In January, you went behind my back and signed up for the Midnight Cakes program, where a company pays you to eat one cake every night for a full year. We're more than halfway through the contract, and you're enormous. Last month, your mobility issues were making you depressed, so I asked the program for a drug that'll help you move at your new size.
The story so far: Day 1 / Day 35 / Day 90 / Day 103 / Day 141 / Day 168
***
Ten seconds before my phone goes off, you spring out of bed. Your heavy footsteps echo through the house. It’s a wonder our hardwood floor doesn’t crack under your 450-pound body.
I rush to catch up. My bony hip accidentally bumps into your mobility scooter, sending a jolt of pain through my side. We really should put that in the garage. You haven’t used it all month.
The extra medication they sent you has worked better than I ever thought possible. Despite being triple my size, you have so much more energy than I do. Like the lady on the phone promised, your muscles are supercharged, and with your constant sugar-high, I get to watch your fat body zip around the house all the time. It’s maddeningly hot.
In fact, you have more energy than I do at this point. I keep trying to get my weight back up. (You’ve even spoonfed me soup a couple times because I asked you to.) But no matter what I do, I keep losing weight. I just… don’t have an appetite anymore. I’m too obsessed with your explosive growth to feel hungry. There are some days when I completely forget to eat until you remind me.
I’m a little dizzy when I make it into the kitchen. By now, you’ve already brought out both of tonight’s cakes. You’re salivating.
You sit on two chairs, one for each shapeless cheek, and slide your pudgy finger across the frosting. You suck it off, but the actual eating won’t start until I’m ready.
“Sorry,” I say. For months, I’ve gotten used to waiting for you to heft your fat body around, and now the tables are turned. You’re the fast one, and I’m holding you back.
You laugh. “Ready, little guy?”
You know I am.
I watch you spread out your arms and press the two cakes together into one messy pile. You give me a wink and then slam your face into the mess. You’ve never eaten this way before.
Like a pig at a trough.
The splatter.
The noises.
The… everything!
This is the most joyful display I’ve ever seen. I want to crouch under the table, dig through your rolls, and pleasure your little nub.
But that would mean missing the show.
Plus, I have zero energy for all that digging. And your apron has gotten dangerously heavy. I could get crushed down there. Suffocated.
And you don’t need any encouragement from me anymore. The act of eating is all it takes to get you going, and my mouth would be more of a distraction than anything.
So I just stand there as you bury your face in your goodies, let out your piggish snorts, and take in huge chunks at a superhuman pace.
You’re superhuman now. Bigger than any human I’ve ever seen but with the energy and stamina of an elite athlete.
I press my palms against the table to steady myself. I’m close enough for globs to pelt my face. I’ve never been happier.
Ten minutes later, you’re finished. This is the messiest you’ve ever been. A full quarter of your feast is scattered on the table, on your gasping face, on your gut, on me.
You look adorable, though since Midnight Cakes is paying you to eat everything, all this mess seems like a bit of a cheat. Now you need my help.
I grab a towel from the counter, scoop up the remnants from the table until they’re a lumpy mass, and help you eat it off the towel. Just pour it in.
Ten seconds.
Then you use your hands to wipe your face clean (more or less) and eat those bits, too.
“Nice,” you say proudly. You’re still full of energy. “Did you like my new… style?”
“Uh huh,” I say.
You think for a second. You’re clearly not ready to go back to bed. We have more cakes in the fridge. Do you want to keep going? You’ve only had two.
I wait for directions. You look at me, then at the fridge. You lick your lips.
But instead of asking for more, you slam your hands against the table and push yourself to your feet. Effortlessly. Hundreds of pounds of loose fat hang off you, and you move with total grace.
Well, not total grace. Your thighs slosh against each other and your hanging rolls act like they’re at war with each other (a bouncing little war) every time you move. But otherwise… You’re graceful.
You stroll toward me seductively. You grip your apron and flop it up and down (also seductively). Then, before I can react, you pin me against the wall, flatten me with your heft, and kiss me.
“Let’s dance,” you whisper.
Huh. Not what I expected.
You shout for Alexa to play a slow dance song. When violins and tinkling piano fill the house, you hold me in your arms and sway.
I’m wrapped in your warmth. I’m safe. I’m loved.
And most of all, I’m so happy that you’re like this. Not just the fat part. You weren’t too much smaller last month (just 50 or so pounds), but you were miserable. Now that you can do things again, you’re just…
I’m just…
Everything’s perfect.
I let you lead. I used to be a great dancer, but it’s been so long and I’ve gotten so weak. It’s better this way, with your arms and belly guiding me. In a way, I feel like one of your cakes, like I’m frosting dripping through your fingers.
You kiss me a couple times. You even dip me when the music swells.
God, I love you so much.
The song fades out. The room goes silent aside from my pounding heart. You’re not ready to let me go yet. You just hold me.
You lean forward a little too far.
I stumble back, just two steps, but it’s enough for my calf to collide with the coffee table. I lose my balance.
You do, too.
Your eyes widen and…
You fall.
Right on top of me.
My body slams into the coffee table a microsecond before your body, all 450-something pounds, lands on top of me.
It happens so fast that I feel the pressure of your weight against my lungs before I feel the pain.
But when the pain comes…
I scream.
Both my legs are broken.
***
To be continued next month!
Thanks so much for sticking with this one! It's been very fun to revisit these characters every month.
Finally able to show off to everyone how fat I got over winter
Went to the lake with some friends today to cool down a bit from the heat and it was the first time people really noticed how fat I am. Didn‘t even take 5 minutes after taking my shirt off for my friends starting to call out how fat and massive I am. They seemed impressed however and it definitely felt amazing looking like that in a group with 6 other men who all had visible abs.
Of course I had to double down on it and in the course of the entire afternoon I had a huge portion of curry-sausage with fries, an entire pizza, a sandwich and chicken wings and some ice cream. They were mostly impressed with the amount of food I ate and they started to understand how I got to this physique. A friend even called me out after the pizza that it’s insane how much I eat and that he doesn’t wonder how I got to have this huge belly carrying around with me. The same friend then proceeded to give me the left overs of his food saying „I can’t eat that anymore but Im convinced that there’s more than enough space in your belly left for it“
I have always been attracted to fat men and had the desire to become one myself. I struggled throughout my college career to put on weight. I would binge for weeks and put on about ten pounds, only to become stressed and overworked resulting in me losing the weight. It was a frustrating cycle. I never had the time to truly transform my body into the jiggly ideal in my head. Once I graduated, I knew it was my time to grow. Before entering a master’s program, I decided I would take a year off to save money and gain weight. Between June and December I made a lot of progress. I gained about thirty pounds in six months, going from six foot and 150 pounds to 180 some odd pounds. It felt great. I wasn’t fat by any means, but I had filled out. I felt more in control of my body and like I had more of a presence when I entered a room. These gains were assisted by a new boyfriend I had met, Liam, on grommr. He was much fatter than me and had a well-developed paunch when we met. The combination of his encouragement and simply being around someone who ate so goddamn much really assisted in my weight gain.
I flew home to a small town in Southern California for Thanksgiving. It was sad parting ways for a week with the boyfriend, but the prospect of a gluttonous Thanksgiving was enticing. My family was rather traditional when it came to holidays and Thanksgiving was always an expansive, fattening, home cooked affair. I had been practicing bloating for weeks before hand so I could be sure to stuff myself to maximum capacity. In addition, my family had yet to see my thirty pound weight gain. When I arrived, I received several comments about how I’d “filled out.” Most of them were compliments amounting to how I looked more like a man, and much older. When feasting began I shocked everyone with how much food I consumed. I by far was the biggest eater at the table and filled up my plate four times. My stomach was so distended by the end of the day that it almost looked like a deformity. When I returned home, Liam raved that I was noticeably fatter. The scale had only shown a two pound weight gain, but he claimed it felt like more. Still, I was definitely excited and felt like an overweight BMI was just within my reach.
Liam and I both had plans to spend December and January with our respective famillies. We decided to make a rather fattening deal. After two months, when we returned home, we both had to have gained 25 pounds. If one or both of us failed to meet this criteria, the punishment would be 7,000 calories a day for two weeks.
After two weeks of home cooking and holiday treats, I had already packed on twelve pounds. And it was starting to get noticeable. My belly poked out above my waistline. T-shirts and sweaters clung tightly to my midsection. I was a cliche, my weight quickly rising due to holiday sweets and egg nog. No one made any comments, as I assumed they figured I would lose it all in the spring. What they didn’t know was that my gut would continue to grow and that my newfound potbelly was a source of constant eroticism. My cock grew hard at every meal, and even the slightest jiggle of my belly would leave me dripping precum. By the time Christmas day arrived I was about 15 pounds heavier than when I’d first arrived at home. I was greatly looking forward to Christmas dinner, which was typically a bigger affair than Thanksgiving in my house. My mom made a spread with all of the traditional holiday food, but went especially crazy with the desserts. There were more cakes, pies, cookies, cobblers, and loafs than our family could ever consume in a day.
After exchanging presents, my body was ready to gorge. I was jittery with excitement at the prospect of stuffing my gut as full as I possibly could with delicious fattening food. Once dinner began, I made no attempt at hiding my gluttony. I inhaled my first plate of food within minutes. I got a couple comments about how hungry I was. I would only smile and agree as I loaded up plate after mountainous plate of food. My belly was swelling under the tight knit sweater I was wearing. After three plates of ham, turkey, rolls, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and yams all drowned in gravy I began on the dessert foods. My gut was significantly bloated. My uncle was surprised that I was still “going so strong on the food.” While my mom made a comment that I better “watch my eating” as my “midsection is growing by the day.” A few other family members remarked with supportive jokes about how I was a growing boy and that everyone gets a a little portly over the holidays. My cock was rock hard and mashed against my thigh in my skinny jeans. I eventually had a healthy serving of every dessert at the table and seconds for some. By the time I was finished, my stomach looked abnormally bloated and I was in great pain. Once everyone finished, I retired to my bedroom and immediately took a nap.
I woke up groggy and with an intense boner. I looked at the clock and it was 1 AM. I’d slept for several hours. I went outside and smoked a bowl then proceeded to watch A Christmas Story. Soon enough, the munchies began to set in, and the massive food baby that was working its way through my system, suddenly seemed to vanish. I was ravenously hungry. I began to storm the leftovers, eating pieces of pie and cake so large that I was shocked at my own gluttony. I was stuffing my face with everything I could get my hands on. I began to get enormously turned on and decided to bring the food to my room so I could eat and jerk off. I covered my bed with plates of delicious sweets and began eating with no hands like the hungry hog I was. Meanwhile, I stroked my cock and massaged my belly fat. I was getting food all over my fattening body, which I would lick and scrape off. I was determined to consume everything that I brought. I tried fucking the cobbler and then eating the filling off my dick. I was swallowing so much food that I hardly even recognized what was going into my mouth. Whatever I could get my hands on was swallowed. I cleaned all the plates in what seemed like no time at all. I finally let myself cum and shot my load across the room in moans of ecstasy. I passed out sticky and bloated.
A few weeks passed and New Year’s came and went. I had gained 4 pounds just on Christmas day alone and continued to pack on the weight like I was an animal going into hibernation. I could barely fit into the outfit I had planned for New Year’s Eve festivities, which was slightly embarrassing, but still incredibly hot. Hungover the next morning, I looked through the photos on my phone and on Facebook of the night before. I had gotten completely wasted and didn’t remember much. I was shocked to see just how far my belly protruded out of my denim jacket. In several photos my shirt was riding up to reveal a swollen and hairy abdomen. Even my face looked a little fatter. A slight double chin appeared in certain angles. This was the first time I had a good look at all the weight I had gained and was truly shocked. I looked fat.
I went to the bathroom and began examining myself in the mirror. My gut was on the verge of an overhang, ten more pounds and it would happen. I had even started to develop a fat pad. I knew my thighs had gotten thicker, but looking in the mirror I realized they were almost touching. I squeezed and jiggled my ass cheeks, Liam was going to love playing with those. Slight love handles were apparent from behind. I wanted them to grow. I got inches from the mirror to examine my neck fat. If I looked down or tucked my chin in, I developed a definite double chin. To top it all off, my entire body looked a tad bit hairier. I’d always had a decent patch of chest hair, but now it was spreading from shoulder to shoulder. I wondered if weight gain sparked hair growth.
I’d stopped tracking my weight since Christmas because I was confident I would meet, and likely surpass, the 25 pounds I promised Liam. The trip home had come to an end, and I was noticeably larger than when I’d arrived. Barely any of my clothes fit. I couldn’t wait for Liam to see. When I arrived at our apartment, he was sitting on the couch. I could tell he’d gained weight but not merely as much as me. We embraced and began fooling around. He was shocked and amorous of my newly formed love handles and jiggly beer gut. He squeezed handfuls of both and asked how much I’d gained. I told him I didn’t know and had stopped weighing myself. Liam revealed he had only gained 15 pounds. At first I was disappointed, but the prospect of the next week of gluttony was going to be amazing for Liam. We had wild sex exploring the new curves of each other’s bodies.
Later that night, Liam coaxed me out of bed and onto the scale. I was shocked at the number that appeared. No way was I that fat now. 223 pounds. I had gained over forty pounds in two months. This realization caused my cock to stiffen and rise against my newly rounded, hanging, belly.
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