Man you have already gained over 100lbs of fat in your body, are there any signs from you or your partner of that being close to enough? (Please say no)
I haven't gotten stuck in any doorways so far, so don't think I'm done yet. What do you guys think? What situation would you say 'yea... he's fat enough?
Making this post for a pudgy pal of mine who’s ballooned from “cheer athlete” to “sideline blubber boy”.
I mean, what can I say that's not clear from the video? He's truly eaten himself into a fuller figure. It's visible in the jiggling rolls of his doughy paunch. It's evident from the sagging heft of his new tits. Hell, if you saw his face, that double chin alone would be proof of his soaring weight. Every new pound, roll, bulge, curve, and stretch mark is evidence that he's not built for cheer anymore. No, this fatass ceded that role 50 pounds ago - back when he traded stunts and routines for rooting from the couch. I only hope the porker grabbed enough game day snacks. With how he eats, he'll need them.
If you enjoyed watching this exjock jiggle, leave a comment. I'm sure he'll appreciate the "kind words". 😉
My fiancé and I just moved to the suburbs cause he got a new job. It was fine at first but recently he’s started getting real friendly with our neighbors.
Which is fine! Good even! It’s just- He’s started to look and act like them too… I called him out on it and he just said “I don’t know what you mean kiddo?” I don’t know what to do…
You didn’t want to be concerned by his actions yet you knew something was up. Just last week you were 2 twinks moving into your first house, celebrating being able to afford a house by 25 in this economy. Your neighbors held a welcome party, made you feel like you belonged. But now all of a sudden you fiancé had gained muscle out of no where, grew a full blown mustache in a week and somehow aged 15 years. The weirdest part was that you knew it was still him even if it didn’t seem natural.
He sat on your couch drinking his coffee “Morning Kiddo, what’re your plans today?” As if he were a father questioning his son. “Babe we were going to go out for dinner tonight remember? And since when am I kiddo?” He had forgotten all about your plans “Sorry Kiddo, forgot completely and agreed to host a BBQ for the neighbor hood dads tonight. You wouldn’t mind going shopping and getting some stuff will you? Daddy has to start prepping” you couldn’t believe it, the man you were going to marry soon completely forgetting about your plans and choosing to hang out with your neighbors over you. You were pissed and without saying a word turned around and slammed the door as you walked to your car.
You didn’t know where you were going but you knew you weren’t staying here till things changed. You hopped in your car and started driving when you heard a *POP* noise. Looking out your window to find that your rear tire had popped. Not even a block away from your house, you felt trapped. Your neighbor outside walked over to the car offering so assistance. “Looks like your in a pickle Kid, need some help?” You stared at the bigger man and just sighed “Yes I need help but I’m not a kid… I’m 25 and work a full time job, I’m engaged an own a house yet everyone sees me as a kid” your neighbor gave a devious smirk as he reached his hand out “let me help you with your problems then” you just looked at him before agreeing and shaking his hand, realizing this was your best bet to get away for the time being.
As your hands linked you felt a jolt of energy down your spine. Your body quickly starting to twitch, unable to move anything but your eyes. You stared at your neighbor as he smiled at you. Rage filled your brain yet you had no way to release it, your neighbor seemed to understand though just by looking at you “No need to be angry, it’ll all be better soon”. The first change that you felt was the weight of your body increasing heavily as if you’d gained hundreds of pounds in seconds swiftly followed by your vision raising higher as if you’d grown a few inches. Still unable to look fully down and move. Next your memories started to be rewritten. No longer in your head were you the 25 year old twink about to be married. No, you were now the 45 year old bear in a gainer-feeder relationship who’d lived in this neighborhood with his partner for years.
Years of memory’s rewrote to fit a narrative you never lived yet somehow remembered vividly. Your husband spent his working out and hanging out with the men of the neighbor hood at the gym. You and their husbands on the other hand worked full time jobs coming home and eating food filed with calories. To the men you were nothing more than pigs that made them look better by comparison, but you didn’t mind. You enjoyed the attention from your husband and wouldn’t change a thing. You loved your new life as a bear in the suburbs living with his jock feeder.
"Bro, I love hanging out with you, but we can't keep going out every night. I mean, this is the same outfit I wore when we first started bar hopping. Five wild months later, and I can't even pull my pants together. You want to know the worst part? I think I popped the button to these trousers three bars back..."
Thanks so much for reading my stuff. I mostly write positive romance and erotica about consensual gaining. (If you're interested in my shorter, edgier stories, check out my sister blog Chuck Gyrth.)
I also have a Patreon with a bunch of exclusive gainer stuff.
My first set of stories (February to June 2025) is here.
My second set (July to September 2025) is here.
My third set (October to December 2025) is here.
This'll be my index for all my stories from the end of December 2025 (when my last index ran out of space) until this one runs out of space, too. Tumblr limits the number of links in one post.
Throughout last year, I published a new story or chapter every day, but for 2026, I'm going to slow down a bit. I'll still publish a lot, but I won't do every single day. And instead of shorter chapters across multiple days, I'll combine my longer stuff into single posts. I think readers prefer that.
Please keep coming back to this post (I pinned it to the top of my page) to see what's new.
Long Stories:
Circus Fat Man 1 (ongoing)
Fat Gamer 1 2 3 4 5
Fattening My Mormon Roommate 1 2 3 4 5 6 (ongoing)
Forced to Be Fat 1 2 (ongoing)
Let It Grow 1 2 3 4 5 6
Midnight Cakes 1 / 35 / 90 / 103 / 141 / 168 (monthly)
A Vibrator Makes You Fat 1 2 3 4 / 8 9 / 12 / 15 / 21 22A 22B 23 / 31 / 51 (ongoing)
Short Stories:
A Day at Home
Athlete
Blubber Boy
Cream
Contrast
Daddy
The Ex-Hockey Player
Fat and Bald
Fat Pokémon
Football Uniform
Gainer Choices
Gasps
Hank
I'm Gonna Be a Hillbilly
Inescapable Growth
I Want Victor Back
Jonah's Return
Just a Little Obese
The Last Stairs
Malts
The Mob Wants You Fat
Molding Clay
Morphin' Matt
My Boyfriend Gives Me a Belly
My Rugby Guy
Never Too Much of a Good Thing
No Reason
Old Photos
Paying for College
Pig Auction (first chapter)
Stares
Thin Walls
Throbs
Transformed
Vitamin C
What Do You Think, Antonio
While You Sleep
The Wrong Way to Encourage
You Ate the Fat-Berries, Didn't You?
Your Old Friend
Your Punishment: 300 Pounds (first chapter)
When you were 350 pounds, you were beautiful. You had a solid, spherical gut that jutted in front of you without sagging. You had prominent ass cheeks and round, even moobs. Everything about you was firm and circular. Out of all the fat guys you knew, you were the luckiest. No sag. No stretchmarks. Your body knew how to build fat and keep it in place.
You had good genes. Not a lot of fat guys can say that.
Then you met Georgie. He loved your body. Worshiped you. Used his curious fingers to appreciate every inch of you.
His shorter, skinny frame matched your bigness perfectly.
Then he started working out. He stopped shaving. In months, he’d gone from a twink into a full-on otter. You liked that. He was still so much smaller than you, but he was no longer small.
You started seeing less of him, though. He went out to the gym a lot, and he was choosing to spend more time with his jock friends. Pretty soon, he was a jock, too. He grew pecs to rival your moobs. He even got abs, which you had mixed feelings about. You loved how they felt, but you didn’t like how proud he was of them. He was neglecting your body now. He wasn’t in awe of you anymore.
One day, you told him your feelings.
He kissed you and said he still found you beautiful. Then he said something that made you sad. “Why don’t you start coming with me to the gym sometimes? We can start spending more time together.”
You asked him if he wanted you to lose weight.
“No! Of course not. I just think you’ll like it. You’ll be the biggest guy there.”
That last part was what convinced you. You went with him to the gym the next day and got pressured into a yearly membership. No turning back now.
Georgie was right! You loved spending time with him at the gym. You lifted weights together. Sometimes you even ran on the treadmill side-by-side. You moved a lot slower than him, but it still felt like you two were in sync.
And his friends were so encouraging. They made you feel appreciated again. They thought you were trying to lose weight, even though you told them over and over that you weren’t.
Over a few months, you realized that you were spending less time lifting and more time on cardio. You liked the feeling of exhilaration. And you really liked the improvements in your energy and flexibility.
You didn’t realize that your belly was shrinking until Samuel, one of Georgie’s friends, patted you on the gut and said, “Great job, man. If you keep this up, this thing’ll be gone before you know it.”
Those words horrified you. You didn’t want to get skinny. You loved how you looked.
You stared at your reflection in the mirror and saw what he saw. You were still beautifully round, but your belly was smaller, especially at the top.
Georgie noticed your expression. He came right over from the bench and placed his hands on your gut. “You’re still the biggest man here, babe. But don’t you feel better now?”
Honestly, you did. You didn’t get winded anymore. Your constant hunger had disappeared, replaced by an urge to move. You no longer wanted to take naps in the afternoon.
“I do,” you said.
“Good. Then let’s keep going.” He took you back to the treadmill.
As the year wore on, you spent more and more time at the gym with Georgie. You watched the fat that had given you so much pride slowly melt away. You liked the way your moobs were firming up, and your arms and legs looked great.
Unfortunately, you hated the new shape of your belly. It wasn’t just smaller now; it was different. You’d lost so much size at the top that for the first time, the bottom looked droopy. You wanted a spherical gut, not an apron.
You had to stop this. You’d gone too far!
When Georgie got home from work, you told him that you’d changed your mind. You showed him your belly, pulling at the loose skin that had never been loose before. “I look terrible!”
He grabbed the hanging skin at the bottom of your belly and squeezed. “I think you’re amazing. And you feel so much healthier now, right?”
“Yes,” you admitted, “but I don’t care. I want to get big again.”
He started rubbing your stomach and pinching your sides. He’d been more handsy lately, and you couldn’t deny enjoying his touch. You liked how much you turned him on.
“You can do whatever you want with your body,” he said. “But if you want, maybe you can…” He looked away. “No. It’s too crazy.”
“What?” you asked.
“You’ve never been fit before. You were fat since the day you were born. You don't know anything else. For some reason, your body is incredible at losing weight. It’s just falling away. If you kept going, it won’t take long until you’re a hot, fit stud.”
“I don’t want that.”
“Wouldn’t you like to try it out for a while? And if you don’t like it, then you can quit the gym and regain every single pound.”
That sounded intriguing.
“Wouldn’t it be fun to gain? Think about it. I could feed you each night. If you loved being fat, you’ll love getting fat so much more. You just have to keep slimming down first.”
That really intrigued you.
“Let’s do it.”
Now that you had a new goal, Georgie set up a whole schedule for you. He convinced you to stop lifting weights and focus entirely on cardio. He changed your diet so that you’d only eat small, healthy meals. He still made bigger, hardier food for himself, though. In fact, to help with your hunger, he ate extra portions in front of you just so you could feel like you were eating more yourself. It was surprisingly erotic. And during your long stretches on the treadmill, he focused his energies on the bench press.
For the rest of the year, you pushed yourself extremely hard. Exercise was easier, but it wasn’t as fun anymore. You started to treat it more like work. You wanted to speed past the weight-loss part of your plan and get to the good stuff.
As you slimmed down, Georgie grew. For the first time in his life, he had an actual belly. He looked bulkier all over, and you loved it.
You didn’t love what you looked like, though. The more you lost, the more loose skin you developed. You very quickly realized that you’d never be a hot, fit guy. Your body had been so stretched out by your fat that your skin was destined to hang off you.
That’s exactly what happened. By New Year’s, you were down to 240 pounds, more than a 100 pounds lighter than your normal size. No part of you was firm anymore. Skin hung off your arms in wings. Your moobs had deflated into sacks, with the left one a little thicker and the right one hanging much lower. They used to be the exact same size!
And your belly! God, it used to make you so proud. Now it dangled over your pants to such a degree that you had to tuck it under your waistband.
This was not what you’d signed up for.
And the craziest part was, Georgie loved it. He grabbed and molded your belly skin in his fingers. That was the first thing he did when you walked in the door. All night, he’d play with your new softness. You had sex all the time now. He was constantly turned on, and you always gave into him.
You thought about quitting many times, but Georgie convinced you to keep going until you hit 200 even. Then you could start gaining again.
By your birthday, you reached 202. Close enough. Without all the loose skin dangling off your body, you were probably well under 200 anyway. You looked great when you were fully clothed (though the binders that Georgie bought you were uncomfortable), but outside of your clothes, you were like 80% skin.
And Georgie was officially a bear. With his height, he wasn’t as big as you’d been, but he’d taken on your former shape. Solid and round. He let his body hair grow out, too. In the span of a year and a half, you’d allowed him to become the undeniable big guy in the relationship. If things had been different, if you’d been slim instead of floppy, you probably would’ve maintained your 200 pounds for a while and enjoyed the role reversal.
Instead, you gave it a week.
Then one morning, while Georgie was waiting to drive you to the gym, you told him you were ready to finally start gaining again. You thought he’d be upset by this. He loved your softness so much. But he smiled and said, “I think that’s a great idea.”
Instead of going to the gym, he stayed at home with you. You ate all day.
You were surprised how hard it was to match his portions. Your stomach capacity had shrunk so much that it was impossible to keep up.
It got easier over time.
Georgie had been such a great motivator at the gym, but he was even better at motivating you to eat. He used his size advantage to force food into you. Sometimes he tied you up. Other times, he used a funnel. Often, he’d demand that you rub his belly while he whispered things like “You want this, don’t you?” and stuffed donuts into your mouth.
You saw your big, beautiful boyfriend as a symbol for what you were going to be. Soon, you’d grow to his size again. Then there would be two firm, round bellies in the house. You couldn’t think of anything more exciting than that.
He still went to the gym to maintain his strength, but he spent most of his time filling you with food and then rewarding you in the bedroom. He’d been right all along. Gaining was so much hotter than being fat.
You felt fat filling out your loose skin. Each day showed a bit more growth, and it was wonderful.
It wasn’t until you reached 250 that you started to worry.
You were gaining fat differently now. Your belly, rather than pushing out, was drooping even more. It was like the fat was collecting at the bottom of your belly, giving you a thicker, floppier overhang but leaving your upper body unaffected.
This wasn’t right.
Georgie was straddling you on the couch, using one hand to pour milkshakes into your mouth while he jiggled your flab with the other.
You pushed him off. “Something’s wrong,” you said.
“There’s nothing wrong with 50 pounds in three months,” he said. “You should be proud.”
“But I… look wrong,” you whimpered. You hated the whininess in your voice.
That’s when he climbed off you. He had a really serious expression. “Honey, there’s something you should know. Your old body shape was because you’d slowly gotten fatter since childhood. Now that you’re just refilling all of this…” He grabbed your side roll as evidence. “You’ll look a little different. It’s like draining a stretched-out water balloon and filling it back up again. You understand.”
You didn’t. All water balloons looked the same. That analogy didn’t make sense.
“So what am I gonna look like once I reach 350 again?”
He kissed you. “I don’t know. Isn’t it gonna be fun to find out?”
The question both thrilled and horrified you.
You didn’t have a choice, though. You hated how you looked at 200 (and you didn't like how you looked now) so your only choice was to keep gaining and pray that you’d get back some of your roundness.
That didn’t happen. You spent months stuffing yourself, and every new pound led to more sag. You’d never get back what you’d lost.
A few times, you tried going to the gym with Georgie. Maybe if you packed on some muscle, that would help things grow in the right places. But lifting weights had become impossible now. You’d lost your strength. And your fat, rather than giving you an extra boost, just pulled you down now. It was painful.
The guys at the gym made everything worse. Before, they’d been cheerleaders on your weight loss plan. Now, they just looked at you with pity. Most of them just stared at your wobbling overhang.
So you gave up trying to exercise and focused on sleeping and eating.
You felt depressed, which led to more eating, which led to faster gains.
And now here you are, back at your starting weight of 350 pounds. So is Georgie.
But while he’s a gorgeous globe of a person, you’re a mound of fat. Every movement is difficult. Every breath is labored. You watch him happily run around the house, his belly jutting proudly in front of him, while you sit on the couch, your fat oozing shapelessly onto the cushions.
He brings in two milkshakes, both for you.
“No more,” you say.
“You sure?” He sets them in front of you just in case. He knows that your hunger will eventually force you to give in.
He sees that you’re depressed, so he lifts up the side of your belly to make room and cuddles next to you. “What’s wrong?”
“Look at me,” you say.
“I am.” He seems so turned on.
“We’re the exact same size, Georgie. But you look so much better than me.”
He flinches at your words. He loves you so much, and he just wants you to be happy with yourself.
“We’re different,” he says. “I like the way I look, but I love how you look. I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”
“I wish I could, too.”
He thinks for a second. “Rub my belly, please.”
You do what he says, hefting it around as much as you can. That doesn’t help. It just reminds you of what your own belly should feel like.
“Okay,” he says. “Now grab yourself, please.”
You reach for your overhang and squeeze.
He leans closer to whisper into your ear. “Pretend you’re touching someone else. Forget all your preconceptions and just… feel the softness. Feel all the shapes you can make. Feel it fill up your hands and slide between your fingers. You’re holding pure fat. What do you think?”
“I…” You don’t know what to say.
“Now realize that this is part of you. You made this,” he whispers.
“I… like it.” You can't believe you say that, but it's the truth.
He kisses your cheek.
“Honey, you are so lucky to have a body like that. Always remember that.”
He leaves you alone to your thoughts. You continue to play with your apron. You sigh a little.
You don’t stop until your stomach growls. It’s time to drink another milkshake.
It’s time to add to your wonderful softness.
The End.
Thanks for reading!
I posted this in response to one of my first story requests! If YOU have any idea that you want me to write about, please message me. I love to hear from people.
Also, I was so happy with how this turned out that it's the title story for my latest anthology ebook. Check it out if you want. It's ten erotic romances all written from the "you" perspective.
I can’t believe the person I was looking at was me. I looked at myself in the mirror and I patted my beefy stomach. Although it might not seem like it, this was the fittest I’ve been, since puberty. I ended highschool weighing 280lbs. Coming into college I feared the freshman 15. But, I knew I couldn’t let that happen. Now, I stand here weighing 220lbs. My first year of college completed and ready to go home. Even though I don’t have abs yet, I can’t wait to show off my progress.
However, I would be lying if I didn’t say I dreaded going back and seeing my dad. He’s not mean or abusive. In fact he was a really good dad. Growing up, it was just me and him. After my mom died, my dad’s whole life changed. Instead of falling into a depression, he started working out. He transformed from average chubby dad body to hot as fuck personal trainer.
However his good genetics skipped me. As a kid I was skinny. But once puberty hit, my metabolism just went down the drain. And, I piled on weight non stop. It felt awkward being the fat son of a personal trainer. He tried hard to make me feel better about myself. We went to doctors but nothing worked. But, I still felt like shit looking at him walk around shirtless, get all the attention from my ladies, and be admired by my teachers and friends. Most people couldn’t believe I was his son.
Here’s another commissioned piece! As always, if you’d like one for yourself, shoot me a message!
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The LED display lit up as Scott felt the cool glass of the scale beneath his feet. The light began to dance, eliciting a familiar feeling of anxiety, before they finally landed on 3 digits: 188. Scott looked at those numbers in utter disgust. No matter how he tried to get them to change, they always remained the same. He slammed his fist on the bathroom sink, knocking a small glass into the ceramic basin, shattering it. The crashing noise has been enough to attract the attention of his husband, Carl.
“Everything okay, babe?” Carl asked.
Scott turned to see his ample husband occupying much of the doorway behind him.
“Yeah… It’s fine, bear,” Scott said, pushing past his husband and continuing into the bedroom.
Carl’s body was an object of both affection and envy for Scott. A big guy since childhood, it was all Carl could do not to gain weight, and, here he was, skinny as ever, unable to add a single ounce onto his body. For as long as he could remember, Scott had wanted a body like the one that his husband, easily 150 pounds heavier, had. Carl was nothing if not encouraging, but it was quickly seeming to Scott that no amount of encouragement would ever help him to achieve the kind of body that he really desired. He threw himself down onto the bed, wishing it made even a slight creaking noise, as he shoved his face into a pillow and sobbed softly, listening to the sounds of Carl, still in the bathroom, picking up the pieces of the glass.
Carl felt horrible. He and Scott had met 5 years ago, on a site for big guys and small guys who wanted to be big guys. The two had come to the site for vastly different reasons: Carl because, as a man of size, he had felt ostracized by the greater gay community; and Scott because he wanted nothing more than to go from his lithe body to one with a massive gut like the one Carl had always been slightly self-conscious about. The two had really hit it off, and after several years together even moved in and got married. The only dark cloud had always been Scott’s weight. It didn’t matter one bit to Carl what size his lover was, so he helped from the outset. In the beginning, the two were in their early 20’s so Scott just chalked his inability to gain up to an unfortunate metabolism. However, as they aged, none of the usual added weight ever seemed to come to Scott. The past few months, he had grown increasingly distraught.
Carl hated seeing Scott like this. He walked past the bedroom, the door open, Scott laying on the bed having cried himself to sleep for the second time that week. Carl softly pulled the door closed and continued to the office, sitting down heavily at his desk. He checked his e-mail. Under the promotional tab, he noticed something odd. The subject line just read “Fat Transplant?” Carl knew better than to trust anything that he found online, but with Scott’s current level of desperation, he couldn’t help but open the e-mail and read through it. His face lit up as he read over the screen.
Scott opened the door and strode languidly into the hallway. He had spent the entire work day thinking about nothing other than his dashed dreams of obesity. He felt as though he’d lost a part of himself. As he neared the bedroom, the smell of scented candles reached his nose. Confused, he strode closer, hearing slow, sexual music coming from the room as well. As he pushed the ajar door all the way open, his jaw dropped. The room was indeed illuminating only by candles and smelled like a display of beautiful flowers. A trail of rose petals led to the bed where his husband was currently lounging in nothing but a tight jock strap, every single curve and crevice of his fat body was there for the world to see.
“Wha…what’s all this for?” Scott stammered.
“Does a guy need an excuse to do something special for the love of his life?” Carl replied, arching his back and splaying his enormous thighs outward.
Scott could hardly resist himself and dove onto the bed between Carl’s legs. Starting at his chest, Scott gently kissed his husband’s soft skin, slowly working downward, first over the crest of his belly, and then down the lower half. Carl just placed a large hand at the base of Scott’s neck, guiding him ever lower. The other hand slowly pulled down the waist band of the jock strap, allowing both fat pad and cock to come flopping out. Scott’s tongue danced around the soft fat before slowly working around the buried base of Carl’s cock. His husband moaned as Scott slowly brought his mouth up the shaft and down over the head, wrapping his lips around Carl. Scott slowly began unbuttoning his own pants with his free hand.
“I think you….unnnhhh…might want your clothes on for this next part…” Carl said with a wink and another moan.
Scott only had a few moments to feel confused about these words before he felt Carl stiffen in his mouth as a flood of cum filled his cheeks. Carl’s hands held Scott’s head in place, forcing him to swallow the entirety of the hot load.
Scott’s head swam in a weird kind of euphoria as he lapped up the last bits of Carl’s cum. It tasted different than usual: sweeter, creamy even. Scott reached a hand up to rub Carl’s gut, but met with air. Stumbling, he placed his hand down and immediately felt skin on top of hard muscle. Looking up, Scott saw an entirely different version of his husband before him: still just as tall, but completely lean and muscular.
Again, his time for confusion was short, as the warmth from his mouth was slowly spreading down into his gut and outward across his entire body. The warmth turned to a combination of pressure and heaviness. Scott looked down to see his once-baggy work shirt straining against his skin, the buttons barely able to hold themselves together. Shocked, he hefted himself up from the bed and ran into the bathroom, feeling parts of his body jiggling with each footfall. Standing on the scale, Scott watched as the numbers continued upward and upward. His attention was pulled away as a might tearing noise sounded from behind him. He watched in the mirror as the seat of his pants was destroyed by his growing ass. The viewing of his body, growing outward like a time-lapse of rising dough was enough to send a shock of orgasm through his sensitive flesh. As his vision returned, Scott looked down, barely able to see the numbers on the scale over the crest of his new, massive gut. “350.” He could hardly believe it. He jiggled the mass of flab in front of him, just to be sure that it was indeed real. His hands cupped his ample tits, giving each a squeeze and causing him to moan loudly.
“Seems like you’re enjoying yourself,” Carl’s voice came from behind him.
Scott turned, his belly grazing against the sink to see his now fit husband.
“H…How?”
“You’re not gonna believe this, but I found this doctor. He performed a procedure on me that would allow me to essentially inject all of my body fat into someone else through my semen. I know you wanted to be bigger and I hated seeing you so sad, so I figured it was worth a shot.”
Scott grasped his husband, pulling him into the biggest of hugs, tears welling up in his eyes.
“Don’t worry, with the way I gain, it won’t be long until I’m just as big as you again,” Carl laughed.
“And I’ll be here ready to take it all again,” Scott said, pulling Carl into his flab and kissing him square on the lips.
After three months on his new antidepressant pills, Charles had grown moobs.
We knew that weight gain was one of the possible side effects (and we’d prepared for that), but we didn’t realize that his gain would focus almost exclusively on his chest. Sure, his stomach softened up (which I was okay with) and his ass got fatter (which I really liked), but neither of us were ready for the moobs.
They were unmistakable. He went from firm pecs to sloping, protruding tits in record time. No shirt could hide them. And they were so soft that every movement he made sent them jiggling.
It’s one thing to turn into a fat guy. I’d dated fat guys before. I found that body type quite sexy. But that’s totally different from a (mostly) skinny guy with massive, milkable tits. I mean, neither of us wanted that.
Charles seemed really self-conscious about them, and I didn’t disagree. I’d always loved how manly Charles was, and there was absolutely nothing manly about that chest.
He walked into the bedroom in his pajama top, his chest wobbling with each step. He used to go to bed shirtless, but he definitely didn’t anymore. “Babe,” he said. “I think I should go off the meds.”
He climbed into bed next to me, his chest drooping obscenely.
“Because of…” (I couldn’t even say the word.)
“Yeah. Obviously.”
“And what does your doctor say?”
Charles had negative reactions to every other medication that he tried. Most of them made his depression worse, and a few had even led to violent episodes. We knew that these pills were his last chance, and so far, they’d worked perfectly. He felt happier than he ever had. I’d seen him at his worse, and right now, outside of his tits, he was at his best.
“He’s against it,” Charles explained. “But… I don’t know. If I go cold-turkey for a bit, see what happens, then maybe…”
“No! You can’t do that.”
“But I… I look freakish.”
“Don’t say that.”
“But I do! And they’re so freaking sensitive now. I tried to wear that binder yesterday, and it was awful. I don’t want to live with these.” He jiggled his moobs with such anger, like he wanted to rip them off his body.
“Okay,” I said, “let’s weigh your options. You can’t go off the meds. We both agree about that. Right? Right?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled.
“Good. Now, you’ve been on these pills for three months. And how much weight have you gained?”
“Twelve pounds.”
“That’s not a lot.”
“But it’s all my chest!”
“How about this? We both talked about you getting chubby. And we’re fine with that. So why don’t you… try to gain faster?”
He looked at me like I was crazy.
“Hear me out. Bears are cute. Big bellies are really cute. Why don’t we grow a big belly on you, and then your chest won’t look so out-of-place, you know?”
It was twisted logic, I had to admit. But it made sense.
Charles considered the idea. “I could get fat all over.”
“Exactly. For some reason, your chest was the first place to get fat. Genetics, I guess. I doubt that it’ll get much bigger. So the more you eat, the more the rest of your body can catch up.”
“Okay,” he said, weirdly confident.
I jumped up and hugged him.
***
Neither of us had any experience with gaining, so we didn’t really know what we were doing. Our plan was basically to get Charles to eat continuously throughout the day.
I went shopping that afternoon, buying all the ice cream and chocolatey snacks that I knew he loved. I stocked up the fridge and kept bowls of food pretty much everywhere in the house. Every time he passed by a bowl, he had to eat something.
I sort of went a little overboard, though. If Charles walked from the bed to the front door, he’d pass by six different bowls, which meant six different snacks, followed by six more if he went back.
Somehow, he was able to manage.
I didn’t change our meals, though. We still ate three healthy meals a day. But with all the brownies and cupcakes that constantly filled him, he struggled to get through each meal. For the first week, I really had to encourage him to finish everything. After that, he got used to it.
By the end of the month, his weight had gone up nine pounds. Unfortunately, almost all of that went to his chest.
Those moobs just wouldn’t stop growing. They widened a bit, which made them appear less round (which was a good thing) but they jutted out further, too. His nipples were still the same size, though they’d somehow darkened. Neither of us knew why.
Charles felt so self-conscious that he almost gave up on his snacking. I had to remind him of the tiny bit of extra pudge on his stomach. “This is the next part to grow,” I said. “Just hang in there.”
One week and ten pounds later, his belly had indeed grown, but it still had a lot of catching up to do.
His meds were keeping his spirits high, but he struggled with his confidence. He didn’t go out of the house much, and when he did, he always wore thick sweaters despite the warm spring weather.
Once, he tried to go out with a scarf strategically draped over his moobs. I put a stop to that. It was 70 degrees out!
We still made love, and we spent each night cuddling on the couch. But I never, ever touched his chest. Whenever I accidentally grazed it (which was very easy to do), he’d shudder and twist away from me.
Finally, I’d had enough. I couldn’t avoid such a large part of him. We were lying in bed together, after a satisfying yet slightly awkward round of intercourse, and I leveled with him. “Babe, just let me touch them, okay?”
“No! They’re way too sensitive. They hurt.”
“I’ll be gentle.” I looked right into his amber eyes. “Please?”
He grumbled as he pulled down the blanket.
“Take off your shirt, please.”
“God! Fine!” He slowly pulled off his shirt, careful not to disturb his hypersensitive nipples. He still jiggled, though.
I cupped his right moob. “See? That’s not too bad.”
He bit his lip.
I weighed it in my hand. Very carefully. The edge of my palm accidentally grazed his nipple and he whimpered.
But it was a good whimper.
“Can I keep going?”
“Uh huh.”
I squeezed a little bit, his fat squishing between my fingers.
He didn’t react. He was still biting his lip.
I took my thumb and started tracing circles around his nipple.
His whole body shivered.
I couldn’t tell if he liked that, or if he was fighting through the pain. His eyes were clamped shut.
I drew faster circles. I pinched it a little.
He moaned.
I recognized that sound. It was definitely a good moan.
I got more forceful, using my thumb and two fingers to rub his hardened tip like I was started a campfire.
He writhed. Bucked his hips. His lower half was under the blanket, but I knew that he’d gotten hard.
I pulled my hand away and he froze. His breathing was heavy.
Then I leaned forward and placed my mouth on his chest. I flicked his nipple with my tongue, causing him to mutter my name. He was writhing again.
When I started to suck, he whimpered twice. I’d just made him cum.
Then I pulled away. “Seriously?”
“What?” He looked guilty.
“You’ve been growing these things for months, and this is the first time you’ve let me do that? Jesus.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“Well, did you like that?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
“Well, embarrassing or not, we’re definitely going to do that again.”
“Okay,” he mumbled.
For the sake of fairness, I kissed his other nipple a little, flicked it with my tongue, and then left him alone with his thoughts.
***
The next morning, I woke up to find Charles staring at his reflection. He was holding his moobs, squishing them together.
“Morning, babe.”
“I still don’t like ’em,” he said, both to me and to himself.
I crawled out of bed and joined him in front of the mirror. I stood behind him, my hands wrapping around his chubby stomach. Then, before he could stop me, I raised my palms to his moobs and rubbed them. The sudden friction made him weak in the knees and he almost fell.
“Stop!”
“Still don’t like them?” I kept rubbing.
“Jesus, Dave.” He spun around to face me. “Fine, okay? They feel great. But I’m not going to stop gaining. I need to start looking more normal.”
“Good. Totally on board. But can you please stop being ashamed? You should feel lucky.”
“Whatever.”
After that, he seemed a bit more confident. He stopped wearing sweaters (thank God) and instead wore loose T-shirts. Sometimes, when he was moving too quickly around the house, he’d suddenly freeze, like a dog spotting a squirrel or something. I noticed him doing that a couple times before I asked him what had happened.
“Too much friction,” he explained.
As spring transitioned to summer, his weight climbed another 20 pounds. His stomach got most of that. It was starting to droop over his pants, which pleased him a lot. That meant his gut was finally coming in. His ass hadn’t grown much, but it was starting to dimple with cellulite. Another bit of progress.
But his moobs expanded, too. They were hanging a bit more. God, they were so fun to suck on.
I had no more conflicted thoughts about them. Anything that could give my boyfriend that much pleasure had to be beautiful.
And they were. Big and beautiful.
I just wish he could see that.
That summer, we spent every evening together on the couch, watching movies. He’d stuff himself with donuts or cake and I’d curl up next to him and suck his moob. He’d learned to control his whole-body shivers, but he still loved the feeling. I’d learned how to pace myself so that I’d stop before he came in his pants again. Sometimes I got carried away and he did, but only sometimes.
***
By August, Charles was officially obese. He’d pushed himself to 247 pounds. Not bad for a guy who was only 5’9”. He had a full-on gut now, and his ass had absolutely blossomed. It had gotten so wide that he’d started bumping into things when he walked. Dimpled all over, his thighs were works of art.
Our plan had officially worked. He was fat all over.
Of course, his chest kept growing, too. His areolas were as wide as small potatoes, and his nipples were three times as long as mine. With even more sensitivity, I had to be extra careful with them. Even the slightest touch elicited whimpers. And if I sucked on them for longer than a couple seconds, he couldn’t control his moaning.
Sometimes, when I was on my computer doing work, I’d hear noises from the other room and know that he was finally playing with them himself.
On a particularly hot day, we were sitting together and I suggested that he start going shirtless around the house. Back when he was skinny, he never wore a shirt in the summertime.
“I don’t know…” he said.
“Don’t you want to? Easy access.”
That was all it took. He slid out of his shirt and never put it back on.
His ripe chest was on full display, and he leaned forward, presenting himself, waiting for me to touch him.
“So. Do you finally like your moobs?”
He didn’t answer for a long time. Then he sighed. “Yeah. I do.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“I know.”
He had by far the biggest chest of anyone we knew, male or female. And he was finally ready to be proud of it.
He shoved another donut into his mouth.
“You know, if you keep gaining, your moobs will just get bigger and bigger, right?”
He laughed, causing his whole body (not just his chest) to jiggle. “That’s why I’m doing it.”
I climbed on top of him. Like I’d done many times before, and like I’d continue to do many, many times afterward, I wrapped my mouth around his nipple and sucked.
You stand in front of your floor-length mirror and eye yourself up and down. You sigh dejectedly as you assess your thin, almost bony frame. You've never been a particularly big guy; in fact, you're well-known with your family and friends as being a small, skinny guy, but you'd suddenly grown tired of it. You look around at the stacked, muscular boys at the club and from the one or two times you'd been to the gym, but that always felt unattainable to you. Besides, you had no idea where or how to begin at the gym, and the machines were daunting. You felt a twinge of motivation and were ready for the change.
You open your phone and begin sifting through the app store, finally settling on an app called 'MassBuildTrainers'. "We pride ourselves on being able to match you with ANY trainer that fits your needs! Not sure how to begin? Our trainers each have detailed profiles that outline what they can offer to you and how. Start your mass building journey today!" You download the app and set up your profile, toggling the 'Goal Weight' section to 'Unsure'. The screen opens to reveal a long list of local trainers, their profiles reading out their names, their smiling faces, and their areas of expertise.
You scroll through, already taking some damage to your motivation as you see all the Marvel superhero physiques in front of you. You wonder if you would ever be able to even workout in front of guys like this! Suddenly, you see a profile from a guy named DFlow. He sticks out to you. He immediately isn't like the others: his arms and his chest are strong and toned like the others, but instead of a cascading washboard of abs, there's a small hard, bloated belly jutting out into his top. You click his profile and read through his bio, which outlines his 'Nutrition-based' approach to fitness. "I have developed a rather unusual fitness plan which de-emphasizes strict lifting fitness and opts for a more rigid diet-focused approach for my clients. No need to tell me your body goals: I already know!"
You stop to think. He seems experienced and knows what he's talking about, plus his body is good but not *that* intimidating. You love that lifting isn't huge for his plan, since that's what scares you the most. You click to send a quick message. "Hey there, new to fitness, hoping you could help!" *ding* You get a response within a minute.
"Hey there! Nice to meet you. I would absolutely love to help, and we can even get started today. I have some availability for new clients. If you read my bio, I don't take a huge emphasis on exercise as I find it to be surprisingly counterproductive and not the core of what truly helps, which is DIET. Diet is massively important. If you would like, I could meet up with you today at Mimi's Cafe downtown at 1:30 and we can get started. Let me know!"
"Finally!" you think to yourself, "This actually seems like something I can do." You message back that you'll meet him there. Suddenly, though, you feel a massive pit in your stomach and a low rumble moans out. You had just had breakfast a few hours ago, you can't possibly be hungry again. "Well, I guess it wasn't that much food," you think to yourself as you go back to cook some more food.
*ding*
"Can't wait to get started on your fatness journey!" "Oops, sorry autocorrect, *fitness journey!"
You waddle from the kitchen gripping a thick, frothy blender cannister in one hand and a plate of warm cookies in the other. You step slowly, not bothering to look down because you haven't seen your feet in years, giving care not to spill any of the shake. You feel your maybe-a-size-or-two-too-small jock pinch under your spilling lovehandles as your thick, soft thighs jiggle with every thump of your heavy footsteps. "Babe!" you hear me cry from the other room, slightly muffled, "Are you coming back today??"
-
I watch as your hairy, hanging belly turns the corner of the doorframe first. Then, your thick, handsome face (with a few more chins than when I met you) rounds the corner too. The sight of you stiffens my cock into the cloth of my jock, until I see what you're holding...and I throb hard, ordering my gut to get ready for more. You look down and your brow furrows. You set the cannister and the cookies down on the dresser. "I thought I told you to not start eating until I got back." I completely forgot. "I'm sorry," I look down at my chocolate icing covered belly, the cake between my doughy thighs with large chunks pawed out, "I just..." "Shut up, pig," you bark out. "Stand up."
-
You watch as I moan and turn onto my side, letting out a deep burp on the way. You can tell how tight and stuffed my poor gut is as I'm pushing myself up on the side of the bed, belly taking up space between my legs. "Fuck," you think to yourself, "what have I done to him?" You remembered back to when you first met me: an encourager-turned-gainer on Grommr who was only about a week or so into the gain. You got off to pictures of my strong, hard biceps and my thick bloated gut. You look at the bloated, fat, overgrown muscle pig hoisting himself up from the bed now and can hardly believe what you've done. Huge, bulking biceps, a chest thick with pure muscle and fat, a huge belly spilling out the front and over the waist of my jock, doughly lovehandles widening my hips into a plump ass. I look up at you after I manage to make it to my feet, my soft, fuzzy gut pressing up into yours as we stand with wide stances to support us. "Sit," you order as you point to the chair by the wall.
-
I feel the rope tighten down on my broad, hard shoulders as another squeezes under my fat, muscly tits. "I told you to wait, boy," you whisper in my ear as a blindfold slips over my eyes. I can feel my dick stiffen directly into my underbelly as my hard, labored breathing slows, preparing for what's coming. "Open." A tube eases its way into my mouth as I wrap my tongue underneath the tip and close my lips. "Now drink." Thick, chocolatey cream fills every corner of my mouth as I eagerly begin opening my throat to accept it all. I go to open my eyes but I'm met only with darkness, so I let them fall back to closed as I focus on my breathing...the taste...the feeling...of my gut, expanding... My gut begins to feel heavier and tighter while my mind starts to narrow in. Stray thoughts fade and drift away as I focus my entire attention on how good it feels. I can sense the weight on the tube begin to lessen until finally the last few drops of cream drop onto my tongue and I open up to gasp for breath.
-
You watch your poor fat boy with my arms behind my back, delts popping to either side, as my massively overbloated belly hangs out in front of me as you hoist yourself up from the floor. Dribbles of cream shoot from the corners of my mouth and are dripping down. I let out a yelp of pleasure as one brushes past my nipple. You feel the floorboards creak beneath you as you walk to to take the blindfold and ropes off. I open my eyes and look at the floor: the cake.
"Night baby," I whisper to you and give you a quick peck on the cheek before I turn over and turn off the lamp. "Night babe," you whisper back with a slight burp. You start staring at the Christmas tree in the corner, all decked out in twinkling lights and ornaments, and after a few minutes you hear my light snoring. You begin lightly rubbing your gut, relishing in the deep bloated state I had put it in for a few hours with a constant stream of cookies, milk, ice cream, cake... You turn to look at me and peel back the sheets to marvel at the small, rounded little belly you had managed to stack on me in the last few months.
We've been together for about a year and a half, and in that short time, I had taken you from a mildly chubby 155 to a respectable 235. Constant late night fast food runs, nightly stuffings, home-cooked meals with extra butter and cream and fat had all taken quite the toll on your waistline. A few months ago, I sat you down and admitted that I had been thinking about it and I was thinking about gaining a bit myself. Your heart leapt. Your cock stiffened. Your wildest fantasy was coming true: you had always wanted a man who was willing to gain *with* you, but was more than happy to be with a muscular, loving encourager. You cut me off by grabbing me and pulling me in for a deep kiss before throwing me in your car and driving me to the closest McDonalds for an inaugural food binge. Now, with 20 added pounds on my frame (and a grand total of 80 on yourself), you found yourself daydreaming at all times about us both being fat, rounded piggies. Shopping for reinforced bedframes, shopping at the Big & Tall store, waddling around buffets with our guts hanging out the bottom of our shirts...
You turn in bed and let your massive fat belly splay out in front of you, resting on the bed. You look out the window and begin counting the stars poking into the night sky as you start to doze off. "I wish we could both just be enormous already..." you think to yourself as you feel yourself fall backward into sleep.
A dim light slowly moves across the sky.
BEEP BEEP BEEP
You hear a mild groan beside you and the whirr of a CPAP machine shut off. "Morning babe," you hear my voice crack. Tired beyond belief, you keep your eyes closed and muster a "Morning babe," in response as you slip your hand from up over your head to resting on your chest. Your hand stops far sooner than it usually does as you're met with thick, warm fat. Your eyes rip open. 'What the f...'
You look down. An enormous, massive gut of pure fat rests on top of you. Big, round tits round over your chest while a mountain of a belly peaks out from behind. You feel your inner thighs press firmly into one another. Thick love handles wrap around your obliques and spill down into a low overhang, resting atop your morning wood peaking out through your FUPA. You rub the drowsiness out of your eyes before looking again, gauging your own sanity as you look down at the gigantic morbidly obese body below you.
"You alright?" you hear me ask stood next to the bed. You turn to me and gasp. It was me, you were certain, but with a big, moon-shaped face and fat cheeks. You look down and feel your heart race. I practically looked like you did last night, yet somehow even bigger. Perky tits hung off my chest where tight hard pecs once were; a round, hairy gut now took up the space where an a small, freshman-15 baby fat gut was last night. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Your mouth feels dry as your cock throbs. "How...um, how much do you weigh?" you ask. "You don't remember? We checked last night, I'm right at 268." Your head spins as you we hear your stomach let out a deep, guttural grumble. "And...how much do I weigh?" "323, unless you've gained some in your sleep or something," I laugh as my belly jiggles up and down with each chuckle. "I'm gonna go cook us a little Christmas morning breakfast, sounds like you could really use it," I say as I turn out the door, the two fat globes of my ass bouncing with each step.
You push yourself up using all your strength and might and sit at the edge of the bed as you hear the bedframe creak and moan beneath you. You look at the trashcan beside the bed: candy wrappers, two empty box of cookies, snack cake wrappers, empty Boost bottles. You gently rub the round mass of fat hanging between your legs and look up at the snow gently falling outside. Your heart fills with joy as you hear pots and pans bang in the next room. "Cinnamon rolls, sausage, bacon, eggs, toast, waffles, and grits still OK with you?" I shout. An irrepressible smile breaks out over your face. "Of course, baby," you shout, "Be there in one second."
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