#delectable diet

[templetogavage]

From Endzone to Spreadsheet

Ex-jocks make great desk jockeys; friendly personality hires who are willing to work in a team

Latest gainer fiction! Check it out on my Substack if you’re interested! Currently I post 2 stories a month, beginning and middle.

[templetogavage]

Adding one item every day of Pride Month!

[templetogavage]

There’s a beautiful pattern forming, and it’s written right into your skin. Soft, delicate lines tracing along your hips, your belly, your sides—each one a shimmering signature of growth. They bloom like whispers over your curves, pale and lovely at first, then deepening with every indulgent day.

Your body is keeping track in its own way, etching a quiet record of just how far you’ve come. And it’s stunning. Those stretch marks are badges of softness, of satisfaction, of a body giving in to comfort and plenty. Every time I run my fingers across them, I can feel how much more of you there is to love.

[templetogavage]

There you are again—sprawled out, gut distended, snoring like a hog in a trough. Just one more overindulgence, and now you’re dead weight, knocked out in a pathetic little food coma. You used to have some pride, some posture—but now you’re just a bloated, sleepy mess, completely owned by your cravings.

You don’t even try to resist it anymore. You eat ‘til you’re useless, and we both know you like it that way.

You’re not just soft—you’re weak. And I’m going to keep feeding that weakness.

[templetogavage]

I caught you in the kitchen again, past midnight, light from the fridge spilling across your bare belly. You were standing there like a sleepwalker, but it wasn’t dreams that pulled you out of bed—it was hunger. You held the empty milkshake cup in one hand like a trophy, straw already chewed flat, whipped cream smeared across the lid. Your shirt was bunched up under your chest, exposing everything: the curve, the jiggle, the slow rise and fall of your overfed gut with each heavy breath.

You glanced at me, wide-eyed and dazed, like you were going to explain it. “Couldn’t sleep,” you muttered, as if that justified draining half the fridge before dawn. Your belly said otherwise—swollen and full, proof of every weak excuse you’ve whispered in the dark. You’re not restless. You’re greedy. And no matter how quiet you try to be, your growing body gives you away. The shake might be gone, but the damage is permanent—soft, obvious, and hanging off you with every bite you swore would be your last.

[templetogavage]

He walks right past the gym windows every time—doesn’t even glance. Just waddles straight to my doors, breathing heavy before he even reaches the register. I know him by now. He’s a regular. Comes in like clockwork, shirt tugged down over a belly that never quite stays covered. He barely fits between the chairs, and the way the floorboards creak when he settles into his usual booth? That’s how we know we’re about to lose another pan of mashed potatoes.

He used to be one of those lean types—gym bag slung over his shoulder, ordering salads with dressing on the side. Not anymore. Now it’s double entrees, extra rolls, and a visible gut that rises with each breath. I don’t judge—he’s good for business. But watching him slump into that booth, wheezing, gut spilling over the table edge? I can’t help but wonder how long he'll be able to squeeze in.

[templetogavage]

You’ve softened so gracefully, and with every inch you’ve added, you’ve only become more beautiful. That belly resting in your lap, the way your sides curve and swell beneath your shirt—it’s breathtaking. There’s a richness to your body now, a warmth and fullness that draws the eye and holds it. You used to carry yourself with hesitation, but now?

Now you glow with comfort, confidence, and the quiet pride of someone who’s truly grown into themselves. Watching you fill out has been a joy, because with every pound, you become more of the person you were always meant to be—soft, radiant, and completely irresistible

[templetogavage]

Bite After Greedy Bite

They offered dessert and you gave the usual polite shake of your head—smiling, hands folded like you had restraint. But I saw the look in your eyes the moment that cake hit the table. Rich, thick slices, dripping with frosting, and before anyone else had taken a bite, your fork was already halfway to your mouth. The first moan you let out was soft, but real—enough to make a couple of people glance your way. Your cheeks puffed out around the bite, and I watched your belly press tighter into the edge of the table, your shirt riding up just slightly from how far you’d leaned in.

You kept going, bite after greedy bite, barely chewing, like you were trying to prove something—though I’m not sure if it was to yourself or to me. You kept your eyes down, as if that would hide the way you squirmed with every mouthful, your belly visibly rising with each breath. I didn’t say a word. Just sat back and watched you unravel in front of everyone, like the good little glutton you are. You tried to deny it. You tried to behave. But all it took was one slice to remind you—and me—exactly who’s really in control when that plate’s in front of you.