as big as his. Probably.

Then one day, it finally happened. I came home with bags of pastries and snack boxes from the supermarket just as Joey and his boyfriend were entering their apartment.

Joey had softened up a lot. I was his former pudgy shape, but he'd packed on another 30 or so pounds. The bottom of his belly hung out of his shirt in a pale, hairy droop.

He looked at me. I looked at him. Neither of us said anything.

Then his boyfriend (a short, stocky blond guy with glasses) burst out laughing.

Joey nudged him, a silently warning to stay quiet.

The boyfriend ignored him. Walked over. Shook my hand. "Hey, neighbor. I'm Louis."

"William," I introduced myself.

"You live next door, huh?"

"Louis, don't," Joey whispered.

He didn't listen. He glanced down at my shopping bags. "My boyfriend and I are big fans."

"What?"

Joey looked so embarrassed as he stepped closer. His boyfriend had started a conversation that he didn't want to be a part of, but it was too late now. He had to say something. "The thing is... our walls are pretty thin, and we can hear you sometimes."

My heart dropped. "You hear me?"

"Yup," Louis said. "After Joey and I have our fun, we always listen to you grunting and stuffing yourself. And, honestly, your stomach gurgles louder than anyone I know." He pinched Joey's belly. "Including this pig over here."

"I... Sorry. I didn't..."

"Don't apologize," Louis said. "I think you're into the same thing we are." His eyes were all over me, sizing me up, mentally calculating my BMI.

Joey, who had gotten past his awkwardness, touched my shoulder. "If you're interested, maybe you can come over tonight. We have plenty of food." His eyes locked on mine. "And we like to share."

Damn.

I followed them straight into their apartment.

That was the beginning of my relationship with Joey and Louis. Two years and a combined 120 pounds later, the three of us are still going strong.

The End

Thanks for reading!

Make Him Softer is my latest ebook. it's a 10-story collection of weight gain romances and erotica about gainers of all sizes. Check it out.

(This story isn't included in that collection. I just wanted to share the news.)

[charliegyrth]

Pig Auction - A Sneak Peek

Hi, people! I wanted to let you know about my new ebook Pig Auction, where "you" bid on one of four handsome men to be your personal pig. Based on who you choose, the story branches off in four different directions.

This is the opening chapter. I already posted this on my Patreon and asked my subscribers to vote on which of the four stories they'd like to read. (I won't tell you which one they picked.)

I'm not going to do that here, but if this gets enough likes and reblogs, I'll publish some spin-on Pig Auction stories to the public. I think it's a fun premise to play around with.

Anyway, here's the story...

***

The grand door opens and a butler ushers you inside. You hand him your invitation and follow him through a grand foyer.

If you were less nervous, you’d notice that the butler is pretty cute. He’s young and blond, with a heart-shaped face and a tuxedo that seems perfectly tailored to his short, slender body. He’s a twink, and even though he’s all-business as he takes you into the auditorium, there’s a feminine sway to his walk that’s unintentionally seductive.

Okay. You definitely notice that. How can you not? For a second, as you watch his tuxedo tail shift against his ass (the only thick part of his small body), you wonder what he’d look like with a couple hundred extra pounds. If you were his feeder, you’d make that ass spectacular.

Stop that, you scold yourself. He’s not up for auction. He’s just a worker here.

He pauses at the entrance to the auditorium and glances over his shoulder. He smiles at you. Yeah, he knows you were checking him out. “Right this way, sir.”

You follow him to a row of chairs facing the stage. It looks like you’re the last one to arrive. You sit on the only empty seat. The other bidders (all much older than you) don’t acknowledge you in any way.

Your pulse quickens again. You don’t belong here. All these guys are successful businessmen in their 50s and 60s. They’ve probably bought plenty of pigs before. They probably have stables of ’em back in their mansions, dutifully eating and growing. They’re experts in fattening. And if not, they have expensive machines and full staffs of feeders on call.

The man next to you glances over suspiciously. He knows you’re not really one of them.

You’ve only been rich for a couple months. You sold your tech company for millions, and while your bank account is just as padded as these guys (maybe even more so), you don’t feel like a rich person yet. You don’t feel like you belong.

The butler is still standing by your side. He clears his throat.

“Oh. Uh. Sorry.” You take the little paddle from his hand. You don’t know what it’s called. It’s the thing you raise above your head when you place a bid. Everyone else has theirs. Yours is #17.  The others have their paddles placed on their laps, so you do the same.

The butler is about to leave, but he circles back and places his small hand on your muscular shoulder. “Don’t be nervous,” he whispers. There’s kindness in his blue eyes.

Then he’s gone. The room is so quiet that you’re terrified the others can hear your pounding heart. You think about leaving. This is the moment you’ve always dreamed of, ever since you were a sexually confused adolescent dreaming about your dad’s big-bellied friends. But now that you’re here, it’s… it’s too much. You would’ve left if the butler hadn’t closed and locked the door.

Too late now.

Suddenly, the air in the room turns electric. Nothing looks different, but it feels different. The others notice it, too.

And then he steps onto the stage. Grayson Daniels, the sole heir of the Daniels paper mill empire. He grew up in extreme wealth, never learning the meaning of the word no. Everyone knows his backstory. His childhood was surrounded by servants who had to do everything he said, so he entertained himself by forcing them to eat. His family turned a blind eye as every butler in his household grew too big to fulfill their other duties. So his father simply hired more, and Grayson fattened them, too.

Once he took over the family business, he pivoted from paper mills to pig auctions. And the rest is history.

You’ve seen his photo before, but in person… He’s handsome enough to rip the air out of your lungs. His chiseled face: perfect. His tall, athletic body: perfect. His thick, silver hair: my God! Good genes mixed with unlimited cash for surgeries and medications has turned him into an adonis. You’re not attracted to healthy-looking guys, but even you can recognize perfection when you see it.

He stands confidently in the center of the stage and smiles like he owns the world, which he pretty much does. “Welcome to the Spring 2024 Pig Auction. We have four men waiting to show off their gorgeous bodies! No talking, please. And remember, all winning bids are final. Weight gain is not guaranteed unless you work for it.”

Grayson’s gray, devious eyes scan the row of bidders. He pays extra attention to you. The newbie.

Then he clears his throat and gestures toward stage right. “Without further ado, here’s Paul, our first pig!”

Paul immediately struts onto the stage. He’s dressed only in a speedo, which shows off a very prominent bulge. He has long brown hair pulled into a manbun. He’s extremely tall and very thin, with pale skin and virtually no muscle definition. He has a happy trail and a tuft of hair in the center of his chest, but his body is otherwise hairless.

He paces the front of the stage, striking various bodybuilder poses that look almost comical. He’s smiling like this is a beauty pageant, though you can tell he’s nervous.

He reminds you of a stork. Or maybe a really well-endowed Ichabod Crane.

As he shows off his body from every angle, Grayson continues the introduction, looking down a card full of stats. “Paul here is an accountant. He’s passionate about basketball, but don’t worry, gentlemen. He just watches it on TV. He’s been skinny all his life and has no interest in physical activity. He’s 6’3” and only 160 pounds, so he’s got plenty of room to grow.”

Paul stops right next to Grayson with his hips pushed forward and his hands on his sides.

“And as you can probably tell, he’s hung like a horse.” Grayson laughs. “That wasn’t on the cue card. I just wanted to add it.”

He slides his arm around Paul’s very narrow waist and nudges him to the side of the stage. “Okay. Next up! We have Derrick!”

Derrick lumbers out. He’s wearing a matching speedo, but otherwise, he’s the opposite of Paul in every way. He’s short enough to look stumpy, and his body is bulging with tanned, hairy muscles. He crosses the stage with a cocky swagger, striking bodybuilder poses with ease. Occasionally, he runs his short, thick fingers through his dense fur.

“Derrick is an office manager for Daniels Paper. He’s a passionate weightlifter and competitive wrestler, so you’ll have to work hard to push through that metabolism. He’s 5’5” and 170 pounds with very little body fat. His hobbies include hiking, lifting, and…” (The cue card seems to surprise Grayson.) “Watching romcoms. Really?”

Derrick pauses his flexing to shrug. He has a blunt, bearded face but when he smiles, he looks quite boyish. He has a very cute gap between his front teeth.

Grayson slaps him on his solid ass, and the future pig hurries to the side. He and Paul stand side-by-side without acknowledging each other.

“Next up,” Grayson continues, “we have Harry!”

Harry scurries out. If Derrick and Paul represented the two extremes, Harry fits snugly in the middle. His body is average and healthy. He’s not skinny or muscular. He’s kind of a blank slate. Honestly, he looks exactly like you, though his face is more handsome. It’s probably because of those striking amber eyes. They’re beautiful enough to verge on spooky.

“Harry is a systems analyst and part-time Uber driver. He’s 5’10” and 165 pounds.”

Hmmm. That’s exactly your size, too.

You watch Harry show off his body, and you can’t help but notice that he seems nervous, too. His hands are shaking a little.

“Harry enjoys going to the beach and playing guitar. As a child, he wanted to be a musician.”

Harry pauses at the edge of the stage to flex his biceps. Suddenly, his amber eyes lock on you. This is the first time one of the potential pigs has looked at you directly, and your heart speeds up. Maybe it’s because he recognizes how similar you look to him. You awkwardly glance away and he continues showing off for the rest of the room.

“Oh,” Grayson adds, “and guess what? Harry used to be very fat before puberty, so he has real potential for growth.”

Harry keeps flexing, so Grayson has to grab his arm and pull him toward the side of the stage. Once again, the amber-eyed man looks right at you as he takes his place with the others.

“And finally, we have our last pig of the day. Check out Michael!” Grayson grandly gestures toward the side, but no one comes out.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, someone offstage shoves Michael into view.  Grayson clears his throat and Michael reluctantly starts walking around.

He does not want to be here. He keeps his arms over his bare torso to cover himself up. He doesn’t flex or pose. And his big, dark eyes look like they’re fighting back tears.

Poor guy.

The other three men are all handsome in different ways, but Michael isn’t handsome. He’s beautiful. He has full lips. Long lashes. Silky black hair. He’s slender with slightly too-wide hips. He’s androgynous enough to be a model. Like the butler, he has a sway to his walk, and like the butler, his ass is the only thick part about him.

“Michael is a barista. He enjoys baking, yoga, and hanging out with friends. He’s 5’8” and 140 pounds. And he’s a Gemini.” Grayson scoffs as he reads that last part, clearly not interested in horoscopes.

Michael paces quickly along the front of the stage, never bothering to hide his embarrassment (or shame?) for being here.

“This one is the wild stallion of the group,” Grayson continues, “so his feeder will definitely have his hands full.”

Wild stallion. You’re not sure what that means. You assume Grayson is saying that he doesn’t want to get fattened. Well, he signed up for this. If you pick Michael, he’ll have to eat anything you give him.

With his head down, Michael trudges to the other three men.

Now that they’re all lined up, the contrast is startling. There’s the tall, lanky hipster with a huge cock and plenty of room to grow. There’s the short, musclebound weightlifter destined to get very, very wide. There’s the amber-eyed hottie who reminds you of yourself. And there’s the beautiful twink who’s ready to resist his fattening at every turn.

Four choices, and each one feels exciting.

“Alright, gentlemen!” Grayson proclaims. “It’s time to make your bids.”

You gulp. There’s no way you’ll pass up this opportunity now. You’re here. You have the money. And pretty soon, you’ll have your very own pig. But who do you choose?

***

As you can probably tell, this is the part where the reader decides whether to fatten skinny hipster Paul, short bodybuilder Derrick, average but soulful Harry, or resistant twink Michael.

I'm having a blast playing around with interactive erotica both on Patreon and in my ebooks. (If you don't remember, I tried to do the same thing here on Tumblr, but the interest just wasn't there. Maybe I'll go back to it.)

Anyway, thanks for reading! And check out Pig Auction when it releases July 21.

[charliegyrth]

It's not exactly a story prompt but I've noticed two recurring features in the stories you post: 1) most stories involve extreme weight gain 2) you often skip intermediate steps in your description of weight gain (like: first signs of getting fat ... time skip ... extremely obese).

It would be nice if you could focus a little more on "average" body types (like overweight and class 1 obesity) and a little more on the description of the intermediate steps of the journey.

Anyway, thanks for what you do ❤️

Thanks for the feedback. That is a very valid point. I'm personally drawn to more extreme body changes (both as a writer and a reader), but in my real life, I very recently crossed from an Overweight to Class 1 Obese BMI (5'10" and 220 lbs). I'm very happy with my size, but I think I go so extreme in my stories as a way to fantasize about what I could look like in the future.

And as for the time jumps, I think I'm doing better at including more of the intermediate stages. When I first started writing gainer fiction, I published a lot of two-scene "before and after" stories. Stuff like Liam's Sweet Tooth, Hangry, and A Roommate Gets Fat. I still use that structure sometimes because I love emphasizing the contrast in bodies and lifestyles, but most of my newer stuff fills out the middle, so to speak.

However, all plus-sized bodies are beautiful, so here's a short gainer story that ends with our main character getting big but not too big...

Just a Little Obese

My two roommates were polar opposites. Jerry was social, athletic, and a golden retriever in human form. Very enthusiastic. Very fun to be around.

Oliver, on the other hand, was quiet, chubby, and probably the smartest guy I knew. He was always really nice, but he mostly kept to himself.

As for me, I was... well, I was the gay one in the apartment. Physically, I looked more like Jerry, but personality-wise... I don't know. There were times I felt like partying all night with him, and other times where I was happy just chilling in from of the TV with Oliver.

For the first year we lived together, I was in a pretty disastrous relationship with this guy that I'd rather not name. (You know who you are.) When I finally came to my senses and dumped his ass, both my roommates were nothing but supportive.

I lost most of my gay friends after the relationship. Danny made sure to spin things and make me look terrible. (Damn. I wasn't supposed to say his name.) Because of that, I spent a lot more time with Jerry and Oliver, who were quickly becoming my best friends.

I can't tell you how many nights I spent chugging beers and party-hopping with Jerry, or how many evenings I spent vegging out with Oliver.

We were all in our mid-20s. We had jobs and responsibilities, but when we were together, it was like we were college freshmen with no cares in the world.

The first time we had an argument came out of nowhere. Jerry and I were both eating leftover pizza in the kitchen. (Best hangover cure!) I was in my pajamas and Jerry, as always, was shirtless. He gave me this sneaky look and just slammed his stomach against me. Came out of nowhere.

"What the hell, man?"

He stepped back and laughed. "Just training to be a sumo!" He slid his palm down his stomach, emphasizing how bloated he was from last night's beers.

I poked him in his hard, hairy bloat. "That's cultural appropriation, Jer."

He poked my stomach. "You're cultural appropriation."

It didn't make sense, but we both laughed. Pretty soon, I had my shirt hiked up and we were comparing which of our stomachs was rounder. (It was a tie.)

Just as he pulled back his hand to slap my belly, Oliver charged into the room. He was pissed. "Can you two stop that?"

Jerry slapped me anyway. I felt the leftover pizza jostle around. "Stop what?"

"Stop making fun of fat people!"

I immediately felt terrible. That's not what we were doing at all, but poor Oliver thought we were making fun of guys like him. And he wasn't even all that fat! Yeah, he had moobs and his belly bunched up when he sat, but I barely even noticed that he was bigger and softer than us.

Unlike a lot of my gay friends, I never check out straight guys. What's the point? The fact that Jerry was objectively hot while Oliver was... well, he had a handsome face... it didn't matter to me. My brain registered them as friends, and that's all I saw.

Anyway, I apologized to Oliver and told him we'd stop. Jerry, on the other hand, tried to explain that we didn't do anything wrong, that Oliver was acting paranoid. They started shouting at each other, and I was caught in the middle.

It felt like such a minor thing, but my two roommates both stormed into their rooms. That was our first real fight.

I promised myself that I wouldn't mention bellies again. Once my beer bloat shrank, things would go back to normal and (hopefully) Jerry would show some restraint.

Except... The bloat never shrank. Days passed and my stomach was still round and solid. And Jerry (who still walked around the apartment shirtless) kept his belly, too.

I noticed him scratching it a lot, but I wasn't sure if he was aware that his body had permanently changed. I wanted to talk to him about it, but I didn't want to bring up the sore subject around Oliver.

Over time, it stopped being a big deal. This was just our new normal. Jerry and I were thicker than our college days, and that was that. Didn't affect his dating life. (He hooked up a lot.) And since I was single and still recovering from my breakup, I didn't feel the need to hit the gym or anything.

In fact, the only time I was reminded of our sort-of dad bods was when I caught Oliver glaring at my stomach. After the argument, he was moodier than usual. It's hard to describe his expression. It was like he was angry that we accepted our (very minor) weight gain without getting all angsty like him.

Then one evening, the three of us were eating dinner at the table. Jerry was talking a mile a minute (I don't remember the topic) when there was a loud clink under the table. Jerry froze, looked down in his lap, and burst out laughing.

"What happened?"

"Dude!" he said. He jumped to his feet and showed me his half-open zipper. His button had shot off. "Look at this! I popped my pants!"

He wasn't proud or anything. Just bemused. As he smiled at me, he grabbed his belly and jiggled. It hadn't gotten any bigger in the last few months, but it was definitely softer. He never used to jiggle before.

I looked at Oliver, who had his head turned away and his jaw clenched. I could tell he was angry again.

"Sit down," I told Jerry. If he made any more of a scene, Oliver would freak out.

Jerry didn't listen. "Damn. That fucker was tight." He rubbed the skin just below his belly curve. There was a red line from his tight waistband.

"Sit down," I said again.

He laughed. "I wonder where the button went."

Oliver looked like he was ready to explode.

"Just. Sit. Down," I told him. "I'll get the stupid button." I got out of my chair and dropped to the floor. The button had landed between Oliver's pudgy bare feet.

I got on my hands and knees. And that's when I heard a riiiiip.

I froze. Slowly, I reached for my ass and felt the wide tear in my pants. I wasn't wearing underwear, so my fingers poked into my soft cheek.

I gave up on grabbing the button and slowly climbed into my chair. My heart was pounding and I prayed that they didn't hear the rip.

Well, they did. Oliver's eyes were wide and Jerry looked at me like I said the funniest joke in the world.

"Thanks for makin' me feel better about myself," he said.

"I didn't..."

Jerry waddled over (holding his pants up) and tried to see my backside. "Looks like we should go shopping tomorrow!"

I twisted around to hide my rip.

Oliver slammed his hands against the table. "Jesus!" That's all he said before he stormed out of the room.

"What's his problem?" Jerry asked, loud enough for Oliver to hear.

"We offended him," I whispered.

"Why? 'Cause we're chunking out? He's one to talk."

I was about to argue. That came across pretty mean, especially for Jerry. But... he was right. We weren't being hurtful or anything. We were just gaining weight.

Jerry wiggled his eyebrows. "So? Can I see?"

"Uh. Fine." I stood up and showed him my sliver of exposed ass.

He pinched it. "Looks like I'm growing in the front and you're growing in the back." Then, out of curiosity, he pulled up my shirt and looked at my belly. "Nope. You're growing front and back."

I swatted his hand away.

That evening, I went to my room and scrolled through Instagram. Oliver and I were planning to watch a movie together, but I figured he needed some space.

There was a knock on my door. "Go away, Jerry! We're not gonna compare bellies."

"It's me," Oliver said on the other side.

I rushed to the door and let him in. He had a pile of clothes in his hands and an apologetic look on his face. He handed me the clothes. "I outgrew these a couple years back."

"Thank you." This meant a lot to me. It felt like a peace offering.

I sat on the edge of my bed and invited him over. He looked unsure at first but eventually joined me.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yes. I'm just..."

"Because I feel like you're mad at us for not taking our health seriously."

He flinched. "No! It's not that at all."

"We're fine with our dad bods. It's really not that big a deal."

"No. It's not. You're... what? 200 pounds?"

I shrugged. I didn't have a scale.

"Two hundred pounds," he said, as if he knew for certain. "I remember when I was that size."

I didn't say anything. I didn't know where this conversation was going.

"That was forty pounds ago," he added. His voice sounded so serious, as if it was important that I knew both our weights.

"Okay?"

He squirmed a little. His belly was folded into two squishy rolls. He didn't have a round stomach like me. "And, um, do you like it?"

"Do I like being 200 pounds?"

He nodded.

"I guess. I mean, it doesn't really affect things."

"Oh," he said. My answer disappointed him. He got to his feet and walked to the door. Before he left, he looked over his shoulder and added, "It looks good on you."

Then he was gone.

Weirdest conversation of my life.

After that, the tension in the apartment was gone. For whatever reason, Oliver had gotten over his annoyance at our growing bodies. In fact, he was more outgoing than ever. He joked around more, poked Jerry's belly almost as much as I did, and even encouraged us to snack sometimes.

He was an excellent baker, which I didn't know before. I guess he avoided baking when he was concerned about his own waistline, but now that he was living with two hungry boys who didn't care about the scale, his little treats turned into a daily ritual.

Every time I came home from work, he had muffins or banana bread waiting on the table. (His banana bread was my favorite.)

Around that time, Jerry got a girlfriend, so he was out of the apartment more than usual. That meant more snacks for me, and more late nights hanging out with Oliver.

I was happier than I'd ever been, and my extra padding was starting to feel... nice. I wasn't neutral about it anymore. I preferred being chubby.

One night, while Jerry was off with Becca (his girlfriend), I asked Oliver if he wanted to watch an anime. (He loved those. I didn't. But considering all the food he was making for me, I wanted to pick something he'd like.)

It was some nonsense about people with swords fighting demons on a train. It made no damn sense (and even less sense whenever Oliver tried to explain the complex mythology), but it was fun spending time with him. And the brownies he made for me were delectable.

At some point during one of the excruciatingly long fight scenes, Oliver turned toward me and smiled. He noticed that my hand was on my chest. Without realizing it, I was playing with my softened pec.

I guess it was a moob now, because there was enough fat under my puffy nipple to mold it between my fingers.

"What?" I said.

His smile widened.

"Seriously? What?" I wished I knew what he was thinking. "Yeah. I got moobs now."

"Me, too," he said.

I was shocked when he pulled up his shirt. This was my first time seeing his pale, flabby belly. And when he exposed his chest, I saw how wide and dark his nipples were.

What was he doing? Did he want to compare bodies like Jerry and I always did?

Well, why not?

I pulled off my shirt completely. My skinner was tanner than his. My belly was smaller and more solid. My chest was pokier and less saggy.

He studied me for the longest time. "Two twenty," he said definitively.

"Yeah?"

"You're obese now."

My first reflex was to be offended. Jerry called me "fat" all the time. But "obese" was more clinical. It felt like a diagnosis.

But then I looked at the admiration on his face. He was congratulating me.

And, well, I felt proud.

"Just a little obese," he said.

"Yeah?"

He let his shirt drop back down and gently placed his hand on my gut. He pressed his fingers to gauge my softness. "Do you know why I acted the way I did? When you and Jerry first started showing off your gains?"

"No." I thought it was because he was self-conscious about his own body, but that clearly wasn't the case.

"It's because you two were driving me wild." He played around with my stomach. Both hands now. "It took me four years to grow to this size, and you're already 20 pounds away."

"You made yourself fat?"

"Yeah. Aren't you?"

I guess I was. It didn't start that way, but over time, acceptance naturally morphed into excitement. I wanted more. I wanted to get as big as Oliver. And then I wanted to get bigger.

His hands drifted to my chest. His palms drew circles.

"But... you're not gay."

At least, I assumed he wasn't. He didn't ping my gaydar, though I'd never actually seen him date anyone.

He leaned closer. The couch shifted under us and his exploring hands dug into my softness. "I'm not, really," he said. "I just like... size."

"Me, too," I said. Then I pulled him against me, let his fat squish into mine, and kissed him.

An hour later, Jerry came home with his girlfriend. They were both in for a big, fat surprise wobbling, thwopping, and grunting on the couch.

The End

Thanks for reading! Please check out my Patreon for daily gainer stories like this. I'm still in the midst of my sci-fi novel Your Punishment: 300 Pounds, and I'm posting a lot more interactive stuff for my subscribers to vote on.

And if you'd prefer to stick to the free stuff here on Tumblr, here's my index of all the latest stories.