:^)

Heavy set peeps and dad bods only

[fatjockass]

[feeder86]

The Feeder Fat Forgot

Jake was trying to breathe slowly and control himself as he thrusted in and out of the 450lb lardass leaning over the table and bracing for him. Each movement sent ripples of blubber across the guy’s back and the sheer width of his butt was arousing Jake to the point that he was close to losing control. They’d spoken to this fatty online several times before tonight. Both of them had seen pictures of the progression: from a chubby dad-bod, into the impressively super-sized specimen he was today; Paul was a feeder’s dream.

Jake looked up, seeing his handsome roommate having fun with Paul at the other end, feeding him doughnuts and pushing them further into his mouth with his concrete dick. “Come on, Piggy…” he teased. “Chew and swallow!”

Jake grinned at the sight, despite knowing that Matty was going to have to take it easy. Between the pair of them, they had stuffed Paul hard that night already. Even for a 450lb hog, they’d coaxed an insane amount of food into him. The last thing they wanted was to overdo it now.

Paul was in his element, leaning his big butt into Jake so that he could be fucked even deeper. He’d had many feeders over the last few years, but never two at the same time, and never such handsome, athletic guys. Jake and Matty had met in the gym over four years ago and only came to realise their shared interest when they had both been trying to flirt with the same stout-bellied chub who had rocked up for a few weeks one January. Since then, they’d taken an apartment together, trained each other up to their peak fitness and marketed themselves as the ultimate feeder duo. The complete contrast between their own impressively muscular, lean physiques, and these blubbery guys, never failing to make them both climax spectacularly.

“I thought he was going to throw up at one point,” Jake chuckled as he drove them both back home that evening.

“Don’t worry!” Matty laughed. “I had it all under control. You’re too lenient on them.”

“Oh, you think so, huh?” Jake grinned, always enjoying the ‘good cop, bad cop’ dynamic they had when feeding together. “His tits were so much bigger than I was expecting!”

“Oh hell yeah!” Matty nodded. “Best tits I’ve ever played with!”

“Even better than Will’s?” Jake asked, remembering the chub they’d stuffed last weekend.

“Paul’s tits are softer,” Matty shot back, as if that answered the question completely. “I said we’d go back and fuck him again when he hits five hundred.”

Jake laughed at that. Matty was so straight talking, almost cold, with the guys they played with. He didn’t just expect them to eat for him on the night; he wanted them to keep on growing for years afterwards, in the hope that he would return to see them one day. “You’re such a kinky bastard!” Jake smiled, taking a sideways glance at his roommate. “I just love the way your mind works.”

“Well, I know how to get a fatty to eat, that’s for sure,” Matty smirked. “But as my mother constantly reminds me, I’m not exactly marriage-material!” He sat up in his chair a little more, spotting a gas station up ahead. “Could you pull over here?” he asked, explaining that he needed to grab a drink. “Do you want anything?” he added, already releasing his seatbelt.

“I’m good, thanks,” Jake replied, pulling into the forecourt and stopping the car. It was such a chilly night, he was hopeful that this would be the last stop they would have to make before getting back.

Jake watched it all happen in absolute horror. Out Matty strutted from the car, making his way towards the door when, all of a sudden, his feet slipped from underneath him. A large, unseen glazing of ice had covered the small area he was walking across. Then, there was a great crack as Matty’s head hit the floor. 

When Matty came to, he’d seemed dazed, but otherwise fine. The ambulance had arrived in good time and, although he was confused, Matty seemed like he was taking it all in his stride as his neck was braced and he was loaded into the back of the ambulance.

Jake didn’t see much of Matty after that night. Things had gone downhill rapidly. There had been many days in the hospital and, after the retrograde amnesia diagnosis, Matty’s family had obviously wanted to take over things. Matty had returned to his childhood home as his family desperately tried to jog his memory with photo albums and tales from long ago. Jake stayed in good contact with the family, realising, as time went on, that Matty wasn’t actually making any progress at all. He was still just as clueless about his past as he had been the morning after the accident three months ago.

Jake tried to fix the apartment up and make it nice for when his roommate returned. He quite agreed that it was time for Matty to start living his own life again, with or without his memories. He knew it wouldn’t be the same anymore. Whilst Matty had known his name and a few other details, he had no comprehension of anything else about his life, nor the person he had been. Jake was now nothing more than a stranger.

“So…” Jake began, sitting down in the lounge area, wondering what to say that first evening back together. “Is there anything you’d like to do tonight?”

Matty shrugged. 

“How about we head to the gym for a workout?” Jake asked, knowing that Matty wouldn’t have been able to follow his usual training routine whilst staying with his parents. Hell, he didn’t even know about his usual training routine!

“No, I’m good, thanks,” Matty simply replied.

Jake frowned. Didn’t Matty know that he wasn’t looking as jacked as he usually did right now? He’d lost some of his muscular bulk in his shoulders and his waist definitely wasn’t as lean as it could be. 

Matty’s cell phone buzzed and the guy grinned as he lifted it and read the message.

“Who’s that?” Jake asked curiously, always knowing when Matty was chatting to some guy he was into. 

“It’s someone I met a few weeks ago,” Matty replied. “His folks live on the same street as my parents.”

Jake’s eyes widened and he suddenly burst out laughing. “Your parents finally managed to set you up with Boring Ben?” The thought was almost too funny to imagine.

“What? How do you know Ben?” Matty shot back indignantly. “He’s not boring! He’s sweet.”

“I can’t believe your parents finally did it! Your mom’s been trying to push Boring Ben on you for years! She’s as cunning as a fox, that one!”

“He’s not ‘Boring Ben!’” Matty scowled.

“I didn’t make up the name. You did!” Jake fired back, still unable to stop himself from laughing. “I’ve never even met the guy! Dentists aren’t usually known for being the life and soul of the party though.”

“He’s really cute,” Matty tried, showing a picture on his cell phone.

Jake had to bite his tongue. Was Matty really saving this guy’s image as his screensaver? It was almost too tragic for words. “I’m not denying he’s good looking,” he replied. “He’s just not your usual type.”

“And what is my usual type?” Matty demanded sceptically, clearly offended now that Jake claimed to understand him better than he understood himself. It was a frustration so many people probably elicited in him these days, given that he knew so little about what he had been like before the accident.

Jake hesitated. It was perhaps a little early to be bringing up their shared kinks; the fact that they had both seen each other ejaculate more times than most other roommates was something that could definitely wait for another day. “You just tend to go for guys with a little more… presence,” he finally answered with a smirk.

Unbeknownst to Jake, this new Matty was a lot more sensitive. He seemed truly incapable of taking Jake’s teasing in his stride, getting up and retreating in a huff back to his bedroom and not emerging again for the rest of the night.

Things with Matty didn’t improve. They no longer understood each other. Jake had anticipated that Matty wouldn’t know anything about him, but he hadn’t expected that Matty would return as such a startlingly different person. Things that would have made Matty laugh before, now made him bristle with annoyance. Likewise, Matty’s sense of humor was all off. He’d somehow taken on the personality of Boring Ben, making dad jokes and quips about dental hygiene that he’d obviously picked up from the guy who came over at least a couple of times a week.

“What the hell are these?” asked Matty, holding up a pair of supersized underwear with the end of the mop handle and holding them outwards, as far away from himself as possible. With a hand holding his nose, Matty couldn’t have looked more disgusted by them if he had tried.

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Where did you find those?” he laughed, pulling them off the handle and trying to think which fatty they’d invited here who could have left without his underwear.

Matty seemed horrified to witness Jake holding the dirty underwear in his bare hands. “They were in the bathroom, tucked behind the cupboard.”

Nodding, Jake knew that made perfect sense. They were Fat Rob’s underwear, thrown carelessly over their shoulders when the three of them had soaped the big boy up in the shower before feeding him like a hog. That must have been at least six months ago now. He really should clean behind that cupboard more!

It was clear that Matty was still waiting for an answer, as if some deep offense had been caused that needed to be immediately rectified. “They belong to an ex,” Jake simplified, throwing the underwear into his own bedroom where they could cause no further offense.

“An ex?” Matty asked; his eyes bulging with shock. “You’ve got to be joking!”

Jake rolled his eyes, mourning the loss of old Matty every single day. How horrified would this version of him be to learn that he’d fucked Fat Rob’s giant butt just as hard as Jake had? Keeping that to himself wasn’t easy. There were moments when Jake wanted to destroy Matty’s perfect vision of his past self: the handsome doctor, the loyal son, the smartest guy in the room. Matty believed he had been everything his parents had told him he was. He had no idea that Jake knew the real version of him better than anyone else.

“Not everyone wants to date a 150lb dentist,” Jake grumpily shot back. He could see the disgust in Matty’s face. Then he sighed, returning to his bedroom where Matty couldn’t judge him any further.

A few weeks later, Jake listened out in his bedroom until he heard that Boring Ben was leaving. What had started as apathy had become a deep dislike. Seeing so much of Ben reflected in Matty’s behaviour made it difficult not to hold the guy personally responsible for the devolution of the person Jake had got on best with in the entire world. Ben was so straight-laced and dull. And now, unbleievably, so was Matty.

“Come on!” Jake called out to Matty, throwing his workout bag onto the kitchen counter. “You’re coming with me to the gym. Six months off is more than enough. It’s time we started building you back up.”

Jake had meant it as an olive branch. Voluntarily spending time with Matty wasn’t his favourite thing to do. In the three months since Matty had moved back in, Jake had witnessed the guy’s muscle mass further deplete. Softness had begun to gather in his core and his butt was losing that muscular strength to resemble glutes that were a lot more doughy. He owed it to the old Matty to get him back in shape.

“No, thanks,” Matty simply replied, biting into a piece of buttery toast and making his way to the couch to watch some trash TV.

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” Jake tried assertively.

“Yes you are!” Matty replied coldly. “I have no intention of working out today.”

Jake sighed and rolled his eyes. This guy was so stubborn, he wanted to strangle him. “You can’t sit on your ass all day.”

“What else am I meant to do?” Matty shot back irritably. “I can’t work. My medical license has been indefinitely suspended, and I’ve got this compensation lawsuit to prepare for.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Jake asked, still hopeful that he could show Matty how ridiculous he was being. “I thought your lawyer was sorting all that out for you?”

“She is,” Matty nodded. “But she still thinks I’ll get more if I claim I’ve got depression as well. I can evidence how active I was before, compared to now.”

“So you’re just going to sit on your ass, getting fat and lazy in the hope that you’ll get a few extra grand?” Jake blasted back. He didn’t care that he was being rude, he poked a finger into Matty’s core, trying to show him how unconditioned he was. “The old you would be horrified!”

“And who asked for your opinion?” Matty growled back angrily. “Just fuck off and leave me alone!”

Furious, Jake walked away and grabbed his bag, slamming the door behind him. Everyone always felt so sorry for Matty, but the truth was, the guy was just an asshole! It had been months now, without the slightest improvement. The old Matty was gone and was never coming back. What loyalty should Jake have to a ghost? If Matty was determined to date nerds and let himself go, why should he even bother to try and stop him?

“I’m sorry about before,” Jake offered as he arrived home a couple of hours later to see that Matty was still in the same spot on the couch. “I hadn’t meant for things to get so heated.”

Time in the gym had always been a way to help Jake calm down when he was frustrated. After a few super heavy deadlifts, he’d found his anger abating and his more rational mind being able to speak up. This Matty was not the same guy as the best friend Jake had adored so much. His expectation that Matty would aspire to be the exact same person as he had once been was as frustrating for him as it was for Matty. This new man needed to find his own path and make his own mistakes. And he deserved to do it surrounded by people who supported him unconditionally.

“Don’t worry about it,” Matty replied, not taking his eyes off the TV; still clearly a little pissed at him.

“A peace offering,” Jake declared, presenting his roommate with a small box of pastries from the bakery across town. “I don’t think you’ve had these since your accident, but they were always your absolute favorite whenever you were treating yourself.” He shrugged, wondering whether yet another reminder of the old Matty was really the right move. “I figured your taste buds haven’t changed,” he stated, as if to explain his reasoning.

Matty accepted the gift and opened the box. “They’re huge!” he smiled happily, lifting one up and onto an already used plate he’d had in front of him. Taking a bite, he immediately moaned in appreciation, his eyes bulging as he took in all the flavors. “This is amazing!” he marvelled, quickly heading back in for a second bite.

Jake smiled. This was the first success he’d had with Matty in the entire time since the accident. Making the guy happy had made him feel good too. “I’ll pick you up some more the next time I’m heading that way then,” he nodded, pleased with himself.

“What other foods did I used to like?” Matty asked, pushing the last bite into his mouth.

Jake’s eyebrows rose. It was the first time he’d heard Matty express any curiosity about his past self. “Um…” he pondered. “Well, you always had a bit of a sweet tooth. Much more so than me. I don’t know…” he shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to go to the grocery store some time so I can point stuff out to you.”

“Sure. Shall we go now?” Matty asked, getting himself up.

Jake chuckled, looked at his watch, and saw that he did indeed have an hour or so to spare. “Sure,” he smiled. “Why not?”

Jake wondered whether Matty would keep in touch with him once his massive compensation payout came through and he was able to get his own place. Although things had improved massively in the last few weeks, he couldn’t expect Matty to have the same fondness for him given that, in his mind, they had only lived together for a few months.

“I’m heading to the grocery store after the gym if you want me to pick anything up for you?” he asked, filling up his water bottle in the sink.

“Sure,” Matty nodded. “Can you get me a couple more boxes of that stuff?” he pointed at the now empty sugary breakfast cereal box he’d left on the side.

Jake had gotten good at biting his tongue. There was no nutritional value in the cereal Matty was after and, besides that, he could have sworn he’d only bought the last box for him yesterday. “Sure,” he nodded. “Anything else?”

Matty thought some more and began texting him a list which Jake scrolled through a couple of minutes later. It was as if Matty’s food choices had regressed to the point that it was a menu put together by a six-year old child: beige foods, high in sugar, high in carbohydrates, and even higher saturates. “I’ll sort it,” Jake nodded, heading out the door without comment.

Annoyingly, Boring Ben was parked up on the couch upon Jake’s return a couple of hours later. Matty rose to his feet, delighting in the fact that Jake had managed to find everything he had requested; ripping open a box of cookies and heading back to the couch.

Jake frowned, noticing Ben giving him a disapproving sideways glance as he continued to unpack and restock the refrigerator. He got it: Ben was never going to like him all that much. After all, he was a handsome guy who just so happened to be living with his boyfriend. There was bound to be more than just a little jealousy and insecurity at play.

“I need you to stop enabling Matty to pig out on all this stuff,” Ben stated, getting up to speak to Jake in the kitchen area once Matty had disappeared to the bathroom. “It’s not good for him.”

With limited patience for Ben and his dire warnings about cavities, Jake merely rolled his eyes. Ben had always had an attitude with him, no doubt inherited from Matty’s mother, who had labelled him a ‘bad influence’ on her son. If only she had known how ironic that idea was…

“I agree,” Jake nodded. “But he’s a grown man. I’m not going to tell him what he can and can’t eat.”

“You don’t have to buy everything he asks you for though,” Ben shot back, swinging open one cupboard door to see that, inside, it was loaded with all the things they both knew Matty would gnaw through in no time at all. “You can see it’s all having an impact on him.”

Jake frowned again. What a stupid way to put it! “You mean you don’t like him looking a little chubby?” he asked, his tone loaded with disapproval. He knew what Ben was getting at. With all Jake’s muscles and lean physique, there was no way for him to deny that he had educated himself well about nutrition. Enough to know that Matty’s diet was only ever going to have one inevitable consequence. “I thought you two were soul mates?” he parroted back at the lame guy who had never failed to make him cringe. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now that he’s getting little love handles?” he asked, almost gleefully.

“It’s not nice to see anyone getting out of shape,” Ben diplomatically answered.

“Well, if you don’t like it, that’s a conversation you’re going to have to have with Matty yourself. I’m not getting involved,” Jake declared, raising both his palms to show that he was done with this debate. Finally finished in the kitchen, he headed back into his room to finish his book, away from the cliched, straight romantic comedy movie that Ben had put on the TV.

Jake was about a chapter away from the end when he heard tense voices sounding from the lounge. If only that damn movie hadn’t been so loud, he might have been able to make out more of what was being said. As it was, it was only when he heard the apartment door slam shut that he realised things had gotten so bad that Ben had actually left.

“Everything alright?” Jake gingerly asked, peeping out of his bedroom, but not committing to stepping out entirely, just in case he wasn’t wanted.

“Yeah, fine,” Matty replied, despite his flustered face; slouching on the couch and sipping his can of soda. His stomach looked as bloated as Jake had ever seen it, pressing unflatteringly against the material of his t-shirt; the coffee table loaded with the discarded packaging of much of what Jake had picked up from the supermarket only an hour earlier. “I’m just sick of people expecting me to still be that perfect Matty from before the accident. I thought Ben understood who I was now, but he’s just holding onto the image of what I looked like when we were first properly introduced.”

Jake sighed. He was too invested now to be able to walk away. He stepped inside and dropped down on the couch, seeing that Matty needed someone to offload to. “You know, the old Matty really wasn’t as perfect as you’re imagining,” he smiled, appreciating how hard it must have felt for Matty to live up to the idolised man everyone had made him out to be. “I could tell you some stories…”

“Oh, please don’t!” Matty shot back irritably. “I’m sick of hearing about him.”

“Fair enough,” Jake smiled.

“I just want to bury the old Matty. I’m sick of people recognising me and expecting me to know who they are,” he explained, rubbing his distended stomach as he did so.

“That’s fair enough,” Jake nodded, strangely captivated by the movement of Matty’s hand; a small spark of electricity starting to crackle in his groin.

“Do you know, you’re the only one who doesn’t treat me like they’re just waiting for the old Matty to come back,” he complained bitterly.

“Well, that still took me some time to get used to,” Jake nodded, agreeing completely with him. “I think people are starting to realise now that your memories are unlikely to return. They’ll have no choice but to accept you as you are now.”

“And what if they don’t like me as much anymore?” Matty asked.

Perhaps it was instinct, or maybe it was the blood pumping south, but Jake found himself picking up a lone doughnut from the table and handing it to Matty. “Then, fuck them!” he declared, smiling brightly. “Just be your own version of you.”

Matty smiled and nodded, taking a bite happily. “Are you sticking around?” he asked, lifting the TV remote as if to continue the movie.

“Sure,” Jake replied. “I’m not watching this shit though,” he laughed.

“Oh, I know!” Matty chuckled back, seeming delighted to get it off the screen. “Ben has the worst choice in movies!” he declared, throwing the remote to Jake instead. “Let’s see if you can do better!”

Jake raised his eyebrows, accepting the challenge. “Prepare to be amazed!”

Thankfully, Boring Ben had been retired to the history books after that night. As the months progressed and no further developments had been made on Matty’s compensation claim, Jake knew that Matty was eating through the unemployment insurance he’d taken out, in more ways than one. He’d continued to gain weight, particularly in his stomach area. The speed of it was quite remarkable, Jake had seen it all before of course, but never in someone who wasn’t purposefully trying to fatten himself up. Then again, sometimes Jake convinced himself that fattening up was exactly what Matty was trying to do to himself. With his fuller face, he’d been delighted to head out to the grocery store and not be noticed by people. His lawyer had also seemed pleased, according to Matty; upping the expected payout figure each time she saw him.

In reality, Jake knew he was just projecting his kinks onto poor Matty. Having chosen to leave the old version of his friend in the past, Jake had decided against telling the guy about all the kinky things they used to get up to together. Rather than bringing guys home, Jake had gotten used to going to their place instead. But, without Matty there, the dynamic was entirely different. Now he had to play both ‘good cop’ and ‘bad cop’. Matty had been so good at pushing those fatties to eat; the thrill he had gotten from seeing them reach the extremes of greed was always a delight to see. But now Jake was going solo, and the experiences seemed less and less memorable each time. Besides, some days it was more erotic just to be at home…

With no job to speak of, Matty spent his days playing video games or watching crappy daytime TV. One simple look in the trash or recycling and it was easy to track what he was eating. The sugars, the carbs and saturates, they were all far too extreme. Matty's softer middle began sprouting outwards under his still visible pecs. Shapely and rounded, his belly was everything Jake had always loved about seeing a former jock gain weight; the man’s glutes and thighs still sturdy enough to carry it all around with ease. Before the accident, Matty had never worn a shirt around the house. Afterwards, he had covered himself up all the time. Now, however, an emerging confidence in his body was evident once more.

“Do you want any of these?” Matty asked, systematically placing almost every item of clothing he owned on the couch.

“You’re getting rid of it all?” Jake asked, alarmed by the sudden, drastic clearout.

A pot-bellied Matty nodded, picking up one of the stylish shirts the old him had loved. “They don’t really feel like me,” he pondered aloud. “Plus, hardly any of them fit me any more,” he shrugged, patting his protrusive paunch without any hint of remorse.

Jake nodded, understanding completely. The new Matty was more of a sweatpants and baggy t-shirts guy. Without work to go to each day, he didn’t own anything smart or figure-hugging. He didn’t care so much about how he came across, and he was more than happy to strut about the apartment with his stomach out; that delightful, rounded paunch on full display.

“I’ll take it all,” Jake smiled, knowing that so much of it would look great on him. However, it didn’t pass him by that this was quite a momentous moment for his roommate. Matty wasn’t looking to lose weight anytime soon. All that beautiful new chub on his body was seemingly here to stay.

“What happened to the other stud you used to hang out with?” asked one rotund guy a few weeks later, as Jake unpacked all the fattening treats he had brought along to stuff him with.

“Oh, you mean, Matty,” Jake nodded. “He actually just came into a lot of money,” he explained, grabbing a large serving bowl from the cupboard. “There was a compensation case against a gas station company which he’s just wrapped up. It’s pretty cool actually,” he continued, deciding not to elaborate any further about the accident than that. “He’s a pretty clever guy. He’s invested it all and will most likely never need to work ever again. But, as for all the feedism stuff…” Jake shrugged. “He gave it up.”

“He gave it up?” laughed the older man, greedily eying everything Jake had brought along. “Just like that?” he asked in disbelief. “But he was such a kinky little fucker! I’ve never been stuffed as hard as when he was the one pushing it all in!”

Jake chuckled at that. Matty certainly used to be a hard taskmaster. He’d loved witnessing the extremes of gluttony and felt it his duty to stretch out the stomachs of the fatties they had fucked as much as possible. Jake remembered how horny Matty would get, even in the grocery store, as they picked up every fattening treat they planned to push into their fatties’ mouths. “He’s just not into it anymore,” Jake shrugged, keen to move on as he pulled off his shirt to reveal his startlingly strong torso.

The gainer looked pleased at the sight, his eyes dewy with lust. “That surprises me,” he continued, despite the distraction. “A kink like his doesn’t disappear into thin air. Believe me, I tried! Twenty years I attempted to deny the fact that I just want to be a huge hog!” he nodded, picking up his large, sagging stomach and jiggling it proudly. 

Jake took his cue, sliding his hand over the blubbery tummy and kissing the guy, excited to begin their evening together. Still, however, the guy’s words stuck in Jake’s mind. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps a kink like Matty’s didn’t just disappear. Perhaps it was just expressing itself in some other way? That thought was fairly thrilling…

Just like he’d done for months, Jake knew that when he came that evening, he wouldn’t be thinking about the fatty in front of him; it would be the image of Matty and his extra 75lbs of pure fat that would penetrate every one of his thoughts, building his arosal until he finally orgasmed, deep inside this hog’s ass.

A few more weeks went by before it happened. With a network outage at the offices, Jake had sent his team home to work for the afternoon. It hadn’t occurred to him to give Matty the heads up that he would be back early. He simply strolled into the apartment to hear music blaring, with Matty sitting in his chair in front of the TV screen. 

With his back to the door, Matty had yet to notice Jake’s arrival. He was eating something, discarded packaging and full bottles of soda filling up the coffee table at his feet. However, it was the manner in which he was eating that first struck Jake as being srange: speedy, full bites, as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Down went the bottle of soda in impressive giant gulps, then, back the man went to gorging himself on even more. Matty was masturbating; Jake could tell by the rapid movement of his shoulder and arm.

Not usually one to be clumsy, the sight of Matty had captured Jake’s attention so much that he partially missed the counter as he tried to put his bag down, sending it crashing onto the floor.

Immediately alerted, Matty turned around, his mouth smeared with chocolate sauce. “Oh, fuck!” he shouted, his eyes wide and immediately reaching down for the underwear around his feet.

“Don’t mind me!” Jake called over, theatrically covering his eyes as he made his way across the space and towards his bedroom. “You carry on! I don’t want to disturb!”

Jake’s heart was pounding as he closed the door behind him. He looked down at his crotch, seeing that his boner was already pressing against the material of his black dress pants. “Fuck!” he whispered to himself in horny disbelief. Every kinky fantasy he had ever had about Matty staying at home all day had just come true. There was no denying that he had just witnessed that guy getting off on stuffing himself stupid with food. No wonder Matty's stomach had been blossoming with such speed in recent months!

Jake ran his hands through his hair and paced about his bedroom, not knowing what he should do. He yanked off his tie and gave himself some more room to breathe around his neck. “Fuck!” he marvelled again, hardly believing everything he had just seen. Gazing at himself in the mirror, he saw his large, powerful chest rising up and down. He’d never experienced lust quite as all consuming as this before. His brain had left the building.

Matty was leaning over the kitchen sink, cleaning up his mouth when Jake came out of his room moments later. Dressed in only a pair of sweat pants, the man’s love handles had never looked curvier; the formerly muscular glutes developing a width to them that was almost too exciting to believe. Jake took a seat at the breakfast bar, trying to act casual and style the conversation out. “Are these any good?” he asked, pointing to the new brand of doughnuts Matty had bought and almost completely consumed that afternoon.

Matty turned around, clearly still embarrassed. He sighed and slowly made eye contact with Jake. “Sorry about that,” he pointed at the chair he had been sitting in; his pump bottle of lubricant still on the coffee table. “I’ve actually decided it’s time that I moved out.”

Jake held back his alarm, deciding it was best to play it cool. He shrugged his shoulders and chuckled lightly. “Why? Because I caught you jerking off?” he asked, as if it was the most ridiculous reasoning he had ever heard.

Matty didn’t respond; his mortified face still saying it all.

“You act like I’ve never seen your dick before!” Jake pressed on. “Back before the accident, you and I used to jerk each other off all the time!”

“We did?” Matty asked, his eyes wide. “Seriously?”

“Of course!” Jake nodded. “Two horny guys sharing an apartment together… You wouldn’t believe some of the things we used to get up to!”

“Well, I don’t remember any of that,” Matty mumbled, as if disbelieving what Jake was telling him. “I think you’re just saying that to try and make me feel better.”

Jake grinned. “Fine,” he nodded, standing up and taking a seat, slouching in the middle of the couch, spreading his strong thighs apart. “I guess we’ll need to even the score then.”

Matty followed him out of the kitchen area curiously. “What are you doing?” he asked, spotting Jake unclipping his belt. “You honestly don’t need to…”

But Jake had already fished out his hard dick and was stroking it. “See?” he smirked at Matty. “No big deal!”

Matty frowned, but an undeniable look of amusement made the corners of his mouth pick up. “You are so fucking crazy!” he chuckled, watching his friend stroking his own dick just to make him feel better. “All right! Fine!” he threw back. “I guess it was a bit of an overreaction to say I was moving out,” he nodded, plopping himself back in his chair, understanding that there were certain things he would never need to feel so embarrassed about in front of Jake.

“Good!” Jake smiled back, slipping his underwear back over his boner and resting his hands by his sides once more.

“It’s pretty weird though, isn't it?” Matty nodded at the coffee table, still littered with all the packaging from his feasting. “I just don’t understand why this all gets me so…” he shrugged, unsure how to finish his sentence.

“Insanley fucking horny?” Jake asked, smirking playfully. He stood up again, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it down on the couch behind him. Then he pulled down his dress pants and stepped out of them, before kicking the coffee table out of the way and kneeling down at Matty’s feet. “I know exactly what’s happening to you,” he grinned, resting his hands on Matty’s knees.

“You do?” Matty replied, swallowing awkwardly as he clearly tried hard to keep his eyes fixed on his roommate’s face, and not let them wander down to the insane erection jutting out of Jake’s underwear.

“I understand it all better than you do,” Jake nodded, sliding his hands up and onto Matty’s fat pot-belly, stroking and rubbing it gently.

Matty’s breathing got heavier. His eyes misted over with lust and he threw his head back for a moment, briefly lost in the ecstasy of it all. 

“Do you want me to teach you why this feels so nice?” Jake asked, gently caressing Matty’s stomach as the guy slouched further into the chair for him, allowing Jake greater access to that beautifully soft and sensitive under-belly skin.

“Yeah,” Matty mumbled; his dick already pushing up the material of his sweat pants.

Jake leaned in and kissed Matty’s belly several times, making the man moan softly. Then Jake took his fingers to the sides of Matty’s stomach, getting a good handle on the skin and gently bouncing the blubber teasingly.

Matty’s jaw lowered and an involuntary moan of arousal rose out of him as he felt the wobbling of all the lard that had invaded his waistline.

“Do you want to learn why this is so unbelievably sexy for you?” Jake asked now, raising one of his hands up to flutter the soft, saggier area that had once been Matty’s pec.

Matty nodded, then shifted to pull his sweatpants and underwear down from underneath him, unashamed to show how raging his erection was as it thrusted upwards, closer to Jake’s face.

Jake smirked, reached behind him, and pullied out one of the large cookies left over from Matty’s feast, bringing it closer towards the guy’s mouth. “Open up, Fat Boy…” he whispered seductively.

Matty smiled broadly. He looked gratefully at his roommate, knowing that he was in safe hands. Then, his obedient, greedy mouth widened and he moaned once again as the sugary underside of the cookie hit his moist tongue. He watched keenly as Jake’s free hand pumped the lubricant into it, then gently moved across to give him even more of a treat. His whole body jolted as Jake’s large hand encased the shaft and began stroking it up and down with the lightest of touches.

“Oh…fuck!” Matty gasped, unsure how long he would be able to last with such treatment. “This feels so…”

Jake nodded, not needing Matty to say a word. “And we’re only just getting started…” he grinned, pressing the next cookie deeper into Matty’s gluttonous mouth.

Matty may have lost all his previous memories. But, at long last, he was the feeder fat remembered.

[hunnybunspen]

Poor Thing

Poor thing… I think as I watch him from across the sofa, slouched into his seat, greedily scooping up heaping bites of ice cream from the quart cradled in his pudgy hands. He doesn’t even seem to register how much he’s eating. His eyes are glazed, locked on the TV screen, while his mouth keeps working, bite after lazy bite. His shirt is riding up high, stretched so thin across his belly that the lower curve of it hangs bare, soft and heavy and clearly full. The fabric bunches just beneath his chest, pulled tight by the sheer size of his gut, and the athletic shorts he’s wearing cut deep into his waistline, digging into the thick softness there and making the swell of his stomach seem even more obscene.

I swear I never meant for it to get this bad.

Okay…maybe that’s a lie.

It’s more like…I wasn’t doing anything to stop it. The signs were all there, of course. I just chose not to see them. Or maybe I did see them, and leaned into it. Played dumb. Smiled and encouraged it to happen.

I still remember the first time he outgrew something he loved. It was that one good pair of jeans, his favorite, tucked away all summer. He pulled them out when the weather started to cool again, ready to dive back into a part of his wardrobe he hadn’t touched in a while. I watched discretely from the bed as he stepped into them with casual confidence, only for that expression to shift almost instantly—first confusion, then a flicker of panic as he tried to tug them over his hips, then quiet embarrassment when they wouldn’t button. He stood there for a second, sucking in his stomach like that might help, then gave up with a frustrated grunt. I pretended not to notice when he peeled them off and shuffled back to the closet, looking for something looser. Something with a bit more stretch.

My involvement wasn’t all that direct back then. Not really. If anything, it was more him than me. He’s the one who always had the appetite. I just…created the opportunities. Encouraged nights out, hinted at ordering appetizers, nudged him toward dessert. But I never forced him or anything.

Still, I have to admit—seeing that little belly on him, watching it grow from barely noticeable to something round and obvious, feeling that extra bit of softness in bed... ugh, it just does something to a girl, y’know?

Maybe that’s when I started to push it. Just a little.

I only vaguely remember convincing him to let me take over most of the cooking. It wasn’t easy, just so you know. I’ve never met a man who loved being in the kitchen as much as he did. The way he used to talk about it, experiment with new spices, spend whole evenings perfecting a sauce… it was a part of him. Or at least, it used to be. He doesn't talk about it much anymore. That spark is quieter now.

But really, how else was I supposed to sneak in all those extra calories?

The extra cheese melted into his pasta sauces, the heavy cream that thickened everything just right, the obscene amount of butter I’d fold into his scrambled eggs or spread over his toast until it shimmered. He never questioned it, and I genuinely don’t think he’s ever noticed. If anything, I think he appreciated the gesture. Someone cooking for him, taking care of him. It worked too. Right around then, people started to notice the gain. It was subtle at first. I’d notice a couple double takes here and there, or a glance at the tighter fit of his clothes, or someone’s lingering stare when he sat down and his belly pressed against the table edge.

There was this one time, when we were out to dinner with friends, nothing formal, just a casual little group hang at a local spot. He was scanning the menu, chatting casually about what he might get. Something hearty, probably. I could hear the ease in his voice, the way he leaned back in his chair, already hungry, already planning.

And then one of his friends, half-laughing, goes, “Try a salad maybe?”

The whole table went quiet. Not for long, just a few seconds. But everyone felt it. Everyone knew exactly what that comment was about, what it was referencing. His belly. His appetite. The way his jaw clenched slightly in response, how he lowered the menu just a bit.

A few of the others stepped in quickly, scolding the guy, calling him out for being rude. Not too harshly, just enough to move things along, change the subject. He laughed along too, sort of, but I saw it in his face. That little shift. The way his posture sank just slightly lower in his chair.

I made sure to spend the rest of that night comforting my plump man. Subtle touches along his back, soft looks and smiles whenever he hesitated over another bite. My hand resting gently on his thigh. Every little gesture saying, You’re fine. Don’t listen to them. Eat.

He was grateful. I could feel it in the way he leaned into me, let himself be reassured. But yeah—he was bothered. Even if he didn’t say it.

But he didn’t really do anything about it, about the comment or his weight in general. Not right away, at least. It wasn’t until months later that he finally made an effort. I’m still not sure what gave him the push. Maybe a photo or another comment, maybe just catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror one morning. Whatever it was, one day he came home and casually mentioned he’d joined a gym.

That was a dark time for me.

It killed me, knowing he was out there sweating off everything I’d worked so hard to grow. Every ounce of softness, every roll, every inch of that thickening belly—threatened. I tried everything to derail it. I’d cook something heavy and indulgent. Biscuits and sausage gravy, cheesy pasta, rich curries, anything to weigh him down and tempt him into a food coma before he could even lace up his shoes. If that didn’t work, then the moment he’d get ready to leave, I’d suddenly be in the mood, pulling him toward the bed, whispering distractions against his neck.

None of it worked. He was dedicated.

For about three weeks, he went five days a week like clockwork. Gym bag in hand, shaking off any sluggishness like he had something to prove. I hated it. Every day felt like backsliding, like watching progress get erased in real time.

But then… things started to shift. The five days became three. The three turned into one. Soon it was more of a “whenever I can” sort of thing, which really meant barely at all.

So what did I do? I cancelled the membership.

One night while he was out, I got on his laptop, logged into his account, and straight up cancelled it. No hesitation. No warning. Just—click—gone. I half-expected him to find out right away, maybe the next time he tried to check in. I was a little afraid he’d realize I had done it. Or even worse, feel motivated enough to start it back up and actually start going again.

But no. The next time he left for the gym, he came back barely half an hour later, still dressed in those snug gym clothes. No sweat, no towel, just a vaguely confused, indifferent look on his face. He dropped his keys, kicked off his shoes, and shrugged as he walked past me into the kitchen, like he hadn’t even wanted to go in the first place.

He seemed almost relieved, actually.

In the end, I did him a favor. All that strain, all that pressure, it wasn’t him. It never really was.

I’m not sure exactly how big he was by then. 280, maybe? Definitely somewhere in that range. A significant leap from his original 195. And it showed. The change was obvious, unavoidable. His belly had grown heavy and full, round enough to rest a plate on. His face was softer, fuller, framed by thick cheeks and the start of a double chin. He moved slower, took up more space, felt heavier in every way.

I loved it.

What’s interesting, though, is how much easier it got from there.

There was this strange stretch of time, just a couple months later, where his whole mood seemed off. Irritable, withdrawn, more sensitive than usual. He’d always been a little self-conscious, ever since the weight started creeping on, but this was different. It wasn’t just insecurity, something had shifted. He shut down, closed himself off from me, from everything. Grumpy is probably the best word for it. Quiet and grumpy, like he was living under a little gray cloud that wouldn’t lift.

And maybe it’s unrelated, but that was right around when I found the bathroom scale shoved deep into the back of the linen closet. Like, way back. Wedged behind stacks of folded sheets and backup rolls of toilet paper, half-hidden like it had been put there in a moment of embarrassment. Which might not seem that weird, but the scale had always been in the same spot: right in the corner of the bathroom, out in the open. And then one day… it wasn’t.

My theory? That’s when he hit 300.

He probably stepped on the scale one morning, saw that cruel little number, and decided he never wanted to see the scale again. Declared it the enemy. Banished it.

And for a moment, I felt bad. Barely. But I did. I do have a soul, if you can believe it.

Still, I didn’t let up. How could I?

Because along with the moodiness, something else started to change too—his appetite. It sounds crazy, but I swear it got worse the more frustrated he got. Like he was trying so hard to hold the line, to stay under 300, and when he lost the battle, when that leading number became a 3 instead of a 2, he just… gave up. Gave in. Said “fuck it” and stopped fighting.

Suddenly, he never turned down seconds. Sometimes he’d even agree to thirds if I felt bold enough to push it. If I rubbed his back and smiled just so, or left the platter sitting nearby and nudged it gently toward him. I didn’t even have to say anything sometimes. He’d hesitate, sigh, mutter something under his breath, and scoop more onto his plate. Like he was in a battle with himself.

And then there’s the junk food, too. I had already been making an effort to keep more and more of it in the house—chips, cookies, candy, soda, y’know that kind of thing. But eventually it got to a point where I’d buy enough for two weeks and it would all be gone in days. Quietly, steadily, without a word. I’d open the pantry and find empty boxes tucked behind full ones, soda cans in the trash even when I hadn’t seen him open any. Sometimes I’d hear the crinkle of wrappers coming from the kitchen late at night, long after we were supposed to be asleep.

Now you understand why I couldn’t let up. How could I possibly give up that kind of opportunity? His appetite was growing right alongside him, and I had to leverage it for the better. And the bigger.

And don’t worry, his mood eventually improved. It didn’t take long, actually. All that dopamine from the constant stream of rich, addictive food perked him right back up. Just kidding. But whatever it was, it softened that edge he’d been carrying. Before long, he was back to his (relatively) energetic, happy, eager self. Although… maybe a little too eager.

Because that’s when things started to barely, sorta, kinda get just a teeny bit out of control.

In my defense, I didn’t expect him to start gaining so fast. And I certainly didn’t plan for it. But he was feeding himself just as much as I was feeding him, so honestly…what was I supposed to do? He was always hungry. Constantly. If I didn’t get food in front of him quickly enough, he’d go rummaging through the kitchen for his own “snack,” which was rarely ever small. I’d walk in to find him halfway through a footlong sub he’d thrown together himself, or slathering half a tub of cream cheese onto an entire sleeve of bagels. And then, of course, he’d still eat the dinner I made, every bite, no matter how full he already was.

And I know what you’re probably thinking. That I took advantage of that behavior. That maybe I intentionally dragged my feet getting dinner on the table, leaving him to get ravenous and “forcing” him to stuff himself on pre-dinner snacks. Adding hundreds, sometimes thousands of extra calories before the main meal was even served.

Well, you’d be wrong.

I didn’t force him to do anything. If dinner took a bit longer, then it took a bit longer. Not my fault. I was in the kitchen, doing my part. He’s the one who couldn’t help himself.

And besides, there were plenty of other things that fattened him up that I genuinely had no control over. Things I never encouraged, never suggested. Natural consequences of a growing appetite in a growing man.

In fact, I’d say a big contributor to him somehow ending up at 400 pounds was all the fast food.

It started slowly, like most things. Just the occasional stop on his way home. Something convenient, something easy. But before long, he was walking through the door with his arms full: bags brimming with fries and double-stacked cheeseburgers, boxes packed with donuts and pastries, entire buckets of fried chicken with all the sides. And not just a little either—mountains. Staggering amounts that even I had trouble believing. And then I’d watch, wide-eyed, as he put it all away like it was nothing.

On my life, I had nothing to do with that.

…Well. Maybe that’s not entirely true, now that I think about it.

I might have given him a small taste for it, what with all the takeout we’d started to order. Listen, fattening someone is hard work, okay? I wasn’t always in the mood to make the huge, calorie-dense meals he’d grown so used to. Sometimes a girl just needs a night off. But the feedings couldn’t just stop. So ordering in became the perfect substitute.

Honestly, it’s one of the easiest ways to make sure someone overeats, if you’re looking for advice. You don’t even have to try. The portions are massive, the flavors are addictive, and the calories are way higher than they seem. So yeah, I’d order a pizza…or three. Or some barbeque, or big saucy containers of noodles, or whatever deep-fried, carb-heavy, sugar-drenched comfort food sounded good that night. As long as it was rich, filling, and fast.

Sue me.

I mean, how was I supposed to know he’d be so… susceptible to the pleasures of unhealthy food? Once the habit started, it was like a switch had been flipped. He wasn’t waiting on me anymore. He was feeding himself, and doing a damn good job of it, too.

And besides, let’s not forget all the biological factors at play. Genetics. Metabolism. Hormones. Clearly, I don’t have any control over those.

But they do seem to work in my favor.

I could’ve only dreamed he’d put on weight so quickly—and in all the most perfect places. He’s just so round now, so wide and heavy in the most delicious ways. Most of it pools in his belly, of course, that massive, soft dome that spills into his lap and shifts with every little movement. But the rest of him has plumped up so well, too. His chest has blossomed into these thick, pillowy moobs, so soft and plush and impossible to miss under even his loosest shirts. His hips have spread out too, cradled in thick love handles that fold seamlessly into the rest of his blubber. There are no hard lines anymore, just a continuous, luxurious swell of flesh.

God, I just want to melt right into him.

I try not to make it too obvious how much I enjoy his body. I keep my hands respectful. My tone casual. My glances brief. But still… I wouldn’t be surprised if he had some idea. If he’d pieced together by now that I don’t mind the weight. That, in fact, I might like it a little.

Sometimes I wonder what he’d say if I brought it up. If I looked him in the eye and told him I was worried about how much he’s gained over the years. What would he do? Would he panic? Try to lose it? Could he?

I like to think I’ve changed things too much for that now. That the version of him who might’ve fought back, might’ve cared enough to resist, is long gone. That he’s so down bad that any form of weight loss would be near impossible. And to be perfectly honest—I don’t really want it to be possible. I know I said I didn’t mean for it to go this far, but now that it has… I don’t really see why it has to stop? Do you?

I glance back at him on the couch, watching him scrape up the last sticky remnants from the bottom of the ice cream carton. His “little snack” is clearly finished, but I can already see it in his eyes that he’s not done. He’ll be wanting more soon.

And so will I.

More of him. A bigger him. Yeah… I’m sure now. No more than a hundred more pounds. Maybe two hundred, max.

Ugh, how exciting! And he has no idea what’s coming.

Poor thing.

More stories at softbunstudios.com

[chunkierboi-deactivated20250710]

what am I doing to myself 🥵🥵🥵

[thecrownestt]

The real evil from a feeder comes when lifestyle changes due to your size are forced. Abilities and experiences, taken from you before you wanted them to be. Before you were ready to say goodbye to that part of your life.

It's one thing to give up activities when you are ready, like walking through the grocery store. There comes a point when a steadily growing feedee will throw in the towel. It's no longer fun. It's a dreaded activity. It's harddddddd. It's a struggle. Too weak. Too fat.

How would you feel if you went for groceries with your feeder, and were told once you got home that it would be the last time you ever walked like that? Gone. No protesting. No negotiations. You now ride the scooter. You felt you had at least another 100lbs before it came to this. It was honestly the most exercise you got each week, and it was wiped away without a second thought.

How would you feel if you woke up one morning to be told that your car was sold, and someone is coming to pick it up today? Your belly hardly started touching the steering wheel! You can't fit in the driver's seat of your feeder's car! You are...dependent. Forced to play along.

The panic might strike a certain way. What happened to your choices? Is your body REALLY that much of a hindrance? It hasn't been that long since you focused on gaining...there's really no going back?

Every feeding takes on a new edge. Months of restricted walking, months of only leaving the home when being told you could go for a car ride, all of it has taken a toll on your mobility. Don't eat enough and you don't have permission for a car ride. But but but eating too much has led to this crisis. And it keeps coming.

Your world starts shrinking. The furniture? Gone. You may either stand or sit in bed. Not much of a choice to be made there, right?

Outgrew your clothes? Your bank cards have been cancelled. Cling on to those last shirts and underwear that you can, or else you may start to exist as the fat naked blob who stays in bed all day.

You want your phone charger? Your last connection to the outside world? Better start meeting those calorie goals. Embrace your funnel. Embrace the snacks in between your meals. Otherwise you'll be stuck in bed, mentally rotting away while staring at the wall.

Life becomes transactional. Single-purpose. You have gone so long without being called by your name. So long without making your own choice without the permissions given to you. The only thing you can control is how much food you eat while your feeder is gone - and falling short of expectations only serves to make life more dim.

One day, you will have your window boarded. Your calendars taken down. Your sense of time will be taken from you.

[swollenmuscles]

[charliegyrth]

Choose Fun

Summer 2023

I sat on the beach, listening to the waves roll in. As a redhead, I burned easily, so I mostly stayed under our umbrella while Vince swam and ran around, acting like an overexcited puppy dog.

I’d never met anyone with more energy. The guy could run a marathon every day of his life if he wanted.

“Cameron!” he shouted from the distance. “Look!”

I turned to see my boyfriend holding up two dripping ice cream cones. He ran toward me, careful not to drop the scoops into the sand.

His long, lean body had gotten quite tan in the last few days (in comparison to my constant sunburn). He looked so beautiful running that he might as well be in Baywatch-style slow motion. I loved watching the rhythmic movement of his solid pecs. Sure, it was tough sometimes to be married to someone so much more handsome than you, but it had a lot of perks, too. Constant eye candy, for one.

He kissed me on the cheek and handed me a cone. “God, it’s perfect here. I’m gonna miss this place so much.”

This was our first big vacation since we’d gotten married, and we both made the most of it. Restaurants for every meal. Ice cream whenever we wanted. Boat trips. Mojitos. Even surf lessons. (I was terrible. He was great.)

Today was our last day, and I felt exhausted from the constant rush to enjoy everything at all times. Vince, of course, had more energy than ever.

“Didn’t we just have ice cream?” I asked, though I started licking it anyway.

“Yup. Your second for the day. My third.” He sounded weirdly proud to say that.

We sat for a while, eating and watching the ocean. This time tomorrow, we’d be back in dreary Idaho. Vince wanted to make our last few hours count. I didn’t feel the same pressure, because we’d made every hour here count.

“I’ve decided something,” Vince broke the silence. “A couple things, actually.”

He waited for me to ask him what, but I wasn’t going to humor him.

“What, you ask,” he said. “One: We need to come back here every year. Same hotel, same beach. We can’t let this be a one-time thing.”

“Agreed,” I said. We had enough money and sick days saved up.

“And two: When we’re back home, I want to live exactly like this.”

“Lazy and sunburnt?”

He laughed. “Speak for yourself. I want us to live every day like we’re on vacation. We’ll still do our jobs and chores and stuff. But we’ll make a conscious decision to choose fun. To indulge. To say yes when faced with any opportunity. You know what I mean?”

I twisted in my beach chair to face him. My ice cream accidentally spilled off my cone and thwopped onto the sand. “Good luck with that. I think choosing fun is exhausting.”

He nudged me in my sunburnt side. “Suit yourself. Let me run back and get you another ice cream.”

“No thanks.”

He was already standing. “Nope. I’m gonna choose fun. There’s a bunch more flavors I want us to try!”

***

Summer 2024

I slid into the lounge chair after a nice, long swim. Unlike last year, I didn’t have a sunburn. I’d gotten a lot better at reapplying sunscreen.

I’d gotten better at a lot of things since I started taking on more responsibilities back home. (Not complaining. Just a fact.)

I noticed that my phone had four unread messages from Vince:

Yo! I’m at that pizza place near the boardwalk. Pepperoni or Sausage?

I’m fine with either.

Hello?

If you don’t answer in five minutes, I’ll just get both.

That last message was from twenty minutes ago. I rolled my eyes. Vince could never resist pizza.

I pulled out my book (some trashy thriller) and started reading. This was our last day of vacation, and I only had a couple chapters left.

I’d read less than a page before I heard Vince’s excited voice behind me. “Pizza has arrived.”

“No thanks, babe.”

“More for me, then.”

He plopped down on the sand next to me, gasping for breath from the long walk over. Sweat oozed down his face.

His beer belly was still a little sunburnt after passing out on the patio outside the room while he was watching the hot guys run around on the beach. (I think they reminded him of what he used to be like.) The whole round surface of his gut was red except for a pale semicircle above his belly button, where he’d placed a half-eaten burger before he passed out.

(Cute, right?)

He opened the first pizza box (pepperoni) and started stuffing himself. “Cameron? Can you rub in more aloe while I eat?”

“Of course, honey.”

I sat next to him on the sand, squeezed lotion into my hands, and started to rub his shoulders. He shivered a little but kept eating.

“The beach has changed a bit since last year, huh?” he asked.

“Not really,” I said. “We’ve just done different activities this time.”

We didn’t do paragliding. No more surf lessons. Or beach volleyball.

Instead, we went wine tasting. And we did a couple luaus. And that buffet. And of course Vince couldn’t say no to the extreme burger challenge at the restaurant on the pier. (He won, by the way.)

I moved from his shoulders to his back, careful to slide some aloe between his rolls. Then I moved to his moobs, which made him giggle, and finally his belly.

“Feels a little softer than last week,” I told him.

“That’s ’cause I’m sitting here with an empty stomach, Cam. Feel it after I finish these pizzas.”

I took the slice away from his mouth and kissed him. He knew how much I loved watching his body grow.

Sure, his new “choose fun” ethos had caused me so much stress over the last year, but the extra 60 pounds on his body (something neither of us expected) made it all worthwhile.

I pressed the pizza back against his lips and he chewed for me. His eyes were locked on mine.

I had a sandwich a couple hours ago, so I wasn’t going to eat any of the pizza. But I was definitely going to enjoy feeding him.

And Vince ate every piece out of my hand. He couldn’t say no.

***

Summer 2025

I saw our beach umbrella up ahead and raced over, careful not to drop any of the burritos. Some of the sauce was already dripping out of the bags.

I placed them all on the towel next to Vince’s chair. “About time,” he said. “I’m wasting away here.” He looked down at the food. “I thought you were getting subs?”

“Those won’t be ready for a couple hours. We’re doing Mexican first.”

He tried to lean over and kiss me, but he couldn’t manage. I got closer and kissed him instead.

His flabby body was pale all over. This was our last day of vacation, and he hadn’t gotten a single bit of sunlight. This whole time, he’d been lounging in our room or lounging under the umbrella. Because of his walking issues, I had to bring his food to him now. That kept me pretty busy, but during his naps, I had time to do a little jet-skiing, shop around the market, and even try surfing again. (I was still bad.) I was able to soak in the scenery and then come back to take care of my big man.

I handed him his first burrito. I wanted to feed him myself, but he told me that I went too fast sometimes. Our deal was, he could eat the burritos himself but I’d help him with his sandwiches, our last meal before our flight. (Well, outside of the fast-food places at the airport.)

I watched as he ate, admiring what two years of “choose fun” had done to his body. His belly had lost all shape, now flowing out of him and hanging over both sides of his chair. His pale skin really accentuated the newest stretchmarks. (The older ones were harder to see but still fun to feel.)

His moobs were now heavy enough to angle toward his armpits. I played with one while he ate.

Sure, there were things I missed about the old Vince. We didn’t go out as much anymore, and keeping him fed and cleaned had turned into a full-time job on top of my regular work. At times, I missed how he’d run around and get all excited over the littlest thing. Now, the only thing that excited him was his next meal, but that was okay. It was all worth it.

I noticed that Vince had stopped eating. He was staring into the distance, watching two young, hot guys toss around a beachball. They were quite handsome, and very much in love. Vince sighed.

“Do you miss when we used to be like that?” I asked.

“You can still be like that,” he said. “If you didn’t have to worry about me all the time.”

This didn’t sound like him at all. His voice was so dark.

“What’s wrong?”

He took another bite, thinking. “Two years ago, we came here and I decided to choose fun. And I’m happy I did. I love… everything. But sometimes, I think that it wasn’t fair to you.”

I pushed the burrito up to his lips. I wanted him to keep going.

“You chose fun, Vince. But I chose you.”

The End.

Thanks for reading! I hope you're enjoying your summer!

You can find all my stories here. And you can check out this story, along with three other beach-set gainer romances, in my ebook Beachside Bellies.

[zangtangimpersonator]

Found some old photos of your uncle, just hanging out with the guys

[charliegyrth]

I Wish You Were Fat

A Gainer Fantasy

Hi, everyone! Charlie here! It's my birthday, so I wanted to post something appropriate. This is a fantasy story about a birthday boy who wishes that his boyfriend would gain weight. I hope you like it!

And shout out to all the other Leos out there! Hope you eat lots of cake!

***

“Happy birthday, Louis,” you whisper in your boyfriend’s ear. “Now blow out your candles.”

He presses his lips together but doesn’t blow. “Gimme a second. Forgot to make a wish.”

He thinks for a second, glancing over at your smiling face. You catch his eyes drifting down to your body.

Yup. He’s definitely horny. After he finishes his cake, then you’ll give him his real birthday dessert.

Once he blows out the candles, you feel a weird jolt in your stomach. It’s not pain, really. Just like a nerve twitching or something.

Whatever. The feeling only lasts a second.

You cut into the cake (chocolate, Louis’s favorite) and serve him a big slice. You weren’t planning to have a slice yourself. That’s why you ordered chocolate (your least favorite) but it looks pretty moist. You cut a piece for yourself.

“You’re having some, too?” Louis asks. He gets a weird expression. You can’t quite read it.

You stare into each other’s eyes as you eat. F*ck, it’s incredible. This is the first time you’ve liked the taste of chocolate. But you don’t just like it. You f*cking love it.

Louis takes his time eating, but you devour yours. You want to eat another piece, but you wouldn’t dare. This isn’t your birthday.

Your boyfriend sees you eyeing it, though. “Go ahead, babe. We’re celebrating.”

You eat a second (bigger) piece and it still doesn’t satisfy you. You really want a third, but you can’t.

***

In the middle of the night, while Louis sleeps beside you, you sneak out of the bed and stumble into the kitchen. You can’t go back to sleep unless you have another piece of that cake. You take it out of the fridge and cut yourself a small slice. You don’t want Louis to notice it in the morning.

It tastes so good.

You still want more.

You cut off a bigger piece.

God. Even better. It’s like this is the first real cake you’ve ever tasted. All the other cakes were just cardboard.

You go into a daze. You don’t remember what happens next. You only regain your focus when the entire cake is gone. All that’s left are crumbs.

You eat those, too.

The next morning, Louis wakes you up. It’s already ten. You’ve slept in.

“Honey? Where’d you put the rest of the cake?”

“It’s in the fridge,” you lie.

He smiles as he wipes away a streak of chocolate on the edge of your mouth. “Sure it is.”

***

The next day, you and Louis go to his parents’ house. They’re throwing him a birthday party, too. Everyone’s there. You love hanging out with his sisters. You’re like their gay best friend.

It’s a little difficult to enjoy the conversation, though. You keep thinking about the cake that’s sitting on the kitchen counter. You haven’t seen it yet. You don’t even know the flavor. But just the knowledge that it’s in the other room waiting to be eaten… That’s all you can think about.

You pull Louis outside to talk to him privately. You tell him your problem. You think there’s something wrong with you. “Maybe it’s a tapeworm,” you say.

Louis looks away. “It’s not a tapeworm.”

That’s when he confesses. He says that his birthday wish was to make you fat. He says he always thought you’d look cute with a dad bod.

You’re horrified, both because you had no idea Louis felt this way and because you believe him. The wish actually worked.

You can’t live like this. You can’t live in constant hunger! You start to cry.

“It’s okay. I’ll just wish to reverse it.”

That calms you down.

An hour later, Louis’s mom brings out his cake. (Chocolate, again.) You want to shove your hand into it and grab a big clump. You don’t, of course.

You wait, hungrily and nervously, as Louis blows out the candles. He glances at you, as if to say, “Okay. I did it.”

But you don’t feel any different.

His mom serves you a maddeningly small slice. It takes you five seconds to finish it, and you want more. You want to steal the slices of everyone at the party. You even catch yourself reaching toward his grandfather’s paper plate.

His grandfather! The guy is like 90. You can’t steal food from a 90-year-old!

You’re screwed. Louis’s second wish didn’t work. It’s not officially his birthday anymore.

You squirm around for the rest of the party. People notice, but you’re too hungry to care. It gets so bad that Louis has to take you home. He leaves his own party hours before it’s supposed to end.

In the car, he tells you how guilty he feels. He never would’ve made that wish if he had known it would really come true. And he definitely wouldn’t have made that wish if he knew how painfully hungry you’d feel.

He drives you straight to Walmart where you literally jump out of the car and run toward the bakery. You grab the first thing you see (chocolate chip cookies) and eat them right then and there. You haven’t even paid for them yet.

The worker screams at you, but Louis hurries over and promises to pay.

As they’re talking, you start on a second box of cookies. Finally, your hunger has subsided. You feel full and wonderful. A little horny, too.

To appease the Walmart lady, Louis pays her for the cookies. You don’t leave the store yet, though.

Louis takes you to the snack aisle and fills a cart with sugary treats. All those packages scare you. You’re going to eat all of them. You’re not sure how long it’ll take you to finish everything in that cart, but you will. And it’ll all turn into fat.

On the car ride home, you don’t feel hungry, but you’re keenly aware of the shopping bags in the backseat. They’re right behind you, and they’re screaming your name. You reach back there and grab a package of donuts. When Louis pulls into the driveway, they’re gone.

***

The next few days are a mixture of fear and horror and a weird level of arousal that you can’t quite ignore.

Louis has apologized to you a hundred times already. He feels awful.

As he should! He messed with your body without permission. That’s unforgivable.

He’s doing his best to help you out, though. He has food available all over the house. He fixes you huge meals. And most importantly, he gives you a lot of attention. You cry into his shoulder multiple times in those first few days, and he tells you how handsome you’ll look with a bit of fat.

You start picturing yourself with a belly, and you gotta admit, the image turns you on. Maybe not as much as Louis. You wouldn’t ever wish for it like he did, but you’re definitely excited to see how you’ll change.

It helps that you know there’s a time limit on the wish. Well, you can’t know anything for certain. This is magic, after all. But you’re pretty sure that you can stop this in two months. That’s when you’ll have your birthday. You can use your own wish to make it stop.

Honestly, you like that. Two whole months of gaining is exciting, but it’s not too much.

Over time, your anger fades and you start enjoying the process of eating. Even the hunger pains become enjoyable. They come at such random times.

You keep stashes of snacks everywhere. In your bedroom, all over your house, in your car, and a ton in your cubicle. Your coworkers notice right away. They see you as the health nut of the office, so they like that you’re changing your diet a little. They don’t start getting concerned until the third week, when the changes in your body become visible through your clothes.

It’s insane what thousands of extra calories can do to you in such a short time. Your stomach goes from flat to flabby to round. You chest goes from firm to soft. And your ass goes from pert to jiggly.

You love it.

Maybe if you were gaining on your own, you’d still be freaked out. But Louis is always there to encourage you, to feel your body, to explore your more sensitive areas. It’s obvious why he made this wish in the first place. Your fat really turns him on, and because of him, you’re turned on by it, too.

You weigh yourself at the end of the first month. You’ve gained 25 pounds. Not quite a pound a day, but almost. That number makes you proud.

During the second month, you notice that you’ve started snacking even when you’re not hungry. It’s a habit now, though some of it comes from your hidden urger to outdo your first month. You want to beat the number 25.

You’re painfully fully after every meal now. You’ve started wearing a backpack full of snacks in addition to everything you keep in your house and cubicle.

At night, Louis rewards your eating with sex, but he’s started to incorporate donuts into the bedroom, too. You’ve never felt so satisfied.

By the end of that second month, you’ve gained an additional 30 pounds. 55 in total. You’ve shot past “overweight” and went straight to the “obese” category.

Your stomach is spherical. Your ass has grown (though not as much as your hips have widened). And you have a layer of blubber all over, giving you a smooth, plush look. Louis calls you “comfortable.” He loves holding you, squeezing into you.

Because you’ve spent so much time eating, you haven’t seen any of your friends. So when the usual gang comes over for your birthday party, they’re a little freaked out.

Not too much, though. Your brother says, “You wear it well.” And your friend Brian says, “The bear look. I like it.”

You’re very happy with what you've become. You're noticeably fat, but you haven’t experienced any of the negative side effects of weight gain yet. Your mobility is fine. You don’t have stretchmarks or cellulite. You don’t snore too much.

It’s a good time to stop while you’re ahead.

At the party, you gorge yourself with snacks. This’ll be your last hoorah before you switch from a gainer to a maintainer, so you might as well go all-out. Your friends marvel at your capacity, and a few of them seem a little turned on.

Louis is extremely turned on. He can’t wait to get you alone again.

You sit at the table as Louis brings in your chocolate cake. (It had become your favorite flavor, though you like every flavor now.)

With your belly filling your lap and your stomach growling again, you stare at your birthday candles.

This is it. Time to stop all the hunger. Maybe you’ll just naturally get bigger from now on. It might happen. Maybe you’ll stay at the same weight for the rest of your life. You’d be happy with that, too.

Before you blow out the candles, you really consider your options. What wish would make you the happiest? You look over at your doting boyfriend, who’s glancing hungrily at the belly that he helped you grow, and you finally decide what you want for your birthday:

“I wish that Louis would start getting fat instead of me.”

The End.

Thanks for reading! You can find all my stories here.

This story was also included in my anthology ebook Fatter for the Holidays. (I know that birthdays aren't technically holidays, but whatever. I really liked this one, so I decided to include it.)

[charliegyrth]

Fattening the Stoner

He doesn't know what he's eating...

Hi, everyone! Charlie here! For my first story request of the month, I'm responding to an idea from @kingston2002. Check out his page if you haven't (though you probably have). He's making great progress.

***

July

It’s impossible to hate you. You’re literally the nicest person I’ve ever met. Always friendly. Always asking me about my day.

The problem, though, is that you get high every night. I like to smoke every once in a while, but I don’t have a problem like you do. And when I do get high, I’m at least aware of my surroundings. With you, it’s like you’re in another world. Most days, I come home from work to find you sprawled on the couch laughing at cartoons. You usually don’t even notice when I walk through the door.

I stopped bringing dates home. I’m constantly cleaning up after you. And I keep the fridge empty because I know you’ll eat all my leftovers without even realizing.

I can’t talk to you about it when you’re stoned. And when you’re sober, I always look into your smiling, handsome face and lose my nerve. The truth is, you’re the best roommate I ever had, aside from this one thing.

At the beginning of summer, I come home to find you in your usual position on the couch. You’re shirtless (as always) and your giggling fills the apartment. An old Scooby Doo episode is playing on TV.

I had a long day, so I’m more annoyed than usual. My boss shouted at me for something I didn’t do, and I had to work through lunch. I’m tired. Hangry. I just want someone to talk to, but you’re obviously not able to listen to me vent.

I flop onto the couch next to you and notice the empty Tupperware on the coffee table.

“Jesus, man. Was that my lasagna?” Just seeing the empty containers makes my stomach rumble.

“Dude,” you say, pointing toward the TV. “The shark monster is going to get them this time.”

God damn Scooby Doo. And the funniest part is, this episode doesn’t even have a shark monster. It’s about pirate ghosts.

Even though I know you’re not going to understand me, I finally tell you how I feel. I let it all out, focusing most of my anger on the stolen food because I’m so damn hungry.

You look at me, and for a second, I think you’re going to apologize. Instead, you burp. Then you laugh about it.

I pull out my phone and order from Dr. Wok’s Chinese Restaurant. I’m so hungry that I get a lot more than I can possibly eat. Then I sit there in angry silence as I wait for the delivery guy. I grab the remote and change it to some documentary. (I’m in the mood for anything except cartoons.) You don’t even notice.

Finally, the food comes. The delivery guy is a muscly redhead. Pretty handsome, actually. I flirt a little, and he flirts back…

Until he notices your shirtless body on the couch. That’s the other annoying thing about you. Despite all your late-night munchies, you’re so much better looking than me. I’m not ugly or anything. Just average. A little gawky. But you’re tanned and muscled. You have this relaxed surfer vibe that I just can’t compete with.

I give the guy his tip. (It would’ve been more if I hadn’t caught him ogling you.) Then I bring my bags of food back to the coffee table.

“Dude!” you say. “That smells amazing.”

“You already ate,” I mutter.

I usually eat in the dining room, but I think part of me wants you to smell my food. I know Chinese is your favorite. I guess I’m being petty, but whatever. You won’t remember in the morning.

I open the Beijing beef (my favorite) and eat directly from the box. It takes me two bites to notice that you’re full-on staring. Drooling, too. “Nope,” I say. “All mine.”

“Okay,” you mutter.

You try to watch the documentary, but you’re not following it. (Maybe I subconsciously chose something boring just to punish you. I’m not really into it, either.)

A few minutes later, you grab a box of orange chicken and start eating with your hands. I can tell by your expression that you love the taste. I can also tell that you don’t even realize that you took my food again. You’re acting on instinct. You smell the savory sweetness and you instinctively eat.

I’m about to pull the food away and lecture you, but a thought crosses my mind. I’m not hangry anymore, so I don’t feel that annoyed. I’m more… curious, I guess. I want to see how fast it’ll take you to finish the whole take-out box.

Less than five minutes, it turns out. You’re in the zone. Globs of orange sauce coat your chin. Little speckles of food land on your abs. It’s honestly intriguing, and I’m not even mad that your saucy fingers are staining the couch again.

You let the empty box fall to your side and lean against the cushions, stuffed and satisfied. Your hands rub your stomach. It’s still flat, but your abs look less pronounced.

This is your second dinner of the night, plus whatever snacks you had when you first started smoking. There’s no way you’ll want to eat anything else.

But again, I’m curious. I hand you my half-finished box of Beijing beef. You take it.

I watch to see if you’ll start eating again. Probably not. You look beyond full.

For a long time, you just hold the food and stare glossy-eyed at the TV. Then, without thinking, you grab a handful of beef and pop it into your mouth. You’re eating just as fast as before, but your expression isn’t as blissful. You’re not really enjoying the taste anymore. I don’t think your brain is even registering it. You’re so deep into autopilot, driven by the smells and the easy access, that you shovel everything in. Once again, you let the empty box fall to your side and sink even further into the couch.

I decide to keep going. I take the next box (chow mein) and drench it with teriyaki sauce. Then I place it in your hands and watch you eat.

You start to slow, and I think your brain is finally registering the fullness, so I switch the TV back to Scooby Doo. That distracts you enough to finish the noodles.

And the kung pao chicken.

And the rice.

In thirty weird, wonderful minutes, all my food has disappeared into your straining stomach. You’re covered in sauce. You’re too exhausted to keep your eyes open. And your flat stomach isn’t so flat anymore. It’s painfully round. You hold it with both your hands and let out a deep, raggedy burp.

Then you pass out.

While you snore (I’ve never heard you snore before), I clean up your mess and wipe you down with a wet cloth.

In the morning, I see you in the exact same position as I get ready for work. Your eyes flutter open when you hear me.

“Dude,” you say. “I slept on the couch again.”

As if that isn’t obvious.

“Do you remember what you did last night?”

“Naw, man. I don’t even remember when you got home.”

Interesting…

***

August

Scooby and Shaggy are dressed up like carnival barkers, trying to confuse a frog mutant. God, this cartoon is terrible.

You’re half-asleep on the couch, your fingers rubbing circles around your softened belly.

It’s been six weeks since I started giving you extra food every night, and you’ve gotten chunky. Your pecs have poked out into moobs, and your abs are covered in a mound of hairy fat. Your face is still as handsome as ever, but I can already see the early signs of a second chin.

And the best part is, you still don’t notice how much you’re changing. It’s incredible.

You laugh at the cartoon.

“Hey? Having fun?” (It’s my way of checking if you’re still high. You definitely are.)

“A frog monster, man!” you say. Then you laugh.

Perfect. Once again, you won’t notice the food delivery.

Right on cue, the doorbell rings. I jump up to answer.

The handsome redhead is waiting for me. Teddy. We’re on a first-name basis now.

He smiles flirtatiously as he hands me my huge order. I can never tell if he’s into me or if he’s just grateful for the tips.

“Thanks.” I’m about to close the door when he stops me.

“Your, um, boyfriend is a big eater, huh?” He glances over at you.

I open my mouth to correct him (we’re not boyfriends) when he interrupts me.

“The guy I’m dating has packed on 50 pounds since we first got together. It helps that I can bring home as much Chinese food as I can carry.” He gives me a conspiratorial wink. “Good luck, man!”

He turns to leave.

So I’d been misinterpreting him this whole time. He wasn’t flirting with me at all. He just sees something in me that he sees in himself. He’s an encourager.

I drop the bags on the counter and have a mini panic attack. I don’t hyperventilate or anything, but my breath catches in my throat.

Am I really that obvious?

To the delivery guy, I guess.

But the fact that he knows what I’m doing feels like a punch to the gut. I’m not making you fatter because we’re in a relationship, or because we’re both into it. No. I’m doing it as petty revenge. I’m teaching you a lesson.

But…

But what lesson do you need to learn? You’re a good person. You don’t deserve this.

I grab the food bags and drop them all in the trash. I’m done.

You call my name from the living room. I rush in and join you on the couch.

“Who was at the door?” you ask, a surprising moment of clarity.

“Telemarketer,” I lie.

“Uh huh,” you say, as if my answer made any sense.

Then you go back to watching your cartoon. You’re not eating, but you seem just as happy. Sure, your stomach gurgles a little, but you still have that same blissful smile on your handsome face. Your body isn't missing all the extra calories. I have no doubt that you’ll lose all this extra weight in no time at all.

The next morning, I wake up early to go for a run. You’re not in the living room anymore, but the coffee table is covered in empty Chinese food boxes. Last night, you fished them all out of the trash. Ate every bite.

***

September

I get home from work. It was a good day. I have a new boss now, and he’s a lot easier to deal with.

I’m surprised that you’re not in the living room. I miss seeing you there. I probably shouldn’t order food tonight.

And I guess that’s for the best. I spent way too much last month. Despite my reservations (and guilt), I still pack you with food every night. I love watching you eat. I know it’s crazy, but that’s the highlight of my day.

With the house empty, I don’t know what to do with myself. I turn on TV, and even though I can choose anything I want, I automatically turn on a cartoon. It makes me think of you.

About an hour later, you stroll in, your arms filled with shopping bags. “Hey, man. Just got new clothes!”

It’s about time. None of your old shirts are able to cover your hanging belly, and your pants all look so uncomfortably tight around your wide thighs.

We’ve still never talked about your weight gain, but I guess you can’t deny it anymore.

You excitedly jump onto the couch, your belly flopping, and you show me your new outfits. “Had to go to the Goodwill. Now that I’m bigger, I spend way too much money on necessities.” (By “necessities,” you mean “weed.” It takes a lot more to get you high now.)

As you pull out a selection of nice, XXL shirts, I try to think of what to say. This is your first time mentioning that you’ve gotten bigger. I’ve been too afraid to bring it up, so now’s my chance to finally come clean. You don’t sound upset about it, though.

You hold a gray tank top in front of your body. You would’ve been swimming in the billowing fabric a few months ago, but now it’ll fit your thick gut perfectly. “You like it?”

“Um, so you’ve… outgrown your clothes,” I say awkwardly.

“Duh!” you say as your slap your gut. “What did you think would happen with you bringing home all that food every night?”

All the blood drains from my face. “You knew?”

“Weed doesn’t give you amnesia, idiot,” you say. “I remember everything. And now that we’re finally talking about it, I just gotta say… Thanks, man. You’re seriously the most generous guy in the world.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Because you’re fat.”

You pull up your shirt (also new) and grab your exposed belly. It’s like you’re proud of it. “I’m not just fat, man. I mean, look at this thing. It’s so floppy.”

“And you like it?”

You scrunch up your eyebrows. That’s your thinking face. “Honestly? I’m happy with whatever. Doesn’t really matter to me.”

“Oh.”

“I’m all about enjoying life, you know? And when I’m baked, there’s nothing more fun than stuffing myself and playing with all of this.” You dig your fingers into your belly fat. A big smile stretches across your round face. “It’s like a stress ball, man. Touch it!”

I gulp. “I’m not gonna…”

You grab my wrist and pull my closer. I can’t help but press my palm into your belly. You watch, waiting for me to do something. I feel so awkward as I squeeze into your flab. I’ve never felt you before. You’re even softer than you look.

I hate that I like this so much. I pull my hand away.

You give me a curious look. “I thought you’d be into it.”

“Into what?”

You straighten up, letting your shirt fall into place. “Dude, aren’t you trying to make me fat?”

“No,” I say. You know I’m lying.

“Then why did you do this to me?” You scoot closer, your belly bunching into rolls. “And why haven’t you gone out on a date in months? And why do you always look at me like that?”

“Like what?”

You grab my chin and force me to meet your eyes. You wait for me to say something.

I don’t. I can’t. No words will come out of my mouth.

And when you’ve waited long enough, you kiss me.

I didn’t realize how long I’ve wanted this until your lips are on mine. I give in completely. My hands squeeze into your side rolls. You climb on top of me, forcing me to feel your weight pressing down. You radiate warmth.

And when you pull away, your belly still pressing into me, you say, “Why don’t we try something different tonight?”

“Wh-what?” I worry that you’re taking things too fast. I don’t think I’m ready for anything more intimate than a kiss.

“I’m not gonna smoke tonight,” you say. “I want to be completely sober when you stuff me. What do you think?”

I instantly grab my phone to order the biggest meal of your life.

***

July

I answer the door. The redhaired delivery guy gives me a huge smile. “Looks like you’re finally starting to catch up to your boyfriend.”

As I take all our bags, he uses the opportunity to poke me in my chubby middle. I’ve gained about 30 pounds this summer, all unintentionally. I kind of like it, though. And I definitely like eating alongside you. It’s more fun than just watching and giving you belly rubs. Perhaps I’ll keep going.

“Hi, Teddy!” you call from the couch.

The delivery guy waves at you. “Nice progress, man!”

You drum against your belly. It’s my favorite sound. “Thanks.”

Before Teddy leaves, he leans close and whispers, “I gave you extra egg rolls.” He emphasizes the word “you.” He wants me to have those just for myself.

“Thanks. See ya at Bear Night!” I say as I close the door.

I use the app to increase his tip by another $20. Love that guy. (And with my latest promotion, money is no object.) Then I bring all the bags to the living room, placing them on the coffee table right in front of you.

You breathe out a huge puff of smoke and hand me the bong. Two more hits and I’ll be gone. At your size, it takes you three times as much. That’s the one downside of your 150 extra pounds.

“What do you wanna watch?” you ask. You’re joking, of course. We both know you’re gonna put on cartoons again. (Family Guy this time.)

I lean my head against your soft shoulder and play with your moobs again. It’s part of our nightly ritual, my way of getting you ready for the feast.

“Fuck,” you mutter as I increase the friction.

Then, with your mouth open and your body rocking and jiggling in excitement, I use my free hand to grab the first container of sweet and sour pork. I eat a few bites myself. Then I start feeding you.

You're very stoned, but you know exactly what I'm doing.

The End

Thanks for reading! You can find my latest Tumblr stories here, and my ebooks here.

[gainerstories]

Ex-Jock: Table of Contents

Calvin is a ripped jock from a small town who yearns to escape to the big city. However, once he makes it to Seattle, the demands of city life begin to have an effect on his physique. After a roller coaster of jobs and romances that leave his waistline bulging, his days as a jock are left in the dust. 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Epilogue

[demonfag69]

My boyfriend’s head is in between my legs, sucking my cock, and eating my fat pad out like a cunt. My fat thighs squeeze his head tighter, locking him in place while I moan and grind into him. He stops what he’s doing.

I reach for a doughnut, and put it into my mouth. He starts again.

It’s been a year of this, and fuck does it feel good.

“I want to get fat”

My boyfriend looks up at me from the couch. I’m shaking like a leaf, but my voice is resolute.

“I really like you and I know this is kind of weird but it’s something I’ve always wanted and it makes me feel really good to-“

“How fat?” He says softly.

His face is flushed and he can’t look me in the eyes. His mouth is open, and I can see some drool forming around his lips.

“Super chub sized” I stammer. Tears well up in my eyes.

He looks up at me. His eyes are soft and he’s smiling.

“I think,” he pauses, he’s blushing so hard, “you should let me suck your dick about it.”

A month after telling him that I wanted to get fat, I stepped on the scale for the first time. My boyfriend held his phone up and licked his lips.

After he sucked my dick, ate my cunt, and fucked me raw that day, he began to explore ways to fatten me up.

He admitted to me that he didn’t really know that weight gain could be a fetish. However as soon as he heard me say that I wanted to be fat, he immediately got hard.

“I think you’re perfect now, and I want more of you, and I want to make you happy.”

He started slow. He cooked me larger meals, bought me all the take out I wanted, and fucked me when I was too full to move.

That lasted a week.

The next he made me start drinking shakes. The next it was drinking two shakes a day and making sure I ate all my meals.

“Leftovers are for quitters, and I have a little incentive for you.”

Every meal, he’d bury his head between my thighs, and eat me out.

And when I stopped eating, or took a break, he’d stop. At the beginning I would be stop stuffed to have him keep going. I needed the rest. He would rub my belly and tell me what a good boy I was.

The next week, I was able to finish my meals, and get his beard wet.

Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror now, it was obvious I had gained some weight. My belly was an actual pouch, my ass rounded out a bit more, and my thighs began to touch at the top.

“What does it say baby?” My boyfriend leered.

I looked down at the scale.

“165…”

I was immediately wet. My boyfriend let out a low whistle.

I had gained 15 lbs in a month.

Three months later, I found myself face first in a small vanilla cake.

My boyfriend took me to the grocery store with him. He pushed the cart while I grabbed whatever I wanted. We agreed that I needed to eat healthy foods, but that didn’t stop me from picking tubs of ice cream, frozen dinners, chips, cookies, and snack cakes.

“I want to get you something special” he said when we got to the bakery.

He pointed to the small vanilla cake with “congratulations” written on it.

I knew what he was congratulating me for.

I had outgrown my wardrobe. My belly had busted through all my jeans. My sweatpants couldn’t fit over my gigantic wobbly ass. My thighs touched all the way. My arms were officially bingo wings. My double chin was a permanent part of my face.

Everytime he rammed his cock into my boy cunt, my face fell into the cake. I would take a bite, and swallow between moans. He would grip my love handles tightly using them as leverage to get deeper into me.

“How much do you weigh now?”

“210” I said breathlessly before taking another bite of cake.

“Is that enough for you?”

“N-no” I moaned. I licked frosting off my lips. Fuck, fuck I’m close.

“You’re such a greedy fucking slut. You’re gonna end up really fucking fat baby. You’re gonna be a fucking wh-h-ale”

He came into me and I yelped as I clenched and gushed around his dick.

He’s right, I am greedy.

Another three months. Another 15 lbs a month. Another several weeks of eating and fucking.

My friends began to notice. 105 lbs is hard not to notice.

They were concerned that I was depressed. I brushed it off and just told them I was getting older, my body was changing. They stopped saying anything, but they looked at me different.

I noticed that they would whisper to themselves whenever they saw my belly poking out from my shirts. Or when my love handles bubbled out of my jeans. Or when I sat in chairs and they would creak. They’d shoot me and my boyfriend dirty glances when he’d rub my belly, and tell me that I should eat more. They’d stop and wait for me to catch up when we went out. I had a waddle now, I was slower, and I loved it.

Current, I was in a bar bathroom. I had to unbutton my jeans. They constricted my belly, and popped open as soon as I unbuttoned them.

Fuck

I knead and rub my distended gut. A red line circles around, and my belly touches the tops of my thighs, which over flow the toilet.

Instinctively, I begin to jiggle my belly and play with my moob. I can feel how heavy and wide I’ve gotten. I can feel how soft I’ve become.

I pant, I can feel myself getting hard. If I don’t stop now, I’ll fucking cum in this bathroom.

I go to zip up my jeans.

The zipper refused to budge.

I try to button the top button.

The sides refused to meet, and my belly exploded outwards again.

I stand up. I try to pull my shirt down to cover my belly.

A little sliver of flesh sticks out.

My cunt is throbbing.

I take out my phone, and snap a quick mirror print.

Hey babe, you need to come pick me up. Nothing fits ;)

So here I am, a year after I stared gaining, getting eaten out by my pervert boyfriend. Grinding on his face while sweating and wheezing. He’s rewarding me for gaining 25 lbs in a month. He’s letting me take a break from the funnel, but I can’t tell him that I want it in my mouth all the time.

Since that night in the bathroom we’ve both been ravenous. I was never without a snack or meal. I began to drink 3-4 shakes a day. We had to invest in a very expandable wardrobe. Jeans were out of the question, unless he was making me rip them. I lived in elastic waistbands and tent like shirts.

He became a feeding machine. He insisted I eat three meals a day, and as many snacks as I wanted. He was so happy I increased my shake intake on my own.

In addition to my meals, he insisted that I gorged when we fucked. Sometimes it was trays of brownies and cookies. I had graduated to eating a large sheet cake. Sometimes he’d make me drink oil and eat lard.

He insisted that when I ride him, I suckle from a funnel full of either melted ice cream or gainer pudding.

I blew the fuck up.

My body was covered in bright red stretch marks. My gut became so heavy and gravid, I could barely fuck myself anymore. My shoulders and double chin hid my neck. My upper arms were the size of hams, I had wrist and ankle rolls, and my hands and feet were constantly swollen. My ass wobbled back and forth when I walked, and my thighs had to push past each other.

Not like I walked that much anyways. Now my only form of exercise came from my boyfriend fucking me. I would wheeze and pant and sweat, but I let him fuck me up, down, sideways, and on my knees.

With our new “routine” I went from gaining 15lbs a month, to 20lbs. I guess we both have gotten greedier. Especially given today’s weigh in.

“Whew,” he said as he looked down at the scale, “glad we got the 500lbs capacity scale.”

“Oh god is it that bad?” I blushed. I tried pushing my fat gut back so I could see the number myself. I had no luck.

“You’re 370 lbs now fat ass.” He came over and gave me a kiss while fingering my bellybutton. I moaned into his mouth.

“How does it feel to gain 220lbs in a year?” I yell as he slaps my ass.

“Honestly babe I’m really tired, I need to sit down, but please fuck me.”

He rummages around my fat pad, and finds my throbbing cock. He circles it with his thumb as his hand grinds against my wet cunt.

“Get on the couch”, he whispers in my ear, “Let me have a taste of that fat boy pussy. Let me see you waddle around big boy. I love you.”

[thefattesteen]

The Professor of Desire

I’m Jake, a sophomore chemistry major at Westbridge University, and I’ll never forget the year I spent in Professor Daniel Hawthorne’s class. He was the kind of man who could make time stop—tall, lean, with piercing green eyes, a chiseled jaw, and a smile that scrambled your thoughts. His lectures were a performance, his passion for chemistry electric, and his fitted button-downs hugged his frame in a way that made every student, myself included, fumble their lab equipment. But something happened that fall, something that turned him into a creature of pure indulgence, and I watched it unfold, week by week, from the front row, until I became part of his unraveling.

It started in late August, during the first week of the fall semester. Professor Hawthorne was demonstrating a reaction with organic solvents, his hands steady as he poured a clear liquid into a beaker. He reached for his water bottle, took a swig, and froze. His face twisted, like he’d tasted something foul. He coughed, set the bottle down, and muttered, “Wrong one,” grabbing another from his desk. The class laughed, thinking he’d grabbed a lab sample by mistake. He played it off, his cheeks flushed, his eyes glinting with something strange. I didn’t think much of it then—just a funny moment in a long lecture. But that was the spark that ignited everything.

For the first two months, he was completely oblivious to the changes. By mid-September, his tailored shirts were a little snug, his face slightly fuller. He was maybe 190 pounds, up from his usual 180, but still breathtakingly handsome. He started bringing snacks to class—granola bars, bags of chips—munching absentmindedly while lecturing on molecular orbitals. I stopped by his office to ask about a stoichiometry problem and found him tearing through a foot-long sub, mayo dripping onto his notes. “Gotta keep the energy up, Jake,” he said, licking his fingers with a grin, oblivious to the crumbs on his chin or the way his shirt clung to his chest. His voice was warm, his eyes lingering on me a beat too long, making my pulse race.

By October, he was pushing 220 pounds, his waistband digging into a softening middle. He didn’t seem to notice. His shirts gaped at the buttons, but he’d laugh and tug them closed, unaware of his changing body. He was eating more—donuts during lectures, powdered sugar dusting his tie as he rambled about chemical bonds. Once, he caught me staring as he polished off a fourth donut, and he winked, saying, “Fuel for the mind, Jake. Want one?” I shook my head, flustered, but I couldn’t stop watching. The way his jaw worked, the way his throat bobbed—it was hypnotic, and he was clueless about the spectacle he was becoming.

November brought whispers from the class. He was over 250 pounds, his face rounding out, a double chin jiggling when he laughed. Students speculated about stress-eating or a breakup, but he seemed happily unaware, munching through bags of candy or slurping milkshakes mid-lecture. His lectures grew looser, his focus slipping as he talked about chemical attraction with a dreamy intensity. He’d lean close during lab, his now-plump hip brushing mine, and I’d blush while he smiled, oblivious to the heat he sparked. I started wondering about that “wrong” bottle. Had it been a lab sample? Some experimental compound? I asked him during office hours, but he laughed, his chins wobbling, and said, “Curiosity’s a dangerous thing, Jake. Stick to the syllabus.” He didn’t notice his transformation, but I did. I was hooked.

By December, he was pushing 300 pounds, and the first signs of awareness crept in. His walk had slowed to a waddle, his breath heavy as he shuffled to his desk. His shirts wouldn’t button, hanging open over tight undershirts that rode up his belly. I caught him staring at himself in a lab mirror, tugging at his clothes with a frown. “Getting a bit soft, huh?” he muttered, half to himself, half to me, as I dropped off an assignment. He looked concerned, his eyes flickering with unease. He tried to cut back, sipping water instead of milkshakes during lectures, but it didn’t last. By the next class, he was back to eating—pizza slices, candy bars—his eyes guilty but powerless. He’d moan softly as he ate, like he was fighting a losing battle.

Winter break came, and I hoped he’d pull himself together. But when the spring semester started in January, he was 350 pounds and spiraling. He’d tried to stop—I saw a dusty treadmill in his office, diet books buried under takeout containers—but he was losing. During one lecture, he paused, a donut halfway to his mouth, and stared at it like it was his enemy. “This… isn’t me,” he said softly, then shoved it in, his eyes closing in defeat. His clothes were a mess—joggers stretched thin, XXL shirts barely containing his bulk. He’d grunt when he moved, his face flushed, and I could see the war in him: he wanted to stop, but something deeper was winning.

By February, he gave in completely. He was over 400 pounds, and the shame was gone, replaced by a reckless, hedonistic joy. His lectures were barely about chemistry—he’d ramble about pleasure, dopamine, the rush of indulgence, all while tearing through pastries or chugging energy drinks. His office was a shrine to excess, piled with wrappers, cans, and half-eaten cakes. He moaned openly, loud and unashamed, his eyes glassy with pleasure. And he started noticing me—really noticing me. During lab, he’d lean close, his massive frame brushing against me, his breath warm as he whispered, “You’re always watching, Jake. Like what you see?” My face burned, but I didn’t pull away. His flirtations were blatant, his voice thick with suggestion, and I was caught in his orbit.

One night in March, I stayed late to help with lab cleanup. He was there, 450 pounds and barely mobile, sprawled in his office chair, shirtless, his gut spilling over his waistband. He was eating cupcakes, frosting smeared on his lips, moaning with every bite. “Jake,” he slurred, his eyes locking on mine, “you ever wonder what it’s like to just… let go?” His hand grazed my arm, lingering, and I froze, my heart pounding. He leaned closer, his belly pressing against me, and whispered, “Stay. Try it with me.” His lips brushed my ear, his voice a low growl, and I felt a jolt of heat. I mumbled an excuse and fled, but his touch lingered, haunting me.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that bottle. I snooped through lab records and found it in a locked cabinet—a vial labeled “E-17,” marked with warnings about “uncontrolled effects.” I didn’t know what it did, but I knew it was the key. And I wanted more. He was falling, but not fast enough. I wanted to see him consumed, transformed into something beyond human. So I acted. During a late-night study session, I slipped a dose of E-17 into his soda. He drank it without hesitation, his eyes glinting as the liquid hit his tongue.

By April, he was unrecognizable, a 500-pound mountain of flesh. The E-17 had supercharged him. His appetite was insatiable, his body swelling daily. He’d waddle into class, his makeshift toga of bedsheets barely covering him, and eat non-stop—pizza, cakes, buckets of fried chicken. His moans were constant, animalistic, and he’d touch himself shamelessly, right in the middle of lectures. His hand would slip under his belly, stroking as he ate, his eyes half-closed in ecstasy. The class was down to a handful of us, mostly gawkers, but I was different. I’d done this to him. I’d pushed him over the edge.

He called me to his office one evening, his voice thick with need. He was 550 pounds, wedged behind his desk, his body trembling with every breath. “Jake,” he purred, “you did something, didn’t you?” He wasn’t angry—just hungry. He beckoned me closer, his hand grazing my thigh, and I didn’t pull away. “You want this too,” he said, pulling me against his massive frame, his lips brushing my ear. “Feed me.” I did, shoving donuts into his mouth, his moans vibrating against me as he ground against my leg, lost in pleasure. His hands roamed, tugging at my shirt, his breath hot and desperate. I was complicit, feeding his descent, and it felt like a drug.

By May, he was over 600 pounds and barely human. The department had tried to fire him, but he kept showing up, a hedonistic machine. His body was a sea of flesh, his mobility gone. He’d rigged a contraption in his office—a grotesque machine hooked to vats of liquid lard, tubes pumping the stuff into his mouth and rear. He was hooked up constantly, the machine whirring as it filled him, his body swelling with every gulp. He’d oink between moans, his hands working himself furiously, his eyes glassy with endless orgasm. The room reeked of grease and sweat, his toga in tatters on the floor.

Finals week arrived, and Professor Hawthorne was a spectacle beyond imagination. He was well over 700 pounds, his body an ocean of quivering flesh that spilled over every surface. His face, once sharp and handsome, was buried under chins, his eyes sunken but burning with lust. He couldn’t move anymore, his bulk pinning him to his office, where he’d become a permanent fixture. The machine he’d built was his lifeline, its tubes snaking into his body, pumping lard relentlessly. The whir of the pump was constant, a mechanical heartbeat feeding his endless hunger. His office was a temple of decadence—piles of pizza boxes, donut trays, buckets of fried chicken, and cakes smeared across every surface, including his own body. The air was thick with the stench of grease, sweat, and something primal.

I’d stopped attending classes, but I couldn’t stay away from him. I’d visit his office late at night, drawn by the sounds that echoed down the hall—grunts, oinks, moans that rose to a fever pitch. Each time, he was deeper in his trance, his body growing, his desires consuming him. He’d stopped lecturing entirely, his “classes” now just him hooked to the machine, eating, touching himself, and beckoning anyone who dared to enter. The department had given up trying to remove him; he was too heavy, too entrenched, and too defiant. He was no longer Professor Hawthorne—just a hog, a creature of pure, unrestrained pleasure.

On the last day of the semester, I went to his office to drop off my final project, though grades were irrelevant now. The door was ajar, and the sounds hit me like a wave—wet smacks, guttural oinks, the relentless hum of the lard pump. I pushed the door open and froze, my project slipping from my hand. He was there, immobile, wedged between his desk and the wall, his 800-pound body spilling over everything. His flesh rippled with every breath, rolls cascading over each other, his belly a mountain that pinned him in place. Tubes snaked from the machine into his mouth and rear, pumping thick, glistening lard into him, his body swelling visibly as the liquid coursed through. His skin glistened with sweat and grease, smeared with frosting, sauce, and crumbs from the feast scattered around him.

He was naked, his tattered bedsheet toga long discarded, his body a monument to excess. His hands moved frantically, one shoving food into his mouth, the other working himself, his moans a constant, ecstatic wail. He oinked—loud, shameless, pig-like grunts that shook his chins and sent ripples through his flesh. His eyes were half-closed, glassy with pleasure, his head lolling back as he surrendered to the endless orgasm that consumed him. The machine pumped faster, the tubes pulsing, and he trembled, his body quaking with every surge of lard. It was grotesque, but it was mesmerizing. He was no longer human—just a hedonistic machine, a hog wallowing in bliss.

I stood there, transfixed, my heart pounding. This was my creation. I’d dosed him with E-17, pushed him past the point of return, and now he was perfect in his excess. He saw me and grinned, his face barely recognizable under layers of fat, his eyes burning with lust. “Jake,” he slurred, his voice thick with pleasure, “you… made me… this.” He oinked again, louder, his body shuddering as he shoved a handful of cake into his mouth, frosting smearing his lips. “Come… closer,” he gasped, beckoning me with a trembling hand.

I shouldn’t have moved, but I did. I stepped into the chaos, the floor sticky under my shoes, the air heavy with his scent. He reached for me, his hand grazing my arm, pulling me against his massive frame. His belly pressed against me, soft and warm, his breath hot on my neck. “Feed me,” he whispered, his voice a growl of need. I grabbed a donut from the pile, shoving it into his mouth, and he moaned, his eyes rolling back. His hand tugged at my shirt, desperate, and I felt the heat of him, the raw, animalistic pull of his desire. “More,” he gasped, and I obeyed, feeding him pizza, cake, anything I could reach, his oinks growing louder, his body trembling under my touch.

The machine pumped faster, the tubes swelling as he gulped more, his moans rising to a scream of ecstasy. He was lost in it, his hands roaming—himself, the food, me—chasing every sensation. “You wanted… this,” he panted, his eyes locking on mine. “Now… join me.” He laughed, a guttural, sound that merged with his oinks, and I felt a sick thrill of guilt and thrill. He was right. I’d done this, and I couldn’t couldn’t look away. I was complicit, addicted, to his descent, to the rush of watching him consume himself.

I stayed for hours, feeding him, the machine humming, his body growing before my eyes. He was 900 pounds by the end, his flesh spilling over the desk, the wall, the floor, his mobility a distant memory. His moans never stopped, his oinking a primal chant, his hands never still, his eyes locked on mine, with a wicked, knowing grin. “Perfect,” he slurred, his voice barely audible, over the pump’s roar. “You made… perfect.” He shuddered, his body convulsing quaking, and I backed away, my hands shaking, my mind reeling.

I left the out of office that night, the door swinging shut, behind me, his sounds echoing in my head. I didn’t go to the final exam. I didn’t need to. I’d seen the end of his experiment, the masterpiece I’d helped create. Professor Hawthorne was gone, replaced by a hog, a hedonistic machine, wallowing in endless bliss. And I’d never forget him—or what I’d done

[littlechonk]

🐽

[callmefatty]

[starlightfeedings]

Reblog this to gain 30 pounds

[dippaderp-deactivated20260717]

For anyone that wants to be fatter

[brendakthedonutgirl]

<reblogs 7 times>

[thiccboysexy]

I got fat that’s for sure. And damn is it sexy 🥰