Any resemblance to persons or events real or fictional is purely coincidental.
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John shifted in bed, warranting a loud creak from the frame supporting him. Sunlight was streaming in through the slits of the blinds which ensconced his window, illuminating the small room. His eyes fluttered slightly as tried to will himself back to sleep. Suddenly a cacophonic roar sounded from his bedside table. Johnâs heart nearly jumped into his throat as he realized it was just his phone alarm. He extended a heavy arm, grabbing the phone. Noticing the date displayed on the screen, an unusual feeling of excitement flooded Johnâs body. It was today! Today was THE day! He needed to get out of bed! He needed to get ready!
And so, John began the daily struggle that was getting out of bed. At his size, it was quickly becoming easier just to laze about on the mattress than bother hauling his bulk around the house. He didnât even really know what size he WAS anymore. If a 180 pound guy puts on a few, everyone notices, but John couldâve put on 50 since his last measurement and heâd never know, not like there was anyone else to notice either. Years of overeating had led John to this point: a solitary life of quiet self-loathing. The only friend in his isolation was food, and his best friend was slowly leading him to an early grave. At a mere 24 years of age, John could still remember the horrors of being so huge through his teenage years. It was then that he had found gluttony to be his drug of choice. Using it to escape the dirty looks, the jeers, the utterly unwarranted disgust that people seemed to hold toward him. But all of that was behind him now. Today he would finally be delivered from his fate.
John swung his lard encased thighs off the side of the bed, the weight of the shift pulling him up into a sitting position. John imagined how this process would soon get easier and easier until, one day, heâd be just like a normal person, getting out of bed in seconds instead of minutes. Taking a few deep breaths, John swung his body up off the mattress, falling back down onto his titanic rear in seconds. Experience had taught him to use the rebound of the mattress like a kind of trampoline and he pushed off, finally resting on his feet. Johnâs height, or lack thereof, accentuated the blubber which hung heavily from every part of his body. He took a few lumbering steps, trying to ignore the feeling of his belly slapping against his thighs with each waddle. His youth kept him much more mobile than older men his own size, but even walking to the bathroom took a matter of minutes.
Fitting into the shower isnât a thought that generally crosses the minds of most people, but for John it was becoming an increasingly difficult task to wet his massive form without some fold pushing against the shower curtain and causing a mess of water on the floor. He took special care today to avoid such a spill, knowing that the clean-up would take far more time than he had to spare. Slowly bending down, John turned the off the water, grabbing for the first of two extra-large towels that would be used to dry off his bulk. He carefully exited the shower stall, while fleetingly haunted by a thought of what might happen to him should he ever slip and fall on his way out. Dismissing the concern, he began to run the towel over his skin, slowly beginning to sop up the moisture that dotted it like so many tiny diamonds set into a ball of pink silly putty. Toweling off was fast becoming futile, as no matter how hard he tried to get dry, sweat would soon appear to replace the loss of the other moisture, leaving John just as wet as when he had started. So, several days earlier, he had set up a box fan which would blow-dry his body as he toweled off.
Finally, the last barrier to Johnâs readiness for the day stood before him. He had never taken so much irony in the express âthrow some clothes on.â If only it were that easy. Slowly taking out a handsome pair of purple briefs from his top dresser drawer, John began to imagine the coming days when he would finally be able to buy fancy underwear just like normal guys. He wouldnât have to order these massive ones that, despite being as fashionable as possible for their size, only came in a few colors or styles. Throwing them on the floor, he took two waddling steps into the leg holes, before slowly bending forward to pull them up from his cankles. He could just barely reach around to grab the fabric, the bottom of his belly nearly pooling on the floor at his feet. It took some amount of strength to pull the undies over his massive thighs, and even more so onto the shelf of a butt behind him, but a little sweat and a few heavy breaths later, he was a third of the way to dressed. Next, a massive pair of gray sweatpants were pulled up and over the lower part of his belly, matched by a dark blue t-shirt that could easily have been a picnic blanket for a pair on a date. This thought, as many thoughts did, brought to mind Johnâs lack of a significant other. His size had always been a rift between him and other gay men. It seemed like it should have been impossible for a gay man to be his size anyway. It was widely held that all gay men were naturally in shape and never deviated from that, right? John had heard a few rumors and had noticed a few websites that seemed to cater to men who were interested in his body type, even calling him somethingâŚa superchub was it? But he didnât have time to worry about that, his jealous lover, food, kept him more than occupied enough. But today, even as he sat at his kitchen table, eating his usual breakfast: a box of cereal, a half-gallon of milk, half a dozen eggs, and half a slab of bacon, his thoughts were elsewhere. They were on the impending trip to the doctor, a doctor who was willing to perform bariatric surgery to finally free him from the prison that he had created for himself. TodayâŚeverything was going to change.
The door to his apartment slammed open as John stomped into the small space. A loud snapping noise sounded from his couch as he threw his bulk down onto it. He sat, staring at the wall for what seemed like an hour, occasionally wiping tears from the creases in his chubby face. He hadnât stopped crying since the doctor had given him the news that his insurance would only partially cover the surgery. He would still be responsible for several thousand dollars of it, several thousand dollars that he didnât have. Heâd been so close! SoâŚso close⌠He pounded a ham fist against his meaty thigh, sending shockwaves throughout the rest of his form. All the excitement he had felt this morning was now turned to acrimonious despair. The door of his cell was being slammed closed and he could hear the turning of the key in the lock. A vibration from his phone shocked him from his hopelessness. He slowly extracted it from his side pocket, picking it up to see a strange icon in the notification bar. He drug his chubby finger across the screen, revealing a message from one of the websites that he had joined out a previous bout of desperation. It was a from a man that he had never spoken to before and the subject line read: âHelp with you situation.â John scanned the message quickly, a conflicted concoction of excitement and fear welling within him. The message read:
âHello John,
I heard about your situation from a friend, and I think that I might be able to help. Iâm not sure how familiar you are with the clientele of this particular site and those like it, but weâre a group of like-minded men, and a few women, who appreciate the larger aspects of the male form. Guys your size donât just come along every day, and many people in our group would give anything to be able to meet you and possibly even be your size someday. Now, obviously I realize that you donât want this for yourself, but you canât lose the weight without the money to pay for the surgery. I think I know a way that we both can benefit. I have helped a few other guys like you set up and produce videos which we then sell online. Think about it, you make a few videos with me, we sell them for 10 bucks a download. There are thousands of people on this site, youâll have your money in no time! Anyway, take some time to consider your options and let me know. â
John felt conflicted. Was this really a good idea? He had never really believed that anyone would find his body desirable, but if this was trueâŚthenâŚwell he might just be able to raise the extra cash that he needed for the operation. So he began to type back a reply, inviting the stranger over to talk about the proposition.
The stranger, or as his name turned out to be, Rick arrived the next day, bearing with him 2 extra-large pizzas and a camera. He placed the pizzas on Johnâs table and motioned for him to take part while they chatted. As Rick spoke, John listened through the sound of his chewing. He told him about how he had always felt that big men were far underappreciated in todayâs society. How, once, being super obese had been a sign of status, of wealth, and of power. He longed for a return to such times, and felt that he was doing his part shooting these videos. As John closed the first empty pizza box, he paused for a moment to examine Rickâs on physical form. He was a larger guy, but certainly a few hundred pounds lighter than John. Age had settled into Rickâs face, but not in an entirely displeasing way, but the difference in years between the two was apparent. Maybe that was why he was finding it so easy to trust Rick.
Once the pizzas had disappeared into the blubber factory that was Johnâs digestive system, the two began to plan out what the first video would be. Since this was to be the first of many, Rick suggested keeping it simple. No need to give it all away on the first go, he said. They would set up the camera down the hallway from Johnâs living room, and he would slowly waddle into the frame, sitting his heavy body on an oversized kitchen chair, showing off the full spread of his lard. He would then stand, giving the viewer a full 360° view. Finally, slowly, as if any other way were possible, he would begin to undress. First, he would pull the waistband of his sweats below the lower curve of his gut, allowing it to hang out free from his shirt. This would then be followed by a removal of his shirt, revealing the collection of rolls that he called an upper body. Some light jiggling and caressing would ensue, followed finally by the coup de gras, the sultry removal of the sweatpants, and the revelation that no undergarments encircled his wide ass. He would then turn, bend over, placing his hands on the chair and twerk as best as a man whose body fat outweighs the rest of him many times over could. He would then sit back down onto the chair, and the camera would cut out.
And just like that, it was over. John sat naked, panting softly in the chair, watching Rick begin to gather up the camera and the other sundry equipment and place them into a large black backpack. Slinging on the pack, Rick started for the door, stopping only to give a quiet thumbs up to the quivering blob of fat in the chair. John lifted a leaden arm and waved listlessly at his exit. The break allowed John a moment to consider the fact that in a day, other people might be able to buy a video of him, strutting his body around, naked, for their own pleasure. Fear began to make a play for his mind, as he began to consider what might happen should someone he knew find such a video. His stomach rumbled, dismissing the thought, a primal need for food supplanting his unease.
Food, it seemed, was suddenly in much larger supply than usual for John. The following days had seen several deliveries of goodies: cookies, take-out, pizzas, even a full sheet cake. Rick had been sending all of these along. Gifts from fans. Days after one video and he already had fans? John could barely believe it. He would allow himself to imagine the vast sums of money that this endeavor could generate as he gorged on the treats provided by his producer. It was with great eagerness, then, that John welcomed Rick into his home for the second time, a month later. The steady stream of rewards that John had become accustomed to had begun to trickle out and John was more than prepared for them to resume. It came as a mild shock when as he was setting up his camera again, Rick informed him that the video had only netted about 200 bucks overall. John had been expecting far more, but Rick assured him that all of the guys he filmed started out at about the same amount and that there was nowhere to go but up.
Reassured, John began to take in the plot of todayâs shoot. The premise was pretty simple. John would put on a variety of clothes, ranging from tight to hilariously diminutive. Heâd strain them until they burst in one way or another, and then Rick would edit the best ones together, making a perfectly knit video of the behemoth boy bursting through clothes big enough to suit two normal men at once. The better half of the day spent, John had finally depleted the many outfits that Rick had brought over. Only one remained. Pulling it from the bag, John read the label on the massive pair of sweats. 8XL. He could have sworn that was the size of his usual pair. He began the arduous task of pulling them on, expecting the roominess that he was accustomed to. As they ascended, however, he found there was no roominess to be had! Sure, they were looser than some of the other things he had tried on, butâŚthese should have fit, right? The same wondering still filled his mind an hour later as he sat alone, still catching his breath from the final take of the shoot. Curiosity piqued, he waddled, still clad in the tatters of the 8Xâs, to his bedroom. Taking a pair of his trusty sweats from his dresser drawer, he pulled out the tag only to see 9XL emblazoned in red upon the fabric. He chuckled at his misremembrance. Perhaps the celebratory shot of whiskey that he had taken with Rick during filming had gone to his head. Sighing heavily, he began to crawl into bed, more tired than usual from the dayâs filming.
It took nearly no time at all for the flow of freebies to recommence, once again filling Johnâs fridge and stomach. Bottles of wine, beer, and liquor began to be sprinkled in with the edibles as well, providing something new for John to try. Not much of a drinker before, he began to partake of the stuff on a nightly basis. Little drinks every now and then were healthy after all, right? The drinks werenât the only thing going to his head. The perceived fame that he had now gained went a long way toward pushing him to continue making more and more videos to appeal to his growing audience. Pride was welling up inside the young man, replacing what were once feelings of depression and shame with a distortedly positive body image. Two videos, several weeks, and 600 dollars later, Rick once again entered into the small apartment followed by his usual black camera bag but this time, a second person as well. Rick introduced the man as a username rather than an actual one. Apparently he was one of Johnâs fans. He had paid a fairly decent sum of money to appear in the newest video. The man was the exact opposite of John. Tall, lanky, slim all over, nearly the epitome of that most overused of terms, twink. Â Rick began to explain that it was finally time to take their videos to the next level. To the big leagues.
The video would begin with some light worship of Johnâs bulk by the stranger and would culminate in John fellating the man. It had been ages since John had felt so conflicted and nervous about something. He was a virgin in every sense of the word without any experiences, least of all on camera. Of course, he kept this to himself, not wanting to expose his lack of intimate relations to the other men. Rick responded to the look of nerves on Johnâs face by pouring him a drink. The trio chatted further, working out other details of the shoot and giving John time to sip away at his drink, his apprehension slowly melting away. He had always dreamed of finding someone whom he could be with despite his weight and here it was now, laid out before him, his for the taking.
It was a surreal experience, watching himself lose his innocence. This was the first video that Rick had allowed John to see right after filming. This was the first time, too, that the person on the screen seemed completely alien to him. He felt no connection as he watched arousal and worry swirl across the chubby face of the guy with the cock in his mouth. Watching him try his hardest to seem like he knew what he was doing. Glancing at the camera uncomfortably, trying to look sexual, but managing lightly interested instead. His partner in the video had waited around for perhaps 5 minutes post-climax, before hastily pulling on his clothes and walking out the door, not even enough time for John to wipe the manâs seed from his lips. As the video concluded, Rick began to explain that he felt this needed very little editing and something about wanting a rawer feel to it anyway. The baritone of his voice only served to drown out the sound of something shattering deep inside John.
From that point on, a new void had opened up within him, a void which slowly consumed the ever increasing flow of âgiftsâ that appeared at his door on a daily basis. He might have noticed the gradual decline in quality concomitant with the steadily rising calorie content of the fare, but his increased drinking limited the amount of time that John spent thinking about things. His days were becoming more and more routine than they ever had been. Heâd sleep in, sometimes well into the afternoon, before making the daily struggle to get out of bed. The fight with gravity was beginning to leave him more and more winded with each passing day, taking minutes longer and soaking his tight skin in sweat. Most days he was too winded from getting up to even want to make an attempt at getting pulling his custom-made sweats on. How long had he been wearing 11XLs, anyway? Did his sides always rub against the arms of the loveseat like that? Did the toilet sound like it was cracking earlier? Thoughts like these were easily shrugged off and banished to the abyss by a quick shot of liquor. The bulk of the day would be filled with mindless indulgence in the food and drink lavished upon him by his so-called supporters. He increasingly slept on the loveseat or couch or wherever his fat ass happened to be resting, just for lack of any want to actually move to the bed and go through his morning ordeal. Throughout it all, one thought, one tiny shred on hope glowing back against the tar covered walls of his psyche kept him going. He needed only 500 more dollars for the surgery. His last had made almost twice that. One more video would easily put him at his goal. He had been trying to contact Rick, hoping to hasten the production, but the man was proving more difficult to contact than usual.
It was over a month later when Rick finally appeared again. John had spent yet another night on his couch, surrounded by empty wrappers and takeout containers. Rick seemed to make no notice of this fact, or of the fact that John was sprawled out without any covering at all. Rick began to explain his vision for the video, speaking with a lilt of enthusiasm charged into his usually checked voice. The details seemedâŚextreme to John, but he listened anyway, willing himself through it with the knowledge that this one would certainly be his last. He could last through just one more shootâŚjust one more⌠ Rick began to get up, pulling his keys from his pants pocket. John watched as a small black book fell out of his pocket, landing softly on the floor. Rick was gone before he could say anything though. John looked down over the curves of his moobs and the crest of his belly. He could see the small notebook. He tried to bend down to retrieve it, a monumental task at his size. The bottom of his belly touched the base of the coach, preventing him from going much further than a few degrees forward. He continued to reach, stretching his ham-like arms and sausage fingers outward. Suddenly, he shifted, rolling forward much too quickly, a sick falling feeling rising in him as he tumbled forward onto his massive belly like an avalanche of large. The room shook, pictures falling from the walls, as John caught his breath, grabbing the notebook. Opening it, however, he found his breath was once again taken away. Despite being safely on the ground, the falling feeling returned as he scanned the page.
It was a ledger of sorts. An accounting of the money that his videos had been bringing in. All the numbers were wrong, though. They were far bigger than Rick had ever led him to believe. The take in from his last video alone had nearly twice what Rick had quoted him. He could have had enough to pay for the surgery months ago! Why would Rick have lied to him like this? That was it, no more. He would tell Rick tomorrow that he was done. That he wanted the rest of the money that Rick owed him, and that he was through with the whole idea. The flames of rage that the book and kindled within him went a long way toward helping him to struggle to roll off of his belly, and, more so, to push and pull himself up into a sitting position, hop up onto the couch, and, finally, manage to heave himself into a standing position. The feat took nearly an hour for him to accomplish, leaving him more than ready to waddle back and collapse heavily into bed.
Rick had already set up by the time that John had prepared himself for the confrontation. He waddled out into the living room to find two muscular men seated on his couch while Rick fiddled with his camera. Boxes upon boxes of food: pizzas, cakes, cookies, chicken, burgers, were piled around the room as well. He vaguely remembered Rick mentioning about how this video would feature two men in addition to himself, but he didnât care about that now.
âWhat the fuck is going on, Rick?!â John shouted as he waddled in.
Rick looked up from the camera with his face scrunched in puzzlement.
âIâm just setting up the cameraâŚWhy?â Rick said dryly.
âIâm not talking aboutâŚhuffâŚthat!â John shouted, the exertion beginning to get to him, causing his breathing to become heavy. âIâm talkingâŚhuhâŚ.about this!â
And with that he produced the little black notebook that had fallen from Rickâs pocket the night before. If this revelation had any effect on Rick, his face belayed none of it. He just continued to busy himself with the equipment.
âDonât worry, all of that money went to you in one way or another, buddy. Where do you think all of those deliveries came from? That money has kept you fed and clothed for the past few months. Youâre lucky they kept making more and more money, the way that you were eating!â
John was taken aback, he wasnât expecting this. âButâŚbutâŚmy surgeryâŚâ
âYou know what? I think this might work out better in the bedroom. Iâm gonna go set up on there. Guys, why donât you make John a drink?â
Rick disappeared down the hall as the two muscleheads sauntered to the kitchen. Before he could decide what was happening, John had a drink in his hand. He needed it after what just happened. A couple sips from the glass sent his head swimming instead of clearing it as he had hoped. Everything seemed so..so..wrong. Soon, the hunks were helping him back onto his bed, which Rick had set up his equipment pointed directly at. He tried to speak, to protest, to question Rick as to what was happening, but before he could, food was being shoved into his mouth. From there the primal urge to feed took over, the next hours were a blur of food. John had no concept of how much he was eating or how quickly or slowly time was passing. He just felt the intense pleasure of filling his stomach with impossible amounts of food. The other men were gently caressing his bulbous expanse of a gut as it became a living trash dump. Only when the flow of edible delights eventually ceased, did Rick speak again.
âAlright, this is great! Could we please move back to the living room now?â
The other guys began to move toward the door, and John began to follow suit. OrâŚhe tried to follow. For some reason, he couldnât quite manage to pull himself up from the bed. The men moved to assist him, but Rick shook his head.
âItâs finally caught up to you, hasnât it?â There was something new in Rickâs voice, something cold. âHow long did you think you could avoid it? Do you believe in fate, John? I do. I believe weâre all meant for some purpose. Some peoplesâ purposes are straight forward, othersâ are a bit moreâŚ.abstract. There are people in this world, people like yourself, whose purpose is simple. Eating and growing. Now, I feel itâs my purpose, not only to find these people, but also to help them. To help them realize their potential. You have such great potential for growth, John, the greatest Iâve ever seen. And you would throw that all away on surgery to make you think? Well I couldnât simply sit around and watch Samson cut off his own hair, now could I? And so I acted. I arranged for you to be well fed over the past months. I arranged for your clothes to be replaced when you would outgrow them, just to keep the illusion alive. And now, Iâve helped you to realize the highest glory possible for someone in your position. Youâve become bedbound. You couldnât get up and walk around even if you wanted to. The blubber that coats your body is now the chain that ties you to that bed. Isnât it wonderful? The sense of powerlessness that comes with being unable to move oneâs body to his will? Knowing that you did this entirely to yourself. Knowing that your gluttony was the bricks with which you built your own prison cell?â
âYouâŚ.huffâŚyou did..this to me!â John shouted, the awful reality setting in.
âNo, John. I may have enabled you, but I certainly did not sit here and feed you the thousands of calories that led you down this road. A dead end road, John, and thereâs no turning back now.â Suddenly John could feel Rickâs hand groping beneath his belly apron, searching through his pubic rolls. A guttural moan told Rick that he had hit his mark.
âJust like I expected, hard as rock in a sea of blubber.â Rick began to move his fingers around the slick crevice containing the behemothâs buried manhood. âThe only way that youâre going to leave this bed, is if it breaks beneath you. You are going to lay here and do what God put you on the earth to do: eat and grow. Say it with me know, eat and grow. Every day youâll feel the weight of your own body pushing down on you, heavier and heavier. Youâre going to get fatter than you ever could have thought possible and Iâm going to make sure of it. Eat and grow, eat and grow.â Rick began to move his fingers faster now, chanting this mantra over and over. John joined in the chorus, his voice breaking in ecstasy, until finally with a roar, he felt the bliss of orgasm encircle him. Breathless, he lay there, before drifting off to sleep.
The video produced from that night appeared on the internet as âMegachub John Eats Himself To Immobility.â It sold far better than any of the past ones, creating a massive pile of cash, all of which would go to feeding Johnâs ever growing appetite. This created a nightmarish feedback loop for him: the bigger he got, the more his videos made, the more money to buy food, the more money to buy food, the bigger he got. The video that he had hoped would be his last turned out to be far from it, the shoots continuing on for many, many months. Johnâs last media appearance would be on television, on the global news no less: âWorldâs Heaviest Man Cut From Apartment Building.â
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