285 pounds these days, or would that number be just a little bit higher? Why have any willpower when it comes to satisfying that big round mound of flesh you've worked so hard to grow? I know that you probably push yourself back from a delicious, lengthy, rib-sticking meal, muffling a deep manly belch, somewhat self-conscious perhaps about the size of your full belly -- but why not treat yourself more? Pop open those tight pants, relax that swollen abdomen, let that tight shirt inch up the circumference of that happy belly, and get a breath in before you dig in again. You know you want to. Just another burger, just another slice, just another taco, just another enchilada, just another generous helping of pasta before you take on a tempting and caloric dessert. You look down at your big round belly, feel how tight it is, and give it a slap or two in acknowledgment of a stuffing well overdone. Before you know it, you're packing in a substantial dessert of some consequence: a chocolatey cake with buttercream frosting, a mountain of ice cream sundae, bread pudding with hard sauce... You grab a hold of your love handles and think "this dessert is going to make me FAT!" Then you squeeze your pecs and think "but I'll always be a HUNK..." You toss your spoon in the large empty bowl where your dessert had been just minutes ago, lean back, belch, and realize that it's hard to breathe with your belly stuffed up to its current size. You carefully and slowly rise up off of your creaking dining room chair like a hot air balloon taking off, wobbling your way off to a couch where you can stretch out and begin digesting your enormous, fattening, and incredibly satisfying meal. All of this weighs on your mind the next time you weigh yourself and see a number north of 285. Now, it's just a number, right?
Max back in the glory days of NC's Restaurant. Inexpensive, excellent food in infamous amounts that really stuck to one’s ribs. Imagine three young children that could barely focus on anything but video games, much less being totally bored in a restaurant while their early-30’s daddy was still packing around his empathy weight from his wife’s most recent pregnancy, and even though it was now tighter than hell, he still wore the shirt his mother-in-law had given him “PLEASE FEED THE PAPA BEAR”. Max was always first to finish at any meal, always looking around for more with that “you gonna eat that?” question in his blue eyes. Of course, he’d already inhaled half of the nachos appetizer, his half-pound burger platter, and washed it all down his gullet with hedonistic bucketfuls of Mountain Dew. The young Papa Bear leaned back in his seat to give his Thanksgiving-tested-and-proven stomach all the space it needed to swell as he glanced around and took stock of the neglected platters of food sitting in front of each of his fidgeting children.
His eldest son Jake reached over and pushed a bass-toned belch out of his father’s firm round belly. “Aren’t you going to eat your burger?” Papa Bear inquired of the bored little boy. “Well, we might have to pack it up and take it home,” he joked.
“No, daddy. Why don’t you eat it?”
Barely missing a beat, the father’s empty plate was exchanged for a nearly full one, and despite the fact that Papa Bear already had more than an average person’s meal inside his gut, he happily continued eating with impressive efficiency. Looking through admiring eyes from across the table at her growing daddy, Papa Bear’s one and only daughter smiled with glee as she watched him gorge himself. Belly even bigger and t-shirt smooth and stretched tight, Papa Bear lazily rolled back in his seat again for another rest and a big muffled burp. The ledge on top of his fat round bulge had become more pronounced, and his middle sported much more rounded sides after polishing off Jake's meal, and Max was starting to feel the effects of his typical gluttony. “Ooffff.. I think I might be getting… full!”
It was hard to mistake Max's advanced size from any direction, and other daddy types, boyfriends, and food-pushing female types began to take notice of his adept gluttony.
“More, Daddy?” offered Megan from across the table with a sweet little smile. Jake thumped Papa Bear’s swollen belly, sounding it out like a very large ripe watermelon. “Hee hee yeah, Megan. Feed the Papa Bear!” Max tried to suck in his stomach to no avail as a young couple across the way stared while Jake smacked his expanding gut. "Pop’s belly is getting big!!”
Unfazed by his midsection’s outbound progress, Max stuffed in Megan's more-than-generous pile of chicken fingers and onion rings as his ample belly got bigger and bigger. “Uh-oh… I’m getting so … full!” Papa Bear batted his eyelashes and groaned as he felt the skin on his stomach stretch taut and begin to itch. Max now appeared to have swallowed a beach ball and the resultant heft jutted out distantly under his plump pecs. More eyes were on Max's Buddha-like presence with reactions ranging from amusement to worry. A younger daddy type with a full round gut and a container of leftovers in one hand nodded at Max as he wobbled his way out after he’d given up finishing his one kid’s meal on top of his and part of his wife’s.
Max's middle child Cyrus got up from his chair, gathered up his plate, and walked around the back of his father’s seat to take the side opposite Jake. The mischievous little boy slapped Papa Bear’s belly where it bulged out farthest. “Ooof!!” Max emitted after being surprised; releasing a string of belches as Cyrus kept getting in some well-placed slaps on his father’s enormously full belly. Cyrus proudly looked at Jake, “I’m making room so the rest of my hamburger will fit in daddy’s belly!”
Jake smiled at his younger brother, “…but will it fit?! Daddy is already so big, though.”
Cyrus was committed though, “We have to fatten Daddy up like Grandma does on Sundays!” And not too long after deciding to force-feed his Papa Bear one last dinner plateful, he succeeded. Somehow, Cyrus had pushed the remainder of his near-adult-sized burger into his painfully full supersized father and then dared pour the rest of a large glass of Mountain Dew down his gullet to clear his palate. Max sat there with a dazed look in his sleepy blue eyes as he arched his back as much as possible to stretch his impressively round and most swollen gut. Jake and Cyrus watched their overfull Papa Bear’s facial expressions as they rubbed his solid round sphere, and the boys were somewhat frustrated that they couldn’t push in on their father’s overloaded stomach — it was simply an immovable object.
Their regular waiter came over, surveyed the size of Max's colossal swollen belly, and started picking up the dishes. “Well, we’re all members of the clean plate club, aren’t we?” he said, staring at over-overfed daddy’s spherical gut after having watched his unchecked gluttony from a distance, “did we save any room for dessert?” he queried marveling at the sheer size and perfectly rotund ball of fattened flesh. “Or are you maybe just a burger past the bursting point?”
“There’s always room for pie!” Megan exclaimed, remembering her daddy’s favorite saying after stuffing himself immobile at utterly indulgent holiday meals.
“There might not always be,” cautioned Mary, who sat directly across from her beloved husband thinking back on the timeline of his hundred pound weight gain. Mary couldn’t remember the last time Max's stomach was so immense, and she was dumbfounded by how round he was on the sides. He literally looked blown up like a big balloon. “Daddy’s belly looks like it’s gonna POP!”
The waiter chuckled under his breath as he watched Max squirm a bit with such a weighty decision. “Well, you know you want a nice big piece of homemade apple pie topped with a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream… I mean, you totally earned it — clean plates club and all…”
After the waiter left, Max let out another man-sized belch, quickly covering his mouth once he realized how loud it must have been from the looks he received from the nearby tables. “I’m stuffffff-ffff-ffffed,” Max managed to get out, “Daddy ate too much — way too much. Again. You guys are gonna have to roll me to the car.” The kids giggled as they watched Papa Bear rub his mountainous belly in circles.
Cyrus took to slapping his Papa Bear’s stomach again. “Fat Dad!”
Megan came over and put her arms around as much of her Daddy’s belly as she could and gave the top of it a sweet little kiss. Giving her Papa Bear a break from Cyrus' nonstop slapping, she rested her little chin on top of his belly ledge and hugged him as tightly as she could before going back to her seat.
The waiter appeared with the threatened dessert and Max tried to wave him off before being assured that it was complimentary. “Enjoy!” The waiter smiled and poked Max's solid stomach right under his spread rib cage. “It’s the perfect topping for tonight’s big ol’ bellyful.”
Mary looked back and forth at the size of the piece of pie with the giant scoop of ice cream and her husband’s immense sphere full of dinners. “Do you really think that is going to fit in your belly? I can tell from over here that you’re on overload now!”
“I know,” Max admitted, swallowing hard to keep all of the food and Mountain Dew down, and scratching his belly ball up the middle. “But it looks so damn yummy!” Max was doomed to attempt the warm pie and melting ice cream treat.
“Well, okay,” Mary said, “don’t POP!”
Max tried to lean forward a bit to get at his dessert, but his gut had swollen too much after the third child had stuffed in his unwanted meal. He lifted up the dessert plate, realized that it wasn’t just a big portion that it was also pretty heavy, and started spooning it into his mouth — salivating all the time.
Bound and determined to finish the whole thing, Max grunted and groaned as his stomach maxed out under his painfully pushed-out ribs. The waiter returned with the check and whistled at the size of Max's completely distended belly. Poking Max twice where he bulged the most, almost testing to see if he’d burst, the waiter smiled and said, “Woof… Papa Bear got himself one biiiiig full belly now!”
The waiter helped shift the table so that Max didn’t have to try to push his chair back too far to get up after his utterly overindulgent collection of meals. Taking probably a whole minute, Max thanked all of the squats he’d done in the gym and pressed himself forward and up off of his chair. He tugged at the hem of his Papa Bear t-shirt to smooth out the line and have the bottom of the shirt hang off the farthest circumference, and make sure that people couldn’t tell that his shorts were unbuttoned. When he turned to head toward the door, the heft of his protruding overstuffed belly caused him to temporarily lose his balance. Quickly recovering once he realized what had happened, Max began to wobble his way to the door after his family had lined up like ducks in front of him. With his thick muscled arms out and swinging gently by his sides, Max tried to suck in his enormous gut, but it was simply more than he could manage.
Max went up to pay the bill, and the host was most happy to see him up close and personal after watching him enjoy his lengthy dinner with his family. “And how was everything, sir?”
Max grunted trying to fish his wallet out of his back pocket and bumped the host podium with his big belly. Running his hand down the front of his round firm belly, Max admitted that he had eaten way too much. The host smiled as he read “PLEASE FEED THE PAPA BEAR” as the letters were distorted a bit by the stretching of Max's old favorite t-shirt. “Well, everyone enjoys a well-fed Papa Bear,” the host assured him and poked him a couple times in his swollen belly. Max giggled like the Pillsbury Doughboy as the host kept poking his belly. “You come back and see us soon, Papa Bear. We’ll keep that belly too full.”
He’s on top, tiring quickly, as his thrusts become more laboured. His eyes reveal that he won’t make it, but the desire still surges stronly through him as his hips begin to slow. You know he can’t hold himself above you much longer. His weight is pleasurably suffocating you. You couldn’t escape, even if you tried. You wrap your arms around him for purchase, to help him out, but it’s no use. He’s grown too big, too heavy, too fat. And he’s bigger than ever before. You bite your lip in ecstasy, trying to hold on, trying not to erupt too soon. His appetite has finally got the better of him. He’s now succumbed fully to your charms. But it’s the first time he’s completely failed to finish like this. You always knew this day would come - the way he ate. And as you delight at a new milestone reached, he grinds to a standstill above you, his full weight now crushing you, as his fattened body slows to a stop. You kiss him sweetly on the cheek, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” you whisper reassuringly in his ear as you stroke his hair. “Don’t worry about it, just roll over for me and I’ll take things from here.” Once freed, you straddle him. It shocks you how wide your thighs now have to part to contain him, when you remember how slim he was when he first met you. After pushing his belly upwards and lowering yourself onto him, you begin to rock your hips gently, feeling your gyrations echoed by his girth. You reach for the full pack of cookies you’ve kept religiously by the bedside for weeks and open it. You take the first and hover it temptingly by his mouth. You quicken your thrusts by way of temptation, as your other hand claws wildly at his softened chest. Unable to resist you, he takes a voracious bite of the fattening treat in your hand. He’s such a glutton. He’s never full, never satisfied, never fat enough, and always wanting more. You smile sweetly, but you can’t resist your darker thoughts. “Well at least you’re still good for something!” you giggle disdainfully, as you move your free hand lower to slap his generously plump belly until it glows. His fattened cheeks flush a deep, dark chrimson. It’s so sweet when he gets embarrassed like this. He knows that you love it, and so does he. But what he doesn’t yet know is that - if you can contain yourself right now - he won’t be allowed his big finish tonight, unless all his cookies are finished too.
300lbs is undeniably fat - you're not chubby or thick or husky. You're fat. You either like it, or are ambivalent enough it doesn't scare you the way it would other people. You can still participate in society, mostly, but the world doesn't have to stop to accommodate you.
+400lbs is definitely eyebrow raising for society. It's being unable to clothes shop at even Walmart. Its forcing you to slow down, forcing you out of normal society because you simply do not fit. It's modifying your habits, changing to more sedentary hobbies. It's having to take up 2 seats on a packed flight, impacting a strangers life when they find that plane full. But instead of letting all that mortification spark change, no, something pleasurable coils in your belly and whispers "its not that bad yet"
500lbs?
Thats a level of obesity you're not ready for. Trust me, and I barely dipped my toe in that class of obesity.
Simple things that you've taken for granted, things that have remained as your athleticism dwindled, now suddenly seem like Olympian feats. Waddling through a store? Might as well call the ambulance to wait for your inevitable collapse. An incline? No, silly, might as well call it Everest. Standing at the stove to cook? Bold to not have a chair nearby. Clothes for fat people? Ha, you've sized out of specialty stores. Now you need custom clothes. Getting off the couch? Now you gotta plan how many times you can get up and so you make those one or two attempts count by stacking snacks around you.
Once you hit 500lbs, and you ignore that tiny quiet voice saying, "woah, hey, lets slow down" and instead listen to that roaring hunger in your belly...
Well, you'll be able to tell us what 600lbs brings soon enough.
Jonas breathed a sigh of relief as he shut the door to his dorm room for the first time. He’d been the only one to have arrived here all by himself, having dragged up everything he wanted for his new life within a single suitcase and backpack. He’d worked so hard for this opportunity to come to college. Like the disappointing parents he had come from, Jonas was not naturally academic. However, getting here seemed like the best way to escape that boring town he had grown up in: the small-minded people, the dead-end jobs, the outdated, wholesome ideals. Jonas was here to craft a new life for himself; one that was of his very own making.
Looking around, Jonas was pleased with the space he had. Initially a little disappointed not to have a mirror, he soon opened the closet to find one on the inside of the door; full length and only slightly smeared from the last inhabitant. It aroused him to think how much this reflection would change over the next year. This tall, lanky frame of his was going to bloat with fat, altering his shape in ways he couldn’t possibly predict yet. Would he be like one of those guys who put it all on his stomach? Would he be more pear-shaped? Or would it distribute evenly, swelling him up everywhere? In reality, it didn’t really matter which one it would turn out to be; becoming a fatty was all he’d ever wanted for himself. Now he at last had the opportunity, the space and privacy to make that happen.
Jonas dropped his pants and pulled off his shirt, snapping pictures of his slender body, wanting to document the transformation every step of the way. He already knew where all the best take out places were around here, and he’d studied for months about ways to make the most fattening shakes on a budget. He unzipped his suitcase, pulling out the cheap clothes he hoped his body would soon destroy and paused for a moment of reverence as he reached the most precious items of all. He’d bought them only a few days earlier and immediately packed them away so that no one at home would find them. His erection was already pulsing as he handled the material and unfolded the first of two pairs: enormous 5XL underwear fresh from the pack. One day, Jonas asserted in his mind, these would fit perfectly on him. As he slipped his long legs inside and pulled them up to near his waist, it was clear how much work had to be done: a light six pack to be destroyed, ribs needed to be buried, a slender butt to be inflated. But he’d do it. No matter what.
Jonas was excited to find a large, obese guy had moved in across the hall and a very rotund girl down the hallway. He’d deployed every ounce of his charm in getting to know them both, only wanting to surround himself with those who clearly followed the lifestyle he wanted for himself. Free from prying eyes, he could at last make online profiles on all those fat-loving websites and apps he’d found but never dared to enter. A job in a local fast food place would fill his time, as well as provide the funds for his new lard. Jonas was also avoiding the advances of all those who appeared to show an interest in dating him. He’d never find someone on campus to support his body goals, so why get distracted just for sex? Still, the idea of having a real feeder turned him on, and the longing for that only intensified as he dove further into those feederism sites. He could learn so much from dating those enormous men or women who got off on their own blubber just as much as he did. If only the ones who actually showed an interest in him lived at least five hundred miles closer.
By following every tip a half decent search engine threw at him, Jonas at last felt his appetite beginning to enhance. All those snacks around his room, the giant plates he ate off, the stretching of his stomach with shakes; they were all paying off. Overeating wasn’t as hard as it once was. If only his ridiculous metabolism would ease up and let him keep more of these calories as fat. Despite the loss of his six pack, Jonas didn’t feel the fat building on him like he had expected. Sure, he could change the lighting and pose for progress pictures in certain ways to make it look like he had gained more than the meagre 9lbs on the scale. But was that what he wanted? Folks who were following his gains online seemed to buy it. However, Jonas knew the moment he put a shirt on, he looked no different at all. How was that even possible after months of extreme quantities of food? He could see examples of the Freshman Fifteen all around him, yet Jonas could only pinch a small amount of his own gains around his waist.
Those early days were also punctuated with failed romances. Around March, Jonas felt like he had connected with a girl on his course. She’d clearly gained some weight since the start of the year and was even boasting about how much she could eat. However, after just one date, it became clear that this girl actually hated her own body. She’d been so conscious of her stomach in particular that Jonas, feigning being a gentleman, left her only with a goodnight kiss. What a waste of time that had been! Then, a cute obese guy had also caught Jonas’ eye at the burger joint he worked at. They’d flirted a little, until Jonass had found his profile online and discovered that he actually had a boyfriend already.
And so, Jonas studied his figure as the end of the year approached, realising that not much had changed. His hips may have been a little wider, his butt less pert. His stomach was undoubtedly trying to push outwards, despite failing to form any sort of visible paunch shape, even in the tightest of t-shirts. Overall, though, this was all so much harder than he had expected. Overcoming his genes to become something other than the usual skinny, lanky man of his useless family was going to take a lot more time and effort. However, his greatest error was undoubtedly what he did next: a mistake he could have easily avoided by sticking to his plans to stay in the city and not return home to his family. That summer his family seemed just as fucked up as ever. Jonas found himself getting stressed as the endless stream of dramas and poor choices unravelled all around him. The final week had ended in a blazing row where Jonas had told them outright that he had no plans to ever come back again. He left with his sanity intact, but several precious pounds had evaporated in a puff of smoke. All that effort, lost in a matter of weeks!
At the start of his second year, Jonas settled back into his old routine. He made new friends, always trying to collect more oversized folk into his social circle, despite the minimal impact it had had last year. He’d amassed something of a following within the online feedism communities, with older men being especially keen to help fund his gaining. Jonas dropped every last cent on food and weight gain shakes. He’d been told countless times that regains came a lot easier, and that appeared to be absolutely true. The pounds he had lost were back in place before Halloween, and Jonas found himself venturing into new, exciting territory by the holidays. He’d been invited to his friend Steve’s house during the break. Surrounded by significantly larger people, his efforts to push his appetite to new extremes went unnoticed. He groaned, rubbing his bloated stomach in the spare bedroom and hoping more than anything that it would all stick.
It was around February when Jonas first noticed a newly posted picture of himself on one of his social media accounts. Usually, when he was around all his larger friends, Jonas couldn’t help looking just as skinny and scrawny as ever. However, in one shot, taken by a friend as he was turned on his side, there was a new, compelling thickness to his waist. Was he bloated on beer? No, the photo was taken right at the start of the evening. Was this what he looked like now? Had the dadbod finally arrived? He raced to the mirror and started tugging himself off. There it was, that definite little paunch he had craved for so long. At last, a full eighteen months after starting this, things were finally starting to happen for him.
Jonas could understand why people thought he was bulking and getting stronger. He’d lost count of how many folks had asked him if he had been working out. It was ironic, really. He’d put so much of his focus into staying sedentary and trying to pick up new hobbies, like board games, where he was permitted to sit and snack all evening long. Whenever such a comment was made, Jonas made an effort to correct them. He’d lift up his shirt to squeeze the new blubbery roll that was forming over his waistband. “Nah, I’ve just been overeating,” he’d say casually, making an effort to ensure that they saw him eating and not giving a shit about his increasing weight. He wanted to be one of those obese guys who wore sweat shorts all year round and he dressed himself in hooded sweatshirts that, whilst loose, gave him that carefree look he was after.
With his chest softening and expanding by the end of the summer, Jonas’ gainer profile was blowing up. It was the love handles folks commented on most; the way they pressed against the waistband of his underwear and jiggled slightly in the short videos he shared. For Jonas, it was his butt that he loved most. His glutes had swollen so much compared to what they had been at the start of the year and, although it wasn’t always obvious from the pictures he took, the soft, underexercise squishiness of them was exactly what he had imagined when he’d first started fantasising about becoming obese. Being so tall, he knew it would take time to get the flabbier look he craved. There was simply so much more of his body to coat in lard than other guys. Despite starting at 150lbs, the sixty pounds he had added created a look that was entirely different to what he had been before. Perhaps it was because, without a shirt on, it was so clear that none of that added mass was muscle. Every part of him was shaping up and making it easier to imagine how his body would change with the next 60lbs… the next hundred and two hundred pounds.
With his jawline melting away, Jonas made sure to shave each and every day. He loved the feeling of having a double chin and it was this that fascinated him most whenever he saw pictures of himself. Now when he was in pictures with all his friends, he no longer looked gaunt in comparison. He was pleased with the choices he had made. The heavier friends he had made had now undoubtedly helped him to pick up better habits, and he’d found they were much more likely to call him out on it when they saw him putting on more weight. His stomach was playfully jabbed and jokes were made about his appetite in the same way all of the other fat guys made fun of each other. It was as if they all knew that, despite still being so much smaller, Jonas was every bit the fatty that they were.
At the start of Jonas’ third year, relationship weight gain seemed to plague almost all of the folks he was hanging around with. Love was in the air, it seemed. Jonas could see his buddy, Paul, staring to rub off on his new girlfriend, with the girl’s butt widening each time Jonas saw her. Likewise, Maddy’s love of beer had promoted an oddly firm and stout stomach on her new boyfriend, a year younger than her. It was all so silently erotic to him. Perhaps, Jonas thought, it was time for him to start seriously looking for someone to share all this with. However, the same problem remained: there just didn’t seem to be anyone nearby who fitted the criteria. They were all either too old, too flaky, married or too shy about exploring such kinks. Jonas thought one afternoon, whilst searching through profiles that he had at last found someone with potential: a beautiful headless torso he may have been, but he was a first year within the college with just the right level of kinkiness on show, according to his status updates at least. Jonas immediately followed and began messaging. The guy wasn’t online often, but when he was, it was always gold. When they talked about what they wanted to do to each other, the arousal it gave Jonas was so much greater because he knew there was at least a small chance that they could actually follow through with it. This all didn't have to be just a fantasy.
Jonas became obsessed with messaging the guy, teasing out a little more of his kinks each time. His friends began rolling their eyes as Jonas' attention dipped to his cell phone. They could tell that he was flirting with someone, although they would perhaps never imagine the horny contents of the back and forth messages. In time, Jonas learned that the guy’s name was Scott, a marine biology student on a campus a few blocks away. He’d dated a couple of guys but had never had the confidence to ask someone out who was significantly heavier than him. He talked endlessly about the chubbiness of Jonas’ butt and the great admiration he had for the guy’s love handles and wobbly tits.
Jonas knew he was giving too much information about himself away. He’d never even seen a headshot of this guy, yet Scott knew almost everything there was to know about him. Then that day finally arrived when Scott at last seemed ready to share. Jonas gasped with delight as he saw the photo of the guy’s beautiful face: pretty, with kind eyes and a wholesome ‘boy-next-door’ look about him. They arranged a date for the following day. So excited, Jonas couldn’t even sleep. Then it all came crashing down when Scott cancelled only an hour before. The excuse was weak and, had Jonas not been so smitten, he might have told Scott where to go. As it was, he readily forgave him and allowed Scott to build his hopes up a further two times without any meeting.
This wasn’t going to happen, Jonas realised, consoling himself with food just like his larger friends did. He was grumpy for a few days, annoyed at himself for getting his hopes up so much when everyone online had tried to tell him how unreliable chasers were when it came to actually meeting in real life.
“What can I get you?” Jonas asked gruffly one busy Saturday at the burger place he worked at. Still preparing a fresh tray for the next customer, he hadn’t even looked up. Then, all of a sudden, a shy, sheepish, but unbelievably pretty Scott was simply standing in front of him: real and three dimensional.
“Hi,” Scott mumbled, knowing from the lack of messages that Jonas was pissed at him. He’d known for weeks where Jonas worked. “I wanted to apologise.”
Jonas looked at the long queue behind Scott, sighing that this guy couldn’t have chosen a worse time if he had tried. Still, here he was. He was real; his perfect face and toned body were not computer generated after all. He felt his resolve crumbling, smashing his fingers into the screen in front of him. “I’m sorry,” he called to all the folks behind Scott in the queue. “Could you move across to the till over there? I’m having trouble with my screen.”
Grumbling, the queue shifted across, leaving Scott and Jonas with relative privacy. Jonas inhaled, wondering where to begin. The butterflies in his stomach were crazier than he had ever known them.
“You look great,” Scott jumped in. “You’re right, your work uniform really does cling to your love handles.”
Instantaneously, Jonas felt his dick jump. He’d heard thousands of comments on his chubby body online, but never in real life. He hadn’t heard Scott’s voice before today. His tone was gentle, yet deep. Jonas couldn’t help wanting to hear him say more and more things; endless arousing commentary on his fattening body and how much Scott admired it. “Well, I’ve been trying to eat a little more recently, hoping that one of our dates will work out and I’ll have someone to admire it all,” he replied flirtatiously, dropping any pretense of still being cross with him.
“Well, it’s definitely working,” Scott grinned back in a way that suggested he was just as turned on as Jonas. “What time do you finish?”
Despite the monumental step forward Scott had taken in coming here today, Jonas knew that the guy was like a little frightened bird. He’d have to move quickly if he wanted to capture him before Scott flew off again. “In five minutes,” he lied, knowing the exact lie he would tell to his hapless manager in order to leave earlier.
Scott was waiting on a bench outside when Jonas finally made it out. Even with the tight fit of Jonas’ t-shirt, they didn’t dive straight into kinky talk. Instead, they strolled along by the river discussing everything in between: the city, the college, their courses and friends. In the end, it was Jonas who suggested grabbing some food. He led Scott to the buffet place he’d been to with his friends a handful of times. Without a single word of encouragement, Scott’s expressions and reactions boosted Jonas’ confidence: the way his eyes widened as Jonas’ shovelled in his food, the quiet excitement on his face whenever Jonas returned with larger and larger plates of food, as well as the smitten look, admiring how easy Jonas seemed to be able to consume it all without feeling stuffed. Just like that, Jonas felt like all his efforts had been validated: he was so much heavier than his date, so much greedier and out of shape. This was what he needed in his life. Whether Scott turned out to be the one, or not, Jonas knew right then that he needed someone in his life who was going to make him feel every bit the fat pig that he had always wanted to be. He wanted someone to share all of this journey with.
It would have been tempting to invite Scott back to his room. However, Jonas resisted. The date had gone so well and there was a danger of ruining Scott’s incentive for a second date if he offered sex so soon. And so, the two guys parted and went their separate ways, both knowing that something very special had taken place.
The fact that Scott had let Jonas down in the past probably saved him from quickly falling too hard for him. Jonas remained cool in the guy’s presence and the pair didn’t even share a kiss until the third time they met. Folks Jonas chatted to online about his gains were warning him to be cautious. But whether it was his own delight, or the chilly time of year, Jonas found he had packed on over five pounds in only two weeks. His cheeks were filling up and there was a new kinky bounce to his chest that was turning him on greatly. He was eating more. Whether it was to quietly impress Scott or just because it was so easy, Jonas was consuming upwards of seven thousand calories each day. The feeling of it was so sexy and pleasurable, yet he and Scott had yet to discuss the more extreme nature of where Jonas wanted to take his gains. Being chubby was never going to be enough, yet Scott spoke about his body with such reverence that Jonas began to wonder whether the guy was already content with the way Jonas was now. Perhaps he didn’t need or want Jonas to put on significantly more weight - certainly not the staggering amount that Jonas had in mind for himself.
“I wanted to show something to you,” Jonas smiled, leading a newly undressed Scott through his bedroom. He set the cute boy up at his desk and propped the laptop up so that Scott could see. “This is my absolute favourite video in the whole world,” Jonas declared, clicking onto his saved files. “I kinda wanted your opinion on it.”
Excited and nervous to share, Jonas clicked the video on and stepped back. A ginormous, obese man filled the screen, sitting up naked in bed, eating pizza and occasionally struggling to reach down and keep his dick stimulated as he ate. The fat was everywhere on him: sagging down in his giant chest, encircling his enormous waist and even bulging in his crotch so that even his erect penis was difficult to make out. It didn’t take a genius to work out that this guy was considerably more than 500lbs.
“Oh, wow!” Scott reacted straight away, although Jonas couldn’t really make out whether it was a positive or negative response. Instead, he tried to peer around to check Scott’s crotch. Was the sight of all this lard making him horny? Oh, how he hoped it was!
“Look at the way his arms jiggle!” Jonas pointed out, trying to push Scott’s attention onto the features he most admired himself.
“He’s huge!” Scott agreed; a breathless arousal detectable in his voice. His hand slipped down to his crotch, rubbing a shaft that was stiffening with rapid speed.
Sighing in relief, Jonas began to relax a little. This supe-sized fatty was hot to Scott too. “Do you think you would be able to finish just watching this guy eating?” he asked, just as the guy on screen began stacking pizza slices and gorging himself for his viewers.
Scott didn’t tear his eyes off the screen. “Definitely!” he nodded, smiling broadly as the guy rubbed his giant stomach between chews.
Jonas leaned in closer. “I want you to prove it,” he teased wickedly, daring Scott to masturbate right in front of him.
His eyes raised in surprise, Scott accepted the challenge and took a few squirts of lubrication onto his palm, then strapped his hand back onto his dick to please his kinky lover’s request. To Jonas, it was such a turn on seeing his boyfriend getting the same thrill out of the content he had jacked off to countless times himself. Then came that moment in the video when the guy, stuffed to the gills, went to grab his dick and missed. He wheezed slightly, clearly bloated as could be, his stomach like an angry, round balloon spilling out in front of him. The giant man tried again and missed once more. Even though it was still quite some way until the end of the video, the sight of this had made Jonas squirt so many times when he had tried to watch it all the way through. When the guy tried a third time and only managed to hold and stimulate the very tip of his modest dick, Scott made a sound that Jonas had not anticipated at all. The cute, innocent-looking chaser was coming all over himself already, in exactly the same part of the video Jonas himself could never make it through. It was at that moment Jonas knew he was falling in love with this guy. He kissed him proudly, keeping that thought to himself, then helped the handsome boy clean himself up.
Afterwards, Scott was smiling with contentment, looking like he was ready to just snuggle up with his overweight lover and watch a movie. However, Jonas had other plans. It was yet more advice he had received from his cautious friends online. Would Scott still want to feed him even when he’d already climaxed himself?
“I need to get this gainer shake down,” Jonas declared, pulling out the biggest container he had ever tried to keep a shake in. He knew there were several glasses in here that he would need to get down and, given how much he had already eaten today, it wasn’t going to be any easy job. It would take time and a lot of patience from Scott to coax him into finishing in.
“What do you need me to do?” Scott replied excitedly, showing absolutely no sign that his interest in helping Jonas gain weight had waned. He rubbed the underside of Jonas’ belly and then kissed him. “I’ll do whatever it takes!”
It took a few weeks for Scott to feel confident to meet all of Jonas’ friends. He was so polite and placid, it was obvious that everyone thought they were an odd pairing. In his friends’ eyes, Jonas knew he was considered a little gross. He overate, farted and burped constantly due to the sheer quantities he pushed into himself. They’d all seen his belly hanging out of undersized t-shirts and been given more than an eyeful of his crack as it fell out of his sweatpants. For those who had lived in the dorms with him, they’d seen him strutting down to the kitchen area in just a grotesquely tight pair of boxers on several occasions; his increasing lard jiggling more and more as the months had gone on. The fact that Jonas had managed to find anyone willing to date him had been startling enough. However, the reality that he had managed to bag a guy like Scott had been almost too much to comprehend. With their big personalities, Scott seemed to shrink back and come across as shy amongst Jonas’ friendship group. And, given they were all now two years older than him, Jonas sometimes got the impression that his friends were a little patronising with poor Scott. Still, this introduction was yet another step taken. Another move towards the future that Jonas finally believed he might be able to manifest for himself.
Weight crept on fast once Scott and Jonas were an official couple. Upon turning twenty-one, Jonas was able to buy his own beer and settled into a routine of enjoying a couple each night; not only boosting his calories, but also spiking his evening appetite and seeming to relax his whole body when overeating. Scott seemed to take Jonas’ goals and run with them. He was great at reminding Jonas to eat and keeping track of his calories. It was obvious what a nerdy statistics-driven guy Scott could be, showing Jonas that he had actually been overestimating his daily calories for years and making small tweaks to his diet in order to maximise efficiency. The results spoke for themselves, by the end of the summer, Jonas was a full sixtrty pounds heavier than when they had first met. He began to feel the true mass of himself as he walked about. His stomach had softened and distended further, his chest was flabby and breast-like. His face was so much different to when he had started college, bloated and featureless with so much fat swelling up his cheeks. However, it was Jonas’ thighs that had especially inflated, consequently providing him with a wider butt than he had ever anticipated at his current weight of 285lbs.
After coming out to his parents during the summer break, Scott returned to the campus with more excitement than ever to see his big, greedy, fattening lover. “Maybe we could get you to three hundred before my parents come over to meet you next month,” he suggested playfully as they both lay in bed after another huge stuffing.
Jonas kissed his boyfriend lovingly. He couldn’t wait to hit three hundred at long last. However, he couldn’t help feeling nervous. Whilst dating a closeted guy had been frustrating at times, it had at least been easier to avoid all this domestic shit, like meeting and trying to impress parents. He hadn’t exactly had the best time with his own family growing up, so inheriting a load of new family didn’t seem like something he particularly wanted to put himself through. He got the sense that Scott’s folks would have high expectations for their son’s partner; both of being so academic and established in their careers. The pair had both run a marathon together only last week. Scott had been their only child, and it was clear from Scott’s recountings of his childhood that they had absolutely doted on him.
“Aren’t you nervous about your folks meeting me?” Jonas asked, rubbing his painfully stretched out stomach. “I mean, I’m not exactly what most people want for a son-in-law, am I?” he sighed, tapping his gut and producing a sound that undoubtedly demonstrated how tight, full and overindulged his giant tank was.
Scott smiled, loving Jonas’ fat body with a passion. “I have told them you’re a little overweight,” he replied softly.
“Maybe I was a little overweight twelve months ago,” Jonas shot back. “But not anymore. Now I’m just full on FAT!”
Again, Scott simply smiled. He stretched out his hand to rub Jonas’ large stomach for himself, never failing to linger on the softest underside section. “Then I guess they’re in for a treat,” he grinned back proudly. “They’ll just have to meet my super fat boyfriend instead,” he chuckled with an air of dominance that was unusual for him. Jonas had recently shown him the 5XL underwear he wanted to grow himself into, with that visual goal seeming to cast a wicked, devious spell of lust over Scott. “I meant what I said. I want you at three hundred before they come over next month.”
Jonas felt his dick stiffening. He’d known when he’d fallen for Scott that the guy wasn’t the dominant feeder type. Yet, as Jonas’ weight had increased over the months of their relationship, Jonas had felt their dynamic shifting ever so slightly. Scott had taken great pleasure in pounding Jonas’ soft butt in a way he never would have done when they first got together. “Whatever you say,” Jonas smiled back, quietly letting Scott know that he liked this new side of him.
The meeting with Scott’s folks was as predictably flat as Jonas had expected. When they had returned from dinner, Scott had been open about how disappointed he was that Jonas hadn’t eaten more. However, the truth was that Jonas simply couldn’t bring himself to unleash his true, greedy nature in front of them. He felt stifled by their evaluative looks and leading questions; things that Scott appeared to be completely oblivious to. It may only have been their first meeting, but Jonas knew he was never going to be able to be himself around them. He had placed himself inside his own kinky bubble for so long that stepping out of it into the real world made him momentarily remember how much of a freak most people would see him. Here he was actually wanting to get extremely fat! How could anyone ever wrap their heads around that?
Jonas’ weight plateaued after that and didn’t really recover until after the holidays. Now that he was in his final year, the stress of Jonas’ last exams and assignments were weighing heavily on him. He’d learned, quite happily, that he had become something of a stress eater, fuelled by a loving boyfriend who was keen to see Jonas making the sort of progress he had made in the early days of their relationship. By the end of the winter, he was sitting at 315lbs with a full two extra inches around his waist. By the summer, that number had increased to almost 325lbs; every last ounce of it being pure, lardy fat that rippled and jiggled on his body in a way that was impossible to cover up.
Leaving the campus after so long had been hard. College had changed him in every sense of the word. Jonas had been offered, and had accepted, a job at a firm in another city across the state, meaning that he wouldn’t be able to see Scott more than once a month or so. They’d made promises and commitments to keep their relationship alive whilst parted. However, having been with Scott for over two years now, Jonas had never expected that it would be him who would start to have desires to stray.
No longer required to walk miles around the campus each day and with a healthy income from his first job, Jonas found his weight was spiralling upwards yet again. Alone in his one-bedroom apartment, he’d become more active on the feedism websites he had explored in the past. Scott had never wanted to expose himself on those places and had refused to allow their contrasting body shapes to be photographed together for any pictures that Jonas wished to add to his profile. Now, with a new, angry stretch mark seeming to appear every week, Jonas was contributing more and more to his profile, and receiving an insane level of kinky attention.
“Come on over to my place tomorrow, Piggy,” wrote one incredibly handsome feeder Jonas had been messaging for a good couple of weeks. “I’ll stuff that fat belly of yours so much, you won’t be able to move.”
Fuck! Jonas was so aroused by it all. The feedism scene seemed so much more developed here. There were literally so many guys who were into all this over here. Jonas felt like he was missing out on the time of his life. He’d hit 350lbs without a single person to share it with. Scott was back in college, with another two years of studying to do. Meanwhile, he was living out here, bottling up all his gainer fantasies when he should be out there, taking full advantage.
The split was inevitable in Jonas’ eyes. He’d made excuses for the break-up that Scott hadn’t bought into. It hadn’t been an amicable ending. Still, they both promised to stay friends, which worked for a short while, despite Scott’s grievances. Then, when Jonas discovered that Scott had started dating some fit, handsome jock, he hadn't known what to think. The good-looking pair were posting gym selfies and pictures from half-marathons they had completed together. The comments underneath were always loaded with passive aggression, with Scott making a point to say how happy he was to be with someone so active and fit. Jonas felt completely alienated. So Scott had simply changed his entire preferences, just like that? Had he ever been into the fat? Or was he simply humoring Jonas all that time? What things had he possibly said to this new boyfriend about his past relationship? Did they laugh at how fat and stupid Jonas was? Such thoughts, creeping into his head in the dead of night, were nothing short of tortuous. Jonas ground his teeth, seeing how delighted Scott’s parents looked in a picture that had been shared with them all together. Finally, their son had dropped that loser and dated someone they could actually be proud of. It was with a bitter heart that Jonas severed their social media ties, deciding it was his turn to move forward. After all, with all these feeders showering him with attention, he could hit four hundred pounds in only a matter of months!
Six years passed by in a flash. Jonas stood in the sun, wearing only a pair of tight, skimpy shorts that successfully emphasised the expanse of his fattened, 390lb body. He knew he had one of the largest butts of the gainers at this outdoor event, however, with his great height, his stomach was yet to reach the sort of giant size that would really make him a favourite amongst the chasers at these things. He chuckled, spotting his buddy Greg locked in a passionate kiss with a new chaser over by the dance area. Dressed in only his tight speedos, Greg’s large, exposed belly was being rubbed in large circular motions by the shameless chaser who was enjoying every last bit of Greg’s ball-like gut. Jonas bit his lip and swooned. There was always something so sexy about a proper chaser’s admiration. More than a few people were staring enviously. Greg, who was barely average height, suddenly seemed utterly enormous next to this shirtless, athletic young guy, kissing him like he owned every ounce of his underexercised body.
“Lucky Greg!” growled Ed, Jonas’ friend beside him. “I told him all those pastries would pay off!”
Jonas nodded. This annual event had really taken off in the last couple of years; going from a small little barbecue attended by a handful of them in the back of a bear bar, to this giant day-long event that attracted some of the hottest gainers, feeders and chasers from across the country. This new guy was especially intriguing, having been here probably no more than ten minutes and already kissing and feeling up the most scantily dressed fatty there. The guy had just guaranteed that folks would be offering to buy him drinks all night.
“Do we know that guy?” Ed asked, watching the chaser’s hand grabbing a wedge of Steve’s belly fat as they continued making out in front of everyone.
“Never seen him before,” Jonas replied, staring at the back of the guy’s head. He knew he would have remembered those broad shoulders and the tight little waist if he’d seen this guy elsewhere; the way his hands explored and lingered on all the parts of a fat body that only those with a genuine kink for fatties would do. It was almost too hot to comprehend. However, as the pair at last finished kissing, Jonas realised that he had been completely wrong. Once the chaser turned and walked to the bar, Jonas got a glimpse of his face for the first time. It was Scott, without a shadow of a doubt.
Jonas instinctively turned away in shock. What the hell was Scott doing here? When had he become so damn muscular? And why the hell wasn’t he living in his generic, boring life with that handsome, fit little boyfriend Jonas had last seen him dating?
“What’s the matter?” Ed asked, spotting Jonas’ strange reaction.
“That’s my ex!” he grunted back, not wanting to draw attention to himself.
Ed frowned. He’d known most of Jonas’ short-lived boyfriends since he’d moved to the city and this guy wasn’t any of them. “You mean that shy, little chaser you dated in college?” he asked, deciding there was no other possibility.
Jonas nodded.
“Well, well, well…” Ed smirked, seeing Scott was now flirting with a group of large-bellied fat men at the bar. Taking a hamburger out of one of the men’s hands, Scott began pressing it into the guy’s mouth, making him eat it for him in that sexy, dominant way some feeders could really get away with. Although neither of them could hear him, it was obvious that Scott was pushing the guy with some seriously sexy words of encouragement. “It looks like he definitely graduated to the big leagues!” Ed laughed, dropping his hand into his pocket to try and conceal the boner the sight was most likely giving him. “You should go and say hello,” he offered kindly, patting Jonas on his back. “You’ve always wanted to get over 400lbs. It looks like your ex certainly knows what he’s doing!”
“I can’t do that!” Jonas shot back. “Scott and I didn’t exactly end things well.”
Ed scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It’ll be fine!” he threw back, watching Scott turn his attention to another fat guy in the group instead, picking up a large, hanging moob and jiggling it for his own amusement. “All a guy like that cares about is that you’re fatter than you were the last time you saw him.”
“Only by forty pounds or so…” Jonas shrugged. He knew that Scott would have expected him to be so much heavier than this by now. It had been over six years! Yet the gains had not found him as easily as he had hoped, and he had been stuck at this weight for over three years now.
“You look great!” Ed shot back, tapping his buddy on his fat belly before calling out across the bar. “Hey! Scott!” he cried. “I’ve got an old friend of yours here.”
Scott heard the call and frowned at the stranger who was yelling his name. He glanced across, not realising how mortified Jonas was; his back turned and looking away as if this wasn’t happening. Scott smirked and strutted over, intrigued. “And what can I do for you two handsome piggies?” he asked confidently before reaching them and finally spotting Jonas at last. His eyes bulged and his jaw slackened. “Jonas!” he cried. “I… well, I…” he stumbled. “I didn’t expect to see… Well, I mean… I haven’t seen you in years.”
Jonas nodded, deciding that he could look Scott in the eyes. “Yeah, it’s been a minute,” he nodded.
Ed smirked and then slowly drifted away to leave them both some privacy.
“How’ve you been?” Scott began. “Your ass is looking great by the way,” he smiled politely. “I saw it as I was walking over. I wouldn’t have recognised you with all that width back there,” he chuckled. “The belly could do with some work, though,” he conceded, gazing down at the big gut on his ex-lover. “What are you these days, still in the 300s range?”
Jonas rubbed his stomach self-consciously. He had always hoped that if he ever did bump into Scott again, he would at least be as monstrously fat as he had always told him he was going to end up. “Yeah,” he nodded sheepishly. “But only just. I guess I’ve struggled to put on weight these last few years.”
“You should have stuck with me then,” Scott shot swiftly back. “I’d have had you well over five hundred pounds by now.”
In that moment, staring into the confident gaze of his ex, Jonas absolutely believed him. This belly of his could have been so much heavier had he not chased those superficial connections with the chasers he had been so captivated by when he first moved away. Scott had always been so supportive and smart when it came to his weight, and always so good at motivating him to push his appetite. Now he realised, not for the first time, that he had sacrificed something real and meaningful for this often lonely life he now had.
“So, I thought you were only dating fit guys these days?” Jonas replied, trying to get his own dig in.
Scott smirked, knowing exactly what Jonas was getting at, and why. “I knew that would piss you off!” he chuckled.
“Is that why you did it?” Jonas asked, suddenly getting a sense that he wasn’t far wrong. “Posting all those pictures of you two in the gym, knowing that I would see them.”
“Oh, absolutely!” Scott nodded. “You broke my heart back then. Can you blame me?” he asked bluntly. “But, I guess, part of me wanted to know whether I could do it…y’know?” he continued, seeming to lose a little of his bravado. “Could I be in that sort of normal relationship with the type of guy my parents would like me to end up with?”
“And what did you find out?” Jonas asked next, already having a good idea of what would have happened.
“I ended up cheating on him with this fat guy I met on a work placement. Not as fat as you were when we were dating,” he added swiftly, “but enough to remind me that I love the piggies! From then on, I’ve never looked back.”
Jonas smiled. This wasn’t the shy, innocent boy he had dated in college. Scott was now a real man who had fully embraced himself and the way he wanted to live his life, no matter what anyone else thought of him. “I’m glad to hear it,” Jonas replied, not hiding the flirtation in his voice. Something about the way Scott referred to them all as ‘piggies’ was making the breath catch in his chest.
Grinning, Scott seemed to pick up on the attraction straight away. He reached out a hand and pressed it to Jonas’ hip so that he could twist him slightly and get a better look at the big butt he had spotted on the way over. He exhaled in horny admiration, wincing slightly as if he was finding it hard to keep himself under control. “You know, I think your ass is the fattest one here,” he declared, having another quick scan of the outside bar area just to be certain. All eyes were on him: his athletic physique, his six pack and perfect hair.
“Oh, I know it is!” Jonas smiled proudly back. It was, after all, his best asset for attracting chasers.
“Hell, you’ve probably not done a bit of exercise in the whole time since I last saw you,” Scott flirted back.
“Not if I can help it!” Jonas nodded in agreement. “How else do you think I keep it so nice and soft?”
Scott’s devilish grin spread across his beautiful face. He moved in closer, an expert at moving in for a kiss, and took control as he slipped his tongue passionately into Jonas’ mouth. The speed of it all took Jonas by surprise, just as Scott had probably intended. He felt caught up in a whirlwind of kinky romance, ready to submit to anything Scott could possibly ask of him. This guy had definitely learned a trick or two in the last couple of years.
As Jonas was kissed, he felt Scott’s hands slide down onto his large butt, feeling the giant shape of his glutes. Then, down slipped Scott’s thumbs into the tight shorst, dragging them down so that Jonas’ giant ass was on show to everyone in the bar; being loved, caressed and admired by the sexiest chaser most of them had ever seen.
“You’re going to get us kicked out,” Jonas whispered, breaking the kiss momentarily as he felt his fat glutes getting bounced up and down by the kinky guy in front of him.
“Good!” Scott simply whispered back, heading back in for another deep kiss; his hands never relenting in showing off the giant backside he was going to be taking back to his hotel room very shortly.
Early the next morning, a sweaty Scott wiped his brow with a towel and rolled off the condom after delivering the most intense fucking Jonas had ever received in his life; even more so than yesterday’s.
“How was that, Fat Boy?” Scott asked, slapping Jonas’ large rear and jumping back into the bed with him after their fourth round of sex that weekend.
“Where did you learn to fuck like that?” Jonas replied, rolling himself back onto his side with a satisfied smirk.
“Well, I’ve not just been sitting on my fat ass for six years,” Scott chuckled, making a point to reach across and slap Jonas’ extensive rear and watch it wobble. “I’ve fucked more pigs than I can count.”
“I can tell!” Jonas nodded. He was so smitten by this new version of Scott: the smart-talk, the entitlement, and yet deeply tender way he had just laid down with him all night long. “How do I compare to your usual pigs?”
Scott smiled and kissed him again. “Oh, you know you’re a very special pig to me. The first fatty I ever dreamed about fattening up over five hundred pounds!”
“I’m still up for that by the way, if you ever manage to clear a space in your busy schedule,” Jonas joked, sliding his fat hand over Scott’s athletic torso.
“Oh, I bet you are!” Scott laughed. “You never used to oink like a pig when I fucked you years ago,” he chuckled, recalling how insanely turned on Jonas had been to feel Scott inside him once more.
“I’m a little more submissive than I used to be,” Jonas replied, slightly embarrassed for letting those snorts slip out.
“It was as cute as fuck watching you. My dick always gets so hard from laughing at fatties doing shit like that. It just makes me want to fatten them out of everything they own.”
“So, let’s do it!” Jonas shot back. “We don’t live too far from each other these days,” he rambled, knowing that he was reaching. “We can meet up as often as you want. You can stuff me like you used to, then fuck me exactly like you did just then.”
“What? And watch your little dick shrink back even more than it already has?” Scott teased him, poking his finger into the large padding that had taken over Jonas’s groin since they had last seen each other. “It wouldn’t work. I’m not the person I was back when we were together last time.”
“Neither am I!” Scott shot back. “I’ve learned from my mistakes back then. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. I don’t know where I would be now without you.”
Scott nodded reluctantly. “But I’m not that quiet little college student these days. I’ve had so many experiences since then. I know what I want and I’m not afraid to go after it. I’ve fucked some absolutely enormous guys. I need to be with a real fatty who is just as excited to grow as you used to be, back when we first met,” he explained calmly. “I mean… hell! Do you remember how hard you used to make my dick when you talked about getting to five hundred?” he sighed, marvelling at the memory. “I still masturbate several times a week thinking about the things you used to tell me. It’s such a shame you never made it over three-ninety.”
“You make it sound like I missed my chance to get there,” Jonas mumbled back. He sat up, feeling irritated. Scott sounded just like all those other chasers who had lost interest in him since he’d stopped expanding. “Just because I’ve struggled to put on weight these last couple of years, it doesn't mean I stopped wanting to. I think all that time you spent fucking chubs made you forget more than you realise.”
“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?” Scott sighed, rolling his eyes as Jonas clearly took offense and got himself up to start getting dressed to leave.
“That all this stuff… the overeating, the pig talk, the outgrowing of clothes… it’s all so fucking sexy because it doesn’t just happen right away,” he stated with complete assurance. “It’s the sexiest thing because It’s about the journey, not the destination.” His shirt on and sweatshorts pulled up over his wide rear, Jonas pushed his feet into his sandals and stood up proudly as the naked Scott still lay naked in bed, watching him leave. “You understood that once. THAT’S the reason why you still think about all the things I used to say. Gaining for someone, overfeeding them, it’s the most romantic thing guys like us can ever imagine. It’s an experience. That’s what I forgot when I stupidly ended things with you all those years ago. I fell down that rabbit hole, seeking fast, easy, kinky play. And it’s the exact same thing you’re doing now by just chasing one fat guy after another! I know that’s not who you ever wanted to be. It’s not who you are, despite the things you keep telling yourself.”
Scott sat up as if he wanted to speak. However, Jonas had heard enough. He knew it was a bad idea to even try and rekindle things with Scott. He’d put himself out there in a way he hadn’t done in years and allowed himself to imagine that there was a spark of hope with the man he now realised had always been the one he was supposed to be with.
Sitting down on a bench outside the hotel, Jonas waited for his cab to arrive, not wanting to walk the streets so early in the morning. He thought back over his rant to Scott, already regretting how hard he had been. He’d been the one who had messed up last time, so what right did he have to get frustrated at Scott for not seeing how they could still make it work? He was an idiot. He’d made his choices all those years ago and now he would simply have to live with the consequences, whether that pleased his bruised ego or not.
A warm hand slipped onto Jonas’ shoulder. “I didn’t think you’d have gone far,” Scott smiled warmly down at him. “That fat ass of yours doesn’t move particularly swiftly, does it?” he gently teased, calmly sitting himself down beside him.
Jonas rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling slightly at Scott’s humor.
“You were right,” Scott sighed. “I’ve had the best time with you this weekend and, I guess you’re right to point out that I’ve forgotten what it was that drew me to all this kinky shit in the first place. We were so in love back in college,” he smiled warmly. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before one of us asked whether we could make this work again.”
Scott rubbed his messy hair, deep in thought.
“How about we just… head somewhere nice for breakfast for now?” he smiled, rubbing Jonas’ knee affectionately. “We can leave all those bigger questions for another day.”
Jonas smiled back, his stomach rumbling. It was certainly a compromise he could cope with.
Five years later, Jonas eyed the stool by the bar suspiciously. His legs ached from the walk from the hotel, but the flimsy looking seat seemed unlikely to cope with his massive bulk.
“There’re some seats over here,” Scott smiled, having gone ahead to scout around for somewhere for Jonas to sit comfortably. Just one of the many courtesies the handsome man had adopted since his husband had surpassed a weight that had him adopt the sexiest little waddle inside the enormous underwear he had always dreamed of filling out.
“Don’t you miss it?” Jonas asked, happy to be sitting down at last. He looked around at all the sexy, large bellied gainers who had travelled here for this event. “A few years ago, you’d be up at that bar, rubbing bellies and kissing every fat boy you wanted.”
“Not at all,” Scott smiled back, taking Jonas’s large, sweaty hand. “I’m more than happy with what I’ve got,” he winked. “What about you? Any chasers who have caught your eye? Any feeders you wish were paying you some attention right now? Someone new to feed and fuck you each night?”
“Absolutely not!” Jonas smiled back, accepting the beautiful kiss Scott delivered.
Although they’d never know it, more envious eyes gazed upon them that night than ever before: the sexy stud and his enormously fattened 550lb lover.
The pair who had achieved the impossible and caught the dream.
it’s so funny to me how many people are actually into this
it always reminds me that you can’t judge a book by its cover (in some cases…)
it’d come at no surprise to me that a textbook porker—with an overfed gut proudly bulging out of everything they wear, cherubic cheeks, and a plump double chin—was at least somewhat into this.
I mean, clearly anyone who glances in their direction could tell they like to eat…if that wasn’t the case, they wouldn’t be so big, now would they?
perhaps they’re a casual gainer, just going with the flow and eating to their heart’s content on their own volition.
or maybe, they’re a closeted feedee—desperately wanting a feeder to come along and hasten their gains (sweetheart, the closet is glass).
either way, it’s not a monumental discovery…the fat person is into being fat and getting fatter? bigggg shocker 🤯
however; on the other hand, discovering that an average sized—or alternatively: especially fit/thin—individual is a perv for the pudge never fails to send a chill up my spine.
those that are feeders are one thing:
it’s only natural to enjoy the thrill of the sheer difference in size between you and your lover, especially when that difference is actively increasing at your hands.
making consistent efforts to diet and exercise while actively encouraging your other half to remain fat and complacent. or maybe going a little further, and challenging them to gain a pound for every pound you drop at the gym.
I mean, who wouldn’t love the contrast between one’s own slim, toned physique and a partner’s plump, wobbly form. Especially when you can revel in the fact that at least some of their excess weight is a direct consequence of all the junk you’ve been feeding them…
But it’s the gainers and feedees that always get me: it’s so arousing to see someone society would deem conventionally attractive, actively trying to ruin themselves.
when you’ve been repressed for longer than you’d like to admit—keeping up a slim physique as a façade—there comes a point where you’ll snap, or at least consider doing so.
it’s the hottest thing so see someone so fit and toned gorge themselves on empty calories because the thought of getting fat gets them off.
but you know what the crazy thing is? you’d never guess they were into this….until the weight starts packing on (which it inevitably will)
I was going out with some friends for the night. I like to be there early and today I got there a little earlier than expected. So I sit in Five Guys and order myself lunch. Double Bacon Cheeseburger with medium fries. Had my own drink with me. Afterward I got a text telling me that a friend was close by and so we met at the bakery... where I got myself a donut because I still felt a little hungry. Soon after, the rest of our friends made their way to us and our night could begin... but first... more food.
Our nights start out a bar next to the bakery, where we always order food and drinks before going to the better bars in town. Was I sensible and say "I already ate." or did I say "I already ate but I could go for more." I think you know the answer. I ordered myself another burger and fries, feeling the full tautness of my gut straining against my belt and shirt. When finished with my meal, do you think I stopped? My friend couldn't finish their fries so I helped them out. Standing up from that chair was a struggle, my belly sliding up the edge of the table as it swells with food and soda.
On our way to the next bar, we stop at McDonalds. This was just a light visit, just a simple large fries for this fatty. I began to think "What's happening? Normally I'm able to help myself in public. I don't usually stuff myself to the brim unless you've taken me to a buffet or something..." but those thoughts were quelled by the soft crunch of the fries in my mouth. I could feel my belly getting tighter, my belt straining to hold back the avalanche of fat behind it. My cock was throbbing by this point but I had to control myself at least somewhat.
At this bar they didn't serve food, only drinks. I decided to get myself a large glass of coke... and then another... and another... one more? By the end of that visit I had 5 large pints of coke sitting in my gut, gurgling loudly and shaking with burps. I could barely take a step without looking like a total cow. People were staring at me as I kept getting more glasses and my belly bloated up, making my shirt ride up my torso and show a sliver of my underbelly for all to see.
After that bar, we went to a large arcade!.. Which served food. After a few games I needed another burger. I didn't actually need one. My gut was painfully full by now. But something inside me was shouting at me to keep eating. Not to mention the thought of you seeing how much a fatty I am that I couldn't help myself encouraged me further. So I ate another burger, my free hand fidgeting with my belt buckle, trying so hard to pull and give myself some room but not undo it.
Overstuffed and effectively cow brained, we walk past McDonalds again, to help the drunk friends of our group get some food in them... Do I do the sensible thing? Of course I don't. I'm too far gone. I need more. I waddle in with them and get 20 nuggets. Fuck I feel huge. I couldn't wait to get home and just get out of these clothes and cum about it. It's all that was on my mind at this point. It was pretty late so you were likely asleep, but I hoped to come home to you fully awake, wondering where I am, and seeing me fattened up and ready to be fucked senseless.
I tell my friends I need to get a taxi home, I feel "Sick" when in reality I am throbbing and stuffed to the brim. The driver assumed I was drunk given my waddling state, struggling to stand straight and keep my hands off my belly. I use this as an excuse to let some burps out while in the back of the car and finally groan. It felt so good to make noise, to just let myself go in front of this stranger because of their assumptions. When finally getting home I need to brace myself on the side of the door and the roof of the car to pull my fat ass out.
I loudly enter the home, belching and moaning even louder now. Most would go to bed at this point, but my fat ass remembered something... There was a celebration today, one that involved cake in this house. And you told me you'd leave me a slice. I wobble into the kitchen, my sides hitting the door frame as I jiggle. I couldn't help myself. There was a third of a whole cake left, there was so much food resting in my fat belly already but... it looks so delicious! That cake didn't stand a chance with my fat ass around.
Eventually, I do make it upstairs. You sitting in the room with a feast of food ready to stuff me fat, but you didn't expect me to come home overstuffed. "Oh wow! Someone couldn't help themselves could they!" You smirk. "Undress fatty. You must be so uncomfortable!" I nod my head and finally unbuckle my belt and remove my pants, moaning in delight as my waist and thighs bulge free and my cock is no longer pressed down by the tightness of my jeans. Soon followed by my shirt, my full fatness of display for you to admire. "I made all this food for you... but it seems like you're already... indulged for the night." You giggle as you pull me toward the bed, pushing me down, causing me to burp. "Well... no worries, I still have an idea."
You sit yourself on my fat pad and place the large tray of treats on my taut belly, while handing me a funnel to put in my mouth. I knew the routine and place it in. "Good boy!" You whisper. You begin to pour as much cream as the funnel will hold while indulging yourself in the snacks you had prepared for me. Now we lay in bed, fattening ourselves up and getting off. As you grind you pussy on my fat pad, I can feel your underbelly scrape along my own, you're getting plump, and fuck does it make me horny. I'm living my best life. I couldn't wait for us both to get plumper.
you’ve done it again: eaten yourself into a panting, moaning mess.
“you really overdid it tonight, piggy. those are looking pretty tight.” i watch you with hungry eyes. the way your overstuffed gut rises and falls with every shallow breath, dark red stretch marks peeking out from underneath your jeans.
those jeans, barely fitting even before you ate, now press tight into your middle, digging into your soft fat. you’re practically bursting out of them—i’m a little surprised they’re still buttoned.
“they are… so tight.” you whine, squirming in place.
“you can take them off, you know. we’re not in public anymore.” not that that stopped you before. you had undone your fly at some point during our dinner, and only that poor button still stands between your strained gut and the promise of freedom.
you whine and start fumbling at it, but the waistband is stretched so tight that your fat fingers aren’t quite able to unhook it.
i watch as you get more and more desperate to free yourself, breath growing more ragged as you grow more frantic.
“aww. poor piggy. you’re so helpless. look at you.” you whimper in response, fat face twisted in concentration and helplessness. “i can’t believe you did this to yourself again. how often do you end up like this? more than weekly now.” you try to suck in, give yourself more space to undo it, but you’ve packed on so much fat that it doesn’t do much. “so pathetic.”
when you finally free yourself your gut spills forward, fat spreading across your lap as you heave a sigh of relief. chubby fingers immediately find it, sinking in and playing with the soft fat, readjusting your bulk like it’s muscle memory.
“good piggy,” i purr, reaching out a hand towards you, playing with your softness. you tilt your head back and let out a soft moan at my touch. “those pants aren’t getting any looser, are they?“ i run a finger along the seam straining against your thick thigh. “poor thing. you just can’t help yourself, huh?” no reponse. just your pathetic, panted breathing. “might be time to size up.” with another pitying look and a kiss on the cheek, i stand up. “i’ll be right back. then i’ll help you with those pants. sound good?”
you really pushed yourself tonight, and hard work like that needs to be rewarded. a couple hundred, couple thousand extra calories coaxed down your eager throat to wrap up the night, and a little less space in those jeans tomorrow.
i make a mental note to place an order for a new pair of jeans in the morning.
~~~~~~~
inspired by a video of @thabigmiller — i wrote this well over a month ago, just never got around to posting it until now :p
"I'm still hungry" you say to yourself, after finishing what should have been a big meal. You really shouldn't have more, you've been gaining a few pounds. But then again why shouldn't you keep eating, if you're hungry? That's your body telling you that you need more…
"I'm hungry again," you mutter to yourself, so soon after finishing your meal. The fridge feels so far away when you're this full, but you can tell you're not too full to heave yourself up and get a snack. You really ought to cut back, but it's hard to think about anything else once you start thinking about food…
"I'm not even hungry," you admit to yourself, finding your way to the kitchen again so soon after eating, pulling more treats out of your cabinets. "Snacks" and "meals" don't really mean anything anymore. It's just a constant stream of food filling you up, barely any time to enjoy what you eat as you cram bite after bite into your straining, overstretched stomach…
"Oh god, I'm so hungry," you whimper to yourself, waking up in the middle of the night, reaching over your bloat and bulk only as far as your bedside table to find something sweet to placate your immense appetite a little longer. Going more than a couple hours without eating just isn't realistic at this point, not at your size…
"You're hungry, aren't you?" your feeder tells you, pushing another bite of your favorite takeout to your lips. You can practically feel yourself getting fatter as you chew, but you ignore the intense, bloated feeling in your stomach and the itching of your stretch marks, too enamored with never worrying for more than a few seconds when the next bite is coming…
"Are you still hungry?" your feeder asks, patting your soft, swollen belly, which has really gotten inconveniently heavy at this point, hasn't it? Pinning you down like this...
You realize that you don't even know anymore. You haven't actually been hungry in a while, have you? You've just trained yourself to eat and eat and eat, losing all sense of whether your body can handle another bite, nevermind whether it needs more food…
But you just going to keep eating and eating, aren't you? You'll keep stuffing and gorging, no matter how heavy you get.
You outgrew hunger many, many pounds ago, didn't you?
Let me dispel this silly idea that you're getting "too big".
You can never be too big.
Sure, you can get too big for your favorite shirt. You can get too big for your once-loosest sweatpants. You can ware holes in your jeans and rip the seams of all your underwear. Nothing you own can fit anymore.
But there's always a bigger size, so you're not too big.
You can get too big to fit between armrests. You might spill over the seats of certain chairs. You may crack the frame of your couch and hear worrying creaks coming from your bed frame.
But there's always something lower, sturdier and wider that you can splay across, so you're not too big.
You can get too big for you car. You might push the seat back as far as it can go and find your belly is still pressing on the wheel. You may struggle to push your overflowing sides out of the way enough to buckle your seatbelt. The suspension might strain to one side as you plop into your seat.
But there's always the whole backseat for you to grow into when I'm driving, so you're not too big.
You can get too big to climb a whole flight of stairs. You might have to take a break after every few. You can get out of breath walking from your car to the store. Your balance might not be what it used to be. You might realize you're panting and breathless from how full you are after a big meal. You can feel your sides brushing the doorframes as you make your way wobbling from room to room at home.
But there's always the option of staying nice and comfy and relaxed on your bed, so you're not too big.
You can get too big to reach down and tie your shoes. You might need the occasional hand getting up after you've eaten. You've can have a few folds and rolls that you aren't able to scrub down without some help. You might need to ask to be rolled onto your side when you're too heavy and full to maneuver yourself.
But I'm always here to help you, aren't I?
So go ahead. Grow until nothing fits you. And you don't fit into anything. Move less. Depend on me more.
Eating Himself Out of Office 3: Epi(mmobi)logue (SSBHM, Immobility)
tw: this final installment includes a man gaining weight to the point of immobility (without further health implications)
if that's not something you enjoy reading, check out the previous two parts! This continues to be inspired by @evermore-xxl's lovely fantasy about her partner gaining a substantial amount of weight after getting an office job. Enjoy!
~
She could tell something was different from that first morning when he was allowed to work from home permanently. There hadn't been much hesitation in his growing habits to this point, especially not when there was food around, but unspoken between them was this new reality that he truly didn't have any reason to hold himself back when it came to eating. And she, for her part, didn't have to hold herself back with offering him up as much as she wanted.
"Is there any more bacon?" he calls out from the bedroom, still lounging in bed and pushing a too-big bite of his ninth pancake of the morning into his mouth, the chocolate chips and M&Ms inside still warm and gooey on his tongue as he chews.
"Plenty!" she says back, stacking another three fluffy, chocolatey pancakes onto a second plate, letting the dollop of butter on top soften for a few seconds before drenching them in sugary syrup. She can just squeeze six slices of bacon on the edge of the plate. He's propped up in the center of the bed with all of their pillows behind his back. The soft, huge mass of his belly resting in his lap, rolling onto itself in the spots where only a year ago there were merely the slightest of folds forming. His plate is balanced in one hand as he eats the last bite, then allows her to exchange the empty plate for his next full one.
"More pancakes too…" he says, giving her a knowing look, but starting in on them without hesitation. He runs his hand across his belly between bites, seeing how fixated she is on the soft vastness of his middle. "Not fat enough for you yet? Trying to feed me until I literally can't leave your bed?" he says cheekily, leaning back and letting her hands slide under to take the weight of his belly in her grasp, drawing her into the bed with him, her body dwarfed by his size already.
She wants to answer openly; to tell him that she's only dreamt about feeding him bigger and bigger as he's grown so much fatter. She thinks about watching his beautiful body expand towards the edges of this bed, to feel him grow soft and heavy with her care. But the increasingly legitimate possibility of it happening almost makes it harder to speak aloud, so she brings her face down to press against his increasingly-stuffed middle and kisses the peak where she can tell he's most full and sensitive. The color flushing in his face brings her back in for another peck, then she marks his belly with a hickey, enamored with the enthusiastic moans struggling to escape his pancake-packed mouth.
The ping from his laptop beckons him to work from his nearby desk, meaning the end of his meal. She’d suggested moving the desk into the bedroom and he hadn’t argued — the fewer steps he needed to take at this point, the better. He starts to roll himself towards the edge of their bed, her eyes bouncing between every inch of overfed flab as he moves. He goes to push himself to his feet, but lands back on the mattress with an embarrassed groan, the frame creaking underneath him. With a deep breath, he tries again, this time righting his weight enough to stand, taking a few unsteady steps to his chair.
His work shirt and joggers are draped on the back of his chair, but trying to force the latter on will inevitably make him late for his morning meeting, so he forgoes pants and starts buttoning his work shirt as far down as he can manage. She’s watching from behind with awe as his wide ass drops into the chair, his thighs naturally spreading to accommodate the space demanded by the sheer size of his belly. She sees his butt and love handles swallow up most of his visible underwear as the weight pools and piles up. He’s entering a meeting with his camera on, pudgy hand reaching for the bowl of pretzels waiting for him on his desk so he can chew through a few during his many muted moments.
She doesn’t try to overfeed him, but he’s gotten so, so big that she doesn’t want him going hungry either.
Eggs, sausage, and hash browns at 9. An extra large pizza all his own at 11. Three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at noon. He's ordered two huge burritos before knowing she’d be bringing him those first two lunches, but he doesn’t let the third go to waste once it's delivered. A pint of ice cream. She makes cookies, they barely have a chance to cool before they’re stacked onto a plate for him to devour. Afternoon bagels and cream cheese. A rather large bowl of chocolate chips that she helpfully refills until he’s eaten the whole bag. Huge slices of watermelon. Grilled cheese sandwiches. After every task she completes at her own desk, she finds herself back in the kitchen getting him a snack or something to drink.
There's something about him sitting in there without proper pants that has her mind buzzing. It's not just that he's getting too big for his clothes again—that's become routine at this point—it's the raw comfort on display and growing acceptance of his size that seems to have her sneaking glances at every bulging bit of his body when she pops into their bedroom to shuttle his next bit of food.
He's pulled his laptop onto his belly by the late afternoon; the bloat in his middle eased by leaning back in the chair and avoiding the uncomfortable squeeze that comes with trying to reach his desk. She brings him a plate of mozzarella sticks, fresh from the oven, which he readily accepts onto his belly/table ejecting his laptop onto the desk.
"You know, my job does subsidize as many delivery meals as I want during work hours," he says, patting his belly as he chews. "Might as well take advantage of that until they see how many meals I'm packing away and how much it's costing them."
"Too distracting having me in and out during the day delivering you homemade meals, big guy?" she asks, teasing him as she brushes a few crumbs from his front.
"That part I love, but you shouldn't have to spend so much time making me stuff. I'll order more delivery, let you do your work during the day. Besides, probably better for me to get at least a few steps in going to the front door and back, right?" he says, groaning as he pushes himself out of his chair, the arms hitching on his sides. She loves the visible difference in his belly throughout the day: how in the morning it's doughy and wobbly; then by the afternoon there's a firm mass of food inside of his stomach bloating him outward, even at this weight, making his waddle more pronounced as he navigates the extra bulk into his movements.
They order noodles for dinner and he downs so much broth that she can hear his swollen belly sloshing when they finally roll him into the bed. He falls asleep on his side, with her hands tenderly rubbing his belly and back, feeling for herself how big he gets after a day of eating like this. Feeling the accumulating pounds adding into more features for her fingers to explore across every inch of him.
His shift to ordering delivery throughout the day, it turns out, has two benefits she didn't fully anticipate. First, she has the voyeuristic pleasure of watching him wobble into the living room, half-dressed, then grasp at the frame of the front door while he bends over, straining past his own belly enough to retrieve the delivery bags waiting on the stoop. Second, when he orders his own meals, his tendencies towards the heaviest, most fattening foods are completely indulged. It's burgers, pizza, wings, stir fry, sandwiches. Double entree orders; family-sized portions. Everything hot and delicious, leaving him overfull at the conclusion of every meal, but never so full that he balks at any snack she offers him.
The steps from their bedroom to the front door aren't many, but she can hear his panting breaths grow louder as the day goes on. His movement becomes more of a shuffle with every additional meal. He grunts more when he has to bend low to reach the tantalizing bags, his pudgy hand blindly reaching past what his body obscures to find his food. His bloat builds, alongside her bubbling need to spoil him herself, until the workday ends and she can cook an enormous dinner, stuff him with far too much dessert, and delight in knowing he'll wake up ever so slightly bigger the next day.
Five full delivery meals in a day becomes common. He gives her affectionate greetings as he passes her home desk. She watches his body swell rounder by the day. His belly hangs lower. His legs get thicker and rub against each other as he walks. She's almost embarrassed when her breath hitches watching him struggle to bend over more and more. Soon she orders a small table to set outside the front door so he doesn't have to face that obstacle.
The only obstacle he faces, really, is the sheer size of his own growing body. The gaming chair at his desk grows uncomfortably narrow over the next few weeks, though she knows he's growing increasingly wary about it breaking under his weight. Instead, he starts working from their bed, his laptop perched on his belly, one hand clicking and typing away while the other lifts the next bite of food to his lips. He constantly grazes. Sometimes he's still eating through his prior delivery when the next arrives. He insists on retrieving his own meals from the front door, though she's overeager to take that responsibility off his hands, too.
It's after eight weeks of working from his bed when his body makes the decision for him. It's a Monday morning and she's barely logged in for work when she hears the familiar pattern of his approach. The loud groan from the frame of their bed that means he's getting up. The first couple plodding steps, heavy on the floor as he gets his balance. The sound of the bedroom door opening, then the creaking of that floorboard just outside their room that—
Except she doesn't hear the floorboard creak. Instead, she hears some unusually strained grunts and groans. Leaping up, she rounds the corner to find him there, wedged into the doorway of their bedroom. His belly has pushing forward enough that it's halfway through, but his bulging sides have completely stuck him there. His heavy arms are giving their best effort at dislodging him, but it's no use. The lower sides of his belly have pinched against the frame if he tries to go backwards; his butt and hips holding too firmly to let him clear the doorway going forwards.
She finds herself rather stuck, too. Her mouth dropping open, gawking at just how big he looks.
His overfattened body too huge and wide to clear the doorway. Her mind whirls with thoughts of just how much food he's eaten to reach this point, every bite he'd taken walking him down the path to rendering himself too fat to squeeze out of their bedroom. She would have savored the moment forever if not for her understandable need to help him.
"I guess the dozen donuts I have outside aren't going to exactly fix this problem," he says, his face flushed red with the exertion of trying to free himself and the tingling embarrassment of having eaten himself to this size.
"I don't see a problem," she says, grabbing handfuls of his belly and gently pushing his bulk backwards into the bedroom. He takes a couple staggering steps to steady himself, panting. She strides up to him, pressing herself against his soft, round front, and embraces him, her arms wrapped at his sides as she tilts her head back to kiss him. She leads him to the bed, eases him down, and swiftly retrieves the donuts.
"I'm not getting too big, right?" he asks. Though they both already know the answer. He shimmies to get comfortable, sending tiny wobbles across every gorgeous bulge of his body. She knows he's going to be spending much, much more time in that one spot on their bed and she's prepared to support him in every way she can.
"Never too big," she promises, and opens the box of donuts, setting it atop his belly for him to enjoy as she watches and rubs the tender spots where the doorframe squeezed him.
She retrieves all of his deliveries from that point on, letting him work from the comfort of their bed.
His belly soon begins resting on the mattress between his legs, gradually overtaking his thighs and then his knees, plumping up day by day as she brings him all the food his ravenous appetite can hope for. His thighs thicken and soften with underuse as he swells, happily pinning himself to the mattress with his own weight and her love for him.
True to her word, she never feels he’s getting too big. As he widens and gradually expands to fill more and more of the bed, her adoration for him only grows. He outgrows the last of his clothes, his body on full display for her to pamper, prod, rile up, and reward — no matter how many rolls and folds have to be lovingly maneuvered to ensure he’s satisfied.
She’s often perched against his belly, leaning against it to push delicious food into his eager mouth, praising him for being so good and greedy. She loves that feeling of resting on his vastness, like she could just sink into him.
He eats like it’s his job, though he never waivers in his commitment to succeeding at his actual job. He takes meetings (camera off) his chunky arms resting on his blobby chest as he continues using his laptop.
It almost seems silly, now that he’s occupying nearly the whole bed with his enormity, that they didn’t realize sooner how much they both love the experience of growing him. They laugh together about how going to the office is what started this whole thing in the first place; the best type of workplace hazard neither of them could have anticipated.
After nearly a year of working from home, he turns his laptop around during his third lunch to show the sizable amount of his annual bonus. Her nails sink instinctively into his belly slightly, the sensation of how far away her touch feels while still being undeniably against his vast belly has him swooning. She knows just where to rest her hands or apply playful pinches that leave him completely lost for works; it helps that those spots are becoming more numerous as he grows.
“We’re going to feed you that entire bonus, you know,” she says, clambering up against his belly, careful not to put too much of herself on him. She squeezes his heavy chest, his moobs resting atop the mountain of his belly, feeling him quiver at the sensation. She reaches his plump cheek, pressing her mouth to the warm soft bulge of his chins. “I’ll get you a nice big cake to celebrate,” she promises, kissing him.
“If we celebrate too much, I’ll outgrow the bed,” he says, grinning, knowing it’s the exact thing to rile her up. He watches her orbit him, her hands gliding to the furthest point of his belly, feeling how close it is to overtaking the edge of the mattress.
"You're just too good at your job, you can't help but achieve enormous success, huh?” she asks, taking a step back to marvel at how enormous and soft he’s gotten. The sheer size of his body is almost intimidating; every inch begging to be loved and felt. She can't wait for every moment they'll spend appreciating how huge he's gotten. Even if he never grows another pound, she'd love him all the same… but they both know he's going to grow more. He can't help himself.
She takes his chunky hand in hers, his thick fingers barely spreading far enough to let hers slide between. They kiss, then return to their laptops. He continues his work. She continues hers, allowing her focus to drift to a new tab where she orders him that cake. She leans against the side of his belly, both of them content in their work and eager for the work still yet to come.
He’ll never be too big for her, no matter how hard he works at it.
Hope everyone out there is staying cool! Throwing together a directory of my writing from the first half of this year to keep things organized and hopefully help anyone find anything they might've missed. More ramblings and writing-related stuff under the cut!
Longer Stories
Eating Himself Out of Office ((SS)BHM WG): A heavy guy gets a lot heavier when he gets an office job; the third part has him gain to immobility. Posted in a first, second, and third part. [13k words]
Checkup (POV, Healthplay, Teasing): A gainer and their feeder attend a doctor's appointment together. [1k words]
Pet-Sitting (SSBHM, Pet Play): A woman stops in to feed and check on her friend's very, very fat pet guy. [1.5k words]
Reframing the Problem (BHM, Stuckage): A gainer trying to escape his own waning mobility doesn't get very far. [1k words]
Caloriemaxxing (BHM, Teasing): A gainer takes some time to consider his choices on a grocery shopping trip with his feeder. [1k words]
These and more of my longer writings are also on my DeviantArt!
Shorts
Under 500 words, usually second-person/POV narrative with a gently teasing tone:
New Year, New You: Start those new, fat habits January 1st!
Eat Your Hesitation Away: Don't think, just take another bite.
The Squeeze: Moments when you really feel how big you are.
Blameless: It's definitely not your fault you're getting this fat.
Sizing Up: You've gotten a little big for your clothes... again.
Hungry: A long-forgotten sensation at your size.
Gone: What have you lost with all this weight you've gained?
Too Big: You're never really to big (for me).
Funnel-Fed: The sensations of efficient calorie consumption.
Enjoy! I'm always eager to hear you've enjoyed something :)
There's more nerdy/processy, rambling stuff below.
Seriously, there's about to be a bar chart.
Turn back now if you just want the good stuff that's fun and hot to read.
Okay! Only a third of what I've written this year ended up posted out there to be read. There's a lot of stuff in that gap. Many ideas just don't pan out in a way that I like, or I often lose interest after I'm a few thousand words into something. Some of the written+unposted stuff is my portion of writing I've done between myself and a partner, or something I wrote that ended up feeling very personalized to/for someone and ultimately shared only with that person (occasionally as anonymous inbox asks, who can say).
Still, I've written nearly 100k words so far this year. Neat!
Mostly for my own edification:
At the end of 2025, I cut off the long tail of "in-progress" drafts that I was hanging on to and started tracking things a little to see when I was truly getting stuck vs. writing a decent amount. The original eagerness that comes with a new idea can be fleeting and it's equally difficult to scrap an idea that I'm not progressing on. If I don't actually add to a draft for two months, I now shift any progress into a continuously-appended yearly ideas/brainstorming doc to free up the list of what I'm actively drafting. I think that helped me a lot, but that's a vibes-based assessment until I've got more data to decide what's working for me.
It's hard to write longer stuff! Writing for kink in a way that feels authentic to what I'm excited to write and maybe feels like something anyone else would like to read takes a lot of confidence for me and it really means the world when someone tells me they enjoyed (themselves) reading something I wrote. (I do tell myself that) I'm not posting for the external validation, but I think readers may not know how nice of a surprise it is to have someone go out of their way and say "I read this and really liked it!" If you enjoy reading something someone wrote, you'll make their day by telling them :)
Posting the shorts/POV-type snippets on tumblr has helped me reframe some of those cases where my "idea" is really just one hot scene or line or detail and I can flesh that out into something that still feels like my style (and slightly boost my confidence because those get waves of reblogs lol).
Putting out a multi-part story in June was a real highlight, it's been a while since I was so captivated by the premise that I mostly pushed everything aside to see it through and put it out to be read quickly.
I currently have six things I'm "actively" writing: one with a few thousand words written (probably multi-part); two with a few hundred words that I'm in the early stages with (one fandom wg story which is new for me; one dipping into a dynamic/kink within feedism that's new to me); and three that are in the brainstorm/outlining stage.
Why am I going on about all of this? Sometimes I need to validate for myself that I'm pretty decent at writing like this and it's okay for me to nerd out. I've been doing this for a bit, I'm trying to put myself out there in the community a bit more, and if you're someone who is/is thinking about writing for your kink, give it a shot!
I really love writing feedism. I like sharing my writing because there are very kind people out there into the same things I am, and I want them to have (good? hopefully?) things to read that validates what excites them.
All of that to say thank you for reading and I hope to give you all much, much more to read and enjoy in the months to come :)
Eating Himself Out of Office 2: Working from Home (BHM, WG)
This continues from the first part and is heavily inspired by @evermore-xxl's fantasy about her partner gaining a substantial amount of weight after taking an office job; their (non-feedist) partner @cryptidmothmen is also due some inspiration credit :)
~
It’s his first morning working from home after he'd eaten himself too heavy for his office chair at work. Weeks of office-subsidized meals, an increasingly-ravenous appetite, and the gentle encouragement of his loving partner have ballooned his softening body out of his wardrobe several times over. Every big part of him has become even bigger. Every roll doubled. Every fold deepened. He’s sleeping in later than usual since he doesn’t have to commute, but a rumbling hunger in his belly still wakes him up earlier than his alarm.
His girlfriend is curled against his back, her arm wrapped around his side and resting against his sizable belly. She wakes up and sees he’s already scrolling a food delivery app for breakfast. Three breakfast sandwiches from a fast food place are queued, then a fourth. He hesitates a second, then adds a fifth. A coupon offer prompts a sixth. Six. The number alone has her mind buzzing; working out the calories would have her worked up in seconds. She stirs, her hand sliding from his belly to the thick rolls at his side, settling on his back where she gently rubs, letting her fingers catch on the newly-formed folds.
“Did you want something?” he asks, punching in his employer code that subsidizes the food and delivery so the cost is close to that of the workplace cafeterias; an additional benefit for those approved to work remotely. Those cheap, filling cafeteria meals have been the major contributor to his ballooning up nearly eighty-five pounds since earning his cushy, sedentary, office-based promotion ten months ago. Several sizes up in his clothes, gradually developing a habit for six or more meals per day, and one broken office chair later, it’s left him with some rather indulgent habits.
“I’m okay, you get your breakfast,” she says, squeezing him once more before watching his soft, swollen body start to maneuver itself to standing, the weight shifting and plopping and stacking until he’s on his feet. She hears him in the kitchen making himself a bagel, slathering it in cream cheese, to tide him over until his real meal arrives.
While he’s in the shower, she gathers up some snacks and sets them into a bowl on his desk, ensuring he’ll have plenty to eat without leaving the comfort of their second bedroom, now home office. Chips, cookies, pretzels, granola bars — everything a growing guy might want to munch on throughout the workday.
“Hey where did those new pants go?” he calls from the bedroom. She joins him, seeing him laying on the bed, his joggers mostly up his thighs, but stuck against the bottom of his belly and ass. She knows these are the bigger pants. She knows that just two weeks ago they’d fit him fine, but that his thighs have been taking the bulk of his extra weight these last couple weeks. Fortunately she’s planned ahead and has the next size up tucked away in the closet. He’s grateful, but a little too winded to fully express it as he shimmies the old ones off and slides the new, huge pair slide up his chunky, soft legs.
His latest work shirt, a 4XL, fits around his rounding torso… mostly. He thinks he’d managed to fully button it, but the lowest button is forced apart too much by his belly hang to be fastened. It’s too low down below the equator of his belly anyways, so he doesn’t even notice there’s a button down that far to try. He sits himself in his gaming chair, another recent purchase that’s heavily reinforced to stand up to his weight, though she notices that his sides and butt are oozing dangerously close to the sides already. He opens his laptop to start the day, but he's barely logged in before the doorbell rings. His thick arms make to push himself from the chair, but she’s quick to tell him she’ll retrieve the food, noticing how pleased he looks to just let his weight plop back down into his seat. It's like he's meant to be doted on, she thinks as she heads for the front door.
She brings him his first delivery and can tell how he's managing to eat so much during the day: he’s nearly perfected typing and scrolling on his laptop with one hand while using the other to eat. His bites are greedy and delighted, his mouth full as he chews and instinctively grins. She glances into the room a couple times over the next half hour, watching the pile of empty breakfast sandwich foil wrappers grow until a punctuating groan and belch tells her he’s finished his first proper meal. She toasts him another bagel, smothers it in cream cheese, and wordlessly drops it off for him with a peck on his cheek while she collects his discarded wrappers.
During his first meeting of the day, she pulls out a boxed muffin mix (adds in some extra chocolate chips) and bakes a half-dozen large muffins. He wanders into the kitchen, attracted by the sweet smell, and has eaten half of them before 10:00. His lunch delivery, a family-sized order of wings and fries, shows up at 11:00. At noon, she makes them each a sandwich, his having contents proportional to his size. She replenishes his trove of desk snacks before he returns to his seat after lunch. He emerges into the kitchen shortly after to grab a muffin, a few cookies, something to drink, but the gaps between his appearances grows as the afternoon progresses. She delivers him the last muffins and a bowl of chocolate chips to round out his afternoon eating.
Bite by bite, his belly swells against his tightening shirt. She catches a glimpse of just how much belly is resting in his lap when he's sitting, typing away at whatever task he's working through. He is, she decides, very cute when he's working away like that. Naturally she grabs him some pretzels and lemonade from the fridge. She's trying to do the mental math of how many calories he must've eaten across the whole of the day, but she can't do it without losing count, remembering some snack she left off the list, or thinking of some additional thing in the cabinet he'd be delighted to see her come in with. And he is always delighted to see her entering the room with something delicious for him.
He's still lingering in his desk, his shirt unbuttoned halfway up his protruding belly as the evening rolls around. She thinks he's working late, but when dinner is nearly ready she finds he's actually relaxing in his chair, resting his hand on his middle scrolling his phone.
"Good stopping point for dinner?" she asks.
"Already?" he asks, his hands pressing on his swollen middle. "I guess I could eat," he grins. It takes him a little more effort to heave himself from his chair. She doesn't fail to notice, taking in how his body moves at this size. She would never want him hurt or uncomfortable, but her mind wanders to wondering what the weight limit of his gaming chair is. How could she not when he's so beautifully filling it up like that?
He claims he's "not that hungry" for dinner, so she just offers him a small bowl of stew with a couple buttery, homemade biscuits floating like puffy clouds on top. And whenever that bowl gets close to empty she takes it for a refill and another biscuit. He eats nine of them, slowly sinking into completely laying on the couch beneath his broth-filled, biscuit-packed belly and giving her that pleading look that prompts her hands to meet his groaning gut without hesitation.
She eases the strain, hand-feeding him a cookie as soon as he seems to have enough room for it. She's not certain whether he's hungry, can't find any motivation to refuse the next cookie, or just enjoys having her attention so fully on him like this. She makes it easy for him, running her hands along the swelling softness of his sides, shoulders, back, arms and legs. She traces every stretch mark, affectionally feeding and soothing him until he's too heavy and tired to get up. They snuggle together on the couch late into the evening until he's sufficiently mobile and motivated to journey back to their bed.
It feels like a normal day for him. Eating that much, nearly beaching himself by the end of it. But for her this is the first day of a new routine.
Two weeks at home shouldn't have been enough time to leave too much of an impact on his waistline or his habits…
But by the time he's notified that his new office chair is available, he's gotten quite acclimated to his lifestyle working from home. She's evolved from nonchalantly offering him snacks throughout the day to more playful, outright enabling and challenging his appetite. He's moved less and eaten more in these last two weeks than ever before, but he doesn't really feel how much he's been enabled until his first day returning to his office.
Getting dressed was a dual effort: she helped him get tucked into his shirt and pants so he didn't have to fuss with the buttons. Tying his shoes was sure to be a strain, but she took care of it without even needing him to ask. An extra big breakfast had his tight shirt straining for dear life, but she offers him an enormous sweater that gave him some leeway on some of the tighter buttons, should he need it.
With his lunchbox as fit to burst as he was, he heads out the door and slowly maneuvers the six steps down to the driveway, feeling his walk has started moving him side to side more than before; his weight forcing his movement to adopt the slightest of waddles. She watches him make his way down the driveway, hesitate, then push himself into the seat of the car, almost like he was getting too big to fit. She tells herself she's just fantasizing about that last detail, but she can't be sure with how big he's looking.
She's thinking about what he'd be most excited to see she's baked for him when he arrives home. She's been approved to work remotely as long as she likes, and even with him out of the house there's plenty for her to do. She finds herself so deep in thought about how cute and big he's looking that she almost misses his work bag sitting on the counter. Grabbing it and darting down the stairs with ease, she makes it to the car window before he's managed to pull out from the driveway.
"You'll need this," she says, as he rolls down the window.
His chunky hand reaches out to meet hers, but she's locked onto two details inside the car. First, his belly is absolutely pressing against the steering wheel. Not just brushing against it; even with the seat all the way back, his belly is firmly resting against the wheel, bulging above and below it. Second, his lunchbox is already half-eaten. Even after a full breakfast, he's not even made it out of the driveway before breaking into the food she's packed for him. He looks a little sheepish that she's noticed, like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't, but she gives him a kiss on his plump cheek and says she'll be excited to see him home later.
He munches away on his remaining snacks during the short commute, leaving the packaging remnants in his car to clear out when he gets home. The walk to his office feels longer than he remembered, but he's forgotten all about that once he's got a double cafeteria breakfast in front of him. Buttery croissants, two meat and cheese omelettes, fruit, a couple muffins. His only limit seems to be the physical space on his tray. But even getting lost in the first of the day's delicious meals can't totally distract him from the repeated reminders that he has, without a doubt, gotten much bigger.
The sides of the bathroom stalls feel snug. His hands accidentally hit on the doorway of his office when he walks through. There's a creaking under his feet when he walks down one particular section of hallway that he's sure he'd have noticed before. The new chair in his office is certainly sturdy, but it's not exactly comfortable and seems to be a little too narrow for his butt. Instead of breaking it in, he elects to take his meetings in the cafeteria for the rest of the day. No one minds the different meeting location, but inevitably each of his coworkers wants to grab a snack, presenting him with ample opportunities to grab additional meal after meal. He's topped himself out after eight meals over the course of the day, truly pinned to the cafeteria bench by the end of his final meeting, struggling to muster the strength to wobble to his car and commute home.
The journey feels long. The car feels like it's squeezing him. The drive feels unpleasant without something to snack on. The driveway feels unending. The steps up to the door feel harder than he remembers. But everything feels right again when he's out of his uncomfortable office clothes and splayed out on his couch munching on some (pre-dinner) peanut butter brownies.
"How'd you make out today?" she asks from the kitchen, her hands busy preparing the next delicious meal he'll devour.
"Eh," he says, groaning a little as he adjusts himself under the weight of his belly. "Much prefer working from home. I missed you, of course. But it's easier being here and all."
"Why don't you put in for more remote days?" she says. "Just go in for the important meetings, I'm sure your boss won't mind."
He realizes she's right. Being home for two weeks hardly seemed to make a difference in his work output, but going into the office has clearly left a cloud of inconvenience hanging over his mood and the quality of his day.
So he does exactly that. And he finds that really there aren't that many important meetings. He relishes finding his calendar open enough that he can talk himself into staying home the following day. And the day after that. And then staying home the remainder of the week feels reasonable.
She loves getting to work with him from home, too. Knowing he's getting more than enough to eat. Having cute moments to admire and joke with each other during the day. Watching her love for him slowly swell his softening body out further and further with each passing meal. The accumulating bloat of his middle settling into more weight as the days compound into weeks.
He goes in once after a month, then stays home for six uninterrupted weeks following that. She's watching him practically swell by the day. Then comes the occasion he very truly must commute in for.
His boss, its been announced, is retiring. There's a big meeting about the division, and a happy hour following that to send the boss off in celebratory fashion.
"How about I drive you in?" she suggests, watching the color drain from his face as he tries his very best to squeeze into the largest set of pants she's ordered for him to date. "That way you can have some drinks, if you like," she says, knowing he's unlikely to fit behind the wheel based on her last glimpse of his driving.
He agrees, flushing a little when he has to ask for her help to scoot the passenger seat back all the way after not being able to reach the release underneath the seat himself. She's warm and nonchalant, telling him how much fun he'll have at his big work event.
And she's right. He jokes with his coworkers, makes small talk, snacks on enough appetizers to make a meal even by his standards, takes a few drinks down, and then he learns some news that he can't wait to share when he gets home to his girlfriend.
The car dips heavily to one side when he plops down in the car that evening, his hands grabbing at the button of his pants under his heavy belly to undo it before he bursts them open. He's a little goofy from his drinking, playing coy with her about the big news he gets to share with her, insisting it waits until they arrive home.
She prods him, verbally and then with her fingers on his exposed belly, but he doesn't release his secret until he's walking up the front steps. He's made it up the first three when he pauses, taking a big breath, then continues up the last three, pausing in the doorway. She means to be looking at his grinning face, but all she can see is that his sides are literally pressing against both sides of the doorway as he rests against it.
"I got the big promotion," he says. She's elated, of course, taking in every benefit this will mean for him professionally. More money will be great, especially since their food budget has been ballooning recently…
He's more than prepared for the workload. She shares his celebration eagerly, watching him add more and more about how excited he is, his proud face wobbling and full and cute.
"And now that I'm the boss, I'm deciding that I can work from home full-time," he says with a grin, pushing himself through the front door.
She's stopped still at the foot of the stairs, beaming up at him with so much love and anticipation in her heart, knowing that every extra dollar of this promotion is going to be undoubtedly sunk into softening him up even more.
The only question she has now is how big he'll end up getting.
"This is going to be huge for you, babe," she says, following him in, going for the kitchen to get him something to eat.
He's standing on the scale again, the thick slab of his fat belly and sides wobbling with his labored breaths as he leans forward enough to read the number. His mouth scrunches a little. Dissatisfaction atop his oversatisfied body.
"What is it?" his feeder asks, coming up behind him and resting a comforting hand on the shelf of fat made up by his love handles. "360! Oh my god, that's great! See, I told you those shakes were making a difference, that's up twelve pounds from last month."
"It's… not enough."
"Look, you've been literally drinking down as many liquid calories as you can. Every day. Three pounds a week is a lot! I know you want to be bigger, it's just—"
"I don't just want to be bigger," he says, his hands running soothing, longing lines along the stripes formed on his belly where the skin is already struggling to stretch over the fat being packed on, pound by pound. "I need to be bigger. So much bigger."
"We can try adding more fat. Cooking things in butter and maybe fitting another shake in before bed? I know you don't sleep as well on a full stomach, but…"
"It just won't be enough," he says, more than a little crestfallen. In the last half-year, he packed on sixty pounds. Ten additional pounds of fat was finding its way onto his body every month. His belly had widened and spilled out at his sides, started hanging lower and pushing out rounder against his shirts. His chest and face were fuller, swollen with fat.
But he needed more. And his feeder knew it.
"There is one thing we could try," his feeder says. His attention perks up immediately. "You remember my college roommate, the one that does that food science stuff? There's… something sort of experimental. But it's supposed to be pretty reliable…"
Not even a full second lingered before he could blurt out, "Yes. Please!"
His feeder goes into the kitchen and brings back a vial of liquid. He looks skeptical. "What is that some magic thing to make me gain a hundred pounds in an instant? Something out of one of those stories to blow me up?" he snorts.
"No, but it… you'll gain a pound a day. Every day that we add this into your food, if you really fill yourself with enough food, it's a metabolic—it doesn't matter, but you'll gain a pound a day with this. Should we try it out?"
He grabs one of his softened pints of ice cream from the counter, peeling off the lid and offering it to his feeder to as a vessel for the compound. "A pound a day, huh? Let's try it out."
True to the claim, when he stepped onto the scale the next day, he was exactly 361 pounds. This one pound felt more exciting than any of the previous sixty; it felt like it came with a near-certain promise of more. The compound made the shake sit heavier in his belly than normal, like his belly was somehow needing to stretch a little more into discomfort to accommodate that one single drop, but the next day brought another pound. And another the day after.
For the first week, he had fun searching for the extra pound on his body with his feeder.
"I think it was a tits pound yesterday, I can feel it," he laughs, waking up bloated on the seventh day and taking the blender into his hands to chug down the new day's shake, giggling through his greedy gulps as his feeder gropes at his swollen chest.
The first month brought thirty pounds as expected, bringing him to a heavy 390. His belly was rounder, his sides were thicker, his rolls and thighs visibly puffier with the as his body tried to allocate the weight around somewhat evenly. He was laying on the couch, his hands jostling his extra fat around, feeling for himself how much more of his belly rested against his widening thighs when his feeder brought the shake in.
"Are you sure we can't try more than a drop? It feels so good being able to tell I'm getting fatter like this…" he asks.
"If we pour the whole thing in, you'll still just gain a pound today, and then we'll be out," his feeder assures him, taking his belly in their hands and coaxing his mouth open to chug down his shake, watching as the creases on his neck bulge with his every swallow. His arms rested more against the swollen bulges of fat at his sides than against his torso. New, pink stretch marks were dappling his skin everywhere from his lower belly to his arms.
"What if I ate more?" he pleads, kneading his doughy fat with such intensity that it seemed he was expecting it to rise.
"I could spoonfeed you the most fattening thing you have in the kitchen, but you'd still gain a pound a day."
Grumbling a little, his plump face in a cute, eager pout, he goes back to tipping the blender against his mouth, making sure every drop slides down his throat.
By the end of the second month, things weren't fitting him well. His underwear waistbands had gotten tight, shirts clung to the roundness of his middle belly and let the bottom hang free. The warmth of the summer demanded shorts, but his thighs could barely squeeze into his biggest pair. His feeder shifted his wardrobe, everything elastic and forgiving and oversized as they continued dropping a pound per day into his swelling form. The 400 milestone had come and gone, the next day's pound always spurring him on.
"You could just not wear anything, you know," his feeder teasees, folding all of the once-oversized shirts that were now frayed and torn at the seams where his fattest parts strained them.
"I'd bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he grins, lifting handfuls of his belly fat to show that there wasn't much exposed at all beneath it, given how much his thighs pressed together and his underbelly sat heavy against them. His feeder's hands admired and soothed every inch of his swelling body.
"At this rate, you'll be too big for anything in your closet next month," his feeder smirks, always wanting more of him.
Halfway through the fourth month, he was starting to feel the extra weight adding up. He was breathless, panting and red in the face from carrying groceries from the car. The exertion needed to move his body these short distances was proving enticing to both of them; it didn't take long for him to be breathless and panting on the couch for entirely different reasons.
His feeder was straddling his lap, pressing against the mass of his belly, with their thumb on his chin to guide it open for his daily shake.
"It's not getting to be too much? A hundred extra pounds isn't enough for my big guy yet?" his feeder asks, dangling the first drops of shake at the blender's edge.
"More. I can take it. I want it. Please," he says, that same eagerness from when he was a meager 360 pounds holding steady in his voice and on his face, "please make me even fatter."
As he gained, every day felt like another opportunity to feel the excessive weight affecting his body in new ways. He felt huge, and knew he'd get even bigger the next day. The next week. The next month.
His feeder started to take care of some of the little things: tying his shoes; holding the blender up so his heavy arms wouldn't get tired during his daily shake; lifting his deliciously-inconvenient rolls out of the way when their mutual affection for his body demanded reaching and spreading to reward his indulgence with even more pleasure. The almost-anxious need he'd felt to push himself to grow and grow at any cost was softened into a blissful relishing of how much of his day was filled with thoughts and sensations of food and his own fat.
Five-hundred pounds seemed like a good point to reevaluate. The number seemed so far off, until it wasn't. His weight climbed by a pound a day, but the sheer size of his body was reaching the point where even a couple weeks' worth of pounds seemed to be lost in the swollen, blob-like mass of his belly or the spreading rolls of soft fat on his sides and thighs. Spaces around his body were closing rapidly: his chin brushed his chest; his side rolls folded onto his butt; his thighs pushed each other apart until his belly was resting on the couch, demanding more and more space.
The shake with the compound would earn him his pound, but he was finding more and more that his love for the immense amounts of food he could eat was retuning. Why, after all, if he was going to gain a pound anyways, wouldn't he want to cram himself full of as many sweet, greasy calories as his growing stomach could accommodate? His feeder delighted in feeding him as much as he could handle.
"You know, five-hundred pounds was last week," his feeder says, tracing small circles on his immense belly as they dipped a spoon to scoop another mouthful of ice cream-soaked cookies into his mouth.
"Really?" he says, shifting a little, his weight making the couch groan, the distance imposed by his belly between him and his feeder making his mind tingle. "How do you know? I haven't made it onto the scale recently…"
"Because I can count," his feeder says. "The number is practically tattooed on my brain, then I add one to it first thing in the morning. Plus, these are unmistakably the tits of a five-hundred pound guy," they add, lifting and letting his swollen roll of a moob flop onto his belly. "You're 506 pounds, in case you were wondering."
"Mmmm say the number again?" he says, breathing heavily as he struggled to lean forward against his own bulk for his mouth to meet the next bite.
"Five-hundred," his feeder says, tipping the shake into his mouth, listening to his growing moans as the shake filled him and his feeder's hands pressed against the bloat. "Six pounds."
Six-hundred, he admits to his feeder, was really the number he wanted to experience. Big enough that he could retain some shreds of independence and mobility, but enormous enough to struggle a little. The colder winter months were designed for him to lounge on the couch, his body swelling to take up the tiniest bit more of it each day. The warmth of blankets, baked goods, his feeder's touch, and his own soft fat keeping him happy and growing.
He didn't need the scale anymore. His feeder would write the new number on a small dry erase board on the other side of the room so he could see it ticking up. 525. 526. 527. He wondered when he would feel it again. When he would have one of those oh shit moments about how much bigger he'd gotten. But the couch's support and his feeder's care kept him growing with ease. 541. 542. 543. The holidays arrived, with many extra treats for the big guy.
Tracking his weight wasn't enough. His feeder documented the spread of his hips, the size of his arms, the weight of his moobs. He became obsessed with finding new ways to quantify his fatness, eating his way through more and more of his day, most pleased with himself when his jowls were wobbling against his chest fold mid-chew.
The food was the work and the food was the reward.
The compound upheld its part and he continued his growth into spring as the impossibly-big 600 pound milestone loomed.
The weather warmed and with his feeder's help he emerged into the blooming yard at 598 pounds, not daring to sit on any furniture that couldn't handle his weight, feeling the warm rays of sun hitting all of the new fat that had accumulated on him since hunkering down for such a cozy, caloric winter.
"There's not that much left," his feeder warns. He looks up, face smeared with frosting as he eats his "happy 600 pounds" cake by the handful. The vial had a little less than a quarter left. "I should've known you weren't going to spread this out."
He grins. "I am spreading out," he says, leaning back on the couch and letting his fat splay outwards towards the arms, hardly any room for his dedicated feeder to join him to sit without being on or tucking under his bulk.
"What if… we just used it up," he suggests. He was heavy, very heavy, but he could still manage to move. He'd get some more movement in. The depth of his belly threatened to spill past his knees when he sat, the fat folding into thick, biteable rolls for his feeder to admire and attend to.
"You know I can't say no to you," his feeder says, their mouth locking onto their favorite roll on his neck as their hands interlaced with his and they made a meal of feeding him his shake.
The days passed more quickly now, though he moved less and less. He would accept some help heaving himself up from the couch to take few wobbling, breathless steps to the other side of the room. He spent hours with his hands running across the vastness of his own fat, knowing each day and each shake meant one more pound and one fewer day remaining that he could unwaveringly count on growth.
His hips and thighs reached the sides of the couch at 640. For fun, he showed his feeder how he'd outgrown the entryway to their kitchen by 650. "I guess it's really up to you if I get fatter now, I literally can't get to the blender" he says. His feeder only grins in return and lifts the shake to his lips again, utterly devoted.
Soon he shifted to counting down the pounds he had left to gain before the vial ran out. He estimated 30 left. Then 20. Ten, probably. Was it the 697 that mattered more or the ten?
Everything about his body drove him wild. Every dimple. Every fold. Every spot his feeder touch felt electrically charged by the swelling fat expanding his area of perception. His feeder spared no teasing detail about how utterly cumbersome his body had become to navigate and the intensity of their shared pleasure at those inconveniences grew together, too.
The last drop made its way into his shake one morning, topping him out at 714 pounds. His body was enormously fat, every part of him overflowing with soft, heavy flab that cocooned him and his feeder in their embraces together.
"I'm so, so huge…" he hasps, like an exhalation from the unrelenting journey he'd taken over the last year. His soft arms rested against his front, chubby fingers kneading constantly on his belly as though he needed to physically verify the weight was still there.
"Does it feel like you'd hoped?" his feeder asks.
"Better," he admits, taking the time to feel how the weight encumbered his limbs and begged him to stay as sedentary as he and his feeder would allow. "I can't believe we used it all."
"I can," his feeder says, warmly, their hand patting the middle of his belly to ripple out across the few hundred extra pounds caked onto his increasingly-shapeless body.
"I guess this is it then…" he says, with a sigh. His eyes and hands moving along every inch of his body they could reach, trying to soak in the feeling of being this big, knowing the compound-assisted gravy train had come to an end. His feeder's hands wrapped around him, sinking into the mass of his body.
"What if you… maintained," his feeder suggests.
"You mean… stay this big?" he asks, turning over his hands to survey his arms, thinking about the potential of carrying around this weight for more time.
"Yeah," his feeder says. "It'll take a lot of eating, but I think you might just be ready for that," they said, playfully squeezing the bulk of his cheeks. "You might need to really pile on the sweets and stuff to keep the weight on, but what's a few extra desserts a day when you're seven-hundred gorgeous pounds?"
"Feed me as much as you want, being this big I don't ever need to gain another pound," he says, moving his hips to entice his feeder to return quickly with his vanilla shake, grateful for everything the compound had given him and determined with his feeder's help to sustain all the weight he'd grown during the year.
Every single pound felt like the most important one he'd gained.
~
this one goes out to the ever-inspiring @stonednsoft, whose greed for his next pound is unmatched :)
You were still excited when the end tube pressed to your lips. Feeling it push your mouth open, a bubbling vulnerability to whatever was going to flow down your throat momentarily. It felt like your whole body loosened, a vessel waiting to be filled.
Then the shake started.
At first, you can taste it. Chocolate. Rich, creamy, so sweet sliding down your tongue while you swallow. While there’s still enough space to have some control. But that only lasts a few gulps.
Then the delicious, sugary shake builds up in your cheeks, flowing faster than you can chug it down. The growing strain on your cheeks distracts you from how fast your belly is starting to fill. Fullness approaching when the feeding has just begun.
Your face feels puffy as your mouth tightens around the funnel, your greedy maw pleasantly tight with as much caloric slurry as it can manage. There’s the faintest sensation of tension on the back of your mouth, then it releases and starts flowing down your throat.
Now your thoughts start to relax. The fullness reaches your belly. That big, greedy belly that just couldn’t wait to be funneled into total submission. Your stomach goes from full to overfilled to swollen. Then it’s your favorite part, when you feel the stretch in your belly, the little radiating tingle that means you’ve pushed yourself a little fuller than last time.
Then you’re achingly full, gorged to your body’s limit. You physically admit you’re nothing but an overblown balloon brimming with calories that will metabolize into soft, doughy fat. This is how you’re meant to be handled. No chewing, no thinking, just mindlessly fattened without concern.
You laze in the warm, full-body pleasure of being this full. Beached under the combined weight of your fat body and the strain of your overfilled belly. Useless beneath your greed, fully submitted to your gluttony as you’ve always craved.
Deep down you’ve known, haven’t you? That this was the bliss you always needed. The surrender to consumption, the intoxicating overwhelm of your obese body pushed to perfection.
But that’s why you love the funnel. The funnel feeds you into your best self. Your biggest self. Your most satisfied, overfed, indulgent self. All concerns subdued by calories. All purpose smothered by pounds. You’ll feed and grow like this forever. The food will always come. You don’t have to worry or think.
Just feed.
You can do that, right? Open wide.
Just The Gainer Fiction That Get Me Going @gainerfiction1997 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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