He’s acting like he’s got a history with everyone in the villa, while his history clearly consists of raiding buffets and participating beer chugging contests. That’s a very soft overhang drooping over the waistband of your snug swimming trunks, chubbs.
Don’t act like you got cursed or something, fatty. It’s not really a surprise you’re blowing up like a pig when you’re gorging on fastfood as much as you. It was already slightly visible in the before pictures that you were sporting a little belly under that baggy shirt, but instead of hitting the gym you started hitting the buffet and you turned into a real fatso.
Every summer, we always have a few people who are high up on the social ladder who like to go out on their boats to have an marine roast, this young family has carefully picked a hog out from our varied range and they chose our locally fattened, prize pig Collin. Although Collin isn’t the fattest pig we have, he has been blessed with good genes that has made him a gorgeous looking pig, and he has also been reared on nothing but corn (well, popcorn, but it’s all maize), so the flavour of his meat should surly bring out some corny undertones. Anyways, they’re planning on sailing out into the ocean, and roasting him on their boats spit, I’m sure that the combination of smells of saltiness and cooking longpig will be heavenly, and I’m sure that he will go down an absolute treat.
Received this wonderfully squishy submission from an enormous fat slob. He was always a chubby kid, but decided to lose some weight one day and he got very jacked and lean. Unfortunately, there’s something like fat memory too, similar to the more known muscle memory. His fat cells wanted to blow up again and so did this fatso. He bounced back to his old weight by picking up old habits again and as a result his soft paunch bounces again too now. I wonder what your old gym buddies would think of you now you’ve become a very greedy piggy. I can’t even imagine how humiliating it would be to not even fit into you old fat clothes anymore. I’d buy new swimming trunks if I were you, chubbs, or maybe not, ‘cause I don’t think it’s a good idea to flaunt that enormously fat body around at the beach anymore.
The dorm room at Riverdale University was a cluttered haven of textbooks, empty energy drink cans, and the low pulse of lo-fi music from a laptop. Late November’s chill lingered outside, but the radiator made the small space stifling. Noah, a lean biology major with dark curls and a tendency to overthink, sprawled on his bed, half-reading notes. Lucas, his blond, broad-shouldered kinesiology-major roommate, lounged across from him, exuding easy confidence. Their friendship, over a year strong, was a rhythm of shared meals, late-night laughs, and pranks. But tonight, fueled by exam stress and a half-empty bottle of cheap vodka Lucas had smuggled in, the air crackled with tension.
“Dude, you ever wonder what it’d be like to just… let loose?” Lucas’s voice cut through the music, low and teasing, blue eyes glinting.
Noah glanced up, brow furrowed. “What?”
Lucas leaned back, hands behind his head, T-shirt riding up to reveal toned abs. “Something wild. No consequences. Just feels good.”
Noah’s cheeks warmed, but he played it cool. “Like stealing the mascot costume again?”
Lucas’s laugh was warm, his gaze intense. “Nah. Something real. Something… raw.”
The vodka loosened their tongues, spiraling the conversation into crushes, fantasies, secrets. The room shrank, the space between them electric. Lucas’s knee brushed Noah’s on the narrow bed, and neither pulled away. Lucas’s hand found Noah’s thigh, igniting a spark that burned away hesitation. Noah’s breath hitched as Lucas leaned in, their lips crashing in a hungry, vodka-fueled kiss.
Clothes hit the floor in a frenzy. Lucas’s hands roamed Noah’s lean frame, rough and sure, guiding him onto the bed. Noah’s heart pounded as Lucas’s cock, hard and thick, pressed against him. Lucas took control, lips trailing down Noah’s neck, hands spreading his thighs. Noah moaned as Lucas’s fingers teased his ass, slick with spit, preparing him. The first thrust was slow, Lucas’s cock filling him, stretching him, the sensation raw and electric. Noah clutched the sheets, body arching, every nerve alive as Lucas moved faster, deeper, their breaths syncing in a primal rhythm. When Lucas came, his cum hot and pulsing inside Noah, it triggered Noah’s release, spilling across his stomach. They collapsed, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, Lucas’s grin lazy and satisfied.
As Noah caught his breath, a strange warmth spread through his core—not just the afterglow, but a deep, visceral pressure in his gut. He brushed it off as nerves or vodka, but something felt different.
The next morning, Noah woke with a throbbing head and shuffled to the bathroom. His reflection stopped him cold: his face was softer, cheeks fuller, jawline blurred. The scale read 175 pounds, up from his usual 160. “What the fuck?” he muttered, trying again. Same number. His jeans dug into his hips, denim snug across his thighs, T-shirt clinging to a soft curve at his stomach. Panic surged. He’d been meticulous—lean proteins, veggies, no binges. Fifteen pounds overnight was impossible.
Lucas was out for his morning run, so Noah headed to class alone, hyper-aware of his heavier steps, thighs brushing together. At the dining hall, his appetite was feral. He piled his tray with pizza, fries, and a milkshake, devouring it all, the gut pressure easing into euphoric fullness. That night, Lucas returned, sweaty and radiant. “You good?” he asked, noticing Noah’s unease.
Lucas smirked, skeptical. “You look fine, man. Stress, probably.” But when Lucas’s hand grazed Noah’s arm, that electric heat flared, and Noah’s resolve crumbled. They were kissing before he could think, Lucas tugging off Noah’s too-tight shirt, revealing his softened belly. Noah dropped to his knees, eager, sucking Lucas’s cock with a hunger that surprised them both. Lucas groaned, fingers in Noah’s curls, guiding him until he came, his cum flooding Noah’s mouth, thick and warm. Noah swallowed, the act addictive, the warmth spreading again. They moved to the bed, Lucas fucking him hard, each thrust driving Noah wild, his body craving more even as the gut pressure grew. When it was over, Noah felt heavier, sated but unsettled.
The scale read 190 the next morning.
Over the next week, Noah’s life unraveled. Each encounter with Lucas—frantic, cock-driven nights—left him heavier. By week’s end, he was 220 pounds. His jeans wouldn’t button; sweatpants strained at the seams. His shirts stretched tight across his chest, his once-flat stomach now a soft, jiggly belly. His face was puffy, a double chin forming. Walking to class was exhausting; his thighs chafed, and he was breathless after one flight of stairs. Lecture hall desks pinched his hips, and he caught classmates’ whispers in the dining hall. His biology professor, Dr. Hensley, asked if he was “feeling okay.” Noah mumbled excuses—stress, medication—but he knew the truth: Lucas’s cum was doing this, some impossible, hyper-fattening magic. The thought was absurd, but the evidence was undeniable.
Worse, Noah craved it. The rational part of him screamed to stop, to lose the weight, to figure out why this was happening. He tried cutting calories, hitting the gym, but nothing worked. The weight clung, and the hunger for Lucas grew. Every kiss, every suck, every thrust fed an addiction he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t just physical—Lucas’s touch made him feel alive, desired, whole. Each night, Noah would beg for more, Lucas’s cock filling his mouth or ass, the cum triggering that warm, heavy rush that left him both sated and ravenous.
By early December, Noah was 280 pounds. His daily life was unrecognizable. Getting out of bed took effort, his mattress creaking under his bulk. Showering was a chore; the dorm’s narrow stall felt claustrophobic, his belly brushing the walls. He avoided social events, dreading stares, and skipped classes when he could, hiding in the dorm with delivery pizza and Netflix. Lucas, still fit and unaffected, seemed oblivious to the cause but noticed Noah’s changes. “You’re looking… cozy,” he teased one night, poking Noah’s belly playfully. Noah flushed, torn between embarrassment and a thrill at the attention.
Their encounters grew more intense. One night, Lucas pinned Noah to the bed, his hands gripping Noah’s softened hips, cock teasing his ass before thrusting deep. Noah moaned, his belly jiggling with each movement, the sensation heightened by his growing bulk. Lucas’s cum filled him, the warmth spreading faster, more intense, as Noah came hard, his own cock trapped against his heavy stomach. The addiction deepened, Noah begging for Lucas’s cum nightly, swallowing it or taking it inside, each load pushing his weight higher.
Christmas break loomed, and Noah dreaded it. At 300 pounds, he was returning home, where his family would see his transformation. More terrifying was three weeks without Lucas—a dry spell that could break him. The night before he left, they fucked with desperate intensity. Lucas’s cock drove into Noah’s ass, his hands gripping Noah’s thick thighs, cum flooding him as Noah trembled, the warmth overwhelming. The next morning, the scale confirmed 300 pounds. Noah barely recognized himself: his face round, neck swallowed by rolls, belly a massive dome hanging over his waistband, thighs wobbly. Packing was a nightmare; he resorted to oversized hoodies and stretchy joggers from a big-and-tall store.
At home, his family’s shock was palpable. His mom suggested doctors and diets, his dad made awkward jokes about “college weight.” Noah retreated to his bedroom, binging on holiday treats—cookies, pies, lasagna—to dull the gnawing ache for Lucas. The cravings were relentless, food a poor substitute. He texted Lucas constantly, each flirty reply fueling his need. By the end of the break, he’d gained another 30 pounds, hitting 330. His childhood bed groaned, and he avoided family photos, ashamed of how his body spilled over chairs.
The night before returning to Riverdale, Noah lay awake, consumed by thoughts of Lucas’s cock, his cum, the rush. He texted Lucas, fingers trembling: *Miss you. Need you.* Lucas’s reply was instant: *Same, man. Dorm’s too quiet.*
Back at Riverdale, Noah’s cravings exploded. Seeing Lucas, lean and grinning, ignited a feral need. They barely spoke before Noah was on his knees, sucking Lucas’s cock with desperate hunger, swallowing every drop of cum. Lucas fucked him after, Noah’s massive belly pressed against the bed, each thrust sending ripples through his flesh. The scale read 350 pounds the next morning. Noah’s body felt foreign yet thrilling, his addiction stronger than ever.
By February, Noah was 400 pounds. Daily life was a struggle. Walking across campus was a marathon, his breath short, sweat beading. He switched to online classes, unable to fit in lecture hall seats. His dorm bed sagged, and he’d broken a dining hall chair, the humiliation burning. Eating became a ritual—pizzas, burgers, gallons of ice cream—to chase the high Lucas’s cum provided. Their sex was relentless: Lucas’s cock in Noah’s mouth, cum coating his throat, or deep in his ass, each load adding pounds. Noah’s belly grew massive, his thighs thick, his arms heavy with fat.
Lucas remained attentive, his hands lingering on Noah’s softened body, teasing, “You’re all mine.” Noah tried once to stop, skipping a night with Lucas to diet, but the withdrawal—shakes, sweats, a clawing hunger—was unbearable. By midnight, he was begging, tears in his eyes, Lucas’s cock filling him as the warmth returned.
The conflict tore at Noah. He’d stare at old photos, his lean frame a memory, vowing to stop. But the addiction was stronger. Lucas’s cum was his drug, each load a hit that made the weight feel… right. He stopped going to the gym, stopped checking the scale, stopped caring about stares. All that mattered was Lucas’s touch, the cum, the rush.
By April, Noah hit 500 pounds. He was barely mobile, his days spent in the dorm, propped on pillows, surrounded by takeout containers. His belly dominated, a heavy mass spilling across his lap, making tasks like tying shoes impossible. His face was buried in rolls, his chest heavy. Getting up took minutes, each movement laborious. Lucas helped, bringing food, adjusting pillows, his affection unwavering. But Noah saw worry in his eyes, a flicker of guilt they didn’t address.
Their sex adapted to Noah’s size. Lucas would climb over his bulk, cock sliding into Noah’s mouth or ass, the act slower but no less intense. Noah craved every drop, the warmth fueling his surrender. He’d given up fighting, the addiction his world.
By May, Noah was immobile at nearly 600 pounds. The dorm bed was reinforced, paid for by Lucas’s job earnings. Noah’s body was a landscape of rolls, his belly pinning him in place. He relied on Lucas for everything—food, water, hygiene. The addiction had won. Each encounter added pounds, Lucas’s cum a constant craving. Lucas stayed, loyal despite the strain, bringing trays of food, sitting for hours, their connection deeper yet heavier.
Noah’s life shrank to the dorm. He dropped out of in-person classes, grades slipping, friends gone, family calls dodged. But surrender brought peace. He’d fought and lost. This was who he was—immobile, dependent, consumed by want. As Lucas’s hand rested on his massive side, Noah knew he’d never go back.
When I'm at a party, I always strip off my shirt. It usually happens after my third drink. I can't help it. I'm just a happy guy. Parties make me happy.
It's become a joke amongst my friends. Like, the party hasn't officially started until good ol' Marcos drops his shirt.
I've been doing this since college, years before I met you. Great way to meet guys, to show I'm hot and available. But we're dating now, and I can tell it bothers you.
It didn't at first. You laughed along with everyone else. You know what I'm like. Just Marcos being Marcos.
But throughout this last year, you've gotten more annoyed at my constant shirtlessness. You don't say anything, but I can see it on your face.
And your discomfort has rubbed off on everybody else. I don't get the same comments I used to. People don't joke about it anymore. I'm starting to feel awkward.
So tonight, we're at a backyard hang at our friend Trina's place. And as always, I'm drunk and happy. I strip off my shirt and drop it onto the ground.
No one says anything. Worse, people divert their eyes.
Maybe we're just too old for this now. I don't know.
For the first time, I grab my shirt to slip it back on.
I can't. It landed on the wet grass. It's stained and damp.
Whatever. I'm not gonna let these negative reactions affect me. I'm here to have fun.
You walk up to me, looking at my bare chest, then the wet shirt in my hands. You're not happy.
I have to be direct. I need to know what's changed. "Babe, why are you looking at me like that?"
You take a long time to think of an answer. I'm worried about what you're going to say. Are you jealous of the attention I get? Is that it? Do you think I'm acting too childish?
"Marcos," you say, "don't you think you've... grown out of your shirtless days?"
"What do you mean?"
You squirm on your feet. Your eyes never leave my chest. "I... You're... Um, things were different when you had muscles."
That's not what I expect you to say. "What? I still have muscles!"
I flex for you, showing off my biceps and puffing out my chest.
You look around, acting embarrassed.
And that's when I realize: Oh. I'm fat now.
I mean, I knew I got chubbier. Relationship weight. Happens to everyone. And yeah, the pounds came fast and furious this last year, thanks to all the ways to spoil me. You're an amazing baker, and you know I can't refuse your little treats.
But I never felt self-conscious before. That's because of you, too. Because you're always touching my belly, playing with my rounder chest, squeezing through my fat to feel the muscle underneath. You love my body, and you remind me every night of how much you love it.
But in public, you're different. I should've realized this sooner.
What should I do?
Should I put my shirt back on and ignore the wetness?
Should we leave early?
No. Screw that. I refuse to be embarrassed because you're embarrassed. That's no way to live.
So I challenge you. I grab your hand and pull it to my pec. (Okay, my moob.) With your hand pressed against my hairy skin, I flex. My moob tightens under your palm.
"So you don't think I'm hot anymore?" I ask. "You want me to cover up?"
"No," you say. You try to pull your hand away, but I stop you. I bring both your hands to my fat/muscular chest.
"Do you think I'm hot?" I ask point-blank.
"Y-yeah," you mutter.
"Good." I wrap you in a hug, pushing out my belly so you can really feel it against you. And I hold you until you give in, until you're relaxed against my fat. "Then fucking show it."
You kiss me. Your hands move to my squishy sides and you touch me in all the ways you do in private.
I'm not sure when we start dancing. It's a gradual thing. But there's music playing and the night breeze feels good, and before I know it, we're swaying against each other.
I'm pretty sure our friends are looking at us, but I don't care.
"I'm sorry," you whisper in my ear. "I'm not embarrassed by you."
"I know."
The song changes. I pull away from you.
And when I look around, I feel like the whole atmosphere has changed. Our friends are smiling again. No one's looking away. Your open acceptance of my new body has rubbed off on everyone else.
"Get a room!" Trina jokes.
"You're just jealous!" you shout back at her.
And just like that, all the tension is gone. I'm shirtless and tipsy and fat. And I've never been happier.
The End
Thanks for reading!
And just a little bit about me. I've been on the set of a film project for the last few weeks (fun but stressful), so I'm a bit behind on some of my gainer stories. I have some story requests in the works. The last two chapters of Fattening My Mormon Roommate will come out soon. And this Saturday, I'll finally return to my Vibrator Makes You Fat saga. Stay tuned!
I looked at the night sky from the cabin patio. All the party sounds (pop music, shouting, West’s unmistakable laugh) were drowned out by the sliding glass door. A shooting star dashed across the horizon.
I sighed. I knew I should go back inside. This was my birthday weekend. West organized everything for me. And yet, it says a lot that the birthday boy had been sitting out here for the last 20 minutes and none of my closest friends seemed to notice.
I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t unhappy, either, and I think that made things worse. My friends were great. West was great. Three years of dating and I had no complaints except for this constant, gnawing urge for something different, something more. If I had specific, tangible issues to be upset about, then I could end things with West and move on with my life. Being unhappy was fixable. Instead, I was just blank.
“Deep in thought?”
An old woman looked up at me from the gravel path that ran alongside our rental cabin. She was short and thin, with long, white braids and a pleasant smile. I’d never seen her before.
“Uh. Yeah. Is that obvious?”
She took my answer as permission to join me on the porch.
“It’s your birthday today, right?” She sat on the wooden railing in front of me. I was afraid she’d fall and break something, but I didn’t stop her. I was too busy wondering who she was and how she knew it was my birthday.
Then I saw the birthday balloons tied to the fence. That answered one of my questions.
“Who are you?”
“Just someone passing through.” That was an evasive answer. Creepy, too. There weren’t any other cabins for miles, and she didn’t look like a camper in that loose white dress.
“May I ask you a question now?”
“Sure.” This conversation was seriously weirding me out, but I wasn’t scared. This strange woman wasn’t going to hurt me. I knew that on, like, an internal level. In my bones. Whoever she was, she meant well.
“Are you happy with your life?”
“No,” I immediately answered. Somehow, I knew that I couldn’t lie to her.
“What would you need to become happy?”
“I don’t know.”
“A new boyfriend?”
I flinched. She had just made things very personal. I should’ve told her it was none of her business, and yet, I couldn’t. Because of curiosity, I guess. Because I wanted to hear her out. And I know this sounds crazy, but because part of me believed that this weird old lady had the power to help me.
“I love my boyfriend. I don’t want to lose him. I just wish…”
She leaned closer. “Yes?”
“I just want something more.”
West was perfect. He was charming and he had a slim, muscular body to die for. His personality meshed with mine. Our sex life was good (not great), and I knew he loved me. I loved him, too. I just... I don't know. Something was off.
“You want more from West,” she repeated.
“Yes,” I said, not realizing until after the word came out that she knew my boyfriend’s name. I shivered. “How did you—?”
“Happy birthday, Darren.”
She placed her hands on her knees and toppled backward off the porch railing.
I jumped up and ran to the edge, expecting to see her lying on the ground six feet below the porch. Why would she do that? She didn’t accidentally fall. She chose to push herself backward, with a smile on her face as she toppled.
But when I looked over the edge, all I saw was grass and gravel. The woman was gone.
As someone who did not believe in ghosts or supernatural anything, I refused to accept that this woman had just disappeared. I raced down the porch steps and searched everywhere. No woman. No footprints. No signs that she was ever there aside from the chills sliding along the back of my neck.
I had nothing left to do besides head back inside. I didn’t plan to tell my friends what had happened, but I’d definitely tell West. We didn’t keep secrets from each other.
***
The party was exactly the same. Alex, Levi, and Jamie were dancing by the fireplace, plastic cups in their hands. John and Lisa were sloppily making out in the corner. Benny and his cousins were at the table playing poker.
The only difference was that West was gone. When I left the party, he’d been at the poker table, too.
I walked over to Benny, who had a confident smile even though he only had a pair of threes. (Horrible bluffer.) “Hey, um, have you seen West?”
He looked up at me like I was crazy. “Where do you think he is?”
Benny’s cousins both laughed. What did they know that I didn’t?
“West?” I shouted.
Everyone stared at me, as if I was a complete idiot for asking where my boyfriend was.
“In here!” West shouted from the kitchen. It sounded like his mouth was full.
I walked through the party, ignoring all the looks, and pushed through the kitchen door.
“What the fuck?”
West was sitting on the other side of the high counter, so I only saw his shoulders and head. His face was completely covered in chocolate. My birthday cake sat in front of him, absolutely torn apart. He’d eaten almost all of it (with his hands, apparently). Why would he do that?
“Hey, babe!” he said, chewing on another handful. “Almost done!”
“Almost done with my cake? Why? We’re supposed to serve that thing in an hour!”
He looked confused. Still chewing, though. I think he still had clumps of cake in his mouth, because his cheeks were bulging. “But you told me…”
“I told you to eat all of my birthday cake? Why would I do that?”
“Darren, your cake’s still in the fridge.”
No it wasn’t. I knew what make cake looked like. We picked it out together. Dark chocolate with coconut/chocolate icing. I was really looking forward to it, too. And now, it was all over his face.
Not believing him, I rushed to the fridge and looked inside. “Oh.”
He was right. My cake was still in there. Untouched.
“Told ya. Trust me, this is the special one you got me with the extra layers. Delicious, by the way.” He scooped up one last handful and jabbed it into his mouth.
This didn’t make any damn sense. “Why would I buy you a matching cake for my birthday and ask you to eat it all yourself?”
“Because you’re a bad influence,” he answered, licking his fingers. “I’m just glad you didn’t make me do it in front of our friends like last year.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about, Darren?” Then he smiled. “Oh, I get it. Role-play.” He made his voice sound high-pitched and weak. “Oh, Darren. Don’t be mad at me. I didn’t mean to eat your cake. I just can’t control my hungry little tummy.”
I had enough of this nonsense. Either he was playing a very confusing prank on me, or the weird lady outside had somehow slipped me drugs. “West, please tell me what’s going on. I’m not joking around.”
My boyfriend saw the panic on my face. “Oh, honey.” He grunted as he tried to stand up, but something was holding him down. He tried again, and with a lot of effort, he pushed himself to his feet. Then he waddled toward me, his chocolate-stained hands reaching out for a hug.
My breath caught in my throat. This wasn’t West. This was an obese stranger who had West’s face. I couldn’t see his body behind the counter, but now that he was standing, now that he was walking toward me, I saw the drooping apron, flopping tits, and squashed-together thighs of someone who outweighed West by at least 200 pounds.
This… person tried to touch me, but I jumped back.
“Darren?”
“Who are you?”
He stared. “Are you drunk? Did Benny slip you something?” He reached out to touch my face, exactly how the real West would’ve, but I pushed his hand away before he could stain me with his chocolatey fingers.
“Get away from me!” I rushed past him and raced back into the living room.
Everyone stopped what they were doing. (Except John and Lisa. They were still making out.)
“Something’s wrong with West!”
“What?” Alex said from the couch. “Did he choke on your cake?”
“He… He got fat!”
No one said anything for three frustrating seconds. They all just stared.
And then, all at once, everyone in the room burst out laughing.
“Oh! Shocking!” Benny said sarcastically.
They all thought I was joking. The poker players went back to the game. The dancers started dancing again. The only person who seemed to take this seriously was Alex. He marched over to me, his expression angry, and he slugged me in the arm.
“Jackass,” he said. “You know I worry about the guy. Don’t scare me like that.”
“I’m not. He’s… He’s huge!”
Alex shook his head. “Not cool, man.” He went back to the couch, still angry.
The kitchen door creaked open behind me, and I could hear West’s thudding footsteps. I turned around, hoping that he’d be back to normal now, but nope. He was still enormous. He’d wiped off his face and arms, though.
His shirt was still chocolate-stained. And now that he wasn’t covered in dark icing, I could see how much his face had changed. His cheeks were chubby, and his second chin was even bigger than his dad’s.
“See?” I shouted to everyone else. “Look at him.”
West grabbed my arm. “Stop. You’re acting weird.”
“Just let him rant!” Benny called across the room. “He’s just showing you off again.”
West looked me in the eyes. He knew I wasn’t joking around. He was worried about me. And while every other part of him was different, his wide, caring eyes hadn’t changed. “Come on. Let’s talk outside.”
Part of me wanted to say no. Whatever thing had taken over West, I shouldn’t trust it. I shouldn’t leave the safety of the group. But my heart told me that I’d be okay. If my boyfriend was really in there, buried under all that fat, then I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.
He led me through the front door, back onto the porch. He sat his wide ass onto the bench and I sat next to him. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”
“You’re different!” I said.
“How so?” I loved that his voice was so calming and familiar, but I hated it, too. He made me sound like a raving lunatic in comparison.
I let out a breath and forced myself to speak slowly. “When I left the cabin, you were playing poker with the guys. You were normal. And when I came back…” I didn’t know how to end that sentence.
“I was playing poker,” he said, “but before you left, you told me to go into the kitchen for my ‘cake time,’ remember? That was the last thing you said before you came out here.”
“I told you to go and eat that cake?”
“Yeah. Did you want me to wait for you? So you could watch?”
I looked away. This conversation was making me even more confused.
“I’m worried about you, Darren. How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know.”
He gently grabbed my hand and placed it on his bulging stomach. I didn’t pull away. I was too confused.
“What are you…?”
“Just rub my belly and breath, okay?”
It made no damn sense that he wanted me to rub his belly. It made even less sense that I did what he said. I slid my palm across his softness, and it felt… familiar. He shouldn’t have a belly, and I had zero experience rubbing anyone like this, but somehow, my hand recognized each curve. I felt the deep fold across his belly button, and the bulges on his sides, and the dimpled surface at the bottom of his overhang. All familiar to my fingers. It was like muscle memory.
“Are you feeling calmer now?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Always works. I’m like your big, squishy stress ball.”
I pulled away. My hand immediately missed the contact. “You’re not supposed to be fat.”
He smiled, acting supportive but still trying to figure me out. “I know. Hence all the stretchmarks. I was never supposed to get like this, but I’m so glad you did this to me.”
I did this? I made him fat?
As I looked into his round face, realization washed over me. It was that lady. She’d changed reality. She offered to help me get over my funk, and she’d granted my wish.
But what did I say exactly?
“I just want something more.”
Wow. Talk about twisting my words.
It was crazy. Freaking impossible. But I couldn’t think of another explanation. I made a wish on my birthday (under a shooting star, no less) and now my boyfriend was fat.
I had to figure out a way to get him back to normal, and the only way to do that was to get more information about this new reality.
“Um, I’m going to ask some questions. About us. Just humor me, okay? Pretend I have amnesia or something.”
“Sure.”
“Where did we meet?”
“History class. Professor Robineaux. I thought you were very cute, so I went up to you and asked for a pen.” He smiled at the memory.
“Even though you were holding a pen at the time,” I added, smiling back.
Yeah. That hadn’t changed. Right away, I knew West was the guy for me. Confident and a little goofy. I fell for him hard.
“And our first date?”
“You took me rollerblading at that retro place.” He laughed. “Can you imagine me going there now? I’d probably crush people.”
That saddened me. Yes, he was right about our first date. We had a great time. But to think he’d grown too fat to ever go back there… Poor guy. I thought about all the other things we did together. Surfing. Hiking. Mini-golf. All those activities were impossible now.
My hand was on his gut again. I’d even pulled up his shirt so I could touch him directly. My fingers were digging into his mid-belly fold. I’m not sure when I did that. Probably when I was thinking about rollerblading. I didn’t pull away this time. My hand wanted to feel him, and the warmth of his skin was calming me down.
“What about our first anniversary? Where did we go?”
“Harrison’s,” he said.
That wasn’t right. We went hiking on our anniversary and had a picnic on a mountain. I didn’t even know what Harrison’s was.
“And what did we do?” I asked.
He leaned back a little. He was really enjoying my touch. “Oh, it was so romantic. You picked out all my meals. That was the first time you fed me in public. God, it was incredible.”
Now I knew. Harrison’s was the buffet restaurant near our house. We’d driven by that place thousands of times, but we’d never gone inside. In this reality, I took him there for our anniversary? And I fed him?
I tried not to think about how bizarre this all was. I was getting close to finding some answers. Now I knew that something had changed during our first year together. That narrowed it down.
“When did you start gaining weight?”
“Your birthday, of course.”
So my 23rd birthday, just four months after we’d made things official. Exactly three years ago today.
“And tell me how you decided that you wanted this?”
“How I decided? That’s an interesting way to put it.”
“Tell me what happened.”
I waited for his answer, but all that came out was a soft whimper.
“West?”
“Sorry,” he muttered. “You know how much I like that.”
He was responding to my hand again. It had moved to the sweaty space under his overhang. I was running my fingers back and forth. I loved how warm and sticky it was down there, and I especially loved how my fingers were making him arch his back and let out tiny whimpers.
As if on autopilot, my hand went lower, sliding under his stretchy waistband. I touched the hairy lump of fat over his crotch. His fat pad.
“Oooh,” he said.
Why was I doing this? My only explanation was that in this version of reality, I touched him in very specific ways, ways that clearly turned us both on. I didn’t have memories of this life, but my hands knew exactly what to do.
I squeezed his fat pad, then explored the hot space between his crotch and his puffy thigh. Everything down there was so warm and soft. And before I knew it, my other hand joined in, going straight to his hanging moob to give it some attention.
“I… I can’t answer your… questions if you keep… Oooh.” He sounded like I was jerking him off or something. I was touching every part of him except his dick, but in this fattened form, that didn’t matter. He had so many little nooks and crannies, a thousand different pleasure zones, and my hands knew all his favorite places.
I pinched at his thigh fat, causing him to shudder so hard that his belly flopped against himself. I wasn’t going to stop touching him. I couldn’t. But I still needed him to answer my questions.
“Concentrate,” I said. “Tell me the exact moment you started gaining weight.”
“Birthday cake,” he muttered. He couldn’t even form full sentences.
I positioned my body on top of him now. I wanted to press my flat stomach against his gut. My left hand was still pleasing his moob with rapid, constant thumb-friction. My right hand was still in his pants, feeling the tip of his cock poking out of his fat. I wasn’t stroking it, just feeling that it was there.
My brain was shocked that his once-substantial member was reduced to almost nothing, but my hands expected this.
“What about the birthday cake, West?”
His eyes were clamped shut. He was trying not to moan. “You… Oh, Darren!" His moans echoed into the star-filled night.
"What about the birthday cake?" I asked again.
The bench creaked under him as he rocked his flopping body to the rhythm of my touch. The fat hanging over his sides thudded against the wood. "You... you asked me to eat it. Oooh. And I… I did.”
He was bucking his hips now. Ripples everywhere. My hand left his cock (now as big as it was going to get) but remained on his fat pad. I squeezed. And with a rhythm I must've perfected over the years, I shook his fat bulge as fast as he was bucking his hips. I didn’t realize it at first, but I was using his fat to jerk him off.
And he fucking loved it.
“Just one more question, West. You can hear me, right?”
“Darren,” he moaned.
I pressed my torso deeper into his soft middle, riding the waves. I was straddling one of his thick legs, making sure he could feel my own hardness through my shorts. I jiggled him faster. My other hand left his moob and was now holding onto his side-fat. I needed to stabilize myself a little.
“One last question. On my birthday, when this all started, why did I ask you to eat that cake?”
His breath was catching. I recognized that sound. He was ready to explode.
I slowed down just a little, then sped up one last time.
“You… You… never told me whyyyyyy.”
And he was gone. Just by jiggling his fat, he came in his pants.
I still didn’t have an answer. In this reality, I’d simply decided for some unknown reason that I wanted him to eat for me. That’s it. And now, his body was a heaping mound of rolls. I pulled my hand out of his sticky pants, but rather than stand up, I let my whole body sink into him. My head against his chest, I could hear his heart pounding and his lungs struggle for air.
When we came out here, I just expected to ask him questions. This was… a surprise. My body had taken control. I didn’t understand the new world I was living in, but I finally felt like I’d be happy here.
West stroked my hair. “Are you feeling better now? Less confused?”
“Yeah.” Suddenly, I was aware of the party music thumping inside the cabin. “Do you think our friends heard you?”
“Probably,” he said casually. “But that’s like, what, the fourth time you’ve jiggle-jerked me today? They’re used to it.”
I laughed. “Fourth time?”
I no longer felt any sadness over what he’d become. So what if he couldn’t rollerblade anymore? It seemed like we had plenty of better ways to spend our time together.
I buried my face in his soft chest, feeling nothing but happiness. That oppressive blank feeling I used to have was gone now. My wish had definitely been granted. I wanted more, and I got it. So much more.
“Well?” West asked.
“Well what?”
“It’s your birthday, after all. And I can feel how hard you are right now. Don’t you wanna…?”
“Yes!” I said instantly. I climbed off him and unbuttoned my shorts.
He looked at me funny. “Aren’t you gonna get my milkshake first? We can’t fold-fuck without it.”
“Oh. Um, yeah.” I didn’t know exactly what he meant, but I think I could make an educated guess. And it sounded fucking amazing.
I rebuttoned my shorts, fully aware that my friends would see my hard-on, but oh well. In this reality, where West and I were constantly going at it, they probably wouldn’t care. I gave West’s belly a quick kiss and headed back inside.
***
No one seemed to notice me enter. West was right. All his moaning was like white noise to them. I walked through the crowd and entered the kitchen.
I assumed his milkshake was in the fridge. I looked on every shelf, but I couldn’t find anything resembling a milkshake. All we had were alcohol bottles and my birthday cake.
“Darren?”
I spun around. My heart sank.
West was standing behind me, but it was the old West, the skinny West. “What are you looking for?” He glanced down at my crotch. “And why are you…?”
This was the real world again. I could feel it.
Everything I’d just experienced was… What? A dream? A hallucination?
A vision of the future?
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
I pulled him against me and kissed him. He was surprised, but he gave into it. My hands felt his narrow hips, his muscular chest, his solid back. Then I let him go.
“Wow. What’s gotten into you?”
“West, since it’s my birthday, can you do something for me?”
He shrugged. “Of course. Anything.”
I pulled my chocolate cake out of the fridge and placed it on the table. “Can you eat this for me?”
“But… that’s for everybody.”
“I know.”
He looked at the cake, then me, then the cake again. “Why would you want me to eat all that?”
I handed him a fork, but I didn’t answer.
The End
Thanks for reading! If you want more fantasy stories like this, check out my new ebook Fat Belly Magic.
More of our favourite big boy Stiles! He isn’t planning on losing weight at all and he’s only getting bigger. Look at those pudgy arms, not to speak about that enormous belly. His body fat percentage must be above 50%! Look at the video, he likes to fill his round jiggly belly! More of him to come if you like this fatass!
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