Weighty Words

A collection of my various stories (mostly related to gaining). Some stories may be a little dark, and all should be considered NSFW and (18+ only). Enjoy!

[xenoxephyr]

First new story in quite some time. This new food delivery app seems too good to be true...

Feedr by Xenoxephyr on DeviantArt

[xenoxephyr]

Just an FYI that I've been posting my new stories over on DeviantArt. Just posted a new one today, even.

Grocery Run by Xenoxephyr on DeviantArt

[xenoxephyr]

BLOAT

Taylor stood in his kitchen looking down at the small vial in his hand. As he held it up to his eye, watching the light glinting through the clear glass and the pale blue solution inside, he thought back over his actions of the past few hours. It had been a wild ride, all to obtain this small sample of a drug that promised to make his deepest fantasies come true. It had been the subject of nearly a year of indecision at this point, and now, holding it in his hand, he could feel those same concerns resurfacing. He read the scrawl on the piece of tape again: BLOAT. Would it really do as they had promised? Could something so small and innocent looking really produce the massive results that he craved? 

For the briefest second, he considered smashing the vial on the floor, an act that could free him from the burning desire inside of him. Banishing the thought, he opened a cabinet, pulling out a small tumbler and a bottle of whiskey. He filled the glass a quarter full and then downed it. Filling the glass again, he reached for the vial. The stopper made an audible “pop” as he removed it and he quickly added the liquid to the drink. Here goes nothing, he thought and brought the glass to his lips, allowing the cocktail to flow down his throat. 

The first sensation to hit him was fear. Had he really done this? He’d never even smoked weed, and now here he was, drinking something that he’d bought from a back door in an alleyway. What if it was poison? Should he force himself to vomit? Would that even work at this point? These thoughts flowed through his head, plunging like a waterfall down into the sinking pit in his stomach. Taylor winced at the pain in his torso, placing a hand on his lithe stomach, feeling his solid frame beneath the loose sweater he was wearing. And then, suddenly, there was more. More to his body. A small bit, but it was there, he could feel it forming. He pulled himself back to a standing position and raced to the bathroom, throwing his top off in the hallway as he ran. 

There in the mirror was almost the same image he’d seen ever since he reached adulthood. But only almost. The area immediately surrounding his belly button was suddenly bulging outward. It would have been nearly imperceptible to anyone else, but to Taylor, it was earthshaking. He placed a single finger on the area, gasping as he felt it sink in to his budding gut. He pinched it slightly, feeling something he had never felt before, the sensation of his own body jiggling, if only slightly. He couldn’t believe it. It actually worked! A light pressure behind his belly button confirmed it, he was getting fatter! 

If someone had been watching Taylor at that moment, they would have also noticed the bulge in his shorts growing in tandem with his belly. Watching his body slowly inflate before his eyes was like a dream come true for him, a deep fantasy realized. As he placed his whole hand on his belly, which was now as large as it would have been had he recently eaten a large meal, movement higher up his frame drew his attention. His chest was beginning to puff up as well! The pressure behind his nipples sent a surge of excitement running through his body. He let out a gasp as he felt his balls tense and orgasm overtake him. He rubbed his new pudge feverishly as wave after wave rushed over him. 

And then, it was gone. He looked into the mirror to once again see that same wiry frame that he had always hated. The only difference from earlier was the wet spot that had formed in his shorts. He stood there, feeling literally deflated. It hadn’t been much, but it had been the most amazing feeling he had ever felt. 

Taylor struggled to get through the following day. It seemed that no matter what, every thought kept looping back the euphoria that he had experienced as a part of the rapid expansion he had experienced the night before. As he sat at his desk, more fidgety than usual, he could scarcely concentrate on his work. Taylor stood up and began walking to the restroom. He thought that perhaps splashing cool water on his face might help him to snap out of it. 

As he wove through the other desks in his lab, one of Taylor’s coworkers glanced up at him with a look of concern. She asked if he had been sleeping alright, noting that he looked more tired than usual. He brushed off her concern with a shrug and continued his path toward the bathroom. 

The water felt good against the skin of his face as he brought handful after handful to it. Water dripped from his beard as he stood up, glancing into the large wall of mirrored glass in front of him as he reached for a paper towel. For nearly his entire adult life, he had felt too small, but now, as he looked at himself, rather than just a casual desire to be bigger, he was experiencing a deepening incongruence with his own reflection. It was wrong to be so small, a strange alien feeling assured him. The sight of himself from the night before flashed before his eyes, tormenting him with what could have been. He could feel a burning growing in his belly as it ached to be filled up again. As he left the bathroom, a single thought was running through his mind: get more BLOAT. 

Taylor once again stood in his bathroom at home, clutching a vial identical to the one from the night before. The dealer hadn’t even seemed surprised when he had returned to demand another dose from them.

Tonight, Taylor had elected to wear the tightest button down shirt that he owned as well as a pair of shorts that fit him like a glove. This time, he needed no drink to steel his nerves. He popped the stopper out of the vial and immediately downed the liquid inside. The result was instantaneous. Once again, he felt the bloated feeling, as though a great deal of gas were building inside his stomach, but a quick touch showed that he was actually filling with soft fat. He watched as the fabric of his shirt began to fill out, the roundness of his beginner belly pressing against the lower buttons. Soon, his chest began to soften and fill out the top part of the shirt as well. As he reached the size he had been the night prior, it took a great deal of concentration for him not to blow his load and lose all of the size right then and there. He was being extra careful to resist touching himself this time around. 

And it was paying off. Just as his belly was straining the buttons on his shirt, Taylor became aware of a new feeling: his butt being compressed by his shorts. Turning, he saw in the mirror that each cheek was now pressing hard against his shorts, swelling more and more, desperate for freedom from their confines. His body was increasingly taking on the accentuated S-curve of a truly fat individual. As love handles began to blossom on his hips, the first button exploded off of Taylor’s shirt. He dug his fingernails into his palms, trying to focus on the pain to keep from coming. He continued to digas another button popped off the bottom of his shirt. He stared in awe at the belly that now graced his form. Whereas before he had only developed a small potbelly, this was a legitimate gut. A single sweeping swath of lard wrapped around from his love handles to the roll beneath his belly button, now flopping over the waistband of his shorts. His shorts, too, unable to contain the growing globes of his ass, had begun to slide down, revealing at least an inch of his ass crack. He allowed himself a brief moment to caress his belly, appreciating the distance between his belly button and the lower crest of his gut. Beneath that, a new sensation thrilled him as he began to feel the pressure of his expanding pubic roll on his erection. Being fat enough to have a fat pad was nearly enough to send him spiraling into orgasm, but he maintained his composure for the moment.  

His tits were expanding as well, filling with fat not only on the front of his chest, but also back into his armpits. Soon, they too became too much for his clothes, and the top two buttons burst off his shirt. Freed from their confines, his tits flopped forward, sending ripples throughout his body. A soft moan escaped his lips. He could feel the jiggling make its way to his ass, no longer covered at all by his shorts, and to his fat pad. That little bit of stimulation was finally the last straw, and he stumbled backward onto the edge of the tub as orgasm overtook him. The incredible high of it all sent his head swimming, and he collapsed onto the cold tile of the bathroom. 

When he finally came to again, it was well into the afternoon of the next day. “Shit,” he thought, “How could I have let this happen?” He hastened to clean himself off, hoping that he could maybe still get into the lab for a few hours. As he got into the shower and looked down at his naked body, he was filled not only with shame, but also reproach. His body was disgustingly thin. Had it always been that way? This wasn’t him. The only time that he was really himself was when he was taking the BLOAT. The word seemed to echo around his head. BLOAT. Yeah, that’s what he needed. That was the only way to assuage the emptiness that he felt when he looked down at himself. BLOAT would fix it all. 

Taylor panted heavily as he threw open the door to his apartment. Why hadn’t they just cooperated? Wasn’t that their job? To deal drugs? What had they said? “Side effects.” “Too many doses.” He was pretty sure that others had heard the altercation in the alley, or had seen his car as he’d driven away. Oh well, doesn’t matter. It had all been worth it, right? For the vial? He was nearly unable to stop himself from downing it as soon as he’d gotten it. Needing to run away had been his only barrier. He locked the apartment door behind him and dashed back into the bathroom. A single deft movement later, and the BLOAT was once again entering his system. Anticipation coursed through his body as the familiar feeling of pressure building within overtook him. He moaned heavily, so grateful for the rush the drug brought him. 

Within minutes, he was nearing the size he’d been when last he had finished. Already his t-shirt had ridden up the widening curve of his belly and was now swaddling his ever-expanding cleavage. The growth of his ass and hips had completely shredded the seat of his pants, revealing underwear that were rapidly wedging themselves deeper into his ass flesh. Now, forging onward into uncharted territory, Taylor could almost feel his body vibrating as it surged with fat. Love handles grew wider and deeper as his belly draped further and further down his torso, soon hanging over his fat pad, which itself threatened to burst forth from his constricting underwear. He watched as his chest spread further outward and to the sides, blubber pooling beneath his arms. His sensitive nipples sent waves of pleasure through him as he felt them stretch to accommodate the growth. His ass fat was piling up behind him at an alarming rate. It nearly pulled him off his feet as his underwear finally gave up, allowing his lard-filled posterior to go free.

Just as he could feel his lust beginning to get the best of him, a knock came at the door. “This is the police. We’re investigating an alleged assault.” Chills ran through Taylor’s massive form. Here he was, drugged, expanding, and naked, save for a thin piece of his underwear that was wedged between his belly and fat pad. He took one lumbering step out of the bathroom, but whereas other superobese people typically had years to build their balance up, he had only had a few minutes. The shifting of all of his lard caused him to list to one side, before landing with a heavy “BOOM” on his living room floor. Taylor struggled to heave his body back up, but it was no use, he simply didn’t have the strength or coordination. And then it hit him, all he had to do was come! And so, he reached his meaty forearm into the crevice where his waist had once been, under the massive apron that was his belly. Pushing back his fat pad, he could just barely wrap his sausage fingers around the top of his cock. He began tugging at his buried prick, desperately trying to end his growth before the authorities decided to break down his door. It was easier said than done, however, because as he pleasured himself, the growth was continuing. His belly was growing wider and wider, pushing his arm away from his needy loins. At the same time, his pubic roll was slowly swallowing his cock, making it harder and harder to get to. Taylor huffed, sweating heavily from the effort of trying to move so much bulk. He managed to give the head of his penis one final touch before the avalanche of belly fat finally made it impossible for him to reach. 

A loud crash signaled that the police had decided that they could wait no longer. As they entered the apartment, there on the floor was Taylor, sweating profusely and breathing heavily, as his fat hands grasped either side of his massive belly, desperately trying to shake the hundreds and hundreds of pounds of lard within it enough to stimulate his now-buried cock. 

“Looks like we got ourselves another junkie,” the older of the two cops said, shaking his head. “Think this one’s the biggest I’ve ever seen.” Taylor watched as the cop removed a syringe from a small pouch on his belt. He felt the needle slide home in the endless expanse of his belly fat, bringing the steady march of his growth to a halt. “Guess we’d better ship this pig back to the lab, huh, boss?” said the other officer. “Nah, as long as he gets there eventually, no reason we can’t have some fun with him first,” the first cop said, standing up, his uniform stretched over his well-muscled body. 

Taylor hardly noticed as they began to approach him. His mind was awash in all the sensations of being so massively obese that he was now an immobile heap of blubber. As the officers began removing their uniforms, all he could really think about was if maybe he could convince them to get him some more BLOAT.

[xenoxephyr]

Musings

Sorry, this isn’t probably the type of post that people are hoping for, but I’ve had a lot of feelings recently about the community and I’m kinda hoping that this will help me process them. 

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   When I was a sophomore in college, my friends and I took a trip to The Smokey Mountains. We went on a hike, during which I had to take many breathers because of how out of shape I was. Being 300 pounds, I was the heaviest I had ever been and was probably 100 pounds heavier than my next-largest friend. It was that summer that I resolved that I would never be that fat again. By the fall of my senior year, I was down to almost 200 pounds and was running nearly every day. It was that weight loss that finally gave me enough confidence to start dating online (this was also when Grommr first came around). On the first date that I went on with a civilian, one of the first things he commented on was that he didn’t expect that I would be so big (not in a good way). He made comments about the fact that I had man boobs and that I was the biggest person he had ever been with. I didn’t realize it at the time but looking back I can see now how those comments completely undid all of the confidence that I had gained the two years previous.

     I was young and dumb, so I started dating that person. The years that followed were pretty much devoid of the praise for my body that I so desired (he was also super self-conscious about his body, which no doubt extended to his comments about mine), so I turned to Grommr. Here, there was a place where people WOULD give me that praise that I wanted, AND I could indulge this fetish that I had. I went up and down for a while, vacillating between 230 and 280, until I got to 350 last year. At that point, I really began to question why I had ever thought that this was a good idea in the first place. The other parts of my life (school, relationships, mental health) were in a much better place, but I began to feel really ashamed of my weight.

     I really envy the people here who didn’t grow up fat. People talk about how society looks down on fat people, but it seems like it is a lot easier to deal with without all the internalized fat shame that growing up fat affords. It’s always been weird for me to try to reconcile the ways that I feel about my body. The sexual thrill of getting bigger is always tinged by a deep shame. Shame for being fat. Shame for having the audacity to get fatter on purpose. Shame knowing that I’m exactly what everyone growing up used to tell me that I was, and that I am somehow lesser for that. Sometimes I scroll through here and see everyone who seemingly unphased by the downsides and I find myself plunged into a well of jealousy but also anger at the fact that people should get to enjoy being fat and have people praise them for it. I’m not naïve enough to think that others aren’t ever affected in a similar way, but in those moments, I’ll admit that my rational mind isn’t really what’s driving things. It’s similar to how I feel seeing an encourager who has likely never experienced what being fat can be, continually egg people on for their selfish thrill.

     The way that I think about gaining (and the kinds of stories that I write and enjoy) tends to center around the shame of being fat. In most of these cases getting fat is something to be worried about, scared of even. Or in other cases it’s used as a punishment (mean jocks getting fat, weight gain as bondage, etc). So, the shame that ruins the idea of gaining for me is also something that I find erotic overall, adding to the confusion.

    I don’t say this to seem ungrateful for the things that I’ve gotten from this community. I treasure the relationships I’ve made here more than many others, but as more time goes on, I’m finding it harder and harder to come to terms with where I fit in now. As of now, I have been and continue to want to slim down, but that doesn’t stop me from seeing pictures of gainers enjoying their size and longing for the ability to do that. I realize that this is all stuff that I must work through myself, and I’m hoping that writing this out will help process. If you made it this far, thanks so much for taking the time to do so.

[hugezuki-yukari]

Reblog if you’re into XWG (extreme weight gain)

[planetgirthpodcast-deactivated2]

On this week’s episode Blob and OBCT are joined by CubDave and Xephyr ( http://xenoxephyr.tumblr.com ) to talk about their relationship and discuss on thoughts and experiences on gainer4gainer relationships

[xenoxephyr]

The Haunted Mask III

The next installment in my Goosebumps books as weight gain stories series. I’ve had an idea to turn The Haunted Mask into a weight gain story ever since I saw the show back in the day, and I saw that one of the masks looked like a fat face. Happy Halloween!!!

Kyle loved Halloween. He always had. As a child, he would spend all year looking forward to dressing up in costume and wandering around the neighborhood, collecting candy all the way. Childhood gave way to adolescence, and candy started to play second fiddle to the costumes themselves. Throughout high school and college, Kyle was known for his extravagant and often times outlandish Halloween apparel. Some years he spent the many months leading up to the big day working on incredibly intricate displays.

This all made the fact that this year, with Halloween a mere two days away, Kyle still had no costume all the more distressing. A recent college grad, the adult world had slowly been sapping Kyle of the mysticism and wonder that had always surrounded his love of Halloween. Working late hours at a local law firm was taking its toll, leaving Kyle with little energy or time to work on his costume. He’d been trying to wrack his brain to come up with an idea, but it was no use. His old college buddies were getting together tomorrow for a big Halloween bash, and Kyle could barely stand the idea of showing up with some run of the mill costume, or, worse yet, nothing at all.

Resigned to his fate, Kyle crawled into his car and began to drive to the big Halloween store that popped up every October near the mall in the next town over. The car radio played a mix of spooky metal Halloween songs as Kyle drove along, only worsening his Halloween humbug. As we passed through the outskirts of town, he noticed a large display of pumpkins outside of one of the old strip malls. Getting closer, he realized that it was another Halloween pop-up shop.

“Guess it doesn’t really matter which one I go to,” he thought to himself as he turned of the road and into the bare parking lot. Walking into the store, he realized all too quickly that the day before Halloween was probably the worst day to try to find a costume. The store was picked over almost entirely, save for a few sundry pieces of costumes scattered here and there. Kyle roamed around the shop, an eerie sense of desertion lingering in the air. His search turned up only two in-tact costume sets: a farmer outfit far too big to fit his lithe frame, and a unicorn. Reluctantly, magic horse costume in hand, Kyle approached the cash register. Seeing no evidence of a salesperson, Kyle rang the bell on the counter loudly. He looked over his shoulder, scanning the store for an associate. This was a growing inconvenience. Returning his gaze forward, Kyle was shocked to see a tall, lanky man standing on the other side of the counter. His face was sallow and had a somberness to it that Kyle couldn’t place. A pencil-thin mustache was the only feature on his face that didn’t seem to contribute to his gravity.

“Can I help you….sir,” the last word was delivered as though the man were acting a part in an old B-movie.

“Ah. Yeah, I’d like to buy this costume,” Kyle said, proffering the costume to the clerk.

“You mean to purchase, this?” the man’s face betrayed no emotion, but his voice was heavy with distaste.

Kyle sighed, he had hoped to avoid such a situation. He explained to the man his situation. The long hours at work, his usual level of creativity, his desperation. The man took it all in, unmoving.  

“We have another section that might interest you. It’s for…discerning….customers…”

The man reached out a long arm, and pulled back a curtain that had been blocking the way into a small set of shelves. Kyle followed the man into the space, only to find several masks on a pedestal in the middle of the space. They were simple, yet somehow, Kyle could tell that they were more than just average masks. Each one had a different gruesome look on it, most of them looking incredibly pained. One had a gigantic forehead that made it look like it belonged on the body of a Neanderthal. Another’s mouth was draw back at the four corners of it, revealing a hideous assortment of gnarled teeth. Kyle reached out, running his hand against them. The surface was hyper realistic, probably special effects grade. Weirdly, they were almost warm to the touch.

Kyle surveyed the masks and suddenly something clicked. One of the hideous masks was a bloated human face. Its cheeks bulged outwards, obscuring the eye holes a bit. Three separate rolls occupied the space where the face’s neck should have been. Kyle imagined taking the mask and the oversized farmer suit back in the store, putting them together to make a fat farmer. It wasn’t anything groundbreaking, but the detail of the mask would be more than enough to impress his friends. Picking it up, Kyle turned to the attendant, informing him that he would be purchasing the mask.

“An excellent choice, sir.”

Kyle returned to the front of the store, grabbed the massive farmer outfit and brought it back to the front. The attendant read the price tag, holding out a thin-fingered hand, waiting for payment.

“What about the mask?”

“It’s free of charge. We’re having a sale,” the man replied.

Kyle was astonished at his luck. Clearly this guy didn’t even know what great products he had! Kyle handed the man a twenty and turned around, walking back to his car. Sitting down in the driver seat, he removed the mask from the bag. He held it in his hands for a few moments before lifting it up and pulling it over his head. Looking in the rear-view mirror, it was almost as if he had become another person. Kyle couldn’t believe his luck, this might just be another great Halloween after all. Pulling the mask off, his stomach began to rumble a bit.

“Oh yeah, I should probably get some lunch.”

Kyle dropped the two empty McDonald’s bags into the trash can outside his house as we walked past. He’d been hungrier than he thought! It was a good thing though, Griffin’s Halloween parties were usually full of things to drink, so it would be better to have a full stomach. Kyle began to busy himself putting together the elements of his fat farmer costume. He had the mask and the costume set had come with oversized overalls and a billowing flannel shirt. He walked back onto the porch, grabbing the straw hat and a piece of straw from the scarecrow that he had bought to sit out there. Lastly, he set about collecting anything pillowy from around his house, using it to pad the outfit, gradually making it fit to his skinny frame. By the end, he was amazed to find that he almost did look like a huge rancher. He stood before his full length mirror, admiring his work, and taking up most of the view. He reached for the mask, slowly pulling its bulk over his face. It was incredibly how well it seemed to surround the contours of his head. The cheeks almost seemed to jiggle as he moved, adding to the effect. Kyle grabbed his keys and wallet, and began to waddle to his front door. A rumbling in his stomach caused him to grab a quick snack from the kitchen. All the better to deal with the heavy drinking that would follow.

Griffin only lived a few blocks over, so Kyle was more than happy to just walk over. It would make the stumble home easier than if he had driven. Kyle waddled his way through the throngs of trick-or-treaters who were gleefully going about their holiday business, lugging around huge bags full of candy. Candy. It had been a while since Kyle had had candy. It was really starting to sound good. Hopefully there would be some at Griffin’s.

Walking in the suit was beginning to prove to be way more difficult than Kyle had originally thought. All of the padding hadn’t felt this heavy when he left the house, but it was getting harder and harder to carry the further he walked. He noticed that he was really beginning to sweat too. Beads began to roll down his face as he huffed his way along. Wait, he thought, was the outside of his mask sweating?! Ugh, he could really use some more energy. Candy has sugar, sugar is energy.

“Man,” he thought, “I wish I had some candy.”

He began to look at the children around him. Moreover, he looked at their bags, heavy laden with candy. He walked up to a pair of middle school aged kids dressed as a ghost and vampire.

“Huff, hey kids, gimmee your…huh…candy…” Kyle said, brandishing his pitchfork, his voice tired from the exhertion of walking, but laced with a disturbing desperation. It even had taken on a…huskier tone than usual.

The children, intimidated by the seemingly mountainous man before them, dropped their bags, fleeing off into the night. Kyle happily snacked up the vessels of sugary goodness and began indiscriminately shoveling candy into his mouth. Chocolate smeared against his face, which he eagerly licked off, feeling his tongue brush against the skin. The first bag left Kyle only needing more and so he messily chomped his way through the second. Sated, he struck out for Griffin’s again.

It was only another block before another candy binge seized Kyle. This time, he had lifted an entire bowl of candy that had rested on the porch of a family who was clearly not home. The cycle continued as he lugged his form toward his friend’s house. Each step seemed to be getting harder and harder, the softness of the pillows that he had used to stuff his costume becoming less pliant, getting in the way of his movements. By the time that he finally reached Griffin’s, Kyle was soaked in sweat and nearly entirely out of breath. The pillows seemed to be keeping the heat in while somehow allowing his sweat to pass right through.

Kyle stumbled up onto the porch, a loud creaking noise sounding from the wood below. He rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, his friend answered, dressed in an elaborate Genji costume.

“Uh…hey! Who’s this?” Griffin asked, “Neat get-up!”

“Huh-huh….it’s (huff)… me, (huff)… Kyle!” Kyle said, still out of breath.

“Kyle? That…doesn’t sound like you…”

Suddenly, the view of the kitchen behind Griffin caught Kyle’s eye. Plates of cookies and Halloween-shaped treats were spread across the counter. Griffin shouted as the massive man in his doorway pushed him out of the way and began to waddle laboriously toward the kitchen. Kyle couldn’t resist shoving anything that he could get his hands on into his fat mouth. He felt utterly and entirely ravenous, almost as if his actions had ceased to be his own.

“Hey! Hey!! HEY!!!”

Kyle’s attention was briefly wrestled back to the fact that Griffin was in the kitchen shouting at him.

“Look, fatass, I don’t know who you are, but you need to get THE FUCK out of here!

Kyle was confused.

“(Huff) Griffin…I’m…so hungry! It…It’s ME! (HUFF) Kyle!”

Kyle began to reach up to pull the mask from his face, he needed to show them that it was him under there! The stuffing around his arms was making it terribly difficult to reach the back of the mask, and the struggle was tiring. He slowly lowered himself onto one of the chairs in the kitchen.

The poor piece of furniture never stood a chance, and, Kyle fell to the ground with a massive THUD, pieces of the chair flying all over the room. Kyle felt his whole body…even more of it than usual, wobble from the impact.

“THAT’S IT!!!” Griffin shouted, grabbing onto Kyle’s arm. Kyle felt him begin to pull, attempting to bounce him out of the house. Kyle could feel the fabric of his massive shirt straining as Griffin continued to pull.

“(Huff) Careful!!” Kyle wheezed, just in time to hear the sound of threads splitting as Griffin pulling the sleeve from his shirt. Kyle scrambled to pick up the padding, but none spilled out. Looking over, he could see that the lack of shirt had just revealed a massive, ham-like arm that connected to his body beside a hugely stretched man boob. His arm free, Kyle reached for the back of the mask. He frantically reached for the part where it should have come apart, only to find that no such spot existed any longer, he felt the sweat begin to pour down his face again, as a chill passed through his massive body. The mask…it WAS his face now!

“Come on, get OUT!”

By now, the entire party was engaged in lifting the massive pig of a man who had literally crashed their gathering out of the house. Kyle could barely speak to protest, trying to tell them what happened, but it was no use. The porch groaned under his weight as they slammed the door behind him.

This had to be some sort of nightmare, he thought. He raised a fat hand to his new face, feeling that it was indeed his own. He squeezed his fat tit, confirming that it was his own skin. He began to waddle away, he needed to find help! But…but who would believe him! He needed…he needed… He needed to get back home. He needed to return… Kyle felt his body begin to waddle deeper into town, puppeteered by unseen strings. Strange memories were flooding into his head along with foreign desires. He could feel his cock, now buried beneath rolls and rolls of padding, aching with sudden need. He knew he couldn’t reach. He knew where he could get help.

Kyle wandered into a part of town that he’d never been to before, and yet, he knew the way. His clothes were beginning to get tighter and tighter with each heavy step. His body jiggled constantly now, but he loved the feeling, didn’t he? A blast of chill wind blew the straw hat from his now-bald head. Soon, Kyle found himself in front of a dark building. A bright marquee proclaimed the name of the establishment: Freak Show. A haze of smoke and the low din of music drifted from inside. They must’ve had a Halloween theme going, because he thought he could hear moans coming from inside as well. Part of him knew that they weren’t coming from a speaker system.

He slowly hauled his now severely morbidly obese body into the bar. It appeared to be mostly empty, save for a muscled bartender wearing thick leather pants and a harness. He eyed Kyle knowingly.

“Oh good, I wondered when they were gonna send over the new one,” the bartender said, coming out from behind the bar. “I’d telling you to strip down, but usually we don’t have to wait long for that.”

On cue, Kyle felt his overstuffed clothes finally begin to give way. The shoulder straps of his overalls popped off, leaving the bulk of the fabric to fall around his tree trunk thighs. His underwear had long been lost to the encroachment of his massive, dimpled ass. The bartender gave it a smack, watching as waves rippled through it. Kyle just moaned. The buttons on what remained of his shirt slowly popped off, unable to contain the surge of flesh across his belly and jugs.

“Hey, what’s your name, guy?” the bartender cooed, as if he already knew the answer.

Kyle thought for a moment. He opened his mouth to say his name: “Lard.”

The bartender smiled a cocky, knowing smile.

“Welcome home, Lard. Everyone’s already waiting for you in the back.”

The bartender helped Lard back into the depths of the bar, past a sign labelled Discerning Customers Only. The room was dark, but Lard could see that the far wall was a huge mirror, and his body was filling an ample amount of it. He was impossibly wide, easily the size of 5 normal men. His belly had become a massive, heavy apron of flesh, obscuring his crotch and much of his massive thighs. Two heavy bags of flesh, dotted with stretched-out nipples, hung from his chest, wrapping around to his back, under his gigantic ham-like arms. He was completely hairless, a sea of smooth pink dough. His skin bulged and rolled over on itself more times than he could see or count. 

Directly in front of the mirror was a long trough, filled to the brim with unwrapped candy, and, in front of it, several thick straps hung from the ceiling.

The bartender helped Lard get back into place. He attached the straps to Lard’s upper arms and thighs, before turning on the industrial winch above. The straps retracted, pulling Lard up off the ground. His belly hung down below him, only a few inches from the floor below. The bartender attached a thick leather collar around Lard’s many neck folds and moved him so that his face was positioned directly over the trough, with his titanic rear sticking out into the air behind him. Lard heard a curtain being pulled back as several voices echoed around the room. Excitement filled Lard as the men approached. He buried his face into the trough of candy, instinctively sticking his fat ass as far out as possible.

“Got ourselves an eager one!” the bartender exclaimed, “Wonder how long it’ll take this one’s belly to reach the floor.”

“I’d better get back out front before then others show up. I’ll leave ‘Lard’ here in your capable hands,” the bartender said, as the rest of the men approached the massive blob of flesh before them.

Lard just moaned as he devoured the sweets in front of him. He was home and he was ready to be used.

[xenoxephyr]

‘Stay Out of The Pumpkin Patch’ or ‘Little Farm of Horrors’

Just a little Halloween-themed story. Loosely lumping this into my sort-of-series of re-imagining Goosebumps stories as weight gain ones. Enjoy!!!

Greg shifted his truck into park as he finished pulling down the long, dusty driveway in front of the large, old farmhouse. He silently cursed himself again. Why had he waited so long to look for work? A senior at the local college, Greg had certainly been aware that campus jobs were snatched up relatively quickly, nonetheless, he had taken too long to find something, and now, here he was, answering a help wanted ad in the local paper. He had to admit that he didn’t know the first thing about farming, but he was really hard up for funds. Partying took money, after all. He pulled his keys from the ignition, silencing the truck’s radio midway through a report about several local young men having vanished recently. The sweet smell of soil and fall met him as he excited the pick-up.

As he approached the porch of the house, he looked out over the expansive fields surrounding the property. Hundreds, if not thousands, of pumpkins dotted the brown dirt with cheerful hues of orange and yellow. He’d lived here for the past three years, and somehow, he’d never noticed this massive pumpkin patch just miles from campus. Against the earthy tones of the field, he saw an older man, clad in the usual overalls and plaid shirt that denote one a farmer. The man waved to Greg as he began to lumber up toward the house.

“Ahfternoon,” the older farmer said, wiping his hand on his overalls before offering it to Greg. Greg introduced himself as he shook the man’s calloused hand.

“Great to meetcha, Greg. We been lookin’ for a strong young man like yahself to be our farmhand for the pumpkin harvest,” the farmer said, waving at the large expanse of field behind him. Greg’s gaze returned to the field where he could now just barely make out several large green mounds amongst the smaller orange globes of pumpkin.

“Ah, I see yah noticed my giants. Yep, we been growin’ the largest pumpkins in the state for quite some time now. The ground round here’s perfect for it.”

Before Greg could inquire further, the farmer was already ushering him up the stairs of the porch. Greg followed the man through the weathered front door of the house. The interior was decorated in typical country fashion: red and white tartan curtain, model tractors, a welcoming sign depicting stylized pumpkins. To the left of the entryway Greg could see a large sitting room with a sturdy hearth set into the far wall. Above the mantle, Greg could see many pictures of the largest pumpkins he had ever seen. Each one was positioned atop a large scale which proudly displayed their weights, all at least 1500 pounds! Greg let a gasp of surprise leave his mouth as he walked closer to the photos.

“Yup, that’s what I was tellin’ yah about: mah pride’n joys, there. Yup, each an’ evrah one ah those was a priiiize winnin’ beauty.”

Greg watched the man stare into the photos as if he were reliving each and every one of those moments so long past.

“It’s a tough competition, but I haven’t lost yet. Each year it gets a little closer though. Luckily, I’ve got the upper hand,” the farmer said, flashing Greg a wry, if not unsettling, wink. Suddenly a bell sounded from deeper in the home.

“Ah! That’d be mah wife with dinner. Won’t yah join us, Greg?”

As a savory scent wafted through the home and under Greg’s nose, he could feel his stomach growling beneath his tight jacket. He nodded and followed the farmer into the dining room. Greg was shocked to see the long solid wood table was completely filled with all manner of foods, all seeming in some way to be garnished, flavored, or made from pumpkin. The farmer’s wife smiled at him kindly as she began to load him up a plate of nearly Thanksgiving-sized portions. Greg accepted it politely, only slightly worrying about eating such a large quantity and how it might affect his hard-won physique. A chubby kid growing, it had taken Greg a lot of time to shed his old habits and his old weight, and he certainly didn’t want to be putting any of it back on. The food turned out to be so good, that he scarcely thought of those worries once he began to dig in.

“Glad tah see that you’re enjoyin’ the food!” the farmer said warmly, giving Greg a mighty pat on the back. “Seems like yah’ll do just fine around here. We’ll be needin’ yah for a few hours each day for the next couple a weeks, and we’ll be happy tah pay ya a pretty good wage for yer labor. Plus, you’ll get as much of Mabel’s delicious cooking as yah please. Yah’ll just be helping load the harvest into the barn, and workin’ the road stand. Oh, and stay out of the pumpkin patch.”

If he hadn’t been so absorbed in swallowing his last bite of pumpkin pie, heavy with freshly whipped cream, Greg would have noticed the extra gravity of the farmer’s last words. Instead, he eagerly agreed. Maybe waiting so long to find work would pay off. He’d be making good money, and, if he just didn’t eat anything the rest of the day, he could probably stand to eat here each day and save some money on groceries. Greg smiled to himself as he got back into his car, waved goodbye to the kindly couple, and headed back into town.

Over the next week, the farmer and his wife kept Greg busy and well fed, respectively. Despite the fact that they were also keeping him well paid, Greg was beginning to worry that his indulgences might be getting away from him. He was constantly worrying about whether or not his clothes were fitting him too tight, or if he was putting on any noticeable amount of weight. Usually his worrying would be broken up by the farmer carting in more pumpkins for Greg to arrange in the roadside stand out front, or by the sweet smell of Mabel’s cooking wafting out from the house. It was strange, but Greg felt like each day it smelled a little sweeter, like cinnamon and nutmeg. And each day it got a little stronger too.

As the days went by, the barn was rapidly filling with more and more round orange pumpkins. Unloading the cartloads was getting to be harder and harder on Greg as he was constantly having to find more unused space to pile up the gourds. Once after carrying a crate of pie pumpkin to the far back of the barn, Greg got turned around, wandering through the expansive wooden structure. Eventually he can to a large orange door. A huge rusty padlock hung from a bar that sealed the structure closed. A large sign proclaimed the areas “PRIVATE.” His curiosity piqued, Greg placed an ear to the wood of the door. The sounds from beyond were muffled, but he could make out a few low, almost guttural moans.

“Hey! Greg, where’d yah go?!” Greg jumped as he heard the farmer’s voice from the front of the barn, quickly scurrying away from the mysterious door, even more curious as to what was behind it.

At the end of the second week of work, mid-October, as they sat down to dinner, the farmer turned to Greg.

“Greg, we’re gettin’ intah the real busy season now. I was wonderin’ if you might like to just stay here fer the weekend. That way, we can get more work done before the big pumpkin show next weekend. Gonna be a lot of people there lookin’ to buy our gourds. Obviously, we’ll be payin’ yah a bit extra for it.”

Greg was only too eager to agree, albeit through a mouthful of mashed sweet potatoes. And so that night, after he drove home with a full wallet and an even fuller belly, Greg set about packing for the weekend. He pulled a few shirts from the dresser along with some underwear, pants, and a hooded sweatshirt. He hadn’t worn the hoodie for a while, but it would fit better than his jacket had been. Greg looked at himself in the mirror. While his middle hadn’t been particularly flat to begin with, it now had a definite outward curvature to it. He inwardly chastised himself for having been so lax in his eating habits and swore that he would have more control in the future.

The next day was particularly hard on Greg. He spent most of it loading pumpkins that the farmer would bring in from the fields into large crates for shipping them to the festival next weekend. Between that and managing the small stand outside the barn, Greg was completely exhausted by the time dinner rolled around. He ate his fill, letting his previous thoughts of restraint fall to the wayside before groggily staggering up the stairs of the farmhouse to the spare bedroom that had been made up for him. Not even bothering to remove his clothes, Greg collapsed onto the bed, quickly drifting off to sleep.

Greg rubbed his nose. It tickled with a familiar scent. Rolling over, he tried to allow himself to drift back off to sleep when a low roar sounded from his stomach. His hand drifted down to his soft paunch, rubbing it lightly, trying to alleviate the hunger pangs. Sitting up in the bed, Greg yawned, sucking in a blast of the smell surrounding him. It was sweet, like the smell of Mabel’s cooking. Thoughts of midnight snacks and pies danced around Greg’s head. With a surge of fortitude, he tried to bid them away. But, after a few more minutes of tossing and turning in vain, Greg began to creep downstairs. No lights shone up the stairs as Greg slowly wandered down them, and as he arrived at the landing, he saw that the whole house was silent and dark. He crept his way into the kitchen, only to find it completely deserted. The light of a full, orange moon filtered in through the kitchen window which stood open before him. The cool night air wafting into the house brought with it the delicious scent that he had been following. Was it coming from outside?

Greg hurried his way across the hall to the front door, slowly opening it and stepping outside. He paused for a moment to ascertain the direction of the smell which was now causing him to salivate. It was coming from the field. Curiosity and hunger piqued, Greg began to walk across the cool, dewy grass toward the rough dirt of the pumpkin patch. The smell, heavenly cinnamon, ginger, and cloves hung heavier and heavier all around him, and soon, he was standing deep into the pumpkin vines. Looking closely, he could see that the moonlight was illuminating one of the vines that seemed to have been cut somehow. From the incision in its stem, the plant was leaking a thick, white liquid. Bending down, Greg caught a drop on his pointer finger, bringing it up to his nose. All at once, the euphoric scent crashed over him like a tidal wave, and, before he knew it, Greg’s finger was in his mouth, and the sweet taste of the sap was flooding his senses.

Unable to control himself any longer in the face of the delicious sap, Greg began to eat more and more of it. At first, he continued to use his finger to dab a tiny bit repeatedly into his mouth, but before long, Greg was kneeling in the pumpkins, drinking straight from the vine. A sense of peace welled up around him, filling his brain with euphoric thoughts and sensations, becoming almost orgasmic. His senses dulled, Greg barely noticed as the vines shifted around him, slowly creeping outward, closer to his body. He didn’t feel them as they slid around his wrists and ankles, binding him in place. All he could think about was the amazing bliss brought on by the plants juices.

Falling down onto his back, Greg continued to revel in the bliss that the vines supplied. It only intensified as he felt a pressure forcing its way under the band of his pants, a vine caressing his skin lightly as it wrapped itself around his manhood below. Greg let out a muffled groan as the vine tightened around his cock, pulsating rhythmically. The stimulation down below only served to make his gulps of sap even larger. He became vaguely aware of another pressure building around his belly button as a third vine began to dig its way into his flabby belly. Soon the pressure was diffusing throughout the skin of his stomach, and Greg watched as it slowly began to rise, filling with lard. Whatever the plant was pumping into him, it was almost instantly being converted to solid fat. He could feel the warmth of it all spreading throughout his body, concentrated mostly in his middle, but forming massive love handles on his sides, pressing the bottom of his shirt upwards.

He could feel a pair of bulging tits weighing down his chest, slowly sagging down into his armpits. The vine in Greg’s mouth was slowing it’s sedative drip into his gullet, allowing him to fully experience the horror of his transformation. The pale glow of the orange moonlight revealed that his bloated skin had taken on a pale green color. He attempted to struggle against the vines, but to no avail. Movement was hard enough already as he was quickly nearing 400 pounds of rounded flesh, but the vines held fast, keeping him trapped in their fattening embrace.

“No use strugglin’, boy.” Greg looked up to the farmer silhouetted against the night sky. “What’d I tell yah? I told yah to stay outta the pumpkin patch didn’t I? I swear you farmhands just keep gettin’ dumber and dumber. Used tah be we had to force ‘em out here into the patch, but nowadays, ya’ll just wander on out by yahselves. Ah well, looks like we’re gonna have ah real good crop this year,” the farmer said, giving Greg’s distended belly a hearty thump with his hardened hand.

Greg’s eyes went wide with realization.

“Ah, takes ‘em longer and longer to catch on these days too. That’s right, boy. Used tah be that growin’ giant pumpkins was a long, hard task. Yah had tah nurture them all season. That was before these plants came ahlong. I dunno what they get out of it, but they seem more than content to keep bloatin’ you boys up for me. Don’t worry, we’ll take real good care o’ yah. Once yah win me that blue ribbon, we’ll forklift you into the barn where we keep all the other prize winner’s.”

Greg began to struggle against the vines, but he was beginning to feel more and more sluggish as more fat piled up around him. He could feel his body forcing itself through the last remaining shreds of his clothing, scraping against the rough soil as it billowed out further and further.

“Haha, now big pumpkins ain’t good for makin’ pie or nothin’, but yah do provide us ah couple ah things. You see, once yur good’n ripe, yur gonna start leaking that sap. Now that’s precious stuff. Ensures next year’s harvest is gonna be real bountiful if yah catch mah drift.  You’ll be helpin’ in another way too. Big ol’ pumpkins like you got a lot ah seeds in yah. Saves me the trouble of buyin’ more next spring. Nah, we’re not gonna cut yah open for ‘em, the plants will take care of getting’ ‘em out o’ yah.”

At this, the vines around Greg’s cock twitched almost knowingly.

“Well, I best get back inside. Big day tahmarrah.”

The initial growth had almost slowed to a stop as the farmer slowly stalked away from the field. Pinned on his back, Greg could only see the round globes resting atop his chest and the swelling curve of his massive belly beyond. He could no longer bring himself to struggle against the prison of vines and lard that bound him in place.

Over the next few days, Greg faded in and out of consciousness. Sometimes the sun warmed his bloated form, other times, cool night breezes blew across it. The only constant was the feeling of constant growth. Somehow, he was always acutely aware of the fact that each time he came to, his body, but mostly his swollen gut, had expanded. The vines kept him in a constant state of dumb arousal as he grew. Slowly, he began to want it. He began to take pleasure in the feeling of his flesh, now a bright shade of orange, expanding outward: his tits, now sliding back and piling up against his face; his belly now the size of a massively obese man all on its own; his love handles, butt, and back fat all forming a massive mass of blubber, lifting him off of the dirt below. The sides of his belly had long eclipsed him arms, leaving them immobilized between belly and back fat, and his legs, too, had become draped in the gigantic apron of his belly. As his belly and tits finally began to overtake his head, Greg felt a mix of pride and terror. Some alien part of him was happy to be such a prize.

By the end of the week, Greg could feel his body firming up around him.

“Don’t worry, boy. It’s just temporary. Soon as we get back from the competition, you’ll be a big jigglin’ lard ball again,” came the voice of his master.

Greg was vaguely aware of being carted from place to place. Of being placed on cool metal several times before finally being rolled across the wooden floor of the barn. As he came to rest, he felt the familiar feeling of vines caressing his bloated form again as his lignified flesh slowly returned to normal. As gravity began to pull his blubber down around him, he was given the first view he’d had in a while. All around him, giant bloated orange blobs of flesh were packed into the barn. Each one was vaguely recognizable as having been male once. Each one was encased in various vines, each serving a different purpose. Greg let out a guttural moan as he felt the vines return to his buried cock, finally providing the stimulus for him to cum. The release he’d been denied for so long rocked his massive body. The vines scrambled to collect his semen, heavy with the seeds that would propagate the next harvest of pumpkins. Pleasure continued to wrack his mind as two vines sought out his massively over-stretched nipples, now leaking thick, sweet sap from them.

The farmer smiled as he hung the picture of this year’s prize-winning pumpkin on his wall. The boy had really come through, breaking records, weighing in at just over a ton. And with the way he was moanin’ out in the barn, next year’s harvest was gonna be the best one yet.

[xenoxephyr]

The Island (Part 5)

You watch as an older man, probably in his mid-sixties, approaches the table. He looks like a caricature of an old-timey British explorer, dressed all in khaki jungle gear even to the brown domed hat on top of his head. He’s accompanied by another shorter, yet rounder, man who is carrying a very large rucksack across his back. Surprisingly, the villagers just nod to them as they pass by.

You can’t believe it, finally someone who speaks English! You might just be able to get off of this island after all. A slight sadness wells up from your gut at the thought of leaving behind the feasts, but it would probably be worth it you convince yourself.

“Well, well. You’ve all certainly been busy this past month, eh, wot?” You watch as the man’s bushy white mustache flops up and now as he speaks to the surrounding villagers. Did he just say a month? Surely it couldn’t have been that long since you’ve been here, right? You absentmindedly shove a handful of fruit into your mouth. Juice dribbles out of your mouth and down the crevice between your considerable moobs. The drop trickles further, over the large curve of your once flat belly, having finally gone from beer belly to full keg gut. The juice runs over your widening belly button before finally resting in the groove between belly and the roll of pubic fat that rest on top of your freakishly large genitals. Your always semi-hard cock has grown to the girth of a soda can all while being nearly a foot long. The base of your manhood is swaddle in your ever-lowering-hanging nutsack, now housing two tennis balls for testicles. You’ve spent so little time not in a haze of gluttony, that you haven’t had much time to notice the changes.

“Hey, who are you?!” The man’s head turns to you as you call him. Your voice sounds huskier than you remember.

“Ah, yes. Allow me to introduce myself, my good chap. I am Dr. Reginald Weathersby, anthropologist extraordinaire. And this is my assistant, Lionel. And who might you be?”

This question confuses you more than you had expected. You had a name once, didn’t you? Why…why can’t you seem to remember? Instead you just give a brief grunt in reply.

“Um, well then. I’m sure you’re probably very confused. How did you come to be here?”

“Shipwreck,” you reply in your deep guttural tone, “Where is ‘here’?”

“Oh, you poor thing! That’s a run of simply nasty luck, my boy. ‘Here’ is a beautiful little island in the southern Pacific Ocean. It’s a small place tucked in behind a fierce current and some nasty reefs, I’ll tell you that. Makes for a mighty remote spot, eh? It also happens to be the home of an incredibly unique Eroncip people. Studying their ways has become my life’s work these past few years! Fascinating customs, simply fascinating, eh, wot! Very in touch with the land! Especially the island’s population of wild boar.”

He begins rambling on, but you cut him short.

“Can you get me off this island?”

“Why, I don’t see why it should be much of a problem, my good man,” he trails off slightly, looking around the room, “Say, my boy, you…didn’t happen to drink from a fountain in the jungle did you?”

A sinking feeling forms in your chest as you recall that first day when you woke up on the shores of the island. You nervously stuff several more handfuls of fruit into your mouth as you shake your head, feeling your juice-covered chins bunch up together.

“Ah well, I’m afraid that there’s nothing I can do then. Lionel! Let’s be off!”

“Wait! What do you mean?” The sinking feeling is growing now. The professor furrows his brow slightly.

“Did you by chance see the carving on the exterior wall? Of a large pig and the forest?”

You nod.

“Well that is a central concept of the Eroncip peoples’ religion. They believe that all of the lush plant life of the jungle sprang into being through some messy business with their god, *grunt*, hmm, “fertilizing” the land. The Eroncip have long believed that *grunt* would return to them someday to rejuvenate the land and once again make the island bountiful. That fountain you drank from in the jungle is a monument to *grunt* to welcome him when he finally arrives again. By drinking from it, you’ve convinced them that you are the re-embodiment of *grunt*. I’m sorry, old chap, but I musn’t interfere with the ritual.”

He and his assistant turn to leave. You try to call out to them, begging for them to take you back with them, but a bowl of food has been held near your face and you can’t help but stick your face straight into it, gobbling it up greedily.

If someone were to hold up a mirror to you, you’d see that your face was slowly beginning to change. The most obvious sign of this is that your nose has begun to flatten, resembling the snout of a hog. Your ears have become slightly more pointed at the tops as well. Your eyes have become black and beady. All of this sits atop a neck completely swaddled in lard. Your body has grown by at least 200 pounds already since you washed up on the shore starving and thirsty. You still don’t even take up half of the massive throne that you’re sitting on.

That night, you see the village elder reappear for the first time since you were found at the fountain. He comes in during a lull before the evening portion of your feast. He approaches you, looking you up and down meticulously. Placing a hand on your protruding belly, and another on your incredible manhood. You moan softly at the touch. Suddenly, he shouts something to the crowd and produces an ivory chalice from his robes. A soft chanting has begun to go around the villagers as the elder begins to pour a clear substance into the chalice. He joins in the chanting as he turns, bringing the cup to your lips. You try as hard as your fractured will allows, but nonetheless, moments later, you’re gulping it down readily. You can see that the table is once again being stocked with food, more food than you’ve ever seen before. Your vision begins growing hazy as you feel a deep primal feeling beginning to grow within you. You feel utterly ravenous, a single directive flashing through your mind: consume.

You grunt, reaching forward for the nearest bowl of food, planting your face directly into it, gulping the entire contents down in minutes. You can feel the food filling your stomach, but the feeling begins to spread to the rest of your body as well. With each gluttonous bite of food, you can feel that fullness growing and growing. Lost in your need to devour everything in sight, you don’t notice as the flowing road you’ve been clothed in begins growing tighter and tighter against the expanding blubber beneath it. You can feel your skin stretching and sliding against itself as your belly spreads out further and further. The free space in the throne is rapidly decreasing as your butt expands with lard. Face-full after face-full of food sends your body billowing out with more and more fat. The robe eventually tears in two, letting your heavy gut flow freely forward, eliciting a grunt and a guttural moan as you feel the soft underbelly crash down onto your vastly over-sized cock.

It seems that your genitals have not been spared from the growth either. You can feel your cock hardening with each and every swallow of more food. Its girth has gone from can to two-liter bottle and the length, over 24 inches. Your balls have grown to the size of small melons, now hanging nearly to the ground between your massive thighs.

You gasp for breath between mouthfuls of food, pulling air in quickly through your nose, filling the stone space with grunts. Every movement causes your quarter-ton body to shake and wobble. You want more. You NEED more. You’re beginning to understand that chanting in the room. You can tell what it is that the people are saying. They’re egging you on, worshipping you. You really are becoming their god.

Suddenly the growth goes into overdrive, and you can feel the heaviness growing greater and greater. As your ability to reach the food decreases, villagers begin setting the bowls on top of your massive chest. You can feel the tension building in your groin as well. Your throbbing cock, now a foot in diameter and three times that in length, can’t take much more stimulation. A gentle ripple through your flab finally sends you over the edge and you feel your basketball-sized balls seize up, before a torrent of cum is ejected from your member. You can’t help but grunt and bellow out in overwhelming ecstasy, every inch of your massive body tingling. The buckets of jizz flow from your cock into a deep grove in the floor, and eventually out of the temple.

As the orgasm ends, you can feel that your body has now grown so large that your ass has wedged itself into the gigantic stone throne. Above that, your love handles hang over the arms rests. Your belly cascades over your knees, pressing your gigantic cock down, between thighs that weigh more than an average adult. You moobs slope down your chest, wrapping all the way around to your incredible collection of back rolls. Your face has now full converted into the carving of the pig-god that you had seen on the external of the temple. Buried deep between your titanic ass and your love handles, is a short curly tail.

As you collapse back in your half-ton body, a cheer goes up from the surrounding villagers. You watch as they begin to celebrate, unable to keep your eyes open any longer.

Within days, the struggling plant life of the island begins to bear fruit again. The village has become incredibly prosperous and you have become a permanent fixture. The increase in available food for the villagers means that they have had plenty to continue to satisfy the appetites of their god who sits in his temple, eating and growing constantly, a thick river of fertilizer running down the hill to the jungle below.

[xenoxephyr]

The Island (Part 4)

When you awake the next morning, even before you open your eyes, more smells are already rushing over you in waves. You feel a low, guttural growl emanate from your belly, vibrating your torso ever so slightly. As you rub your hands over your bleary eyes, another decadent feast comes into view. You can hardly believe that these people could outdo themselves, based on last night’s buffet, but the table is once again mounded with all manner of delights. Even as you sit there, observing, one of the townsfolk is already standing at your side, holding a massive platter of cooked eggs, motioning for you to eat them. Almost on instinct, you plunge your face into the warm food, messily slurping it up. The taste is far beyond what the simple nature of the food would suggest, and you can already feel the same rush that filled you last evening beginning to creep over your consciousness.

Wait. Did I just eat that food with my face, you wonder. That can’t be right. And yet, you can feel some of the bits still clinging to your face. You shake your head briefly, fighting to steady your mind against the countervailing thoughts. You reason that it must again just be because you’ve been starving for so long. After all, you haven’t eaten anything since…..last night. You think back to the night before and the haze of gluttony that it brought, remembering just how taut your belly was at the end when it was so full of the night’s feast. How, how could you already feel so hungry for more. How…

Your mind’s wandering is put to a stop by a spoonful of some sort of porridge, tasting of coconut, mango, and exotic spices. You just rest back in the stone throne as the villager continues spooning the warm cereal into your mouth, all too happy to eat it up. This continues for some time, until another villager takes over with another dish and so on until finally, the table has been once again emptied of its bounty. Leaning back, you rest your hand on your full gut, which is now peeking through your tattered shirt in more than one place. A distant thought in your head wonders if perhaps it feels just a bit softer over top of the stuffed organ below, but it barely even enters your mind. Despite the labor of moving much at all in your current, bloated state, you notice strength returning to your body for the first time since the wreck. You stretch and let fly a titanic belch before feeling your eyelids begin to droop. Maybe a midmorning nap would be just that thing.

As you drift off, outside the stone temple, the sun is slowly setting behind the trees of the jungle.

This becomes your daily routine, though as far as you know, you’ve just been waking up at each mealtime. The villagers tend to your every need and whim. They wash you and massage your body with fragrant oils. They go to every length to keep you as comfortable as possible. They give you new clothes: a very large linen robe inlaid with intricate stitching of the jungle and the ocean beyond. All the while, they continue to provide you with feast after feast. You’ve even learned some of the names of the various dishes, making it possible to request your favorites. The more you eat, the more that euphoric haze seems to engulf your mind. You find yourself less and less ashamed of letting your gas out during your meals, regardless of which end. Plunging your face directly into bowls of food has become commonplace.

Lack of concern, coupled with lack of a mirror has left you largely unaware of the drastic changes suddenly occurring to your starved frame. The near-constant feasting served to bring your strength back at first, but now, days later, it has begun to accumulate on your frame in the form of soft, new lard. Your belly, once flat, has a definite curve to it now, even when empty each morning. Your chest has begun to soften and sag, your nipples stretching out ever so slightly. Your backside is slowly encroaching on more of the giant throne as each day goes by. Even your face, always angular and thin has not escaped the consequences of your gluttony. Your arms and legs have grown heavier, soft layers of fat jiggling whenever you seldom move them. Even your sides have begun to round outward, as love handles begin to form on your frame.

The accumulation of adipose on your body isn’t the only change that become of you. Below the curve of your beginner gut, your genitals have begun to shift as well. Your cock, an average 6 inches before, has slowly begun to increase in length and girth, taking up more and more of the dwindling space between your thighs, the rest of which is currently being occupied by your balls, now each having grown to the size of small limes. The new size come with a new increase in sex drive, leaving you achingly horny much of the time. The villagers, ever helpful, have seen to this as well, often times one of the pleasuring you as others feed your other appetite.

Several meals later, your descent into obesity is interrupted by something you haven’t heard in weeks: English.

“My God! Would you look at that, Gustav?!” a crisp British accent sounds from the entrance of the cavernous temple.

[xenoxephyr]

The Island (Part 3)

The stone path winds through the jungle, but the squat man in front of you walks it as if he knows each and every tree. You can feel the trees growing closer and closer together as you go deeper into the jungle. Eventually, you can just begin to make out another sound against the calling of insects and birds around you. The soft crashing of waves echoes off the moss-laden tree trunks as you start to grow closer and closer to the brightness of the sunlight that you can just barely see on the edge of the trees. The glaring light blinds you momentarily as you leave the treeline.

As it settles back in, you can see a collection of thatched huts all collected along the stone pathway leading out from the jungle. A tall cliff at the village’s edge gives a sweeping view of the ocean below. You watch as the elder, accompanied by the other members of the party, strolls up the stone path into the heart of the village. You watch as several other villagers suddenly appear from the doorways of the huts, all with eager looks on their faces. The elder stands in the middle of the town, and all of the other villagers regard him with a quiet reverence as he raises his hands above his head, palms open to the sky. He raises his voice and you hear him shout something in his deep voice. A gasp of awe goes up from the others as their attention shifts to you. For a split second, you worry that maybe this is where everything finally goes south. They must have brought you here as some form of horrible sacrifice or something, you think. Your breath hitches in your chest. Do you run? Do you try to fight? Your eyes dart back and forth as the old man shouts out another unintelligible phrase. This is it, you think, bracing yourself for the end.

Suddenly a cheer goes up from the crowd gathered around you. You stare in utter shock as the entire village of fifty people streams forward toward you, working together to hoist you up onto their shoulders, all of them whooping and hollering in celebration. You watch the huts of the village pass by as they carry you further up the path leading along the cliff. Not far from the last few huts, is a large stone structure. Looking closely, you can see that the exterior of the building is adorned with all manner of intricate carvings depicting the sea, the jungle, even the animals that must live there.  One particularly intricate relief shows a large boar above a series of raindrops and a grove of heavy-laden palm trees below that.

As you enter the stone archway, a wonderful smell hits your nose. It smells like the most wonderful food you’ve ever experience, though after so long without eating, anything might have smelled that good. Inside the structure, you see a long wooden table easily the larger than any dining table that you’ve seen anywhere that wasn’t a castle, lined with a scarlet cloth. Atop the table rests a feast fit for a king. All manner of fruits, vegetables, and various meats fill the entirety of the space. Behind the center of the table, rests what could only be described as an ornate stone throne. The crowd continues carrying you toward it, placing you in the large seat. It’s almost twice as wide as you are, making you feel almost lilliputian in comparison.

The elder once again approached across the table from you. He makes a motion to you, clearly indicating that they wish for you to eat. Your famished body needs no further permission as you feel your arms reach out for anything that they can get their hands on. The smell of the food is nothing in comparison to how it tastes. Each bite is the most wonderful thing that you’ve ever tasted and you can’t help but continue to gorge yourself on the vast selection all around you. You eat more than you ever have before in your life, feeling your slim belly press outward as it becomes filled to the brim. It looks comical on your emaciated frame, having the moderate bump of a belly, but you’re happy just to not be starving any longer.

Just when you think that you can’t take anymore, you feel a belch roll out of your belly, echoing around the stone chamber. Your eruption is met only with applause from the villagers still gathered in the hall as you once again dig into the remainder of the feast, finally finishing it all before slumping back into a deep haze of sleep.

[xenoxephyr]

The Island (Part 2)

Your attention shifts to a rustling in the brush at the edges of the clearing. You can almost make out voices that sound vaguely human.

“Hello? Is someone there?” You look around nervously, trying to pinpoint the sounds, but finding it impossible against the sounds of the surrounding jungle. Suddenly, in unison, a group of five beings jump out from the bushes, surrounding the raised platform which you’re standing on. Each of them is clad only in a loin cloth, their dark skin covered in a variety of strange tattoos. They stand a fair bit shorter than you. Wooden masks cover their faces as they approach, brandishing short spears tipped with points made of black rock with a glassy sheen. Low grunting sounds come from them as they approach.

Thoughts race through your mind. Things just keep getting worse and worse for you it seems. You survived the wreck only to nearly die of thirst. You survived thirst long enough to find water, but now you’re about to be skewered alive by angry natives. Suddenly, whether through fear or simply your insides readjusting to a less-arid environment, a gurgling begins in your gut. You can feel a light pressure building as you once again plea with them for understanding”

“I’m so sorry. I..I…uh….UUUURRRRPPPPP,” unable to hold it in, a massive belch erupts from your mouth. You blush slightly at this, but the islanders seem to be having a different reaction. They straighten up, no longer pointing their spears at you. The one directly in front of you raises a hand, lifting the wooden mask over his face, revealing a handsome face bearing a look of shock. He drops his mask and falls to his knees, raising his hands in the air before bending low, as if, bowing to you. You look around in confusion as the other members of the group follow suit, a low, foreign chanting begins to rise up from them as they continue to bow.

Another rustling from the brush signals the arrival of a sixth man. He is clothed in flowing linen robes and walks with a hunch, supported by an intricately carved staff with two large pieces of ivory curling from the top like giant tusks. He walks into the clearing, regarding you from his position. You watch as he concentrates his attention on you. Time seems to slow as the others look at him waiting for something. Then, slowly, he approaches the edge of the raised dais. Lifting the staff and turning to face the others, he speaks loudly for such an old man, in a completely alien tongue, punctuated every so often by low grunts. When he turns back to you, his free hand is holding a large ring of the glassy black rock. Around it’s circumference, several perfectly smooth opals have been inlaid.

For a moment, you just stare at the man, unsure of what it is that he wants. Then, as if by some unseen influence, you slowly extend your hands to the large ring, lifting it from the man’s hand and placing it atop your head. Once it is in place, a cheer goes up from the other men as they begin dancing around in a celebratory manner. The elder motions for you to follow him off of the dais and down the path of hewn stone, deeper into the jungle interior.

[xenoxephyr]

The Island (Part 1)

Sand. The crashing sound of waves churning toward you. The heat of the sun on your back. You open your eyes, one nearly encrusted with salt, and look around. Initially, the glare of the sun is blinding, but slowly, the world returns to focus. First, a swirl of color, white, green, blue; and then, you see the sand of the beach you’re lying on as it curves up to the edge of a lush jungle fringed with short grass, the entire tableau frames by the crystalline ocean behind you. You summon every remaining ounce of strength from your body, pushing your chest up and pulling yourself up into a kneel. You take a moment to sure your balance: you’ve been at sea so long that the support of dry land is nearly foreign to you. You can taste the accumulation of salt in your mouth, aching with thirst.

You manage to stand, albeit weakly, slowly shambling toward the lush stand of palms that grow at the border of the beach and grass beyond, hoping that the lushness of the jungle promises shade and fresh water. You look up at the palms, hoping to see a ripe coconut, or even a juvenile one at this point, but unfortunately they are entirely barren. You continue beneath the canopy of trees. The coolness of the shade begs you to forget your troubles and lie down, but the need for water continues to drive you onward, deeper into the jungle.

Here, farther from the waves loudly lapping at the shore, you can make out the sounds of the surrounding forest. Bird calls bounce from tree to tree and the sound of the ocean breeze rippling through the trees almost mask the faint sound of trickling water. You stand motionless for a moment, attempting to pinpoint the location of the distant spring. You turn to the right and continue deeper into the forest. The trees are thicker here, blotting out even more of the island sunlight. Your bare feet suddenly meet with a new texture than the dirt and grass of the jungle floor. You look down and can make out the shapes of roughly hewn stone blocks creating a pathway deeper into the forest navel.

The path eventually reaches a terminus at a large square clearing. Despite the lack of trees, the light is still incredibly dim, thanks to the canopy overhead. Torches burn at each of the four corners of a raised stone dais at the center of the clearing. The sound of running water echoes through the alcove and you see a fountain rising out of the center of the dais. On each of the four sides, two thin streams of water run into the basin below. You run as fast as your weathered body can take you up the steps of the platform. Immediately, you brace your arms on the basin and stick your parched mouth below the nearest stream of water. The influx of liquid washes the salt from your mouth, and you can feel your whole body being rejuvenated by the crisp, delicious water. It isn’t until later that you look up to see that the two streams of water are each falling from one nostril in what appears to be the face of a massive boar. You slump down against the cool stone of the fountain, so relieved to finally have access to fresh water that you don’t even notice the approach of footsteps.

[xenoxephyr]

New Story Schedule

So, this is probably a little overly ambitious, but I’m going to be trying out a new thing where I post stories in shorter pieces on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Sometimes one of those days might be filled by a shorter sketch or a picture caption, something of that nature, but I’m hoping that this will help me make writing a lot more routine, and will help me keep up on it.  I’ll also upload the full versions of the stories somewhere for easier posterity since I know this isn’t the best format for that. Anyway, thanks, as always, for reading my stuff!

[xenoxephyr]

Surrogate

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.

[xenoxephyr]

Humble Pie

This is my first ever commissioned piece! (So that’s really exciting). If you like it or the rest of my work, and you’d like a story of your own, feel free to message me! :D

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Cooper sat down at the head of the table, taking careful note of the structural integrity of the chair. Being a man his size came with several special considerations, and always being cautious of furniture was one of them. He watched as his extended family, all gathered around the table, seemed also to be far too concerned with what was a blasé’ occurrence to him. Cooper was all too familiar with this feeling. At 380 pounds, he was nearly twice as big as the next largest person in the room. His weight was as much a topic of conversation amongst his relatives as was the weather, though, this, of course was none of their business. The fact that he ran his own bakery only served to exacerbate their concerns. With as little self-control as they granted him having, it was probably only a matter of time before all the profits started going straight to his gut.

None of this was much of a concern to Cooper, who, despite all his family’s concerns, enjoyed being so big. He loved the feeling that taking up so much space gave him. He knew that being so heavy came with its drawbacks, but he was smart about it: regular exercise, healthful foods, and doctor’s visits ensured that he was probably as healthy as half the people in the room. None of these arguments ever did anything to convince his family that he wasn’t a big unhealthy blob, though, so he’d stopped trying to reason with them in favor of changing the topic of conversation instead. In fact, their concern had been nearly omnipresent the whole night. Here he was, turning 30, and everyone was treating him like a child.

Cooper watched as the final insult was lowered in front of his face to the cheery tune of ‘Happy Birthday’: where there should have been a large cake sat a single, solitary cupcake adorned with one, sad candle. He sat there, completely wowed by this new level of humiliation as the song wrapped up. He took a deep breath and blew out the candle. At least a few people in the room were no doubt afraid he’d have a heart attack from the effort he was sure. He reached for the cupcake, but was cut off by his mother’s voice.

“Wait! You haven’t opened your gift yet,” she said, wagging a brightly colored enveloped in from of him. He reached forward, sliding a chubby finger underneath the flap of the envelope. Inside, a garishly colored certificate proclaimed that he, Cooper Flint, was now the owner of a gym membership. His father’s voice broke the tension.

“Son, we all want to help you with your problem. We know it’s hard to lose weight and get in shape in today’s busy world, so we got you that! You can use it whenever you want AND it comes with a personal trainer!”

Cooper was conflicted. He understood that at some level, they were doing this out of a place of love, but it was also the final insult in a night full of injury. Unable to bring about the words that he wished to say, Cooper reached down, grabbing the cupcake that still sat before him. In one fell motion, he stripped it of its wrapper before shoving the whole lot into his mouth greedily. The looks on his family members’ faces were evidence enough that they got the message.

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*Ding*

Cooper could hear the door chime as he pulled a fresh tray of scones out of the oven. The smell of freshly bake pastry was perhaps his greatest joy in life. He savored the aroma as he moved the tasty bits from the tray one by one onto a metal rack to cool, reserving a single scone for his own “quality control” as he liked to call it. Setting down the tray, he walked out to the front of the shop to see a young man leaning impatiently on the display case. His bulky arms hung out of a tight-fitting tank top that left nothing to the imagination. The man looked as though he had been carved rather than born. Though, the trappings of being a cocky douchebag seemed heaped like so much graffiti upon this particular statue. As Cooper cleared the doorway, the man finally stopped drumming his fingers on the counter, and, instead, reached his hand outward.

“Hey there, bro! Name’s Dane. Great to meet ya!” The man spoke in such a way, Cooper judged, as though his IQ were as low as his body fat percentage. Cooper was perplexed. Most customers didn’t find it necessary to introduce themselves prior to buying his wares.

“Um, hi? Welcome to ‘Just Desserts’, how can I help you?” Cooper said, puzzled.

The patron returned a blank look.

“Nah, bro, I ain’t here for that poison! I’m here for you, buddy! I’m your new trainer, tubbo!”

The emotions from the other night all came flooding back to Cooper, but, as was his way, he managed to shove them down.

“Ah, I see. And you’re at my place of business because??”

“Well your family didn’t really think that you’d haul your own fat ass into the gym, so they sent me here to make sure that you’d actually come. Don’t worry, man. We’ll get you a nice set of these in no time!” Dane said, pulling up the bottom of his tank to reveal not six, but eight rippling, abdominal muscles.

“And if I don’t want those?”

Another blank look. Then: “BAHAHAHAHAHA! Good one, Chubs! You really had me going, there! Who doesn’t want to look like this?!”

Cooper could feel his face heating up as he listened to Dane continue. He had absolutely no intention of actually losing the weight that this guy was suggesting, but Cooper already had plans to exercise tonight anyway, so what could it hurt?

Apparently, it could hurt a lot, and not just the physical soreness that Cooper felt as he collapsed down onto the couch in his apartment. The workout had been as thoroughly exhausting mentally as it had been physically. Dane had taken every opportunity to heckle and tease Cooper as he performed all of the various training exercises. Apparently, it was meant to be motivational, but Cooper doubted that it was anything more than a cocky way for Dane to lord his physique over others.

Slowly getting up, Cooper stalked off to the bathroom to grab a quick shower. As he stripped of his sweaty clothes, he took a moment to appreciate his form in the mirror. He really did love the way that his belly bulged out in front of him. He loved the slopes of his love handles as they came around to meet his overhanging gut. He even liked how chubby his face was. And yet, despite all the positive feeling he had about his body, here he was working to change it, not for his own desires, but for others. As he felt the warm water soothe away his soreness, Cooper thought to himself about how maybe even that Dane guy could have been a nice person, if only he knew how to better to relate to the people that he was trying to help. Maybe if he wasn’t quite as cocky, other people might more readily follow his advice.

Cooper toweled off, wrapping and tucking the towel up under his gut as he strode off to the bedroom, changing into a comfy pair of pajamas. As he turned, his belly bumped into a cardboard box that had been precariously resting on his nightstand. Several cookbooks of varying shapes and sizes fell out and scattered on the floor. Waving away the dust, Cooper bent down to start piling them back into the box. He’d been slowly perusing the collection of books that he has bought at a yard sale a few weeks prior. An elderly woman had passed with no family to leave things to, so the bank that owned the home was selling off all her unwanted items. Cooper was always interested in reading about new ways to prepare food, so he was happy to take the box home. As he was scooping them back up now, he noticed that one was slightly different than the rest. Instead of being a larger book with pictures of bread or cake on the front and the title on the spine, this was a small black book with a gold ribbon marking one of the pages.

Cooper sat down on his bed as he opened the book. Inside, were many recipes for various pastries all with strange sounding names. What’s more, was that each recipe was hand written! The page that was marked was for something called ‘Humble Pie.’ It called for some strange ingredients, but nothing that Cooper wasn’t sure he could pick up tomorrow. “For taking those who put themselves on a pedestal down a notch,” it read. Dane immediately came to mind as Cooper read the line. Perhaps he’d just have to give it a try. A tiny note, in red ink was scrawled at the bottom of the page: “WARNING: This is meant to make 8 equal slices. Do not consume more than one slice in a 24-hour period, or unexpected results could occur.” This was starting to sound like a mad scientist’s journal more than a cookbook, but Cooper was interested in giving it a try.

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Cooper dusted the flour off his hands onto his apron as he waited for the pie to finish baking. It had taken a little extra time and a few trips to specialty herb shops and such, but he had finally put together the strange recipe. A pleasant, if not unusual smell filled his shop as he continued to wait. It was nearing the end of the day and Dane would be here soon. Obviously, there was no way that this would actually work Cooper thought, but what could it hurt? A little later, the ring of the bell above the door, followed by a loud “HEEEYYYYOOOOOOOO!” signaled Dane’s entrance into the shop.  Cooper quickly cute the pie, using a tool to ensure that all eight slices were of equal size, lest the unknown consequences ensue.

“Hey Tubby, you ready to get yoked?” Dane said in his usual dull tone.

“Uhh, almost,” Cooper shouted from the back, “I just need to change into my gym clothes.”

Cooper exited the kitchen carrying a small plate with the mysterious pie sitting atop it. He placed it in front of Dane, who was giving him a scrutinizing look.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a new pie I’m trying. It’s uhhhh…completely clean and…um…macros?” Cooper hadn’t figured on having to sell the pie quiet so much.

“Clean macros?! Why didn’t you say so?! You big jerk!”

Apparently, that was all the reason that Dane needed to begin shoveling the pie into his mouth in earnest. Cooper took the opportunity to head to his office to change into his work clothes. He wondered if the pie would actually have the intended effects. Hopefully it wasn’t poisonous or anything. Anxiety welled in Cooper’s gut as he pulled his baggy shorts and loose tank top on. Stuffing his other clothes into his gym bag, he hurried back to find that Dane was sitting at the counter, just fine, scrolling through his phone.

“Pssshhh, look at these losers, man. Ain’t none of ‘em got what it takes to get with all this,” he said, motioning to his body. Cooper looked more closely to see a yellow-framed app with various pictures of shirtless men, mostly resembling the physique of his trainer.

“Ah well, maybe I’ll let one of them buy me a drink sometime,” Dane said as he returned his phone to his pocket, “You ready, Chubbs?”

Cooper was a little taken aback. On one hand, clearly his pie hadn’t done anything yet, but on the other, he would never have guessed that Dane was also gay. Looking back over the past few days, it kind of made sense, but still, as the muscles trainer placed his arm on Cooper’s back, he couldn’t help himself but feel a slight jolt run through his body.

The workout went the same as usual with Dane hurling “encouragement” at Cooper as he seemed to sweat out every fiber of his being. By the end, exhausted and ready to go home, Cooper managed to give Dane a languid high-five.

“Oh, uh, hey, man,” Dane called as Cooper began to walk away,” Any chance I could get another slice of that pie tomorrow? It…uh…it was really good. You’re really great at what you do, bro. I wish I could be as good as you!”

“Oh! Uh, yeah, of course! I’ll make sure to have one ready when you get there tomorrow!” Cooper said, slightly in shock at the first compliment that Dane had ever actually given him. As he staggered back toward home, he thought to himself that maybe, just maybe, the pie was actually working.

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By Friday, with four of the pieces eaten, it was clear that the pie was having an effect on Dane’s personality. Gone was the constant barrage of insults and haughty comments. Gone were the constant reminders of Dane’s physical prowess in comparison to Cooper’s. Instead, he would encourage Cooper through cheering and compliments. Without the douchebag exterior, it was quickly turning out that there was actually a very sweet man in there.

“Wow, great job today, buddy! You’re making really good progress!” Dane cheered, giving Cooper a pat on the shoulder.

“Thanks! You’ve been helping a lot!” Cooper felt a warmth at the friendly gesture as he turned to head home.

“Oh, hey! Uh, wait up!”

Cooper turned as Dane hurried up beside him.

“Uhh, I was just wondering…well…it’s Friday night. Are you doing anything tonight?”

Cooper just gave him a wary look as he asked why Dane needed to know that.

“Well, I thought maybe…it would be fun to…uh…hangout?”

Cooper couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Thoughts started racing through his head. Was this the pie’s doing? Was this a trap of some kind? Had Dane really lost it?

“Uhhh…sure. You wanna come over?” Cooper asked warily.

“Awesome! Yeah!” Dane beamed as the two began walking back to Cooper’s apartment.

Once inside, Dane plopped down on the couch, motioning for Cooper to sit down next to him.

“Just a second, I need to put some stuff away first,” Cooper said as he walked toward the kitchen. He opened the door of the refrigerator as he slid the remaining half of the pie from his bag, placing it on the shelf before closing the door again. He returned to the living room, dropping his bag on the floor as he sat down on the couch, ensuring a safe distance from Dane. The muscular trainer just looked over at him before sliding closer.

“Don’t worry, man, I don’t bite,” Dane said, giving Cooper a goofy wink. It was almost…charming.

The two turned on the TV, and began looking around for something to watch. As they eventually settled on of all things, a baking show, Cooper noticed that Dane’s arm had suddenly appeared behind Coopers neck, and was now resting on his shoulders.

“Hey, thanks for having me over, buddy,” Dane said, giving Cooper’s shoulder a squeeze, “It’s been really great getting to know you.”

Cooper began to stammer something out as he looked over at Dane’s piercing eyes, but his words were silenced by the touch of Dane’s lips to his own. A bizarre wealth of emotions flooded through Cooper as he felt Dane’s hand cradle the back of his head, pulling him further into the embrace. He could feel Dane’s hard body pressing up against the softness of his own belly. As the two separated from the kiss, Dane replied to the look of shock on Coopers face with a wry grin.

“How bout I go grab us something to drink?” Dane asked, giving Cooper’s gut a light pat before he walked out into the kitchen.

Cooper couldn’t believe what was happening. It had been ages since someone had made him feel like this, and, of all people, it was Dane. The pie really WAS magic!

Suddenly, a loud crashing noise from the kitchen shook Cooper out of his reverie. He hauled himself up quickly and hurriedly waddle his way to the kitchen. As he approached he could hear strange slurping noises. Nothing could have prepared Cooper for what he saw as he rounded the corner into the kitchen however. There, with his back turned to him, was Dane, only MORE of him. Two plump love handles were spreading out on either side of his back, causing his tight workout tank to ride up. The shirt seemed to stretch to the front as well, encircling Dane’s new starter gut. Underneath Dane’s arms, just beginning to peek out the holed of the tank, Cooper could just make out the curves of two ample moobs. The real spectacle, though, was the way that Dane’s lower body had changed. The tight, rounded butt that he had been so proud of was now at least tripled in size, causing his gym shorts to stretch to the point that they seemed as though they were painted on. Just below his budding love handles, the shorts and his underwear had given up just enough that his butt crack was beginning to show.

As Cooper stood there, Dane turned around, confirming that his front was just as bloated as his back end. His tank top had ridden up with the growth of his rounded gut, revealing an incredibly deep navel. Cooper watched as Dane held the pie plate, now nearly empty to his face, lapping up every last morsel of it. He lowered it with a resounding belch.

“What…what did you do?!” Cooper shouted, not knowing what to think.

“Oh. Sorry, Sir. I…I couldn’t help myself. I came out here and I saw that pie in the fridge, and it’s just sooooo good. I needed to have some of it! I..I…I just had to! Oh…I don’t feel so well.”

Cooper watched as Dane clutched his belly, new blubber pressing outward between his fingers like a ball of dough. His growing gut swelled outward, forcing his tank top up and over the upper curve of his belly. It looked more like a sports bra for the sagging sacks of flesh that now rested where his cut pecs had been moments ago. Dane’s hands found their way to his moobs, rubbing them as he moaned softly, everything swelling outward more and more. His gut was beginning to sag over where the waistband of his shorts had been, now having been forced completely down by the accelerated growth in his thighs and ass. Even Dane’s muscular limbs were now completely swaddled in flab, piling up against the rest of his body.

With a final surge of growth, Cooper watched as Dane’s massive man boobs ripped through the last shreds of the tank top, jiggling as they came to rest on top of a gut so massive that it hung down over part of Dane’s bloated thighs. Giant love handles spread out from either side of the sumptuous belly, wider than Dane’s once chiseled shoulders had been. Rolls of blubber hung from his back, stacking up on top of his love handles, which, themselves, rested on the massive shelf of fat that was Dane’s titanic rear. From there, his thighs spread outward nearly to the edges of his love handles, each of them touching all the way down to the knee. Even his strong calves had been transformed into thick ham-like cankles.

Cooper stood, agape, staring at this blimped up version of his personal trainer, now completely naked save for a pair of underwear that looked as though they might burst at any moment. He was far bigger than Cooper now. A certain curiosity welled up inside Cooper as to just how big.

“Hey, uh, come here a second,” Cooper said, motioning for Dane to come to him.

“Yes, Sir!”

Cooper watched with amazement as the collection of rolls that his friend had become began to shake with each plodding step that Dane took toward him. He moved with relative ease thanks to his muscular frame beneath all the dough. Cooper gently guided Dane to the bathroom and onto the heavy duty digital scale that he had bought years ago. The numbers began to blink by.

“What’s it say? I…I can’t see it, Sir.”

Cooper’s jaw dropped as the readout flashed to ‘537.’ Dane weighed a whole 150 pounds heavier than even Cooper now! Cooper could barely contain himself as he pulled Dane into another deep embrace. The feeling of all that lard-on-lard was almost more than Cooper could handle. As the two embraced, Cooper’s mind went back to the journal he’d found before. If that pie had the power to transform a cocky muscle stud into a submissive gainer, he wondered what the other recipes in that book could do…

[xenoxephyr]

I was curious about the ending to Origins. It states that he headed on to Refuge with a different plan in mind. What is the different plan?

Oh sure! Essentially my overall plan for the story was (aside from the weight gain themes) show the overall corruption of someone who was originally trying to be a force for good, now turned into a force for chaos/evil. So realistically he is headed there to raid the town.