"601lbs" the scale announces loudly in its electronic voice. Looking down in a fruitless effort to see over your plump moobs and expansive gut to see the display, you're glad you splurged for the audio feedback version of your high-capacity scale.
You smile with the realization that you have finally passed the goalpost you set for yourself what seems like ages ago. Looking up, the man staring back at you in the mirror is nearly unrecognizable, even to yourself. Gaining over 450lbs in a year and a half will do that though.
Yeah, you read that right. 450lbs in just a year and a half. 17 months, 3 weeks, and 4 days to be exact. The extreme weight gain a product of the laser focus you've had to reach your goal and the body of your dreams in as little time as possible.
You had always been fascinated by fat people, from the first times you saw someone on TV blowing up in a dream or in real life waddling down the sidewalk. You wondered what it would be like to be like them, covered in squishy, soft, jiggly fat. Just taking up so much space. It was mesmerizing.
What you also noticed though was how society viewed them. Fat people are practically shunned. Judged at every turn for the perceived waste of space their obscene consumption has created. From that you learned to hide your desires deep down in order to live the type of life society deemed normal.
Years later, in your early teens, to your surprise you managed to find a like-minded community online filled with not just admirers, but the object of your admiration, what you quickly learn to be deemed "chubs." It rocked your world. Not just that these people exist and celebrate a desire that society tells them so strongly to ignore, but that many take it a step further and actually gain weight on purpose.
You ingrain yourself in your new secret culture. Watching and sometimes even supporting some of your favorite chubs blow up with more and more delicious, gloopy, fat. Watching their numbers tick up on the scale fills you with a rush like nothing else can. But that rush fades over the years to come as you eventually circle back to your own self.
Your average frame that hovers somewhere around the 150s would definitely classify you as a chaser, but your true desire was always to be on the other side of the equation. To truly become the embodiment of your taboo desires.
That brings us to the day you made the decision to go for it. You were watching a live streamed weigh-in of one of your favorite chubs, FatJake500. People were placing bets of the number on the scale, Jake hoping to finally have a reason to update his username to FatJake600. After much buildup, Jake places the camera down on a low stand, in plain view of the display on the scale. His fat-embellished lower body the only other thing in frame outside of the bottom of his gut drooping in and out of frame as he heavily waddles up to the platform. When it read out 600 the chat and Jake exploded with excitement.
You feel the familiar rush yourself, but it dissipates quickly. That could be you if you really devoted yourself to your true desires. That should be you. That NEEDS to be you.
From that point on, the decision was made. You were done playing by everyone else's rules. It was your time to shine. To become the chub you knew you could be. Your goal would be the same as Jake's, you quickly decided, 600lbs. You had always liked that number and the guys that embodied it. In your opinion it was the perfect tipping point between run-of-the-mill morbid obesity, and fuckkkkkk and that fact really revved your engines.
You set about planning your rise to superchubdom thinking you had taken in enough knowledge as a passerby of others on the same journey to pack it on. An intense plan of binging and fasting to really mess up your metabolism at the core of it.
The beginning was tough. Your body simply did not want to deal with the amount of calories you were forcing down your gullet during every waking hour, but you easily found encouragement online. When you felt like you were going to throw up if you ate one more slice of that greasy double-cheese pizza, there was always someone right there with you, pushing you to ignore that feeling and go for more.
The weight began packing on fast, which grew your following almost as fast as your waistline. You quit your job realizing you were receiving enough financial support through your gaining to keep you comfortable, not to mention the constant surprise food deliveries coming to your door from your most devoted followers on the daily. It was just taking up time you could devote to gaining anyway.
With your stomach continually stretching out your original plan shifted to consistent binging with some more binging thrown on top. The bliss of your dreams becoming reality and your online support system distracting you from noticing some of the side effects of your massive gain. Despite what you would like to believe, the human body is not designed to carry on like this, especially at the rate you're going.
You came onto the underside of your belly when you stepped on and annihilated your old bathroom scale. You knew it was coming, its capacity a paltry 300lbs. Thanks to your supporters you pick up a new one with a capacity of 750lbs, safely much higher than your goal, you thought.
Your days begin to blend together. A constant stream of food entering your mouth. You were blowing up quicker than anyone had ever seen, a fact that should garner at least some concern, even for a gainer, alas your only concern was your next feast.
This tunnel vision wouldn't clear until the day where we started, the day you finally reached your goal 'and an extra pound,' you giggle to yourself. You take yourself in standing there. Your chins perched above your, soft, floaty chest, nipples the size of saucers resting gently on your doorframe-demolishing gut. These days you were squeezing through any opening deemed "normal" sized, even turned to the side.
To your sides hang your weighty arms. And I mean hang. The only reason you ever exert the effort to move their mass being to convey the latest junk food to your mouth. Your once average looking arms appear to be practically melting with fat exaggerating their form into something not immediately recognizable as a human appendage.
Behind, your titanic ass juts out, its globes swaying gently as you ever so slightly rock back and forth on your tired legs, not being built for supporting the weight of your form. The legs themselves encased in fat that leaves you with only the most extreme waddle when walking. You're mesmerized by the constant slight jiggles across your body. A body this fat is never not in constant motion, especially when standing, a never-ending ballet of fat crashing up against fat.
A loud grumble of your cavernous stomach breaks you out of your bliss. It had been over an hour since your last binge that finally broke you past your coveted goal and your body is ready for more. You suddenly realize that you had never considered what you should do next. You had been so focused on reaching this magical number that you were blind to everything else going on in your body.
You can't just cut back to a more normal diet and maintain this weight. What an absurd thought, "maintaining" 600lbs. Right.
You had been so focused on the outward changes that you never really gave any thought to what was going on inside of you. You had transformed your body into not just something that wants to be absolutely filled to the brim with only the most fattening calorie-laden food, but something that NEEDS it to survive. It wouldn't, no couldn't, be satisfied until you've packed it full enough to stretch your stomach out so you can fill it even more next time. You had created a body that only lived to consume and produce lard.
Your turmoil is accentuated even further by the aches and pains all around your body that begin to come into clearer focus. From your knees aching and wobbling to keep your weight upright to your back straining to hold up your gut as it sticks out multiple feet to the front and sides of you. You're sweating profusely and breathing heavily from the moobs crushing down onto your chest. You need to sit down and fast less you collapse right there on the floor.
Your doorbell rings to break you out of your panic. 'What the hell is that?' you think. Out of the corner of your eye you spy your laptop, open and pointing in the direction of your massive form. The chat and donations wizzing by as your admirers celebrate your latest milestone. It dawns on you that it must be a food delivery from one of them. You instinctively turn to start moving towards the fattening food on the other side of your apartment door, but you hesitate as you remember the internal crisis you were just experiencing. You struggle to think critically, your thoughts muddled by the innate desire to consume.
You had made a mistake. You never should have started down this path. There's just no way this can end well. You need to make a change and you need to make it yesterday to have any hope of going back to normal. This is the tipping point, you need to turn that food away and shut that laptop so you can think clearly on what to do next. Your rational thoughts, however, are halted with another loud growl of your gullet. The growl pervades deep within your fat-riddled brain clearing out any thoughts other than ravenously attacking the feast on the other side of your door. You body WILL NOT be denied. You complete your turn towards your front door thereby sealing your fate.
Just another year later and you're barely recognizable again, even compared to your 600lb form. You're sat heavily upon a king size mattress, your body swelled up to take up every inch, even spilling over the side in some places. The room is dark, the only light being the flicker of the TV. Its pale blue flashes illuminating your massive form and the disgusting piles of food trash on and around you. You wheeze heavily as you eat despite the oxygen tank fruitlessly attempting to push air into your suffocated lungs. The flavor of your current binge, who even knows what it is at this point, tasting consistently bittersweet as you internalize deeply in the back of your fat head that it's bringing you ever closer to the brink.
You have no idea how much you weigh at this point. The industrial scale your followers funded long since being able to weigh even half of you. You could get another one, sure, but there's two issues with that. The first being that it assumes you can even stand up to use one, mobility long being a luxury of the past. The second being that your followers dropped drastically as your exponential gain continued leaving only a handful of the most sadistic fucks left. For most there's a point where it's too much, too real, too close to the reality of the endgame: A race to the grave fueled by pure excess and gluttony. They’ll move onto their next project, only every so often thinking back and wondering if your poor body has given out yet, correctly assuming as time goes on that it has.
Any money you do get from that chosen few of course goes straight into more food. Besides you don't need to know the number. You can feel the weight. Each and every day pushing down on you, pinning you further and further down into your wretched habitat until the day that it becomes too much. You can feel it coming and there's no slowing down until it does.
This is what you wanted, right?
