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chubhunks · 3 days ago

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Liam's Sweet Tooth

A Weight Gain Story

Liam was lifting weights when I got home. His muscular body was coated in sweat and his face was scrunched up in determination and pain. He knew I was home but didn’t acknowledge me until he finished his set.

I was fine with that. Not every guy gets to come home to an absolute adonis pumping iron in his living room.

He dropped the weights and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Hey, honey. You’re early.”

“The cake orders for tomorrow got cancelled, so I didn’t need to be there. I let Manny finish up.”

“Hopefully he won’t eat all of your inventory.”

“Don’t say that.”

Liam was such a nice guy, but he always made snide little remarks about my employees. I owned a bakery, so of course my workers gained a bit of weight over the years. Manny had been with me from the beginning, so Liam had seen him grow from a svelte 22-year-old kid into a 350-pound 28-year-old man. He was a good worker because he believed in the product, but he never, ever ate anything that wasn’t going to be thrown away.

Plus, the customers loved him. I always sold more stuff when he was behind the counter because he constantly gave suggestions and raved about pretty much everything I made.

“Sorry,” Liam said. “So what did you bring for me?”

I’d forgotten that I had a box in my hands. I opened the lid, revealing a brand-new éclair that I was planning to introduce.

He took a big bite and whimpered. “Babe, this is incredible.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Liam had dubbed himself my official taste-tester. Every time I tried something new, I always gave him the first bite.

He wasn’t a particularly good taste-tester, though. Despite being ridiculously fit, he had the biggest sweet tooth of anyone I knew. Every dessert tasted “incredible” to him. One time, for a little experiment, I gave him a donut that I’d purposely made with way too much sugar. It was inedible. But he still ate the whole thing and gave me a big thumbs up.

“You just brought one?” he asked, licking his fingers.

“I always just bring one.”

“Yeah. ’Cause Manny eats the rest of ’em, huh?”

“Stop saying things like that!” I shouted.

Liam flinched. I never raised my voice, especially at him.

“Sorry. I’m a little upset. Manny put in his two weeks’ notice today. His bitchy wife got a job in Phoenix.” It really hurt to lose my oldest and most loyal employee. I knew this day would come. He’d been talking about moving for months now, but the news still stung.

“Well, shit,” Liam said, wrapping me in a sweaty hug. “That sucks.”

“It’ll be fine,” I said, both to him and to myself. “I’m sure I’ll find someone, though I doubt I’ll find anyone as enthusiastic.”

He pulled away. “I’ll do it!”

I let the words sink in, but I didn’t respond.

“Seriously! Think about it! No one appreciates your baking as much as I do! Plus, I’m superhot. Your stuff will be flying off the shelves like hotcakes!”

“I don’t make hotcakes,” I joked, mostly to avoid responding.

Liam was amazing. And I’m pretty sure he was a good worker. The only reason he was currently unemployed was because his previous employer had gone bankrupt. But…

“I don’t know if that would be healthy for us,” I said. “Mixing business with pleasure. You know.”

“Yeah. I get it.” He collapsed onto the sofa dramatically. For such a big, masculine guy, there were times when he reminded me of a six-year-old.

I hated to disappoint him like this. And if I took our marriage out of the equation, he would be an ideal candidate.

“Okay. How about this? I’ll hire you for a month, and we’ll see if it works without, you know, affecting our marriage.”

He jumped up. “Really?”

“But be aware. I’m a tough boss. I try to run a tight ship, so I’ll be treating you like an employee, not a husband.”

“Understood.” He kissed me.

“And you won’t freak out if you start gaining weight like all my other employees?”

He scoffed. “Look at me! I’m married to the city’s best baker and I still have a six pack. I think I’ll be fine.”

What he didn’t realize was that I chose to limit the amount of sweets I brought home. For Liam, they were an occasional treat, not a daily temptation. At work, I used the leftover baked goods as a reward to my employees. An incentive.

But he’d find out soon enough. I wouldn’t be surprised if he started gaining right away. Like Manny had. Knowing how vain Liam was, he’d gain ten pounds, get horrified, and quit. You mark my words.

***

Two years later.

When I got home, Liam was sitting on our new, reinforced sofa, eating red velvet cake by the handful. His flabby body spread out in all directions, his pale side rolls hanging over the edge of the red sofa like the thick icing on his rapidly-disappearing cake. He knew I was home, but he didn’t acknowledge me until he had finished binging.

I was fine with that. Not every guy gets to come home to a such a luscious example of soft, jiggling hedonism.

“Hey, honey. You’re home early.”

“Yeah. Manny’s handling tomorrow’s orders again. Since he came back, he’s been absolutely killing it. I’ve been giving him more of my responsibilities, and he hasn’t disappointed me yet. Sales are finally up again.”

A look of embarrassment passed over Liam's icing-stained faced. “Well, you made the right choice, babe.” He tried to pull his shirt down to cover more of his bulging stomach, but the fabric immediately rolled back up. Plus, he spilled a bunch of crumbs onto the couch.

“We all have our talents,” I told him reassuringly as I grabbed the dustbuster from the table. I switched it on and cleaned up the sofa cushions. Then I got to work sucking up all the crumbs that were still on his stomach. The handheld vacuum pulled at his soft flesh, sending ripples through him in the most adorably hypnotic way. I loved cleaning my husband, and I think he loved it, too.

He just leaned back, moaning softly, enjoying the rhythmic wobble.

“And what’s my talent?” he asked me.

I picked up a hunk of cake that he’d left on the table and pushed it against his lips. He gobbled it up as fast as the dustbuster. “What do you think, Liam?”

His talent was eating. Obviously. A beautiful talent. An incredibly erotic talent.

And a talent that had almost put me out of business.

When Liam first started working for me, he was the ideal employee. He followed directions and used his muscle-god body to entice the customers into ordering more food. He had this line that he’d always use whenever a customer was second-guessing an order: “Treat yourself. An extra donut won’t hurt you. I eat ’em all the time, and look at me.”

That line became less and less effective as the weeks wore on. I thought Manny had gained weight fast, but nothing compared to Liam. It took him three weeks (I’m not kidding) to develop a droop over his belt. A month for his pecs to turn into moobs. Two months for an extremely noticeable double chin. Three months in, his stomach had morphed from abs into a full-on gut.

His whole “treat yourself” mantra had turned into a major turn-off to our customers. When they looked at Liam behind the counter, they saw proof of how dangerously fattening my treats were.

Back when Manny had been behind the counter, the customers took his large body as an endorsement of the products. With Liam, who was so red-faced and winded at the same size, they took it as a warning sign: "Don't eat here or you'll end up like him."

I lost customers. I lost money on all his new uniforms. And worst of all, I lost my inventory.

It took me a couple months to discover exactly why Liam was gaining so fast: He was stealing our food. It started out with a couple missing donuts or cake slices each day, but the longer he worked, the more he took. Once I caught him red-handed (well, chocolate-handed), I completely flipped out. He was putting my business in jeopardy. None of my other employees had ever done that.

He started crying and swore to me up and down that he’d stop.

For a while, he did. He started buying cheap (and terrible) baked goods from the supermarket just so he could have something to eat while he worked. Business was still down, but at least I wasn’t running out of food.

After a year and a half, Liam had ballooned to over 350 pounds. Manny had been that size (after six years), but he always had a ton of energy and enthusiasm. I think because Liam’s gains had happened so fast, and his muscles had so quickly atrophied under his extra layers, he’d become a much more sluggish, much less healthy-looking fat person. It took him way too long to do the simplest tasks, and he was really scaring off customers.

The ironic part is that, despite how bad he was for business, I found him hotter by the day. I loved him as a muscle stud, but I loved him so much more as the soft, weak blob that he’d become. I wanted to take care of him, to grow him, to serve his unending hunger.

When I caught him in the back of the bakery squeezing my expensive buttercream icing into his mouth, I was both furious and aroused. I fired him then and there, explaining that I loved what he’d done to himself but I couldn’t keep putting my business in jeopardy.

He understood.

Thankfully, that was around the time that Manny had moved back from Phoenix. (His marriage didn’t work out.) I hired him to be my co-manager, giving him free rein to try different strategies to turn the business back around.

And he did. Six months later and we were back on track. The business was in the black and Liam, free to eat all day at home, gained an additional 70 pounds. (I think. Our scale broke.)

I crawled onto the sofa next to my big, beautiful husband. He radiated warmth. One hand around his sloping shoulders and another rubbing his belly, I felt so deeply happy. We weren’t meant to work together, but in the short time that we had, our relationship (and his body) grew in ways that neither of us imagined.

He leaned closer, his belly shifting and sloshing, and whispered into my ear. I thought he was going to say something romantic. Instead, he whispered, “I’m thirsty.”

“I’ll get you something sweet.”

The End.

Thanks for reading! You can find all my stories here.

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chubhunks · 3 days ago

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Coach's favorite jock

There's a knock on my door. I don't usually get visitors on Saturday evenings, so I'd planned to spend the night working on plays in my office. But when I found Will standing in front of my office, I wasn't surprised.

Will's the best player on our team. He's O-line, so he doesn't get much credit for our wins, but I know how it actually works. I know how important he is. A huge wall of a man, 7 foot tall, 370 lbs at his last weigh-in, and he knows to use that size. Built like a bear and moves like a tiger.

"What'you doing bothering an old man on a Saturday night, Will? Don't you have something more fun to be doing."

"You're not that old," Will says. "And, I thought you'd be proud that I'm not getting wasted at a party."

"Fair point," I concede, letting him in.

Will doesn't usually come here on Saturday nights. But he's still a regular late-night visitor at my office.

"My belly's gotten bigger," Will says, putting a hand his paunch.

"I know," I chuckle. Will's shirt is tight around his gut. Rises up above his belly button. There's a slight overhang over his shorts, telling me it's empty, or at least not near full. Will's belly is big, these days, no two ways around it. It was flat when I first met him 4 years ago, but it certainly isn't now.

"The hungry's getting real intense lately," he says. "Wakes me up at night sometimes."

Will is now rubbing his belly.

"I hope you're not letting it bother your sleep," I say. I offer him a seat on the couch. I keep a large couch in my office, that often doubles as a bed on these late nights.

"I try and keep it under control. You know, coach, I was out with the boys, tonight?"

"And why'd you leave them to go talk to your grumpy old coach?"

"I didn't leave them, we just decided to call it early. They're still tired after last game, and we got kicked out of Tonio's pizza again."

"Again?"

"Yeah. I mean, it was a busy night for him, and Blake looked like he was about to hurl," Will explained, his belly bulging as he sitsback. "How much pizza do you think I had?"

I take a moment. Will's belly is big, as I said, and if my linemen got kicked out for overeating I can't imagine he was holding back, but his belly is obviously not full, nor even at half capacity.

"About 3 large pizzas?"

"4. Downed some leftovers too," he says, with obvious pride as he rubs his belly. "And I'm still not full."

"You're not." Probably not even half full, which is both impressive and scary.

"Don't you think it's crazy, coach? When I was a freshman I remember feeling like the baddest guy ever because I could eat 3 large pizzas, and I wasn't always able to keep it down back then."

"I need my linemen as big as possible, and you can't have a big guy without a big stomach," I say. "Also, I was under the impression you liked the extra capacity. And not just because it helps us win games. The extra size, the extra muscle mass you're able to fuel. And that's not getting into all the times it's given you the edge in challenges I'm better not knowing about."

He smiles. Leans back, flexes his two gigantic arms, then slaps his tank of a belly. I heard a loud slosh, a huge volume of food moving in an even bigger stomach.

"I love it, coach. But I've never forgotten those days when I thought I was big and you taught me how wrong I was. I'll always remember that lesson you taught me. That no matter how good I am at something, I should always aim to be better."

He sits up. I know where this is going.

"I want you to fill me up, coach," Will says, suddenly staring right into my eyes. "I want you to push me to the absolute limit. I want you to stuff my gut until it hurts."

I grin. "Do you?"

"I want it to be just like the old days, coach. I want you to fill me up so hard I'm freaking out and begging you not to burst my belly."

What follows is something we're both familiar with. I keep my office fridge stacked with shakes and milk, and there's a few funnels in my cupboards, like those the fraternity brothers use in their parties. By the time I come back with a few jugs and a funnel, he's already taken off his shirt. Will is very proud of his body and not afraid to show off. I've seen how he acts in the locker rooms. A huge powerful frame, with massive pecs, and of course the infamous belly.

I put a hand on his belly as he grabs the funnel. Each time Will is bigger than last time. A thin layer of blubber on top of powerful unflexed ab muscles, on top of the biggest human stomach I'm aware of.

I've coached many a football player with a big belly in my time, and never have I seen one capable of downing this much. I can feel the 4 large pizzas in there and I can tell they're not coming close to filling him up.

"You've been stretching out your stomach," I comment.

"Yeah. I do so most nights these days. Only way to keep the hungry in check, and I sleep better when it's full. But it's not the same when it's not you doing it."

Will puts the funnel in his mouth, and I pour the first half-gallon jug down. It flows straight down the tube and into his belly, as if I were pouring it down the drain.

"Just a warmup", I say. He nods, as I grab the second half-gallon. Hoes down as easy as the first. His gut slowly edging up and out as he swallows.

There's now a full gallon of shake in his belly, on top of over 4 large pizzas. Somehow, this is just the beginning.

"Ready for the full gallon son?"

"Ready, coach. If anything it's made me even hungrier," he says, catching his breath after the first chug. "I wanna feel full."

And so I grab another half-gallon, and start to pour. Once it has emptied a bit, I put a hand on Will's belly. His gigantic stomach isn't even stretching yet, just filling up like a sac.

He burps when the jug is done. I could guess he forced it out for show with how not-full his belly felt, but it's the cocky grin that gives it away. So I give the paunch a slap. It sloshes, deeper and more muted than last time.

"Ouch!"

"Your belly still isn't full."

"I know coach! one and a half gallons of shake, 4 large pizzas and scraps, it's crazy, right?"

It is. It absolutely is.

"If your belly isn't full then you should keep chugging. This ain't gonna cut it, son."

I grab another half gallon; and he quickly puts the funnel back. He's used to me talking like this. Harkens back to the old days, when he was just a freshman with not enough mass but lots of potential.

"I need you as big as possible," I say as I start to pour. "This is an arms race we're in. Only way you can beat a 350 lbs guy slamming into you is by being a 400 lbs guy."

Will is easily going to be over 400 lbs once we're done for tonight, though not in playing form. Will sits back once the jug is done, the huge volume inside him making it impossible to lean forward or slouch. But there's a big grin on his face.

"Feels good?"

He nods. I can tell it feels good. The amounts he's consumed would be enough to burst just about anyone, but over the year's we've gotten his belly so big that it just feels comfortably full. The level of fullness that you'd like to have at the end of the day, that's bound to give you a good night's sleep.

"Then it's not enough. None of that feelgood bullshit here, I'm all about winning. And winning is tough. Winning hurts."

The next half gallon isn't as fast as the last few. His huge neck muscles have to work, and his huge belly is slowly but visibly inching up and out. There's now a big shelf under his pecs, and his belly button is about half as deep as when he got here. Giving it a rub, I can tell the huge volume is starting to tug at his stomach.

Once it's chugged, I give it a light slap. No slosh this time, but still some give. Reminds me of a beach ball after you've just inflated it. His belly has the size of a beach ball, too, but it's a lot heavier.

"Coach!" he says, as if suddenly woken up. The sheer weight of his stomach is starting to make him drowsy.

"Your belly can still hold more."

"There's so much shake in there..."

"Yes, there is. But I need there to be even more."

His powerful neck muscles are working hard to force the next gallon down. He's at that level of fullness where gravity alone isn't enough. Every gulp he swallows enters a tackle with the massive volume already inside him, pushing it down and out as it fills the top of his stomach. He shifts his back in the couch as he chugs, to relieve the pressure in his swelling belly.

We sit in silence once the jug is empty, Will panting from the effort. He opens his mouth to burp, but nothing comes out: there's no more gas in there, it's all solid and liquid.

"Coach... My belly... it's so big..."

"It's huge, son. But I don't care if you're big. I need you to be the biggest."

His eyes widen.

"I'm still shooting to get you at a playing weight of 400 lbs. With that size and your moves, you'll be unstoppable. A top draft pick. I want you to become a legend, son. And for that, we're gonna need a bigger belly."

I get up, and grab one last jug from my fridge.

"Please coach," he moans, every word taking considerable effort. "I don't want my belly to burst..."

This time, I do without the funnel. I sit down next to him, and put a hand on his rock hard gut. Slowly rubbing it, using the sweat from the heat of digestion like an oil. Starting at the top, at that huge shelf that juts out at a right angle from under his massive pecs. Moving to his right flank, where his belly has bowed out, like a sack of cement resting against a wall. Inching towards his underbelly, that by now is covering a large part of his tree trunk thighs.

"That should do it," I say.

I bring the jug up to his mouth, and very slowly start to pour. It shouldn't fit. Shouldn't possibly fit. There's three gallons of shake and an unholy amount of pizza in there. No belly was ever meant to hold that much. If it weren't for his powerful build he likely would have burst, and even with all that muscle mass, he shouldn't be able to keep it down. Coaches probably weren't meant to stuff their jocks this hard either. I have former linemen whose stomachs are so stretched out they're never going to be able to feel full after normal sized meals, and I never pushed any of them this far. I shouldn't be able to make anything else fit.

But it fits. I have to constantly rub the base of his paunch, and it takes the full power of all his throat muscles to get just one drop in, but it fits. Each gulp makes his stomach swell by an amount that's too small for the eye to see, but makes the pressure rise tenfold.

The empty jug hits the floor with a dull clunk. Will tilts his head back, resting it against the couch.

"My belly didn't burst."

He's so exhausted and stuffed he can barely talk, but beaming with pride nonetheless.

"I needed you bigger for the team. And I knew you'd be up to the task," I say. It's a shame Will isn't able to get up right now, because I'd be curious to see just how heavy he is right now. Easily over 400.

"I'm proud of you, Will."

I settle next to him, in a position that's comfortable for both of us. Keeping a hand on his paunch as he drifts away.

As with all our sessions, he will only have gained so much once it's all digested, but the stomach stretches add up. As his capacity increases, his appetite and therefore playing weight will naturally trend up. Who knows what unholy amounts his coaches will be able to fit inside him after he gets drafted. He's going to be another team's unsung hero, another coach's favorite jock.

But right now, he's falling asleep in my office, and he's going to need my help digesting all this.

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