Eating Himself Out of Office 3: Epi(mmobi)logue (SSBHM, Immobility)
tw: this final installment includes a man gaining weight to the point of immobility (without further health implications)
if that's not something you enjoy reading, check out the previous two parts! This continues to be inspired by @evermore-xxl's lovely fantasy about her partner gaining a substantial amount of weight after getting an office job. Enjoy!
~
She could tell something was different from that first morning when he was allowed to work from home permanently. There hadn't been much hesitation in his growing habits to this point, especially not when there was food around, but unspoken between them was this new reality that he truly didn't have any reason to hold himself back when it came to eating. And she, for her part, didn't have to hold herself back with offering him up as much as she wanted.
"Is there any more bacon?" he calls out from the bedroom, still lounging in bed and pushing a too-big bite of his ninth pancake of the morning into his mouth, the chocolate chips and M&Ms inside still warm and gooey on his tongue as he chews.
"Plenty!" she says back, stacking another three fluffy, chocolatey pancakes onto a second plate, letting the dollop of butter on top soften for a few seconds before drenching them in sugary syrup. She can just squeeze six slices of bacon on the edge of the plate. He's propped up in the center of the bed with all of their pillows behind his back. The soft, huge mass of his belly resting in his lap, rolling onto itself in the spots where only a year ago there were merely the slightest of folds forming. His plate is balanced in one hand as he eats the last bite, then allows her to exchange the empty plate for his next full one.
"More pancakes too…" he says, giving her a knowing look, but starting in on them without hesitation. He runs his hand across his belly between bites, seeing how fixated she is on the soft vastness of his middle. "Not fat enough for you yet? Trying to feed me until I literally can't leave your bed?" he says cheekily, leaning back and letting her hands slide under to take the weight of his belly in her grasp, drawing her into the bed with him, her body dwarfed by his size already.
She wants to answer openly; to tell him that she's only dreamt about feeding him bigger and bigger as he's grown so much fatter. She thinks about watching his beautiful body expand towards the edges of this bed, to feel him grow soft and heavy with her care. But the increasingly legitimate possibility of it happening almost makes it harder to speak aloud, so she brings her face down to press against his increasingly-stuffed middle and kisses the peak where she can tell he's most full and sensitive. The color flushing in his face brings her back in for another peck, then she marks his belly with a hickey, enamored with the enthusiastic moans struggling to escape his pancake-packed mouth.
The ping from his laptop beckons him to work from his nearby desk, meaning the end of his meal. She’d suggested moving the desk into the bedroom and he hadn’t argued — the fewer steps he needed to take at this point, the better. He starts to roll himself towards the edge of their bed, her eyes bouncing between every inch of overfed flab as he moves. He goes to push himself to his feet, but lands back on the mattress with an embarrassed groan, the frame creaking underneath him. With a deep breath, he tries again, this time righting his weight enough to stand, taking a few unsteady steps to his chair.
His work shirt and joggers are draped on the back of his chair, but trying to force the latter on will inevitably make him late for his morning meeting, so he forgoes pants and starts buttoning his work shirt as far down as he can manage. She’s watching from behind with awe as his wide ass drops into the chair, his thighs naturally spreading to accommodate the space demanded by the sheer size of his belly. She sees his butt and love handles swallow up most of his visible underwear as the weight pools and piles up. He’s entering a meeting with his camera on, pudgy hand reaching for the bowl of pretzels waiting for him on his desk so he can chew through a few during his many muted moments.
She doesn’t try to overfeed him, but he’s gotten so, so big that she doesn’t want him going hungry either.
Eggs, sausage, and hash browns at 9. An extra large pizza all his own at 11. Three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at noon. He's ordered two huge burritos before knowing she’d be bringing him those first two lunches, but he doesn’t let the third go to waste once it's delivered. A pint of ice cream. She makes cookies, they barely have a chance to cool before they’re stacked onto a plate for him to devour. Afternoon bagels and cream cheese. A rather large bowl of chocolate chips that she helpfully refills until he’s eaten the whole bag. Huge slices of watermelon. Grilled cheese sandwiches. After every task she completes at her own desk, she finds herself back in the kitchen getting him a snack or something to drink.
There's something about him sitting in there without proper pants that has her mind buzzing. It's not just that he's getting too big for his clothes again—that's become routine at this point—it's the raw comfort on display and growing acceptance of his size that seems to have her sneaking glances at every bulging bit of his body when she pops into their bedroom to shuttle his next bit of food.
He's pulled his laptop onto his belly by the late afternoon; the bloat in his middle eased by leaning back in the chair and avoiding the uncomfortable squeeze that comes with trying to reach his desk. She brings him a plate of mozzarella sticks, fresh from the oven, which he readily accepts onto his belly/table ejecting his laptop onto the desk.
"You know, my job does subsidize as many delivery meals as I want during work hours," he says, patting his belly as he chews. "Might as well take advantage of that until they see how many meals I'm packing away and how much it's costing them."
"Too distracting having me in and out during the day delivering you homemade meals, big guy?" she asks, teasing him as she brushes a few crumbs from his front.
"That part I love, but you shouldn't have to spend so much time making me stuff. I'll order more delivery, let you do your work during the day. Besides, probably better for me to get at least a few steps in going to the front door and back, right?" he says, groaning as he pushes himself out of his chair, the arms hitching on his sides. She loves the visible difference in his belly throughout the day: how in the morning it's doughy and wobbly; then by the afternoon there's a firm mass of food inside of his stomach bloating him outward, even at this weight, making his waddle more pronounced as he navigates the extra bulk into his movements.
They order noodles for dinner and he downs so much broth that she can hear his swollen belly sloshing when they finally roll him into the bed. He falls asleep on his side, with her hands tenderly rubbing his belly and back, feeling for herself how big he gets after a day of eating like this. Feeling the accumulating pounds adding into more features for her fingers to explore across every inch of him.
His shift to ordering delivery throughout the day, it turns out, has two benefits she didn't fully anticipate. First, she has the voyeuristic pleasure of watching him wobble into the living room, half-dressed, then grasp at the frame of the front door while he bends over, straining past his own belly enough to retrieve the delivery bags waiting on the stoop. Second, when he orders his own meals, his tendencies towards the heaviest, most fattening foods are completely indulged. It's burgers, pizza, wings, stir fry, sandwiches. Double entree orders; family-sized portions. Everything hot and delicious, leaving him overfull at the conclusion of every meal, but never so full that he balks at any snack she offers him.
The steps from their bedroom to the front door aren't many, but she can hear his panting breaths grow louder as the day goes on. His movement becomes more of a shuffle with every additional meal. He grunts more when he has to bend low to reach the tantalizing bags, his pudgy hand blindly reaching past what his body obscures to find his food. His bloat builds, alongside her bubbling need to spoil him herself, until the workday ends and she can cook an enormous dinner, stuff him with far too much dessert, and delight in knowing he'll wake up ever so slightly bigger the next day.
Five full delivery meals in a day becomes common. He gives her affectionate greetings as he passes her home desk. She watches his body swell rounder by the day. His belly hangs lower. His legs get thicker and rub against each other as he walks. She's almost embarrassed when her breath hitches watching him struggle to bend over more and more. Soon she orders a small table to set outside the front door so he doesn't have to face that obstacle.
The only obstacle he faces, really, is the sheer size of his own growing body. The gaming chair at his desk grows uncomfortably narrow over the next few weeks, though she knows he's growing increasingly wary about it breaking under his weight. Instead, he starts working from their bed, his laptop perched on his belly, one hand clicking and typing away while the other lifts the next bite of food to his lips. He constantly grazes. Sometimes he's still eating through his prior delivery when the next arrives. He insists on retrieving his own meals from the front door, though she's overeager to take that responsibility off his hands, too.
It's after eight weeks of working from his bed when his body makes the decision for him. It's a Monday morning and she's barely logged in for work when she hears the familiar pattern of his approach. The loud groan from the frame of their bed that means he's getting up. The first couple plodding steps, heavy on the floor as he gets his balance. The sound of the bedroom door opening, then the creaking of that floorboard just outside their room that—
Except she doesn't hear the floorboard creak. Instead, she hears some unusually strained grunts and groans. Leaping up, she rounds the corner to find him there, wedged into the doorway of their bedroom. His belly has pushing forward enough that it's halfway through, but his bulging sides have completely stuck him there. His heavy arms are giving their best effort at dislodging him, but it's no use. The lower sides of his belly have pinched against the frame if he tries to go backwards; his butt and hips holding too firmly to let him clear the doorway going forwards.
She finds herself rather stuck, too. Her mouth dropping open, gawking at just how big he looks.
His overfattened body too huge and wide to clear the doorway. Her mind whirls with thoughts of just how much food he's eaten to reach this point, every bite he'd taken walking him down the path to rendering himself too fat to squeeze out of their bedroom. She would have savored the moment forever if not for her understandable need to help him.
"I guess the dozen donuts I have outside aren't going to exactly fix this problem," he says, his face flushed red with the exertion of trying to free himself and the tingling embarrassment of having eaten himself to this size.
"I don't see a problem," she says, grabbing handfuls of his belly and gently pushing his bulk backwards into the bedroom. He takes a couple staggering steps to steady himself, panting. She strides up to him, pressing herself against his soft, round front, and embraces him, her arms wrapped at his sides as she tilts her head back to kiss him. She leads him to the bed, eases him down, and swiftly retrieves the donuts.
"I'm not getting too big, right?" he asks. Though they both already know the answer. He shimmies to get comfortable, sending tiny wobbles across every gorgeous bulge of his body. She knows he's going to be spending much, much more time in that one spot on their bed and she's prepared to support him in every way she can.
"Never too big," she promises, and opens the box of donuts, setting it atop his belly for him to enjoy as she watches and rubs the tender spots where the doorframe squeezed him.
She retrieves all of his deliveries from that point on, letting him work from the comfort of their bed.
His belly soon begins resting on the mattress between his legs, gradually overtaking his thighs and then his knees, plumping up day by day as she brings him all the food his ravenous appetite can hope for. His thighs thicken and soften with underuse as he swells, happily pinning himself to the mattress with his own weight and her love for him.
True to her word, she never feels he’s getting too big. As he widens and gradually expands to fill more and more of the bed, her adoration for him only grows. He outgrows the last of his clothes, his body on full display for her to pamper, prod, rile up, and reward — no matter how many rolls and folds have to be lovingly maneuvered to ensure he’s satisfied.
She’s often perched against his belly, leaning against it to push delicious food into his eager mouth, praising him for being so good and greedy. She loves that feeling of resting on his vastness, like she could just sink into him.
He eats like it’s his job, though he never waivers in his commitment to succeeding at his actual job. He takes meetings (camera off) his chunky arms resting on his blobby chest as he continues using his laptop.
It almost seems silly, now that he’s occupying nearly the whole bed with his enormity, that they didn’t realize sooner how much they both love the experience of growing him. They laugh together about how going to the office is what started this whole thing in the first place; the best type of workplace hazard neither of them could have anticipated.
After nearly a year of working from home, he turns his laptop around during his third lunch to show the sizable amount of his annual bonus. Her nails sink instinctively into his belly slightly, the sensation of how far away her touch feels while still being undeniably against his vast belly has him swooning. She knows just where to rest her hands or apply playful pinches that leave him completely lost for works; it helps that those spots are becoming more numerous as he grows.
“We’re going to feed you that entire bonus, you know,” she says, clambering up against his belly, careful not to put too much of herself on him. She squeezes his heavy chest, his moobs resting atop the mountain of his belly, feeling him quiver at the sensation. She reaches his plump cheek, pressing her mouth to the warm soft bulge of his chins. “I’ll get you a nice big cake to celebrate,” she promises, kissing him.
“If we celebrate too much, I’ll outgrow the bed,” he says, grinning, knowing it’s the exact thing to rile her up. He watches her orbit him, her hands gliding to the furthest point of his belly, feeling how close it is to overtaking the edge of the mattress.
"You're just too good at your job, you can't help but achieve enormous success, huh?” she asks, taking a step back to marvel at how enormous and soft he’s gotten. The sheer size of his body is almost intimidating; every inch begging to be loved and felt. She can't wait for every moment they'll spend appreciating how huge he's gotten. Even if he never grows another pound, she'd love him all the same… but they both know he's going to grow more. He can't help himself.
She takes his chunky hand in hers, his thick fingers barely spreading far enough to let hers slide between. They kiss, then return to their laptops. He continues his work. She continues hers, allowing her focus to drift to a new tab where she orders him that cake. She leans against the side of his belly, both of them content in their work and eager for the work still yet to come.
He’ll never be too big for her, no matter how hard he works at it.
You start feeding them gently. An extra snack here or there, a second helping of food made with extra butter or oil, the encouragement to eat dessert every night.
Your favorite activity? Having them sit on your lap so you can wrap your arms around them, massage them and feel how their belly is growing. This is clearly enjoyed by both of you.
As this progresses, you also indulge in a snack or two, an extra portion. Your feedee encourages you to enjoy the food you’ve cooked or bought for them. You’ve always been lean, so this will not be an issue. You mostly wear comfortable sweats so you do not notice that they are filling out. It’s a little bit harder to get your arms around your feedee’s belly, but of course, they are growing, getting heavier on your lap, so you find this incredibly hot.
The feeding progresses, your feedee continuing the now established pattern, saying how good the food is and slipping extra bites into your mouth, baking your favorite cookies to share with you, bringing home your favorite flavors of ice cream. You are entranced by how big they are becoming, so much so that you don’t notice much else. And your tight clothes? Obviously they shrank the wash and are replaced. Maybe you’ve gained a pound or two, but not much. You don’t understand why your feedee finds this amusing.
You continue your couch ritual until the night you realize how difficult it is to get your arms around their belly. Baby, you tease, you’re getting so big. Look how far away my arms are from your belly.
Oh really, they say. I don’t think I’m the only one getting big. You’ve got a little extra here too, they tease, rubbing their back against your belly. It’s only then that you examine your stomach and realize how much you’ve gained along with your feedee, your belly round under your clothes.
They turn around on your lap and pull off your top. Just look at this gut, they tease again, poking and squeezing your newly acquired fat. They press their body against yours to show just how far apart you are even with your bellies squished together, try to wrap their arms around you to show how futile a task this is. I think your gut’s even fatter than mine now, they laugh.
And, they say, rubbing your big belly, think it’s time for you to have another snack.
you’ve done it again: eaten yourself into a panting, moaning mess.
“you really overdid it tonight, piggy. those are looking pretty tight.” i watch you with hungry eyes. the way your overstuffed gut rises and falls with every shallow breath, dark red stretch marks peeking out from underneath your jeans.
those jeans, barely fitting even before you ate, now press tight into your middle, digging into your soft fat. you’re practically bursting out of them—i’m a little surprised they’re still buttoned.
“they are… so tight.” you whine, squirming in place.
“you can take them off, you know. we’re not in public anymore.” not that that stopped you before. you had undone your fly at some point during our dinner, and only that poor button still stands between your strained gut and the promise of freedom.
you whine and start fumbling at it, but the waistband is stretched so tight that your fat fingers aren’t quite able to unhook it.
i watch as you get more and more desperate to free yourself, breath growing more ragged as you grow more frantic.
“aww. poor piggy. you’re so helpless. look at you.” you whimper in response, fat face twisted in concentration and helplessness. “i can’t believe you did this to yourself again. how often do you end up like this? more than weekly now.” you try to suck in, give yourself more space to undo it, but you’ve packed on so much fat that it doesn’t do much. “so pathetic.”
when you finally free yourself your gut spills forward, fat spreading across your lap as you heave a sigh of relief. chubby fingers immediately find it, sinking in and playing with the soft fat, readjusting your bulk like it’s muscle memory.
“good piggy,” i purr, reaching out a hand towards you, playing with your softness. you tilt your head back and let out a soft moan at my touch. “those pants aren’t getting any looser, are they?“ i run a finger along the seam straining against your thick thigh. “poor thing. you just can’t help yourself, huh?” no reponse. just your pathetic, panted breathing. “might be time to size up.” with another pitying look and a kiss on the cheek, i stand up. “i’ll be right back. then i’ll help you with those pants. sound good?”
you really pushed yourself tonight, and hard work like that needs to be rewarded. a couple hundred, couple thousand extra calories coaxed down your eager throat to wrap up the night, and a little less space in those jeans tomorrow.
i make a mental note to place an order for a new pair of jeans in the morning.
~~~~~~~
inspired by a video of @thabigmiller — i wrote this well over a month ago, just never got around to posting it until now :p
You were still excited when the end tube pressed to your lips. Feeling it push your mouth open, a bubbling vulnerability to whatever was going to flow down your throat momentarily. It felt like your whole body loosened, a vessel waiting to be filled.
Then the shake started.
At first, you can taste it. Chocolate. Rich, creamy, so sweet sliding down your tongue while you swallow. While there’s still enough space to have some control. But that only lasts a few gulps.
Then the delicious, sugary shake builds up in your cheeks, flowing faster than you can chug it down. The growing strain on your cheeks distracts you from how fast your belly is starting to fill. Fullness approaching when the feeding has just begun.
Your face feels puffy as your mouth tightens around the funnel, your greedy maw pleasantly tight with as much caloric slurry as it can manage. There’s the faintest sensation of tension on the back of your mouth, then it releases and starts flowing down your throat.
Now your thoughts start to relax. The fullness reaches your belly. That big, greedy belly that just couldn’t wait to be funneled into total submission. Your stomach goes from full to overfilled to swollen. Then it’s your favorite part, when you feel the stretch in your belly, the little radiating tingle that means you’ve pushed yourself a little fuller than last time.
Then you’re achingly full, gorged to your body’s limit. You physically admit you’re nothing but an overblown balloon brimming with calories that will metabolize into soft, doughy fat. This is how you’re meant to be handled. No chewing, no thinking, just mindlessly fattened without concern.
You laze in the warm, full-body pleasure of being this full. Beached under the combined weight of your fat body and the strain of your overfilled belly. Useless beneath your greed, fully submitted to your gluttony as you’ve always craved.
Deep down you’ve known, haven’t you? That this was the bliss you always needed. The surrender to consumption, the intoxicating overwhelm of your obese body pushed to perfection.
But that’s why you love the funnel. The funnel feeds you into your best self. Your biggest self. Your most satisfied, overfed, indulgent self. All concerns subdued by calories. All purpose smothered by pounds. You’ll feed and grow like this forever. The food will always come. You don’t have to worry or think.
if you're still looking for prompts: an office where one employee's job is to be "stress relief" for their coworkers. they have to eat whatever their coworkers serve them. it improves office morale!
they have their own cubicle, but they sometimes wander around the floor, pulled into cubicles or closets or offices for a little one-on-one time...
The presentation just wasn't coming together, and I was bouncing my knee in frustration at my desk.
I needed to take a break to cool off, so I headed to the employee lounge. As I walked in, I noticed the table in the middle was frehly stocked with snacks. Excellent.
I grabbed a box of a dozen assorted doughnuts - chocolate glazed, stuffed with cherry jam, dusted with cinnamon or oozing thick custard, then pulled open the fridge. Cartons of cream were sitting in their usual spot, so I scooped one up as well and balanced it on top of the doughnuts.
I needed the other hand free for when I walked back down the corridor, a bounce already in my step, and leaned into the office 'morale booster's' stall cubicle.
From the dazed way they were slumping back in their well padded chair, I could tell they had been used recently. Well, it didn't make a difference to me.
I looped a finger through the metal ring of their thick leather collar, the company name and logo embossed on the side to remind everyone that they weren't a person, just a corporate perk. I half led, half dragged them back to my office, frustrated at how much I had to slow my pace as they waddled along behind me.
I made regular use of the butter-stuffed stressball, so I had a beanbag ready and waiting in my office to push them down into. They lay there like a beached seal, not even trying to get up.
I slid my chair over to them, adjusting the height so I was in the perfefct position to press my knee sharply into the top of their blubbery gut while I peeled open the doughnut box.
The first few pastries went down easily, the greedy office pet eagerly swallowing each and licking the crumbs from my fingers. Eventually though, even this hefty cow started to slow. I gave them a break from the sweetness by pouring a few mouthfuls of thick, double cream into their mouth. They may have whimpered a little at the pressure on their already crammed stomach, but they swallowed obediently.
I took my time with the last few doughnuts, every bite eliciting a moan of pain and pleasure as I packed every last inch of available space with the richest, most indulgent treats imagineable. Eventually, all that left was the last mouthful of cream. The dumb thing tried to pull their face away, close their mouth, but the heavy ring of blubber round their neck formed a wobbly mess of chins, making it hard to get any distance. I grabbed their face, squeezing their soft cheeks until their plump lips popped open, their eyes hazy with the overstimulation of it all.
I poured the last glug of cream into their mouth, moving my hand to their throat to make sure they swallowed. Then, I patted their cheek affectionately, smiling at the way it wobbled and the way the pet leaned into my touch, showing how well trained they had been.
My frustration gone, wheeled my chair back to my desk to get down to work. On the beanbag next to me, my tubby stressball sighed happily, fat fingers already reaching to masage the taut ball of their belly as they worked on digesting as much as they could before the next person needed an outlet.
It’s his first day going in to the office for his new job. It’s a big promotion: he’s got an office just for himself waiting at corporate headquarters, a small team reporting to him, and a hefty raise. It's a big deal for both him and his partner.
He finishes buttoning his company-issued shirt, not loving how he has to let his belly hang over his waistband into the shirt-created hammock, but he’s a bigger guy and this is just how it fits. He loops his belt and tightens it under his belly, pleased enough with his appearance to start the big day.
Out of the bedroom and down the hallway, his lovely girlfriend is anticipating his arrival in the kitchen. The smell of sizzling sausages greets him even before she can.
“Oh you,” he grins, coming up behind her and using his extra height to rest his chin on her head, his belly at her back. “I told you there’s cafeterias there and I can get a discounted breakfast.”
“And lunch,” he adds, noticing his lunchbox, which is waiting for him on the counter and seems to be packed quite full.
“Well it’s just your first day, Mr. Big Shot,” she says. “Wanted to make sure you aren’t going in hungry, just in case you’re too busy to sneak away.” Sausages tumble from the skillet, landing next to the fried eggs and buttered toast. “And it’s just a couple snacks,” she adds, nodding to his lunchbox.
He knows better that to argue once the food is on his plate, and he is hungry, after all. He takes big bites to finish the breakfast off quickly and moves to get himself to work. Thanking her again with a kiss, work bag and lunchbox in hand, he makes his way down the six steps from their front door, turning to wave back at her partway down the driveway, then settles into the car for his commute, knowing she’s off to work shortly after.
The headquarters building is huge, but with a couple friendly directions he finds his office without much trouble. There won’t be any difficulty finding the cafeteria either, he thinks, noticing the unmistakable smell of bacon wafting in from nearby. His is the last office on the corridor before it opens into the large dining room, lines of people queued up for a company-subsidized meal, and this is just one of several that open at all hours of the day. He muses briefly whether it’s a coincidence that a bigger guy got the office closest to all this food, or if it’s some karmic strain placed on his diet in particular.
The first day is always slow, he tells himself, not worrying too much when he’s back on his feet ambling out of his office towards the breakfast line less than an hour later. He knows he’s already eaten, but figures trying the food is necessary before committing to eating here every morning. After a short line he’s got a hefty breakfast burrito with bacon, a large cinnamon roll oozing icing, and coffee in-hand as he returns to his office.
The food is excellent, and though he plans to stop himself before eating an entire second breakfast, the idle bites he takes while scrolling his inbox manage to entirely clear his plate before he realizes how much he’s eaten. His belt feels a little snug around his middle as he sits up to check his phone. His girlfriend is checking on him, sweet and thoughtful as ever. He replies:
Easy start, just had a second breakfast here, can’t make a habit of that!
She’ll be glad he’s not going hungry, and he really doesn’t have any chance of regaining his appetite before his new team comes by at 11:00 and suggests they get an early lunch together. He’s certainly not very hungry after two breakfasts, but in the interest of camaraderie he joins them. A cheeseburger, ample side of fries, chocolate cookie, and large soda later, he’s back at his desk having eaten three complete meals before noon.
Settling into his chair, he’s ready to be a productive employee for the afternoon, avoid eating any more that he already has, and finish out the day.
Except he can’t help that the lovingly-packed lunchbox sitting on his desk is drawing his attention. Pretty soon there’s a lull in his work and a hunger in his belly. He opens it up and finds a lovely, tempting assortment of treats. A bag of chips that he can’t help but tear open to have just a few, then munch away on the whole thing. Then there’s some chocolates. A bagel. Some cookies.
Before he realizes, the lunchbox is empty and his belly is uncomfortably full. He pulls at his belt a little, trying to adjust his bulk beneath the bloat. He decides to take a walk from his desk since he’s reached a good stopping point. Ease his digestion a bit.
But the walk from his office leads him right past the cafeteria where he talks himself into picking up a rather large blueberry muffin that he’s finished off before even making it back to his office. Brushing crumbs from his front as he reaches his chair, plopping down a little more heavily than he means to and wincing at the groan it makes beneath him.
He’s too full to manage any more excursions for the afternoon, more than content to stay stationary in his office for the remaining work hours. It’s an easy drive home, he changes into his joggers and a t-shirt, noticing his still-bloated belly is peeking out from below the latter despite his attempts to tug it back down.
When his girlfriend arrives home, her eyes dart towards his middle and he just knows his belly must be spilling out again.
“Good first day?” she asks.
“Yeah, not very busy. I’ve gotta eat way less or else you’re gonna have to roll me to the office in a few months,” he says with a half-hearted chuckle, some small part of him genuinely worrying he’ll put on a bunch of extra weight with this job if he doesn't manage to keep himself in check more than he did on this first day.
She smiles warmly and starts getting their dinner ready in the kitchen, her mind swimming with thoughts about how he’d look and feel with more than a few extra pounds softening him up.
Dinner is sauced pasta. It’s heavy and filling and though he doesn’t want to ask, he’s very appreciative when she takes his bowl and refills it for him. Garlic bread, the plate resting between them in the couch, disappears between bites of sauce. He’s rolled onto his side by the end of the meal, his belly oozing out in a thick slab onto the couch cushion as he stifles a belch and complains how much he’s overeaten already that day.
But when she brings a package of cookies over for dessert, those complaints seem to melt away and his hand is drifting between his mouth and the next sugary bite. She watches on, marveling at the visible size of his stuffed belly and how he. Just. Keeps. Eating.
She offers him a hand to heave him off the couch, patting his swollen belly affectionately as he grumbles something about not making a habit of eating like this.
Except the habits are already forming.
He winds up ravenously hungry upon arriving at the office if he doesn’t eat something before leaving home. And he usually takes himself for a mid-morning cafeteria meal, telling himself he’ll eat less at lunch if he’s not starving at midday. But he always manages to eat a full lunch anyways. Then he’s grabbing extra snacks or diving into the lunchbox when he’s bored or between tasks, which happens quite often. His dinner portions get bigger, too, and he’s never been one to resist sweets after dinner. All while spending most of his day planted at his desk or on the couch, hardly moving beyond his steps to and from the car and cafeteria.
Inevitably, he starts putting on a few pounds.
He can feel the extra effort it takes to fasten the buttons on his shirt. She can see the extra fullness on his belly and sides and chest. After a few weeks, he moves to the next hole on his belt. A couple weeks after that she suggests he gets a couple new pairs of work pants with some of the extra money coming in and it's unspoken between them that they'll need to be a size up. He sheepishly puts in a request for company-issued shirts in the next size, thinking they look huge until he puts them on and finds they fit rather well.
Every extra bit of space his clothes allow for, his body slowly grows to fill. Within a couple of months, she sees the red indentation lines from the tight squeeze of his pants starting to reappear on his hips when he changes after work. He's too stubborn to admit his home clothes need upsizing too, but his shirts are undoubtedly riding higher and higher up his rounding belly and his joggers are struggling to stretch over his thighs while straining against his ass.
The buttons on his work shirts are pulled taut against his middle, even at the start of the day. He's approaching the last hole of his belt. He's adjusted the seat in his car back further to accommodate the extra space his belly needs.
The inescapable evidence that he's slowly ballooning does get to him sometimes. He'll try to cut back for a day, managing to limit himself to only four meals, but his appetite returns with a vengeance shortly after and he eats himself out of anything approaching a calorie deficit. He feels his office chair slowly sinking lower each week and finds it harder to heave himself back to his feet at the end of the day, but hasn't bothered to find out if the gas lift can manage to hold him any higher with his extra weight.
His next concession to his growing corpulence is his belt. There aren't any holes left that can make it larger. He can squeeze it on at the beginning of the day, but it's pinching him under his belly by his mid-morning meal. When he sits down after lunch, it's uncomfortably tight. When he finally gives in and fumbles under his shirt-clad belly to undo his belt at his desk after lunch the first time, it's a relief to feel the pressure subside as his bulk rolls forward, unrestrained into his lap. Snacking that afternoon comes even more easily, and though he's tempted to just fully undo the button of his pants, he doesn't bother.
Within a couple weeks, he genuinely needs to undo that button when he sits to avoid his pants bursting open entirely. His belly sits firmly in his lap anyways, even if someone comes in to meet with him they won't be able to tell. And he hardly moves from his chair after lunch, so he rationalizes to himself that he can just unbutton until he's digested lunch, then refasten everything into place before he commutes home.
It all works fine until the first time he really can't seem to get them buttoned up again, even with a bit more effort than his usual struggle entails. Then he ends up more flustered than usual when it takes a couple tries to even heave himself out of his office chair, which has sunk to the lowest height and fails to hold up any higher for more than a few minutes if he’s sitting in it. Fortunately his pants are tight enough on his hips that he makes it to his car without them slipping down.
Arriving home, he's ready to curse out pants entirely when he can't seem to get his joggers up over his thighs. He foregoes pants and makes his way to the kitchen in just an ill-fitting shirt and his underwear, rummaging around the cabinets for his pre-dinner snacks, reaching up so his belly is firmly resting as a stack of rolls on the counter. He goes for the chocolate cookies that he's tried to keep from himself on the top shelf, knowing he'll devour the whole package.
His girlfriend comes in and gets a fresh view of him: the stretch marks dappling his sides and middle, the width of his back, the heft of his thighs. Every inch of him full and heavy; all before she's gotten a chance to make her growing guy his dinner. He's snacking right before a meal, but that's become a normal part of the routine over these few months as he's gotten a bit bigger.
A bit bigger, she admits, might be underselling it.
She pretty sure he's buying at least a few extra meals every day at work to have gotten so much heavier so quickly; it's been six months since he got promoted and he's easily put on fifty pounds, which added to his already-bigger frame has made him rather huge. She knows he works hard, she wants him to be happy eating as he pleases, and she certainly doesn't mind how the extra weight looks on him (or feels when he's on her). She allows herself to take in the dimpled hang of his belly, the fullness of his face, the way his chest and sides pull against his shirt to complement his every pound.
She walks up and gives him a peck on his cheek, her hand resting naturally against the side of his belly.
"Long day?" she asks.
"Mmmm, you could say that," he says. He gobbles up another cookie. "Couldn't quite get my pants buttoned after lunch," he admits, his face flushing as if his climbing weight wouldn't have been evident enough without this latest event. "It's been a real workout to button them at all actually. I've gotten too fat for them, I think…"
"We should just get you some new pants, I've been telling you it's silly to try and fight with your clothes like this," she says, leaning on the counter next to him, knowing his uncertainty about his size deserves to be handled with caution and care. "Let's get some dinner in you, then we can order some."
He pops another cookie in his mouth, shrugging. "At this rate, between your cooking and my job, I'm going to end up weighing a thousand pounds," he says, chuckling, as he heads for the couch with his snacks in-hand. They both know if he gets bigger pants, he’s nearly guaranteed to end up filling them out in no time.
She makes him a lovely dinner and he eats a little too much of it. He once again can't help himself at dessert and gratefully accepts her hands on his middle to soothe his aching belly after the meal, groaning as she affectionately feels up every pound that his new job has added to him; her fingers affectionately working across the rolls that his raise has gone into growing.
Soon enough his new pants arrive and she punctures an additional hole in his belt. He knows he’s bigger than ever, but for the first time in weeks nothing he's wearing feels too tight.
And the extra space only seems to give him more of an appetite. He doubles up on cafeteria breakfast, taking the overfilled tray back to his office and pushing his chair in close enough that his belly is pressed against the edge of his desk while he leans in and eats.
The double portion doesn’t even feel like that much when it’s gone, but his chair creaks beneath him like it knows how much he's eaten. He can feel the edges of his butt sagging over the sides of the seat, the arms of the chair more snug against his waist, but he’s not one to worry until something actually becomes a problem.
Eating double helpings, however, seems to bring the next problem on twice as fast. He’s having an impromptu with one of his team members one morning the following week, leaning back and eyeing the clock and deciding if 10:30 is too early for his first lunch, when the usual creak from his chair beneath him rings out as more of a strained groan…
The person across from him doesn’t say anything, but they’ve watched their boss balloon since getting this job so it’s no surprise he’s straining the limits of his office furniture.
“Did you notice if they had the cinnamon rolls out when you walked by?” he asks, trying not to notice the way his team member’s eyes drifted towards his belly before saying they weren’t certain. It’s when he goes to stand up and find that the chair doesn’t let go of his sides that he knows he’s in trouble. He makes it only an inch off the seat, his hips hitching on the arms, before landing back down, hard, his body wobbling within the .
The tearing of a seam comes first, as he feels his bottommost shirt button give way just below his bellybutton. Then there’s a sharp crack as the impact of his weight proves too much for the chair and he’s sent tumbling backwards, landing on his back, still wedged in the seat that’s come completely detached from the base of the chair. He's stunned for a moment, still feeling himself wobbling from the impact of his landing.
The crash is loud enough that others come running in to help, and it does take a couple extra set of hands to get him freed from the clutches of his seat and back onto his feet. He does his best to tuck his belly back in, but that’s mostly a lost cause with the missing button.
He’s treated very apologetically by the people in management who show up next, and he’s assured that a more study, suitable chair for him has been ordered. In the meantime, it’s suggested he works from home for the next couple of weeks until it arrives.
All things considered, he’s quite pleased at the idea of working from home for a bit. He heads to pick up some lunch, having a laugh with a couple coworkers about his bit of furniture drama that morning. After eating his fill (and allowing himself a couple extra sides in light of recent events) he returns to his office to gather his things and sends a picture of the destroyed chair to his girlfriend:
Looks like I’m working from home for a couple weeks. Any chance you put in with your boss for some remote days to join me?
Her response is swift and affirmative, her mind swirling with relief that he’s not hurt and something like pride that he’s managed to outgrow something so sturdy as an office chair.
She can hardly wait to have whole days to spoil him and watch his appetite in action. She's spent months wondering how much eating he gets up to during the day, but now she'll get to spend extra time with him and see first-hand how much he can really put away when he's got hours uninterrupted to indulge.
She can’t help herself from wondering what he might outgrow next if this trend with his weight continues…
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This is heavily inspired by @evermore-xxl’s fantasy about her partner gaining (substantial) weight after getting an office job, the many snacks she actually packed her partner for work that did, in fact, leave him straining his clothes, and that very same (fat, non-feedist) partner @cryptidmothmen who recently joined tumblr! Give 'em both a follow if you haven't already!
Eating Himself Out of Office 2: Working from Home (BHM, WG)
This continues from the first part and is heavily inspired by @evermore-xxl's fantasy about her partner gaining a substantial amount of weight after taking an office job; their (non-feedist) partner @cryptidmothmen is also due some inspiration credit :)
~
It’s his first morning working from home after he'd eaten himself too heavy for his office chair at work. Weeks of office-subsidized meals, an increasingly-ravenous appetite, and the gentle encouragement of his loving partner have ballooned his softening body out of his wardrobe several times over. Every big part of him has become even bigger. Every roll doubled. Every fold deepened. He’s sleeping in later than usual since he doesn’t have to commute, but a rumbling hunger in his belly still wakes him up earlier than his alarm.
His girlfriend is curled against his back, her arm wrapped around his side and resting against his sizable belly. She wakes up and sees he’s already scrolling a food delivery app for breakfast. Three breakfast sandwiches from a fast food place are queued, then a fourth. He hesitates a second, then adds a fifth. A coupon offer prompts a sixth. Six. The number alone has her mind buzzing; working out the calories would have her worked up in seconds. She stirs, her hand sliding from his belly to the thick rolls at his side, settling on his back where she gently rubs, letting her fingers catch on the newly-formed folds.
“Did you want something?” he asks, punching in his employer code that subsidizes the food and delivery so the cost is close to that of the workplace cafeterias; an additional benefit for those approved to work remotely. Those cheap, filling cafeteria meals have been the major contributor to his ballooning up nearly eighty-five pounds since earning his cushy, sedentary, office-based promotion ten months ago. Several sizes up in his clothes, gradually developing a habit for six or more meals per day, and one broken office chair later, it’s left him with some rather indulgent habits.
“I’m okay, you get your breakfast,” she says, squeezing him once more before watching his soft, swollen body start to maneuver itself to standing, the weight shifting and plopping and stacking until he’s on his feet. She hears him in the kitchen making himself a bagel, slathering it in cream cheese, to tide him over until his real meal arrives.
While he’s in the shower, she gathers up some snacks and sets them into a bowl on his desk, ensuring he’ll have plenty to eat without leaving the comfort of their second bedroom, now home office. Chips, cookies, pretzels, granola bars — everything a growing guy might want to munch on throughout the workday.
“Hey where did those new pants go?” he calls from the bedroom. She joins him, seeing him laying on the bed, his joggers mostly up his thighs, but stuck against the bottom of his belly and ass. She knows these are the bigger pants. She knows that just two weeks ago they’d fit him fine, but that his thighs have been taking the bulk of his extra weight these last couple weeks. Fortunately she’s planned ahead and has the next size up tucked away in the closet. He’s grateful, but a little too winded to fully express it as he shimmies the old ones off and slides the new, huge pair slide up his chunky, soft legs.
His latest work shirt, a 4XL, fits around his rounding torso… mostly. He thinks he’d managed to fully button it, but the lowest button is forced apart too much by his belly hang to be fastened. It’s too low down below the equator of his belly anyways, so he doesn’t even notice there’s a button down that far to try. He sits himself in his gaming chair, another recent purchase that’s heavily reinforced to stand up to his weight, though she notices that his sides and butt are oozing dangerously close to the sides already. He opens his laptop to start the day, but he's barely logged in before the doorbell rings. His thick arms make to push himself from the chair, but she’s quick to tell him she’ll retrieve the food, noticing how pleased he looks to just let his weight plop back down into his seat. It's like he's meant to be doted on, she thinks as she heads for the front door.
She brings him his first delivery and can tell how he's managing to eat so much during the day: he’s nearly perfected typing and scrolling on his laptop with one hand while using the other to eat. His bites are greedy and delighted, his mouth full as he chews and instinctively grins. She glances into the room a couple times over the next half hour, watching the pile of empty breakfast sandwich foil wrappers grow until a punctuating groan and belch tells her he’s finished his first proper meal. She toasts him another bagel, smothers it in cream cheese, and wordlessly drops it off for him with a peck on his cheek while she collects his discarded wrappers.
During his first meeting of the day, she pulls out a boxed muffin mix (adds in some extra chocolate chips) and bakes a half-dozen large muffins. He wanders into the kitchen, attracted by the sweet smell, and has eaten half of them before 10:00. His lunch delivery, a family-sized order of wings and fries, shows up at 11:00. At noon, she makes them each a sandwich, his having contents proportional to his size. She replenishes his trove of desk snacks before he returns to his seat after lunch. He emerges into the kitchen shortly after to grab a muffin, a few cookies, something to drink, but the gaps between his appearances grows as the afternoon progresses. She delivers him the last muffins and a bowl of chocolate chips to round out his afternoon eating.
Bite by bite, his belly swells against his tightening shirt. She catches a glimpse of just how much belly is resting in his lap when he's sitting, typing away at whatever task he's working through. He is, she decides, very cute when he's working away like that. Naturally she grabs him some pretzels and lemonade from the fridge. She's trying to do the mental math of how many calories he must've eaten across the whole of the day, but she can't do it without losing count, remembering some snack she left off the list, or thinking of some additional thing in the cabinet he'd be delighted to see her come in with. And he is always delighted to see her entering the room with something delicious for him.
He's still lingering in his desk, his shirt unbuttoned halfway up his protruding belly as the evening rolls around. She thinks he's working late, but when dinner is nearly ready she finds he's actually relaxing in his chair, resting his hand on his middle scrolling his phone.
"Good stopping point for dinner?" she asks.
"Already?" he asks, his hands pressing on his swollen middle. "I guess I could eat," he grins. It takes him a little more effort to heave himself from his chair. She doesn't fail to notice, taking in how his body moves at this size. She would never want him hurt or uncomfortable, but her mind wanders to wondering what the weight limit of his gaming chair is. How could she not when he's so beautifully filling it up like that?
He claims he's "not that hungry" for dinner, so she just offers him a small bowl of stew with a couple buttery, homemade biscuits floating like puffy clouds on top. And whenever that bowl gets close to empty she takes it for a refill and another biscuit. He eats nine of them, slowly sinking into completely laying on the couch beneath his broth-filled, biscuit-packed belly and giving her that pleading look that prompts her hands to meet his groaning gut without hesitation.
She eases the strain, hand-feeding him a cookie as soon as he seems to have enough room for it. She's not certain whether he's hungry, can't find any motivation to refuse the next cookie, or just enjoys having her attention so fully on him like this. She makes it easy for him, running her hands along the swelling softness of his sides, shoulders, back, arms and legs. She traces every stretch mark, affectionally feeding and soothing him until he's too heavy and tired to get up. They snuggle together on the couch late into the evening until he's sufficiently mobile and motivated to journey back to their bed.
It feels like a normal day for him. Eating that much, nearly beaching himself by the end of it. But for her this is the first day of a new routine.
Two weeks at home shouldn't have been enough time to leave too much of an impact on his waistline or his habits…
But by the time he's notified that his new office chair is available, he's gotten quite acclimated to his lifestyle working from home. She's evolved from nonchalantly offering him snacks throughout the day to more playful, outright enabling and challenging his appetite. He's moved less and eaten more in these last two weeks than ever before, but he doesn't really feel how much he's been enabled until his first day returning to his office.
Getting dressed was a dual effort: she helped him get tucked into his shirt and pants so he didn't have to fuss with the buttons. Tying his shoes was sure to be a strain, but she took care of it without even needing him to ask. An extra big breakfast had his tight shirt straining for dear life, but she offers him an enormous sweater that gave him some leeway on some of the tighter buttons, should he need it.
With his lunchbox as fit to burst as he was, he heads out the door and slowly maneuvers the six steps down to the driveway, feeling his walk has started moving him side to side more than before; his weight forcing his movement to adopt the slightest of waddles. She watches him make his way down the driveway, hesitate, then push himself into the seat of the car, almost like he was getting too big to fit. She tells herself she's just fantasizing about that last detail, but she can't be sure with how big he's looking.
She's thinking about what he'd be most excited to see she's baked for him when he arrives home. She's been approved to work remotely as long as she likes, and even with him out of the house there's plenty for her to do. She finds herself so deep in thought about how cute and big he's looking that she almost misses his work bag sitting on the counter. Grabbing it and darting down the stairs with ease, she makes it to the car window before he's managed to pull out from the driveway.
"You'll need this," she says, as he rolls down the window.
His chunky hand reaches out to meet hers, but she's locked onto two details inside the car. First, his belly is absolutely pressing against the steering wheel. Not just brushing against it; even with the seat all the way back, his belly is firmly resting against the wheel, bulging above and below it. Second, his lunchbox is already half-eaten. Even after a full breakfast, he's not even made it out of the driveway before breaking into the food she's packed for him. He looks a little sheepish that she's noticed, like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't, but she gives him a kiss on his plump cheek and says she'll be excited to see him home later.
He munches away on his remaining snacks during the short commute, leaving the packaging remnants in his car to clear out when he gets home. The walk to his office feels longer than he remembered, but he's forgotten all about that once he's got a double cafeteria breakfast in front of him. Buttery croissants, two meat and cheese omelettes, fruit, a couple muffins. His only limit seems to be the physical space on his tray. But even getting lost in the first of the day's delicious meals can't totally distract him from the repeated reminders that he has, without a doubt, gotten much bigger.
The sides of the bathroom stalls feel snug. His hands accidentally hit on the doorway of his office when he walks through. There's a creaking under his feet when he walks down one particular section of hallway that he's sure he'd have noticed before. The new chair in his office is certainly sturdy, but it's not exactly comfortable and seems to be a little too narrow for his butt. Instead of breaking it in, he elects to take his meetings in the cafeteria for the rest of the day. No one minds the different meeting location, but inevitably each of his coworkers wants to grab a snack, presenting him with ample opportunities to grab additional meal after meal. He's topped himself out after eight meals over the course of the day, truly pinned to the cafeteria bench by the end of his final meeting, struggling to muster the strength to wobble to his car and commute home.
The journey feels long. The car feels like it's squeezing him. The drive feels unpleasant without something to snack on. The driveway feels unending. The steps up to the door feel harder than he remembers. But everything feels right again when he's out of his uncomfortable office clothes and splayed out on his couch munching on some (pre-dinner) peanut butter brownies.
"How'd you make out today?" she asks from the kitchen, her hands busy preparing the next delicious meal he'll devour.
"Eh," he says, groaning a little as he adjusts himself under the weight of his belly. "Much prefer working from home. I missed you, of course. But it's easier being here and all."
"Why don't you put in for more remote days?" she says. "Just go in for the important meetings, I'm sure your boss won't mind."
He realizes she's right. Being home for two weeks hardly seemed to make a difference in his work output, but going into the office has clearly left a cloud of inconvenience hanging over his mood and the quality of his day.
So he does exactly that. And he finds that really there aren't that many important meetings. He relishes finding his calendar open enough that he can talk himself into staying home the following day. And the day after that. And then staying home the remainder of the week feels reasonable.
She loves getting to work with him from home, too. Knowing he's getting more than enough to eat. Having cute moments to admire and joke with each other during the day. Watching her love for him slowly swell his softening body out further and further with each passing meal. The accumulating bloat of his middle settling into more weight as the days compound into weeks.
He goes in once after a month, then stays home for six uninterrupted weeks following that. She's watching him practically swell by the day. Then comes the occasion he very truly must commute in for.
His boss, its been announced, is retiring. There's a big meeting about the division, and a happy hour following that to send the boss off in celebratory fashion.
"How about I drive you in?" she suggests, watching the color drain from his face as he tries his very best to squeeze into the largest set of pants she's ordered for him to date. "That way you can have some drinks, if you like," she says, knowing he's unlikely to fit behind the wheel based on her last glimpse of his driving.
He agrees, flushing a little when he has to ask for her help to scoot the passenger seat back all the way after not being able to reach the release underneath the seat himself. She's warm and nonchalant, telling him how much fun he'll have at his big work event.
And she's right. He jokes with his coworkers, makes small talk, snacks on enough appetizers to make a meal even by his standards, takes a few drinks down, and then he learns some news that he can't wait to share when he gets home to his girlfriend.
The car dips heavily to one side when he plops down in the car that evening, his hands grabbing at the button of his pants under his heavy belly to undo it before he bursts them open. He's a little goofy from his drinking, playing coy with her about the big news he gets to share with her, insisting it waits until they arrive home.
She prods him, verbally and then with her fingers on his exposed belly, but he doesn't release his secret until he's walking up the front steps. He's made it up the first three when he pauses, taking a big breath, then continues up the last three, pausing in the doorway. She means to be looking at his grinning face, but all she can see is that his sides are literally pressing against both sides of the doorway as he rests against it.
"I got the big promotion," he says. She's elated, of course, taking in every benefit this will mean for him professionally. More money will be great, especially since their food budget has been ballooning recently…
He's more than prepared for the workload. She shares his celebration eagerly, watching him add more and more about how excited he is, his proud face wobbling and full and cute.
"And now that I'm the boss, I'm deciding that I can work from home full-time," he says with a grin, pushing himself through the front door.
She's stopped still at the foot of the stairs, beaming up at him with so much love and anticipation in her heart, knowing that every extra dollar of this promotion is going to be undoubtedly sunk into softening him up even more.
The only question she has now is how big he'll end up getting.
"This is going to be huge for you, babe," she says, following him in, going for the kitchen to get him something to eat.
You'd almost made it too easy for me. When I bought you that gaming pc after you moved in, I hoped it might make you a little more sedentary. Maybe all those hours gaming and snacking might give you a couple extra pounds. Your focus so wholly enmeshed in exploring those fantasy worlds that a little of my own fantasy might bleed in…
But now look at you. You've really let the stereotype of the fat gamer take over, haven't you? Your belly hanging down against your thighs, your hands resting the controller on your middle as you feverishly smash away at those buttons. You've always got those headphones on, your eyes glued to the screen, the light of your monitor making your belly practically glow as it grows and grows.
I thought you'd cut back when your belly started poking out of your shirt, but that was sooo many pounds ago. With even your biggest t-shirts clinging only halfway down your hanging gut, most of the time you go without a shirt at all, letting that big belly sit heavy in your lap as you slowly fill out your chair more and more with every session. Do you even realize how much you eat? How many sodas you've chugged down? All that caffeine and sugar giving you a rush as you chase quest after quest, barely noticing whether I'm setting down your second or third helping of dinner.
Snacks, wrappers, plates pile up over the course of your gaming sessions. Sometimes I'm testing the waters to see if you might look away long enough to realize just how much you're eating… but there's always a new mission, a new DLC, a new game coming out that keeps you happily munching away.
I worried I might feel jealous of all the attention your hobby demands of you, but I found that I love watching you play, too. I'm not watching the game, of course. I'm watching from you. Seeing your blobby frame widening, straining against, then spilling over the sides of that nice, new gaming chair I bought you with the higher weight limit. Your thick fingers wiping any bit of food against the side of your belly to avoid making your controller greasy. Watching you not notice how much further you're leaning back by the end of the night with how tightly your belly is packed, the bloat forcing you away from the edge of your desk. Appreciating how you don't even flinch when you let those big belches rumble up your your roiling gut.
And then at the end of a long night of gaming, I relish watching you peel yourself out of that chair, the way your flabby body almost sticks to it while you muster the strength to stand. That little stretch you do when you're on your feet, your hefty gut sloshing as you make your temporary escape from your rig. Your heavy steps matched by your heavy breathing until you finally plop back down, as eager for more XP as I am to watch you pack on more lbs.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm letting you get too big… if there's any end in sight for how many waistbands you'll strain, how high of a weight limit I'll need to find for your chair, how big you'll get before you finally seem to realize how far you've let yourself go…
But then again, you've never looked happier, as long as you can keep gaming, I think you'll keep gaining for me~
When Jade had announced to her group of friends that she was starting a new diet and had just bought a gym membership, Sophie had been just as supportive as the other two girls for their friend's switch to a healthier lifestyle. The four of them had been close friends for years, and it had long been accepted that Jade was "the fat friend". She wasn't huge by any means, but compared to the supermodel physiques of the two gym rats (Laura and Clem) and Sophie's mere pudginess, Jade's double-chin and love handles had earned her the title of being the fat one. It had never really bothered her - *someone* had to be the biggest of the four, and she had the confidence to flaunt her extra curves at every opportunity. But after breaking up with her boyfriend, she had decided that enough was enough, and it was time for a change.
And although she hadn't realised it at first, this left Sophie in a precarious position...
Jade's commitment to her new diet and exercise regimes meant that within weeks, she and Sophie were basically the same size. This would have been fine if not for the fact that Jade's diet meant she couldn't perform the duties expected of "the fat friend". Duties like finishing off the others' leftovers after a trip to their favourite restaurant... She wasn't going to fill herself up with those empty calories any more when she still had dozens of pounds of chub to shed. But nobody wanted to see that food go to waste either...
And so it ended up on Sophie's plate.
Maybe that wouldn't have been such a big deal, if not for all of the other consequences of Jade's change. She had always been Laura and Clem's ride when the four of them would meet up somewhere, but now that she wanted to walk to every meet-up, Sophie had to shoulder that burden instead. And just like that, she swapped a bunch of her usual walking with driving...
Between accepting seconds at most meals and walking a lot less than she used to, the damage to Sophie's waistline started to become apparent very quickly. For every pound that Jade managed to burn off, Sophie ended up sporting two more, and this only made it easier for her less active lifestyle to take root. Walking with so much extra jiggle left her sweaty and winded, so she ended up driving a lot more than she used to. When the four girls went to the gym together, Sophie couldn't even get close to the "playful competition" her friends always enjoyed on the cardio machines, so she ended up slowing her running into jogging, and eventually into walking. The only machine she had started using with more enthusiasm than she used to was the vending machine...
The needle on her scales kept creeping up, further and further, as the fullness of her figure became more apparent to her with each passing week. Jeans that had been loose and comfortable mere month ago were now struggling to fit over her thick, soft thighs and her fat ass; her favourite dresses now clung tightly to her midriff, emphasising the spare tire she was now sporting that jiggled with every step she took; and her bras barely fastened any more now that there was so much more boob flesh to cram into them every morning. Jade graciously donated her old wardrobe of "fat girl clothes" to Sophie after noticing how much her tops were riding up over her softening gut, but this just enabled Sophie's delusions and allowed her to deny that her weight was becoming a problem for a little while longer... Until even Jade's XL blouses were becoming a tight squeeze.
Whilst Sophie hadn't yet admitted she had a problem, it had become too much for her boyfriend. The breakup came as a complete shock to her and left her as an emotional wreck, but at least she had her friends to look after her as she came to grips with being single again. They were always there to share a bucket of ice-cream with as she cried onto their shoulders... well, "share" might be an exaggeration. Her friends were too nice to bring up her weight at such a fragile time for her, so there was nothing to stop her from eating her feels for the next couple of months.
Her weight continued to spiral, seemingly faster with each passing week. "Pudginess" had given way to "fat", and now she was bordering on "whale" territory. When she went out with her friends, they were constantly having to stop as she caught her breath, or wait for her to catch up to them with her painfully slow waddle, or denying her desperate requests to stop at a cafe so she can grab a couple of pastries. With her pig-like behaviour only becoming more ingrained with each day out they spent together, the three gym rats eventually stopped bothering to invite Sophie along. At that point, all she was good for was being the butt of her jokes as she lagged too far behind to hear the teasing they were smirking at.
Eventually, they stopped seeing her altogether, effectively forgetting all about their (now extremely) fat friend. And she forgot about them too, because her new boyfriend was more fun to hang out with anyway...
[Some time later]
The bed creaked alarmingly beneath her as Sophie struggled to sit up from her prone position. After four fruitless attempts left her wheezing and with perspiration beading on her forehead, she called to her boyfriend for help. She used to be embarrassed about how much her weight had started to reduce her mobility around the house, but her boyfriend had been really reassuring about how little it bothered him. In fact, he'd even said that he "liked it". Sophie wasn't really sure what he meant, but she assumed it was just his way of being nice.
He had a lot of ways of "being nice"...
As he entered their bedroom, he carried a tray of bacon and eggs with him. Once he'd help drag her into a sitting position in spite of the enormous mound of belly flesh obstructing her movements, he placed the tray down onto the shelf that her gut formed in her lap. Breakfast in bed every morning... Her ex had never been so thoughtful! He'd even added a side of extra-buttery toast - How did he know that she'd wake up so peckish?
As she sat there, shovelling her delicious, greasy breakfast down her throat with enthusiasm, he sat next to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Or... tried to. One hand ended up nestled underneath her belly button, supporting the hefty gut above it, while the other grabbed onto one of her thick back rolls. He was always grabbing, squeezing and jiggling her rolls like this, and she had a *lot* of them to play with at this point. She didn't mind though, he could knock himself out - at least he wasn't grossed out by them like her ex had been. She just assumed it was his strange way of cuddling. It barely registered with her most of the time, she was too busy eating.
"Aw, is my greedy piggy enjoying her breakfast?" he asked, kissing her on the cheek (trying to avoid the layer of grease smeared across most of her cheeks and chins). She just smiled and rolled her eyes... He had all these teasing little nicknames for her, but they didn't bother her any more. After all, if she was a "greedy piggy", and he adored her... what did that make him? He's really just insulting himself, she thought, as another bite of sausage disappeared down her throat.
He also kept telling her that she deserved to be worshipped, given how much she resembled a fertility idol. She'd never bothered to look into what one of those looks like, but she thought maybe that was his way of saying that he wanted to get her pregnant someday. That day wasn't going to be any time soon though... Their sex was amazing, but all her doughy thigh flesh and the weight of her belly curtain meant it was difficult for him to reach her pussy with his cock. He never got upset at her over it though, which she was glad about. They just found other ways to cope, now that she was so much bigger... Anyway, he seemed to cum quicker from fucking her belly button than he had back when he'd fuck her normally. Lucky for him it just kept growing deeper and deeper...
When she'd finished her breakfast, her boyfriend took the tray away and helped haul her to her feet. It took three attempts this morning; he was a saint for not complaining, even though it leaves him so worn out, she thought to herself. She failed to notice the way his trousers tented as she stood there, with every juicy roll of cellulite and fold of flab on display for him to enjoy. He just gave her a playful smack on her very ample ass, and she headed out of the room to the living room, squeezing sideways through the doorway to avoid wedging her fat ass into the frame. Again.
By the time she dropped all 600lbs+ of lard gracelessly onto the couch, her boyfriend was already getting started on lunch for her. He never stopped looking out for her... Gosh she'd gotten lucky with him. He was such a sweetheart, and so non-judgemental about her size. Even after she stopped being able to find clothes her size, he'd been fine with letting her strut around the house naked. He was just so carefree like that.
She drifted off into a nap as the smell of cooking from the kitchen filled her nostrils and made her stomach growl again, despite having just finished breakfast.
She'd lost the battle with her chubbiness after all, but in the end, defeat tasted pretty sweet to her...
