mehbles

[mehbles]

“Buttoned In”

—A body story, told through buttons.

When Evan landed the job at the dealership, he celebrated with a new shirt: light blue, tailored, crisp along the seams, a soft stretch cotton that hugged his lean frame like it was made for him. The top button stayed undone, tastefully. The fabric sat flush across his chest, with the sleeves wrapping his biceps like a second skin. He liked the way it pulled just slightly when he reached forward — a reminder of the hours he’d carved out under barbells and battle ropes.

The sales manager nodded at his handshake. “You’ll do well here.”

Evan believed it.

⸻

Month One: Perfect Fit

He still hits the gym before sunrise. His meal prep is lined like soldiers in the fridge: chicken, rice, greens, repeat. He buttons the shirt each morning with practiced ease — smooth, satisfying, clean. When he moves, it moves with him. His reflection in the showroom glass turns heads.

He walks the lot like a panther — shoulders back, strides confident. He sells three cars in a week. The commission hits. He celebrates with beers, wings. Just one night.

⸻

Month Two: The First Sign

The early mornings start slipping. Long hours, late deals, back-to-back test drives. Protein shakes turn into vending machine snacks. He tells himself it’s just temporary. Still, the second button now feels a little tighter when he exhales — not alarmingly so, just enough to notice.

There’s a softness gathering under his pecs. Not fat, not yet — just a layer. When he sits, the third button flinches. He tugs at the shirt unconsciously as he leans back in his office chair, pretending not to feel the fabric’s resistance. His suit trousers need a stronger tug to button. He blames the dryer.

⸻

Month Three: The Mirror Lies

The shirt hugs him differently now — less stretch, more cling. It presses into his stomach when he leans forward. The buttons still close, but now with a subtle effort. They dimple the fabric, puckering faintly across his middle. His chest has softened — the once-firm shelf now gently curved. His posture adjusts slightly. He starts skipping the mirror in the locker room.

But each morning, he still reaches for the same shirt. He tells himself it still fits. Still looks sharp. He buttons it slowly, chest rising with a breath as the third and fourth buttons strain, then settle into place.

The trousers? He doesn’t look down when he fastens them. The waistband bites a little deeper, the zipper resists. He sits through meetings with a muted pressure around his midsection, belt hidden under the tug of the shirt.

⸻

Month Four: Tension

Evan notices it in the mornings, now — the slight hesitation before he steps in front of the mirror. He tells himself he’s just tired. But as the fabric settles onto his shoulders, he feels it: the way the shirt doesn’t just cover him — it contains him.

He runs his hand down the buttons. A ritual. He starts at the collar. Button one: clean. Button two: snug. Three: a whisper of tension. Four… a pause. He holds his breath and presses it closed. The cotton pulls tight, drawn across the curve of his belly — not sharply, not like a gut — but with a gentle, steady swell that wasn’t there months ago. He exhales slowly. The button holds. Just.

In profile, he catches the silhouette: a slight dome, softening under the shirt. There’s no denying it now. His abs, once etched and stubborn, are a memory. His hands linger there — half-curious, half-anxious — pressing gently, testing the give.

And yet, in the silence of his room, he doesn’t flinch away. He keeps touching. Stroking the warm rise beneath the fabric, feeling the tension of shirt against skin. There’s something… grounding about it. Something oddly pleasurable.

He doesn’t dwell. Not yet. He shrugs on his blazer and heads out, but that night, as he unbuttons slowly, he finds his hand returning to the curve — not to hide it, but to feel it. To press. To sink in just slightly.

⸻

Month Five: Private Pressure

By now, the shirt is a second skin — not in how it flatters, but in how it fights. Evan feels every stretch. Every movement becomes mindful. When he sits, the fabric draws taut across his stomach, pressing gently against the rise of flesh. He can feel the line of each button like a path. When he shifts forward to grab paperwork, the third and fourth buttons strain visibly, the cotton riding up slightly from his waistband.

His trousers? They bite now — just above his hips, the fabric folded tight across his pelvis. When he fastens them, he has to suck in, just a little. He doesn’t talk about it. Doesn’t buy new ones. He pulls his shirt down and lets the tension settle. If he doesn’t move too quickly, the buttons will hold. Probably.

One afternoon, in the privacy of the breakroom, he leans back in his chair — tired, full, a little bloated after lunch. And he feels it.

Pop.

A sound barely louder than a breath, but to Evan it’s deafening. The fourth button. Gone. It rolls into his lap like a verdict.

He sits still for a moment, hands hovering just above his stomach, now exposed through a small, pulsing gap. The skin underneath is warm, flushed. He watches his belly rise and fall with his breath — slow, full, undeniable. A tight line marks where the fabric has pressed into him all day.

He doesn’t panic. Instead… he breathes deeper.

His hand slides gently across the small mound that’s pushed its way free. There’s no hardness underneath — just give. A slow, smooth roundness. He presses in slightly. It feels good. Firm, full, his.

The warmth of it — the contrast between the cool air and the soft heat of his belly — sparks something. Something new. Or maybe something that was waiting all along.

He doesn’t replace the button.

⸻

Month Six: Becoming

The shirt is no longer defiant. It has surrendered — to him, to the shape he’s become. The seams stretch not in rebellion, but in reluctant adaptation. Evan buttons it carefully, the cotton drawing smooth over the new curve of his belly. There’s no longer a question of whether it fits — it doesn’t. But he wears it anyway.

He walks differently now. Slower, heavier. He feels himself present in space. Occupying more of it. When he sits, he unfastens the trousers below the desk — just one notch, enough to breathe. No one sees. No one knows. But the pressure lifts, and he exhales in relief, belly rising under the taut cotton, the buttons bowing in quiet struggle.

At home, he undresses more slowly. The shirt sticks a little when he peels it away — damp in the small of his back, warm under his chest. His fingers brush over the stretch marks beginning to form at his waist. Soft red lines, like whispers. Like proof.

He stands in front of the mirror. No lighting tricks. No angles. Just the full view — his stomach rounding gently forward, the start of love handles curving above his waistband. His chest no longer sits high, but rests, comfortably. His thighs press together now when he stands straight.

And still — he buttons the shirt again. Just to feel it. Just to know how far he’s come.

He runs his palm over the stretch of the fabric, over his belly. Presses in. Feels the taut give of flesh. There’s a hunger now — not just in his stomach, but lower. A thrum of desire when he sees the fabric strain. When he feels his body fight the shirt. When he feeds it. When he lets himself enjoy fullness. Pressure.

He leans in to the mirror. Smiles.

It’s no longer just acceptance.

It’s pleasure.

[mehbles]

Heavier than ever part 4

He dropped onto the bench like gravity owned him.

Legs spread, arms slack, his whole body collapsed into the seat with a wet, heavy thud — a sound you don’t make unless you’re carrying real bulk. His thighs slapped down wide and thick, forcing his hips apart. His gut surged forward as he sat, momentum dragging it down and outward, settling into his lap like a dense, living weight.

His skin glowed red from the heat — flushed, glistening, streaked with sweat. His upper chest, shoulders, and face were blotchy with exertion, the color deep and raw, pulsing under the surface. Droplets traced their way from beneath his arms, along the sides of his torso, into the soft creases where his belly folded over itself. His entire body shimmered with moisture — not just sweaty, but soaked, as if he’d been steamed in his own effort.

He didn’t look massive in a cartoon way. He looked real. Thick. Strong. Used. A body that had been pushed to its current shape over time, and was still adapting to the mass it carried.

His pecs weren’t hard anymore. The muscle was still there — visible in the spread, in the width — but now buried beneath a thick pad of fat that softened every edge. They hung low and heavy, the lower curve resting just slightly on top of his belly, the nipples pulled down at a lazy angle. With each labored breath, they lifted and dropped, swaying with a delayed bounce.

His belly was something else.

It wasn’t loose or bloated. It was packed. Full. Round. Heavy with softness, but pulled tight from the inside — the kind of belly that jutted out with purpose. Sitting, it spilled over the waistband of his shorts in a thick, firm dome. There was a deep fold just above the belt where the flesh compressed — a wet, sticky line where sweat pooled and skin met skin. The bottom of his gut rested fully on his thighs, flattened where it pressed, but still pushing outward like it wanted to reclaim its shape.

That soft overhang was inescapable — doming forward, the fabric of his shorts swallowed beneath it. The crease of it was red and raw-looking, damp with sweat, slick to the touch. Visible warmth, like his stomach was radiating heat into the air around it.

His love handles wrapped around both sides, high and thick — not floppy, but meaty, like padded wedges above his hips. As he leaned slightly forward, they creased and stacked, the folds sharpening with pressure.

His shorts had given up. Darkened with sweat, clinging to his thick thighs, the waistband rolled slightly beneath the belly. The fabric stretched tight across his hips, seams flexing, every edge buried into his flesh. His legs were still muscular — powerful — but now coated in a soft layer that made them feel bigger. There was no space between them. They spread and bulged outward, pushing the bench wider beneath him.

And then the pulse — fuck.

It was pounding. Visible. Palpable. Everywhere.

A throbbing rhythm under the skin of his chest, right at the center, between his pecs. A visible twitch, subtle but steady. His neck jumped with each beat, the thick vein running hot beneath the skin. And lower, on the tight curve of his belly — just above the navel, where the skin was pulled tautest — a faint flutter beneath the surface, the heartbeat trapped inside the fat, still pounding hard from the air bike.

168 beats per minute at peak. Still at 154 bpm after sitting for over a minute.

And he could feel every beat. His hand rested on his belly, fingers spread wide, and the pulse thudded against his palm like it was trying to shake him from the inside.

His breath was deep, long. But not controlled. Not yet. Each exhale pushed the belly forward another inch, making it jiggle softly in his lap. Each inhale raised his pecs, only for them to drop with weight. Sweat ran in new paths every few seconds — constantly in motion, never drying.

He leaned forward to stand — and his gut compressed, thick folds pressing into his thighs before he even got halfway up. His back curved, skin folding naturally above the waistband in two clean ridges. He exhaled hard, braced himself, and stood.

And everything shifted.

The belly lifted, pulled forward by momentum, bounced once, then settled again — this time, rounder and more prominent. It jutted outward in front of him, a wide dome, the overhang taut but soft, stretched over the curve of his body like it was poured there. His chest swung slightly with the motion, sweat catching the light. The crease of his back smoothed, but the love handles remained — thick arcs on either side of his waist, gently folding as he adjusted his stance.

He reached up, wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked down at himself.

Chest flushed. Gut pumped and glowing. Skin dewy and red, vibrating with life.

Pulse still hammering. Shorts barely clinging

[mehbles]

Heavier than ever part 3

Big Man at the Gym Challenge”

He hadn’t hesitated to sign up. The gym’s latest fitness contest — weigh-ins, progress pics, some conditioning drills. He wasn’t lean, but he was strong. Heavy. Solid. He figured it’d be fun to show them what mass looked like.

The shorts were tight — denim barely holding against the swell of his thighs and belly. He stood tall on the scale, belly rounding out in front, obscuring the readout until he leaned forward slightly, soft flesh pressing down over the waistband.

114.7 kilograms.

His heaviest yet. A quiet thrill moved through him.

The photos were quick. No flexing, just honest size.

Front: pecs thick and hanging with weight, nipples tilted slightly down over a wide, proud belly that bulged forward like a loaded dome.

Side: gut projecting even further than he’d realized, chest rounding over it with a soft, full slope.

Back: folds along the lower back, love handles swelling into a thick waistline that wrapped around him with ease.

He posed like a pro. Head high. Hands at his sides. He knew he looked huge.

Then came the circuit.

Pushups first. He dropped to the floor — or rather, eased himself down, his belly touching the mat before anything else. Each push felt like work. His chest wobbled, gut compressed and shifted beneath him, arms straining with the weight. By the tenth rep, sweat had begun to bead between his pecs, and his breathing came heavier.

Plank. Elbows down, back flat — or as flat as it could be now, with a belly that sagged toward the floor. The pull on his core was intense. His stomach hung low, shifting with each breath. He clenched everything to hold it — but the burn came quick. His lower back trembled, belly swaying like a pendulum.

Then the air bike.

He climbed on, gut resting against his lap, arms thick on the handles. He started pumping, legs moving hard, arms pulling — and everything shook. His belly bounced rhythmically with the pedals, chest slick with sweat, his body surging with motion. He was moving a lot of weight, and fast.

But within seconds, his pulse skyrocketed.

His chest thudded with heat — heart pounding like it was trying to burst out. He could feel it hammering in his ears. A glance at the monitor: 168 bpm.

No… wait — 172 bpm.

That was high. Too high for something this short.

His breathing became sharp, almost desperate. The edges of his vision tingled. Sweat poured down his face, trickled along the curve of his belly. His thighs were burning. His arms felt heavy. His head felt heavy.

He leaned forward instinctively — only to feel his gut slam into his thighs, soft mass squishing, folding, limiting his range. His back folded slightly, compressing under the bulk. The beltline of his shorts dug in deep.

He kept pushing — legs screaming, lungs burning — until the timer beeped.

And then everything went still.

He dropped back onto the bench like he was crashing into it. Legs spread wide, belly pushing forward, his whole torso rising and falling with deep, ragged breaths. Sweat soaked his chest, clinging to every curve, collecting in the crease where his gut met his waistband.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and felt the heat radiating off his skin. He pressed two fingers to the side of his neck, just to check.

His pulse was racing — still hammering at 154 beats per minute, even after a full minute of sitting still.

And then — it hit him.

A moment of real shock. Not fear. Not regret. But undeniable awareness.

“Holy shit… I’m actually out of shape.”

The thought landed heavy. He wasn’t just big. He wasn’t just soft.

He was struggling.

That wasn’t just the sweat of effort — it was the kind that poured out when your body was overwhelmed. That wasn’t just his heart beating — it was thundering, hammering through thick layers of fat and heat and motion.

For a second, he sat there in silence, still catching his breath, hands resting on either side of his gut. The soft mass spilled into his lap, warm and jiggling gently with each inhale.

He looked down at himself — chest flushed, belly glistening, pulse still pounding like a drum — and felt just how much he’d changed.

[mehbles]

Heavier than ever part 2

He tugged on the old jean shorts — the ones that used to hang comfortably off his hips back when his waist had definition and his thighs didn’t press together with every step. Now, just getting them on took effort. The denim clung stubbornly to his legs, catching on the softness of his thickened thighs, riding higher than it should have. He shifted his weight with a low grunt, working them up inch by inch until the waistband finally sat under the dome of his belly.

Buttoning them was another story. He sucked in just enough to force the top closed, the button digging into the underside of his gut. His belly spilled out and over — a soft, rounded overhang pressing forward in a way that demanded space and refused to be ignored. The shorts squeezed his hips and clung to his thighs like they were never meant to fit this version of him.

And they weren’t.

But he wore them anyway.

He skipped the shirt. No point. The heat was thick, and besides — his body didn’t hide anymore. His chest had thickened, grown full and heavy. His pecs still pushed outward with some shape, but they’d softened into a rounded drop, a little bounce with every shift of his weight. His belly was even more commanding — round, plush, undeniable. It jutted outward like a prize, full of softness but backed by something solid underneath, the kind of mass that moved with its own rhythm.

He made his way to the car, feeling the denim creep up with every step. The thighs were just too big now, rubbing with each stride. He gave them a tug down before lowering himself into the seat.

Sliding in, he felt the shift — how his body had to settle, how his belly pushed out once he sat. He reached across, grabbed the seatbelt, and clicked it in. The strap cut across his stomach — tight now — pulling into the upper swell of his belly. Beneath it, the lower curve rounded out with nowhere to go, a soft bulge of fat spilling gently over the waistband.

It didn’t hurt. It just was. This was his body now.

Driving shirtless, he felt everything. The jiggle of his chest, the bounce of his belly with every bump, the warm press of skin against skin as he leaned into curves. His hand rested casually across his stomach, fingers sinking just slightly into the soft give where the belt pressed in.

He didn’t need a mirror. He could feel the size of himself in how the car fit — or didn’t.

When he stepped out at the beach, the heat hit him hard. Sun on skin, sweat forming instantly. He adjusted the shorts again, tugging them down to give his belly more room. They didn’t go far. There was just too much of him now.

The walk across the lot and down to the shore wasn’t long, but his body made every step feel heavy. His belly bounced gently with each stride, the motion steady and full. His chest moved too — not sharply, not tight, but in that unmistakable, proud sway of a man who’d grown bigger than his frame used to allow.

The shorts crawled higher as he walked, caught between thick thighs. He tugged them back down, hand brushing the soft curve of his lower gut. He caught a reflection in a beachside window — wide shoulders, padded chest, belly projecting confidently forward, the overhang plain and unapologetic. Not lean. Not even close. But not trying to be.

Just big.

The sand gave under his feet as he stepped onto the beach, his body adjusting with a slow bounce to the softness. The breeze rolled across his skin, catching in the folds at his sides, drying the sweat at the base of his back where love handles curved out wide and thick. He adjusted the waistband once more, casually — not because he needed to, but because it felt good.

He didn’t bother sucking in. He let it all show — the belly, the chest, the size of his thighs stretching the limits of the denim.

He walked slowly along the shore, barefoot, belly first, chest out, feeling the pull of gravity in every movement. People looked. Of course they did. He was a presence now.

And in that moment — shirtless, swollen, stuffed into old shorts that barely fit — he didn’t care how much of it was fat or muscle.

[mehbles]

Heavier Than Ever”

He stood in front of the mirror, towel slung low around his waist, steam clinging to the room, fogging the edges of the glass. Even blurred, he could see the difference. Six months — twenty-two kilograms — and it showed in every inch of him.

He liked to think most of it was muscle. And yeah, there was plenty of that. Shoulders rounded, arms thick with size, chest still pushing outward — but the truth showed in the way it all moved. His body didn’t just look bigger. It looked heavier.

His pecs weren’t tight anymore. They hung slightly, soft at the bottom, dense and full. If he gave them a little bounce, they answered — not with firmness, but with mass. A thick, meaty jiggle that made him grin. Strong underneath, yeah, but padded with fat that gave them that gainer heft he secretly loved.

Lower down, his belly had become a beast of its own. Round, wide, firm in the middle but soft along the sides — it pushed out above the towel, swollen from dinner, resting heavy against his hips. He gave it a light pat. It wobbled. Not the tight bloated kind — the real kind. The fat kind. The kind that stays.

He twisted a little, catching a glimpse of his back. The folds were deeper now. Thick creases under his shoulder blades, love handles rounding out his silhouette, spilling slightly over his waistband when he wore jeans. He could feel them when he sat — skin folding, fat stacking. His back had grown. Muscle, sure. But softened with a layer that rolled and moved when he did. That was new.

Clothes had become more of a challenge — but also more of a thrill. T-shirts clung to his chest and rode up over his belly. Button-ups never stayed flat anymore, always pulling at the gut. Even his hoodies were starting to outline that new roundness. He liked the way people looked at him now — some surprised, some impressed, some not sure what to think. But he knew exactly what he was doing.

Body fat? Probably pushing past 30% by now. But he didn’t see fat when he looked in the mirror. He saw mass. He saw power. He saw a man who’d eaten, lifted, and grown.

He rolled his shoulders, watching the weight shift across his upper body. It was all part of him now — the softness, the stretch marks, the heft in his gut. He was a heavy man. A strong man. A proud, fat man.

[mehbles]

Work life balance

Chapter 1: The Stretch of Life

Simon didn’t always live this way. Once upon a time, he had been a man of effortless charm and youthful energy, a rising star in the fast-paced world of car sales. Back then, he’d been lean, sharp, and impeccably dressed. His crisp suits hugged his form in all the right places, projecting the perfect image of confidence and control. Customers trusted Simon because he looked like the kind of man who had his life together.

But at 25, Simon’s life had taken a very different turn.

The once-svelte salesman now found himself confined to a largely sedentary existence, the fast pace of his early career giving way to long hours seated behind a desk, scrolling through spreadsheets, and sipping from a well-worn mug of coffee laced with too much cream and sugar. His evenings were no longer filled with post-work gym sessions or socializing with friends at the local pub. Instead, they revolved around his two great loves: beer and cake.

It had started innocently enough—a cold pint after work to unwind, a treat from the bakery to celebrate a good sale. But soon, Simon had come to rely on those indulgences to punctuate the monotony of his days. The occasional pint turned into a nightly six-pack. The celebratory slice of cake became a nightly ritual, and then sometimes breakfast, too. Simon’s fridge was now stocked with frosted treats, craft beers, and little else. He told himself it was temporary, a small comfort in a stressful job. But the scale didn’t lie.

Simon’s body had changed, subtly at first, then all at once. His once-trim stomach had swelled into a soft, rounded belly that hung over his waistband when he sat down. His love handles spilled out at his sides, pushing against the fabric of his once-tailored suits. It was his shirts that bore the brunt of his transformation. The buttons now strained to keep him contained, creating unsightly gaps at the front, especially around his navel. Simon found himself tugging at the fabric throughout the day, hoping to conceal the evidence of his overindulgence. It was a losing battle.

Every morning, Simon stared at himself in the mirror as he fastened his tie. His jawline, once sharp and defined, was now softened by a growing double chin. His cheeks were rounder, giving him a boyish, almost cherubic appearance that didn’t match the man he thought he still was. His thighs pressed against the seams of his trousers, and his belt dug into his waist, leaving red marks that lingered long after he’d taken it off. Still, Simon clung to his old wardrobe, unwilling to admit that he’d outgrown it.

At work, Simon’s coworkers had started to notice his transformation. No one said anything outright, of course, but there were subtle comments—jokes about office snacks, offhand remarks about “bulking up,” and knowing glances when he helped himself to a second (or third) donut in the breakroom. Simon laughed along, pretending not to care, but inside, he was deeply aware of every pound he’d gained.

The worst part, though, was how it affected his job. Selling cars required confidence, and Simon’s had taken a hit. He felt self-conscious meeting with clients, especially the sleek, athletic types who came in looking for luxury vehicles. He imagined them judging him, silently wondering how someone who couldn’t keep his own life in check could sell them a car. His sales numbers had started to slip, and his manager had begun dropping hints about “recommitting to the hustle.”

But the hustle was the last thing on Simon’s mind. He was too tired, too comfortable in his routine of indulgence. After a long day at work, all he wanted to do was sink into his couch with a pint of beer in one hand and a slice of chocolate cake in the other. He told himself he’d start fresh tomorrow—cut back on the beer, swap the cake for a salad, maybe even go for a jog. But tomorrow always seemed to bring another excuse.

One evening, Simon stood in front of his bathroom mirror after his nightly shower, his damp hair sticking to his forehead. The light overhead was harsh, illuminating every inch of his body. He stared at his reflection, taking in the changes that had crept up on him. His belly, round and heavy, jutted out in stark contrast to his spindly arms and legs. His chest, once firm and flat, now had a slight sag to it, the beginnings of what he’d heard cruelly referred to as “man boobs.” His love handles curved out from his sides, and his navel was now a deep crease in the center of his bulging stomach.

He poked at his belly experimentally, watching it jiggle slightly before settling back into place. He sighed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants that barely fit anymore and a t-shirt that clung to his midsection like a second skin. He felt a pang of shame, but it was quickly drowned out by the thought of the leftover cheesecake waiting for him in the fridge.

As Simon settled onto his couch, fork in hand, he told himself it wasn’t so bad. Sure, he’d put on a few pounds, but he was still young. He could turn things around whenever he wanted. For now, though, he was content to indulge, to let the softness of his body mirror the comfort of his life.

Chapter 2: A Split Decision

The day started like any other for Simon. He rolled out of bed, feeling the familiar tightness in his waist as he tugged on his trousers. They were snug—too snug—but Simon convinced himself they’d stretch out over the course of the day, like they always did. Still, fastening the button required a deep exhale and a firm tug. He slid into his blazer and glanced in the mirror. The fit wasn’t ideal, but he told himself it was fine. He’d be sitting at his desk most of the day anyway. No one would notice.

Or so he thought.

It wasn’t even lunchtime when Simon’s day took a turn. A client had come in, a wiry older man with an angular face and an easy grin. He wanted to see a car—one of the new models Simon had just added to the inventory—but it wasn’t parked in the showroom. It was in the back lot. Simon, ever the professional, plastered on a confident smile and assured the client it would only take a moment. Inside, though, he was dreading it. The lot wasn’t far, but it was cold outside, and Simon hated the idea of leaving the comfort of his desk.

As soon as Simon stepped out into the crisp January air, he felt the chill bite through his clothes. He tugged his blazer tighter around him, already regretting his decision to skip breakfast and replace it with coffee and cake. His belly grumbled in protest as he trudged toward the far end of the lot, where the car was supposedly parked. The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows over rows of gleaming vehicles. Simon wiped at his brow. Was it that warm, or was it just him?

Halfway to the car, Simon realized he was out of breath. His chest rose and fell with an embarrassing intensity as he tried to mask his discomfort. His legs felt heavy, his thighs brushing against each other more noticeably than ever. His shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat, and his tie felt like a noose. He couldn’t stop tugging at it.

When he finally spotted the car, Simon felt a wave of relief. It was a sleek, black sedan, parked at the far end of the lot. “Perfect,” he muttered under his breath, picking up the pace. As he did, he felt it—a slight tearing sensation. It was faint, like the sound of paper being slowly ripped in two. He froze, a cold pit forming in his stomach.

No. It couldn’t be.

Simon glanced around, his face reddening as he reached behind himself to feel for the damage. His worst fears were confirmed when his fingers brushed over the unmistakable tear in his trousers. The seam along the back had split, exposing a sliver of his underwear to the chilly air. He stood there for a moment, paralyzed with a mix of embarrassment and disbelief. How had it come to this?

Desperate to keep his composure, Simon pressed forward, hoping the client wouldn’t notice. Each step only made the tear worse, the fabric pulling further apart as his thighs strained against the already overburdened material. By the time he reached the car, Simon’s shirt had come untucked, his face was slick with sweat, and his trousers were barely holding together.

“Here it is,” Simon said, his voice breathless. He gestured toward the sedan, trying to distract from his disheveled appearance. The client raised an eyebrow, clearly noticing Simon’s discomfort, but said nothing.

Simon fumbled with the keys, his hands clammy and unsteady. The car beeped as it unlocked, and he pulled open the driver’s door with an exaggerated flourish. “Take a look inside. Great legroom,” he said, forcing a laugh.

The client climbed into the car, giving Simon a chance to step back and assess the damage. He turned his back to one of the parked SUVs and discreetly tugged at his blazer, trying to cover the gaping hole in his trousers. His heart was pounding—not from exertion, but from sheer humiliation.

When the client finally emerged, Simon was ready to get this over with. “It’s perfect,” the man said, oblivious to Simon’s misery. “I’ll take it.”

Simon forced another smile, nodding as he guided the man back toward the showroom. Each step felt like a lifetime, the ripped seam flapping with every movement. By the time they reached the desk, Simon was ready to collapse.

As soon as the paperwork was signed, Simon all but ran to the staff bathroom. He locked the door behind him and leaned against the wall, letting out a long, shaky breath. His reflection in the mirror told the full story: his sweat-drenched shirt, his red face, the tear in his trousers that exposed far more than he’d like.

Chapter 3: The Weigh-In and Gym Sign-Up

Simon sat slumped on his couch that evening, still reeling from the humiliation of the day. He had managed to sneak out of the office with his torn trousers hidden under his blazer, but the embarrassment lingered. His belly pressed into his thighs as he hunched forward, a half-eaten slice of cheesecake on the coffee table in front of him. He stared at it, feeling a pang of guilt. Something had to change.

The next morning, Simon woke with a rare sense of determination. After dragging himself out of bed, he rifled through his closet, searching for something loose and comfortable. He pulled on an old hoodie and sweatpants that had been shoved to the back of a drawer, a relic from his fitter days. The waistband of the sweatpants dug into his belly slightly, but at least they fit. Today was the day. He was going to sign up for the gym.

The gym was only a few blocks from Simon’s apartment, but by the time he arrived, he was already winded. The walk had seemed longer than he remembered, and he was grateful for the blast of air conditioning as he stepped inside. The sleek, modern interior was a stark contrast to Simon’s sweaty, rumpled appearance. Rows of treadmills and weight machines gleamed under bright lights, and the faint hum of pop music filled the air.

A young, impossibly fit man behind the front desk greeted Simon with a cheerful smile. “Hey there! Looking to sign up?”

Simon hesitated, suddenly self-conscious. His oversized hoodie couldn’t fully disguise the curve of his belly or the way his sweatpants clung to his thighs. “Uh, yeah,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. “Thought I’d give it a shot.”

“Great!” The man’s enthusiasm was almost overwhelming. “We’ll start by getting your details and doing a quick fitness assessment. Follow me.”

Simon reluctantly followed him to a small office tucked in the corner of the gym. Inside, a digital scale and a body composition analyzer sat on the floor, waiting. “Step on the scale, and we’ll get your weight first,” the trainer said.

Simon hesitated, his palms suddenly clammy. He hadn’t weighed himself in months—maybe even a year. Steeling himself, he stepped onto the scale, feeling the cold metal under his feet. The machine beeped, and the numbers blinked before settling on the final result.

Simon stared at the screen. 256 pounds.

For a moment, he thought there must have been a mistake. He remembered being 185 pounds not that long ago—or at least, it felt like not that long ago. Now, his weight had soared far beyond what he’d imagined. He felt his cheeks flush as the trainer jotted down the number.

“Alright,” the trainer said, unfazed. “Next, we’ll take some basic measurements and talk about your fitness goals.”

Simon nodded stiffly, his mind still reeling. As the trainer wrapped a tape measure around his waist, chest, and thighs, Simon couldn’t help but notice how tight the tape felt around his belly. He wanted to disappear.

After the assessment, Simon was led back to the front desk, where he filled out his membership forms. “You’re all set,” the trainer said with a grin. “When do you want to start?”

Simon forced a smile. “Uh, tomorrow, I guess.” It was a lie. The idea of walking into the gym, surrounded by people who were fitter and stronger than he’d ever been, filled him with dread. But he couldn’t back out now.

As he left the gym, Simon felt a strange mix of emotions. He was embarrassed by how far he’d let himself go, but there was also a glimmer of hope. Signing up was a step in the right direction, even if it was a small one.

That evening, Simon stood in front of his bathroom mirror again, the memory of the scale’s display still fresh in his mind. He pinched at his belly, watching it jiggle slightly, and sighed. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but he had to try.

[mehbles]

God level moobs

The moobs are colossal, pendulous masses of fat that dominate the chest, spilling outward and downward with an exaggerated softness that defies gravity. Each one is shaped like an overfilled sack of flesh, with a fullness that presses heavily against the upper belly below, creating deep, shadowed creases where they meet. Their weight pulls them downward, stretching the skin taut over the bulk of the fat while allowing for a slight sag at their rounded lower edges.

The areolas are stretched wide across the surface, darkened and textured, their diameter almost startling against the expansive, smooth flesh surrounding them. The nipples, softened by the immense pressure of the fat, point downward, nearly lost in the rolling abundance of the moobs’ lower curves. A faint sheen of perspiration glistens on the surface, gathering in the deep creases beneath them and adding to the impression of their overwhelming heft.

As they sweep outward toward the sides, the moobs merge seamlessly with the rolls of fat under the arms. Here, the softness continues in layered folds, cascading outward to form thick rolls that press against the underside of the upper arms. These side rolls are segmented and deep, their creases cutting into the flesh as though each fold struggles for space. The underarm area is a pocket of warmth and softness, the folds here darkened by shadow and touched with a faint dampness from the constant friction of the overlapping skin.

The back fat continues the story of excess, sprawling outward and downward in broad rolls that radiate from the shoulder blades. Thick, segmented rolls pile one on top of the other, starting high near the upper back and tapering into the waistline. The rolls are immense, curving around the sides and connecting with the side rolls and underarm fat, creating a continuous, uninterrupted expanse of lush, rippling flesh.

When viewed from the back, the shoulder blades are entirely engulfed, their outlines buried beneath layers of fat. Deep creases form where the rolls press together, and dimples and pockets of cellulite dot the surface, adding texture to the already dramatic landscape. The entire region sways and shifts with the body’s movement, a hypnotic display of softness and sheer volume that captures the eye.

[mehbles]

The dark abyss…

The navel is an abyss of stretched, shadowed flesh—a cavernous indentation swallowed by the overwhelming girth of the lower belly. Once a modest dip, it has expanded and deepened dramatically, its edges pulled wide and taut by the relentless swell of fat. The skin around it is smooth in some places and riddled with stretch marks in others, the silvery lines radiating outward like sunbursts across the deep, glossy black surface. The navel itself is hidden deep within the folds, its depth so profound that it disappears into shadow, unreachable and unseen without pulling aside the heavy, hanging flesh that envelops it.

The lower belly is a monumental overhang, a vast expanse of fat-laden flesh that cascades down in an impossibly heavy fold. Its weight pulls it forward and downward, creating a sagging mass that hangs far past the waistband of any clothing, resting heavily against the upper thighs. The overhang is impossibly wide, spreading out from hip to hip like a blanket of flesh, its surface dimpled with cellulite and softened by the slight sheen of perspiration that gathers in its creases.

The underside of the belly is a darker, more secretive terrain, shadowed from the light and marked by deep creases where the skin folds into itself. The texture here is softer, almost velvety to the touch, with areas of trapped warmth and a faint musk that clings to the deeply folded flesh. The skin here is less taut, sagging slightly with the weight of gravity, and marbled with purplish stretch marks that reflect its rapid, unrelenting expansion.

Each motion of the body sends the lower belly into a slow, rippling sway, the overhang quivering with even the smallest movement. When at rest, it pools heavily against the thighs, its bulk spreading and flattening slightly under its own weight. The sheer size of it is overwhelming, a living monument to excess, with the navel at its center—an enigmatic, sunken reminder of a once-central point now utterly transformed by indulgence.

[mehbles]

The fat…

The figure is an enormous encourged slab of fat, each curve and fold of the body speaking of extreme abundance and overwhelming softness. The skin, a rich, deep ebony hue, gleams with a slight sheen of sweat, accentuating the massive contours. The flesh stretches taut in some areas and hangs loosely in others, marred and decorated by a sprawling network of silvery-pink and purple stretch marks that weave across every surface like a roadmap of growth.

The belly is inhuman, a swollen dome of flesh with a wide, deep overhang. It cascades down in thick, heavy folds, sagging far down the front of the thighs. The underside of the belly is shadowed, darker from lack of sunlight, with creases and crevices where the skin folds into itself, almost forming a curtain of flesh. Dimples and pockets of cellulite give the surface an uneven texture, like a quilted expanse of luxury.

The chest is equally exaggerated, with massive moobs like overfilled sacks of fat—sloping downward dramatically. They rest heavily atop the upper belly, their roundness spilling outward to the sides. Each moob is capped with dark, stretched areolas that ripple slightly with the weight of the surrounding tissue. They shift and wobble slightly with even the smallest movement, their pendulous heft unmistakable.

The arms are laden with thick rolls of fat, each limb segmented by heavy creases where the skin folds upon itself. The upper arms balloon out to twice the circumference of what they might once have been, tapering only slightly toward dimpled elbows. The forearms are similarly padded, the wrists almost swallowed by encroaching fat, making the hands look delicate in contrast.

The back is a landscape of folds and rolls, with a pronounced upper roll near the shoulders and a cascade of smaller rolls trailing down toward the lower back. The love handles are massive and spill out on either side, merging seamlessly with the enormous thighs. The thighs themselves are colossal, riddled with dimples and cellulite, pressing together heavily and sagging outward under their own weight. Even seated, the thighs spread wide, dominating any available space.

The buttocks are twin globes of immense flesh, rising high and spreading wide, with deep creases marking where they press together. Below, the calves are thick and rounded, tapering into swollen ankles that almost blend into the feet, which bear the strain of the immense weight above.

Every part of the body carries a rippling softness, a plushness that shifts and quivers with motion. The skin is rich with texture, from the smoothness over the roundest areas to the rippled dimples and shadowed folds where the fat gathers. The sheer enormity is mesmerizing, a living testament to indulgence and excess.

[mehbles]

Letting go: part 3 chapters 7-9. Final part

Chapter Seven: A Growing Revelation

The next morning, Jake was still processing the conversation from his doctor’s office. The shock of his weight gain had settled in, the reality of his own choices more present than ever. And yet, a part of him couldn’t deny the enjoyment he’d found in his changing body, the comfort of the life he and Adam had built together.

As he made coffee in the kitchen, he heard Adam coming in from his morning run. He turned, still caught up in his own thoughts, but was surprised by what he saw. Adam was wearing a snug pair of athletic shorts that hugged his hips tightly, the waistband cutting into a soft, newly formed curve at his waist. Jake’s eyebrows shot up, and he couldn’t help but smile as he took in Adam’s appearance.

Adam’s frame was as athletic as ever, but there was something new — a noticeable fullness that hadn’t been there a few months ago. His thighs were thicker, pressing against the fabric of his shorts, and his waist, once trim, now had the beginnings of a slight softness that filled out his sides. His chest and shoulders looked even broader than before, thickened with muscle, but the edges were softer, as though he’d been gaining more than just mass.

Adam grinned as he noticed Jake’s expression. “Surprised?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he stretched, giving Jake a full view of his form.

Jake chuckled, setting down his mug. “I mean…yeah, I didn’t realize you were, uh, bulking up.”

Adam walked over and leaned against the counter, giving Jake a look of playful pride. “I’ve been adding a bit of weight myself,” he admitted, patting his own stomach, where a small but noticeable curve was forming. “Up twenty pounds, give or take. I wanted to keep up with you a bit. You’re not the only one who enjoys a little extra, you know?”

Jake laughed, feeling a warmth spread through him at the idea that Adam had been subtly joining in, letting himself grow a bit softer while still building muscle. He couldn’t help but admire Adam’s figure — a mix of hard muscle and a new, plush layer that hinted at their shared lifestyle of indulgence.

“Well, you’re looking good,” Jake said, giving Adam’s waist a gentle poke, noticing how the skin and muscle gave just slightly under his finger. “I didn’t even notice you’d been putting on weight.”

Adam shrugged, still grinning. “It’s been slow, intentional. I’ve been more focused on the gym, but, you know, you’re not the only one enjoying the buffets and the takeout.”

Jake chuckled, feeling a sense of camaraderie with Adam, but his own recent doctor’s visit weighed on him, and he decided to bring it up. “Speaking of weight,” he started, glancing down. “I had a check-up yesterday. The doctor wasn’t exactly thrilled with what she saw.”

Adam’s playful expression softened as he looked at Jake with curiosity and concern. “Oh? What’d she say?”

Jake took a breath, feeling the need to be honest. “I’m up seventy pounds since my last visit. I’m at 310 now. Blood pressure’s high, cholesterol too. Basically, she’s suggesting I pull back a bit on…all of this.” He gestured to himself, patting his rounded stomach.

Adam listened, nodding, his expression thoughtful. “How do you feel about it?”

Jake considered the question, feeling the weight of the doctor’s words alongside the comfort he felt in the life they’d created together. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I love how things are with us. I feel happy, you know? But…I guess I didn’t realize how much I’d let myself go.”

Adam reached out, placing a hand on Jake’s belly, giving it a gentle squeeze, as though reassuring him. “Jake, you’re more than just a number on a scale. Look at you — you’re happy, we’re happy. I mean, yeah, maybe we could make a few changes, but that doesn’t mean we have to give up what we love. Maybe just…find a bit of balance.”

Jake smiled, grateful for Adam’s perspective. Adam’s hand on his belly, that familiar touch, grounded him, reminding him of the connection they shared and the joy he’d found in letting go of past expectations.

“Balance,” he repeated, nodding. “Maybe I can work with that.”

Adam chuckled, patting his own softening waist with a grin. “Besides, if I keep growing like this, I’m going to need some of that balance too.”

The two of them shared a laugh, both aware of the changes they’d undergone, both accepting that their journey was a shared one. They didn’t need to follow anyone’s expectations but their own. As they finished their coffee, Jake felt a renewed sense of calm. Whatever adjustments they decided to make, he knew they’d do it together, on their own terms, embracing the life they loved and the bodies that had come to reflect it.

Chapter Eight: A Cycle of Growth

The next few months slipped by in a blur for Jake and Adam, as they found themselves caught in a shared rhythm of indulgence, lifting, and celebration. Adam’s growth had become its own source of fascination — his frame was filling out fast, a blend of hard muscle and the beginnings of soft curves that hinted at his lifestyle of heavy lifting and hearty meals. Each week seemed to bring a new milestone for Adam, his strength hitting record highs, his body gaining both size and power.

Watching Adam’s transformation sparked something in Jake. Despite his doctor’s warnings, he couldn’t resist the urge to join Adam at the gym, hoping to regain some of the strength he once had. But stepping back into the weight room after all these months, he realized how much his body had changed. His muscles, though still solid under the layers of fat, struggled under weights he used to lift with ease, and cardio was an even bigger challenge. Even warming up left him winded, his heart pounding and his breath coming hard, the added weight of his body fighting him with every step.

As he went through his sets, he felt his belly hanging lower than ever, a new, constant weight that added strain to every movement. Once a subtle curve, his belly had swelled outward and now hung a good five or six inches over his waistband, rounding out in a soft, full mass that jutted proudly in front of him. When he leaned forward or bent down to catch his breath, he could feel its heavy presence pressing against his thighs, spreading comfortably across his lap. His chest, too, had transformed — his former pecs now softened and spread out into what Adam affectionately called “moobs.” They were full and rounded, hanging slightly over the top of his belly, bouncing and swaying with every lift and step, moving with their own weight in a way that was new and strangely satisfying.

Their routine began to spiral into a pattern of growth, each day feeding into the next. Every night they celebrated their progress with hearty, indulgent meals. Jake’s appetite seemed to expand along with his body, and Adam was all too eager to encourage it, bringing over extra plates, sliding desserts his way, and occasionally challenging him to push past his limits. Jake found himself eating with abandon, his appetite now a thing of pride, as he plowed through plate after plate, each meal a feast that left him stuffed and content, his belly stretched tight and heavy.

The results were undeniable. Jake’s strength was building again, but so was his body fat, spiraling upwards at a pace that matched his newfound muscle. His arms were thickening, his shoulders rounding, his chest fuller than ever, his “moobs” a prominent, plush mass that rested on top of his belly. Every step made them sway and bounce, moving in harmony with his rounded belly. His gut itself had grown so large that it pushed outward in a heavy, pendulous arc, hanging inches over his waistband, its soft bulk swaying with every movement. Walking, sitting, even standing still, he could feel its presence, the way it shifted and settled with him, a constant reminder of his indulgent lifestyle.

Adam, too, had begun to show signs of their shared gluttony. Though his gains had started with muscle, his frame had softened, a new layer of fat rounding out his waist and sides. His once-trim waist now curved outward with the beginnings of a belly, and his face had taken on a new fullness that added a soft edge to his features. Yet his strength only continued to increase, each week bringing new personal records as he embraced his bigger, fuller frame.

One day, after a particularly intense session at the gym, they stood side by side in front of the mirror, marveling at their transformations. Jake rested his hands on his belly, feeling its weight in his palms, the soft, plush mass filling his lap, hanging proudly over his waistband. His “moobs” were prominent, heavy, and full, rounding out in a way that made his chest sway with even the slightest movement.

Adam looked over, a grin spreading across his face. “We’re really getting somewhere, aren’t we?” he said, giving Jake a playful nudge. As his shoulder bumped against Jake’s belly, the soft mass swayed visibly, a ripple moving through his middle that lingered even after the nudge. Jake laughed, feeling the satisfying jiggle settle back into place.

He looked at Adam, smirking as he noticed the snug fit of Adam’s shorts, the waistband cutting slightly into his softening waist. “You’re not exactly holding back either,” Jake pointed out, poking Adam’s waist in playful retaliation.

Adam laughed, then reached out, pressing his finger into Jake’s belly. His hand disappeared into the thick layer of fat, his finger sinking in all the way to the second knuckle, the softness of Jake’s stomach molding around it. “Look at this,” Adam said with a mix of admiration and pride, giving Jake’s belly a gentle squeeze before letting go, watching as it bounced and settled, swaying before coming to rest.

Jake chuckled, feeling a flush of pride despite his recent doctor’s warnings. “It’s kind of amazing, isn’t it?” he admitted, patting his own belly and feeling its heft. “I didn’t expect to be this…big. Strong, yeah. But this?”

Adam grinned, placing a hand on his own waist, patting the new curve of his belly. “It’s the best of both worlds,” he said. “We’re strong, we’re bigger…and we’re happy.”

As they left the gym that day, both of them breathless and sweaty, their bodies filled with a new, undeniable weight, they knew they were in a cycle that neither wanted to end. They were pushing each other, growing both stronger and softer together, caught up in the thrill of each other’s transformations. And even as Jake felt the strain of his added size, the friction of his thighs, the pull of his belly, he knew he wouldn’t have it any other way. This was the life he’d come to love, and he was more than ready to embrace every inch of it with Adam by his side.

Chapter Nine : Embracing Every Inch, no going back

The climb up the six flights of stairs felt endless. Jake gripped the railing, his breaths coming in shallow bursts as he trudged upward, each step sending a ripple through his massive belly. He could feel it jiggling and swaying, the weight of it pulling downward with every step. His body had become something of a marvel — a blend of strength and significant softness that had grown far beyond what he’d ever imagined.

Behind him, Adam was struggling too. Sweat dampened his brow, and his own newly thickened belly jostled and bounced with every movement. At 5’11” and now a substantial 265 pounds, Adam’s lean frame had filled out with thick, powerful muscle cushioned by a visible layer of fat. His belly, once flat and firm, now curved outward, softening into a round bulge that pressed against his waistband. Each step made it sway and shift, adding to the strain as he kept pace with Jake.

“Almost…there…” Jake panted, glancing back with a weary grin, his cheeks flushed from the exertion. Even talking was a challenge; his heart pounded in his chest, his breathing labored as he pushed himself to climb. By the fifth flight, his belly hung forward in a deep arc, the heavy mass resting against his thighs with every step. His chest — or rather, his “moobs” — bounced with every movement, the full, round weight swaying visibly, each step sending a slight jiggle through the plush curves.

Adam gave Jake a pat on the back as they reached the final landing, chuckling through his own short breaths. “Guess…we got our warm-up done,” he said with a grin, though his own face was flushed pink, and his chest rose and fell with each heaving breath. Adam’s heart raced, his shirt clinging to his damp skin, outlining the new, fuller curves of his body.

Inside the trainer’s office, both men dropped their shirts, revealing the full extent of their gains. Adam stepped forward first, standing in front of the mirror, his heavier frame on display. At 265 pounds, he had grown thick and solid, with broad shoulders and muscular arms now softened with a layer of fat that rounded out every edge. His waist had expanded into a full, 42-inch circumference, and his belly jutted forward in a soft, firm curve that rested slightly over his waistband, quivering with each breath. His chest had grown into full, rounded pecs, with a slight sag that gave him a proud, powerful appearance. His face had softened, his cheeks rounded, his jawline blending into the thickened curve of his neck.

When Jake stepped up next to him, the trainer’s eyes widened at the sight. Jake was towering, his frame massive at 6’2” and now a solid 370 pounds. His body fat had climbed to an impressive 48%, giving him a plush, hefty look that spoke to months of intense indulgence. His belly stretched outward in a heavy arc, a 62-inch circumference that hung nearly six inches over his waistband, swaying and jiggling with each movement. His chest had developed into large, soft “moobs” that rested atop his belly, full and heavy, bouncing gently with each breath. His arms, still strong, measured a thick 22 inches around, their powerful form buried under a layer of plushness that gave them a rounded, softer shape. His neck was thickened into a solid pillar, blending smoothly into his shoulders, his cheeks full and his jaw softened by the fullness of his face.

As the trainer took their measurements, he called out each stat, letting the numbers sink in. Adam’s weight had soared to 265 pounds with a 42-inch waist and a body fat of 30%. His chest measured an impressive 48 inches, his bulked-up frame a blend of muscle and the soft fullness that gave him a sturdy, almost immovable look.

Jake, on the other hand, had grown into a veritable force of nature. At 370 pounds and a body fat of 48%, his waist measured a substantial 62 inches. His chest, too, was massive at 56 inches, his moobs prominent and plush, pressing outward with a weight that was hard to ignore. His hands settled comfortably on his belly, feeling the soft, expansive curve that defined his new form.

After jotting down their measurements, the trainer asked them to try a few strength tests. Adam stepped up first, the visible layer of softness across his body jiggling slightly as he moved. His muscles flexed beneath the fat, his arms and chest thick with bulk, each movement setting off a faint ripple through his belly. Despite his added weight, he lifted with ease, his power evident as he pushed through the exercises, his cheeks flushed with effort, his eyes glinting with pride as he watched his reflection.

Jake, however, faced more of a challenge. The sheer weight of his belly made each lift a struggle, his breaths coming in shallow pants, his body laboring under its own bulk. Each movement set his belly swaying, the thick mass rippling and shifting, his moobs bouncing heavily atop the curve. His arms flexed under their plush layer, his chest and belly quivering with every strain, but he pushed through, his sheer size making each rep an impressive feat.

As they wrapped up, the trainer read their final stats aloud, cementing the reality of their size. Jake’s 370 pounds, with a 62-inch waist and a 56-inch chest, felt almost surreal, while Adam’s 265 pounds with a 42-inch waist and a 48-inch chest painted a picture of a solid, full-bodied man. The numbers seemed unreal, yet the evidence was right there — their bodies, fuller, heavier, and undeniably changed.

When they finally made their way out of the trainer’s office, the walk back down the stairs proved just as challenging. Jake’s belly jiggled and swayed with each step, pressing heavily forward, while his chest bounced visibly, his moobs shifting with every movement. Adam, equally breathless, felt the strain too, his newly thickened belly and chest jostling and shifting

[mehbles]

Letting go: part 2 chapters 4-6

Chapter Four: The Bear Bar

A week later, Jake found himself outside a local bear bar, the neon sign casting a warm glow over the sidewalk. He’d never been to a place like this, but after some encouragement from a friend — and the lingering thrill of reconnecting with his college buddies on the beach — he’d decided to give it a try. It had been a while since he’d let loose, and he felt a pull of curiosity about what he might find inside.

The atmosphere was lively and warm, laughter and conversation blending with the low hum of music. The crowd was mixed — big, burly guys, lean men with rugged edges, and everything in between — but everyone seemed to share an easygoing vibe. After a couple of drinks, Jake started to relax, finding himself at ease in the space. Before long, the warmth and energy got the best of him, and he found himself tugging off his shirt, draping it over his shoulder as he ordered another round.

Standing shirtless at the bar, Jake felt the cool air against his skin, a strange but comfortable freedom in being bare-chested among the crowd. His belly, soft and round, rested against the bar counter in front of him, the edge pressing into the plush underside of his gut. He found himself enjoying the feeling, a gentle reminder of his size, the solid, rounded weight he carried. There was a comfort in the way his body filled the space — strong and broad but softened with layers of warmth.

Just then, he noticed a pair of admiring eyes studying him from a few seats down. The guy — lean and well-built, with bright blue eyes and a confident, easy smile — sauntered over, his gaze settling on Jake with open appreciation.

“Hey,” the man said, offering his hand. “I’m Adam.”

Jake shook his hand, grinning. “Jake. Nice to meet you, man.”

Adam had that twunk-like build — the kind that merged youthful leanness with the beginnings of defined muscle. He was a bit shorter than Jake, his arms toned and firm, his chest broad but not bulky, and his waist trim, giving him a balanced, athletic look. His smooth skin and confident smile added a boyish charm, but there was an edge to him, a playful confidence that made his interest clear.

They talked casually for a while, sharing a few laughs, when Adam’s hand drifted to Jake’s belly, pressing against the soft curve with a mix of curiosity and appreciation. Jake chuckled, feeling the warmth of Adam’s hand tracing his gut, exploring the softness with a gentle touch.

“You know, I’ve got a bit of a thing for guys built like you,” Adam said, his voice low and smooth. His fingers traced along Jake’s belly, pressing slightly into the plush layer. “You’ve got this…fullness. Thick, strong, and soft all at once.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, amused and a little flattered. “Yeah? I guess I’ve, uh…filled out a bit over the years.”

Adam’s eyes sparkled as he gave Jake’s belly a gentle pat. “It’s more than just ‘filling out.’ You’re solid, but there’s this softness that makes you look…” He paused, smiling as he searched for the right words. “Luscious. It’s like your body holds this strength and warmth at the same time. Thick chest, strong shoulders, and then this belly…” He pressed again, fingers sinking slightly into the plushness. “It’s irresistible.”

Jake chuckled, feeling a warmth settle over him that wasn’t just from the drinks. He wasn’t used to someone admiring him like this, talking about his body with such fascination, as if every inch was worth savoring. The way Adam’s hand roamed over his belly, pressing and massaging, made him feel…good, appreciated, confident.

They continued to talk, their energy easy and natural, Adam’s hand lingering on Jake’s belly as he described it in playful detail. He spoke about Jake’s broad chest, softened but strong, his thick arms, and the way his belly rounded out, adding a fullness that was, in his words, “delicious.” Jake found himself laughing, shaking his head in disbelief at Adam’s admiration, but he couldn’t deny the way it made him feel. The way Adam described his body, with such care and interest, was something he hadn’t realized he wanted to hear.

By the end of the night, after hours of conversation and a few more rounds, Jake and Adam exchanged numbers, both eager to see each other again. As Jake walked out of the bar, shirt draped over his shoulder.

Chapter Five: The Moob Explosion

The next three months slipped by in a comfortable, indulgent blur for Jake. His life had settled into an easy routine, with Adam by his side and each week punctuated by nights out, hearty dinners, and endless plates shared between them. The gym, once a constant in his life, faded into a distant memory. Instead, his evenings were filled with buffets, bottomless drinks, and laughter. Adam, always delighted to see Jake enjoying himself, encouraged every extra plate, every decadent dessert. Jake found himself leaning into it, surrendering to a newfound freedom and a life without the old restrictions he’d kept on his appetite.

And with each passing week, his body responded, absorbing every indulgent meal. Gone were the hints of muscle definition that once traced his frame; in its place was a new fullness that settled in every inch of him. Jake’s weight crept up steadily, but without the gym, the transformation was far more noticeable — and he couldn’t ignore how much he’d packed on.

It started with his belly. Already softened from years of easy eating, it had swelled significantly, now hanging heavily over his waistband, the soft, round curve pressing out further than ever. Sitting down, he could feel it pooling into his lap, stretching his shirts tight and pushing up against his belt. Standing, his belly hung forward, a plush, rounded mass that bounced and jiggled with each step, giving a noticeable sway as he walked.

The change was everywhere. Jake’s neck, once strong and thick, had broadened into a soft, solid pillar of flesh. He could feel the way it pushed gently against his collar when he looked down, a constant reminder of the extra weight he now carried. His cheeks were fuller, his jawline softened into smooth, rounded lines. It was a different look, one he caught glimpses of in the mirror — but he was getting used to it.

But the most noticeable change, by far, was his chest. His pecs had once been strong and firm, the last holdout of his former athletic physique. But now, they had expanded, filling out into heavy, round curves that no longer had a hint of muscle definition. His “moobs,” as Adam playfully called them, had grown into full-fledged man boobs, a pair of soft, plush mounds that hung heavily from his chest. They moved with him, bouncing as he walked, pressing out against his shirt with a fullness that was impossible to ignore. When he sat, they rounded even more, pressing together, a weighty mass of fat that rested on top of his belly.

One evening, Jake stood in front of the bathroom mirror, shirtless, taking it all in. His belly stretched out before him, round and full, a testament to months of indulgence. His chest hung thickly from his frame, each “moob” heavy and soft, pulling forward with every breath. He reached up, giving one a curious squeeze, feeling the warmth and softness under his fingers. It was hard to believe they were part of him now, grown so large and full, yet undeniably a part of his new self.

Just then, Adam walked in, catching him in his moment of reflection. With a grin, he walked up behind Jake, wrapping an arm around his middle, his hand settling on the expanse of Jake’s belly.

“Admiring the gains?” Adam teased, giving Jake’s belly a gentle pat that sent a ripple through the soft flesh.

Jake chuckled, feeling a warm flush on his face. “Guess I’ve…filled out a bit,” he said, unable to hide his smile.

“A bit?” Adam laughed, sliding his hands up to Jake’s chest, cupping each “moob” in his hands with a playful squeeze. “Jake, you’re incredible. Every inch of you — that gut, these…” he gave his chest another light squeeze, “…I love it. You’ve got this big, luscious, solid look. You’re…everything.”

Jake felt a swell of confidence, something he hadn’t fully allowed himself to feel before. Adam’s appreciation, his hands roaming over the soft, thick landscape of Jake’s body, felt good. He realized that he didn’t miss the gym, the rigid discipline, or the constant effort to stay lean. This body — heavier, softer, fuller — was a reflection of the life he was now living, the happiness he felt with Adam, the freedom of enjoying every meal without worry.

For the first time, Jake felt comfortable in his own skin, embracing the fullness, the softness, the sheer presence of his larger self. The days of chasing a lean, muscular physique were behind him, replaced by a new, rounder, softer version of himself — one he found himself not just accepting, but truly enjoying.

Chapter Six: The Limits

Six months had slipped by almost unnoticed for Jake. Life with Adam had become a comforting cycle of easy meals, relaxed nights, and an indulgence that grew week by week. Each buffet outing, each quiet evening spent lounging with drinks and takeout, had layered itself into Jake’s body, softening every muscle, rounding out every edge.

It was a Tuesday morning when he first noticed how much things had changed, in a way he couldn’t brush off anymore. As he walked from the car to his office building, he felt the strain — his thighs rubbed thickly with each step, the soft, full flesh pressing together, creating an insistent friction. The walk, once an easy start to his day, now felt like an effort; the weight of his belly and chest moved with him, a constant sloshing pull that made each step feel heavier. His breath came quicker, and he could feel the start of a slight sweat on his brow, the gentle rise in his chest as he adjusted his pace to accommodate his new size.

The nights with Adam hadn’t slowed down either. In fact, Adam had only become more encouraging of Jake’s newfound appetite, always happy to add just one more dish to their dinners or indulge in an extra dessert. One weekend, they’d gone on a binge that set a new record — the kind of eating Jake hadn’t thought he was capable of. With Adam gently coaxing him, he’d gone far beyond his usual limit, finishing plate after plate, each course blending into the next, until he felt a fullness he hadn’t known before. By the end of the night, he could barely sit up, his belly so full and tight it pressed outward like a swollen drum, his breathing shallow as he lay back, hand resting on his bloated stomach.

Adam had looked at him with a mix of admiration and pride, rubbing Jake’s belly in slow circles, easing him through the dense, pressing fullness. “You really outdid yourself tonight,” Adam had murmured, his tone both teasing and affectionate. “Didn’t think you’d make it through all that.”

Jake only chuckled, wincing slightly at the pressure but feeling an odd satisfaction at having pushed himself to this new limit. There was a strange thrill in it, a sense of pride in his own expanding capacity.

But with each indulgent weekend, each heavy meal, Jake knew he was carrying a different kind of weight — one that was harder to ignore as time went on. And it wasn’t long before a doctor’s appointment forced him to face the reality.

He sat in the examination room, feeling the crinkle of the paper beneath him, his legs spread to give his stomach room to rest comfortably. When the doctor came in, Jake went through the usual routine, but he wasn’t prepared for the look on her face as she glanced down at his chart.

“Jake,” she began, her tone one of careful concern, “you’ve…put on quite a bit of weight since your last visit.”

He laughed a little, trying to brush it off. “Yeah, I guess I’ve been…indulging a bit lately.”

The doctor’s brow furrowed as she looked down at the numbers. “A bit might be an understatement.” She adjusted her glasses, reading off the numbers with a measured tone. “You’re up by nearly 70 pounds since your last check-up. You’re currently at 310 pounds.”

Jake felt a momentary shock, his stomach sinking as the number sank in. He’d known he’d put on weight, but hearing it put so plainly made it feel real in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to consider.

“Your blood pressure’s on the higher side,” the doctor continued, her voice soft but insistent, “and your cholesterol has crept up too. I’d strongly recommend you think about making some lifestyle adjustments. You’re carrying a significant amount of extra weight, and while I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, your health metrics are starting to show it.”

He nodded, the words washing over him as he glanced down at his own body. His belly rested heavily on his lap, spreading out against his thighs, pressing forward in a way that made sitting up straight feel like an effort. His chest, or rather his “moobs,” rested thickly atop his stomach, the soft mass expanding with each breath. Even his arms had taken on a softer shape, the muscle he once prided himself on now wrapped in a thick layer of plushness.

He left the office that day with a mix of emotions — surprise, a tinge of embarrassment, but also a strange acceptance. The reality was that he liked the life he was living with Adam, the easy comfort, the indulgence, the way he could simply be himself, softer, rounder, and freer than he ever had been. Yes, there were new limits he hadn’t anticipated, challenges he now faced in everyday tasks, but he felt more at home in his skin than he had in years.

As he walked back to the car, feeling his belly sway with each step, the weight of his body grounding him in the reality of these changes, Jake realized that he’d crossed a threshold. This was a new version of himself, and while it came with some adjustments, he wasn’t quite ready to turn back. Not yet.

[mehbles]

Letting go: Chapters 1-3

Chapter 1: Reflections

Jake had always been the guy everyone noticed when he walked in a room. Tall, broad-shouldered, and naturally athletic, he hadn’t needed to work half as hard as his teammates to keep his chiseled build. At six feet two inches, he had the frame that people envied: solid, carved, and powerful. Back in college, he’d been 200 pounds of lean muscle, the kind of build that looked invincible. Now, at thirty-two, standing in the locker room mirror, he couldn’t ignore how much he’d changed.

He let his eyes travel down his own reflection, sizing up the new contours of his body. His shoulders were still broad, his arms still thick, but beneath that, his shape had softened and spread. His chest, once sharply defined, had lost some of its firmness; his pecs had grown softer, no longer quite as square. They even gave a slight jiggle when he moved his arms.

His gut was the real shock, though. Sitting snug and round, it pushed gently against his workout shorts. He poked it, feeling the thickness, the slight give under his finger. When he twisted side to side, it wobbled just enough to remind him how much it had changed. He reached down to grab a handful of it, feeling the weight and softness of this thick layer of fat that he couldn’t have imagined back in his college days. There was a time when his core had been solid, cut with the lean ridges of muscle that defined everything he did. Now, that definition was buried beneath a plush, heavy layer that seemed to settle deeper every year.

Curious, Jake shifted from one foot to the other, watching how his belly moved. It bounced with each step, settling in a slight jiggle as he came to a stop. The weight of it surprised him; it seemed to pull forward, a constant, undeniable presence he felt with every move. Lowering himself onto the bench, he felt his stomach press out even further, pushing up against his thighs. The simple act of sitting felt different now; his belly spread out, pressing against his lap, rounding and bunching in a way he wasn’t used to. He leaned forward to tie his shoes, and his gut bunched into a soft roll, pressing up against his chest, forcing him to adjust his stance to accommodate it. The sensation was both strange and grounding, reminding him of just how much had changed.

As he stood back up, he couldn’t help but notice how his thighs brushed together, how even the smallest movements seemed to make his flesh shift and ripple. When he twisted his torso, his sides felt softer, a small roll forming along his lower back and belly. He remembered the sharp lines of his abs, how every angle had been firm and hard. Now, there was a plush thickness that wrapped around his waist, giving him an unfamiliar, heavier kind of bulk.

He couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions. There was the nostalgia of remembering his younger body, the thrill of being an athlete in his prime. But there was also a strange satisfaction in the solid heft he carried now. His new bulk felt weighty and real, a product of years lived and enjoyed. The sight of his belly, rounded and soft, the way it bounced and jiggled with each step, the heaviness that settled when he sat — it all felt like a different kind of strength. A fullness, a sense of comfort in the space he took up, like he’d grown into a new version of himself.

Chapter Two: Beach Day

Jake squinted at the stretch of sand in front of him, the sun warm on his shoulders as the waves rolled and crashed in a steady rhythm. It had been years since he’d seen some of his old college friends, and a familiar excitement mixed with a touch of nervousness as he approached. They waved him over, big grins lighting up their faces, and he returned their energy, trying to push down the awareness of how much his body had changed.

He glanced down at himself and tugged at his swim trunks, which were a little tighter than he remembered. They’d once sat loosely on his hips, but now they clung to his softened waist, stretching snugly around his thighs and stomach, pressing into the plush layer of his belly. Standing in the sun, shirtless among his friends for the first time in years, he could feel the extra weight he carried in a way that was impossible to ignore.

The day started off easy enough — lounging in the sand, trading stories, laughing at old jokes. But as the hours passed, the energy kicked up, and soon they were running toward the water, shouting and splashing like they had back in college. Jake tried to keep up, lumbering behind them, each stride making his belly bounce and jiggle in a way he’d never felt before. The sand shifted beneath him, adding to the strain, and by the time he finally reached the water, he was already out of breath.

As he dove into the waves, he felt the fullness of his body in each motion. His gut swayed with every splash, the weight of it pulling him down, making each movement harder than it should have been. When one of his friends suggested a race back to the shore, Jake agreed with a grin, but within a few strokes, he realized he was struggling. His arms and shoulders still had the strength, but his body felt heavier, slower. By the time he stumbled onto the sand, he was panting, his chest rising and falling heavily.

Bent over with his hands on his knees, Jake tried to catch his breath. He felt the weight of his gut pressing against his thighs, something he’d never noticed before. It hit him then — the way his body had changed, how different it felt to carry this extra weight. Each heavy breath made his belly push against his legs, grounding him in the reality of his new size.

Trying to shake off the feeling, he joined his friends in a game of beach volleyball. He moved as best he could, chasing the ball, sand flying beneath him, but every jump and lunge made him feel the impact of his new bulk. At one point, he leapt to hit a high pass, and as he stretched up, he felt his softened chest make contact with his belly, his pecs pressing into the round fullness of his gut with the force of the jump. The sensation was foreign, almost startling — a reminder of how much had shifted in his body since those college days.

The others cheered him on, oblivious to his struggle, but Jake could feel the strain with each passing minute. His belly jiggled with every step, and sweat beaded down his forehead, rolling along his back, chest, and stomach. His swim trunks felt tighter than ever, digging into his waist, clinging to his thighs. He could feel his breaths coming faster, the sun beating down, the heat settling over him, the constant movement wearing him out in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

By the afternoon, Jake found himself sitting on a towel, his arms resting on his knees as he watched his friends play on without him. He wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling his sun-warmed skin prickling with heat. His belly spilled over his lap, rounded and full, his swim trunks stretched snugly around his waist. For a moment, he just sat, catching his breath, the realization of how much had changed settling in. He wasn’t the same athlete he’d been back in college — his body now heavier, fuller, and slower.

Yet, as he sat there, watching the waves and listening to his friends’ laughter, he felt a strange sense of acceptance. He wasn’t as fast, as lean, or as quick to jump up as he once was. But he was here, enjoying the sun and the sea, laughing with the people who mattered most, even if he needed a few more breaths to keep up.

Chapter Three: All You Can Eat

The sun had started to dip as Jake and his friends left the beach, their laughter and stories carrying them to the nearby all-you-can-eat buffet. It had been years since they’d gathered like this, and the energy of the day — the laughter, the sun, the salty air — seemed to roll right into the restaurant, where trays of food and flowing drinks awaited. Jake hadn’t planned on eating much, but as soon as he stepped inside, the smell of sizzling meats and fried appetizers hit him, and his stomach growled in response.

They grabbed a long table by the window, their plates quickly filling with heaps of ribs, crispy wings, pasta, and every kind of comfort food they could find. It didn’t take long before Jake was drawn into the rhythm of eating and laughing, his plate a constant cycle of fresh servings. With each trip to the buffet, his plate got heavier, loaded with food he barely noticed he was putting away. He had always had a big appetite, but now, without even thinking, he was devouring plate after plate.

Between rounds of hearty food and rounds of beers, Jake lost track of time — and portions. He chatted animatedly, chuckling along with his friends, barely noticing as he reached for more ribs, dipping them into sauces and stacking his plate high with sides. Everything was a blur of flavors, textures, and laughter. He barely registered the fullness building in his stomach, how each bite added to the weight pressing against his waistband. All he felt was the satisfaction of food, the warmth of his friends’ laughter, and the dull hum of drinks that made everything seem easy and carefree.

Hours passed, and Jake found himself leaning back in his chair, his gut swollen and pressing out against his shirt. He let out a slow breath, rubbing his stomach absentmindedly, feeling the fullness settle in. His shirt was tight now, stretched thin over his bloated belly, the fabric inching upward to reveal a sliver of skin beneath. He tried to tug it down, but the pressure of his full stomach made it near impossible. His belly felt rock-hard from the sheer volume of food, the roundness pushing out in a way that even he couldn’t ignore.

“Man, Jake,” one of his friends said, laughing as he took in the sight of him. “Did you even realize how much you put away?”

Jake blinked, glancing down at himself. He looked at the empty plates stacked on the table in front of him, remnants of sauces and crumbs marking each course he’d devoured without a second thought. His cheeks flushed, feeling a slight embarrassment at how lost he’d been in the meal. His belly sat heavy in his lap, pushing against his waistband, each breath causing it to rise and fall, a thick, round mass pressing outward from his frame.

He gave a sheepish chuckle, leaning back in his chair, but as he did, a wave of fullness washed over him, hitting him with an intensity that made him realize just how far he’d gone. His gut pressed uncomfortably against his waistband, a dull ache spreading as he shifted, trying to make room for his swollen stomach. He could feel a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, his body working hard to process the sheer amount he’d eaten. He wiped his face, feeling the warmth of the room, his pulse pounding in his chest, a heavy, insistent thump that echoed with every beat.

His friends joked around him, but Jake barely heard them, his focus entirely on the sensation in his own body. He could feel his heart racing, his chest rising and falling as he tried to keep his breathing steady. The sheer weight of his meal sat heavy in his belly, pressing outward, every slight movement making him more aware of the fullness and the tightness of his clothes. The buttons on his shirt strained, the fabric pulling across his middle, and he could feel the waistband of his pants biting into his sides.

Sinking further into his chair, Jake let his hand rest on his belly, feeling the firmness of his bloated stomach, stretched and distended beneath his shirt. The effort of eating, of laughing and reaching for yet another plate, had left him more tired than he’d realized. He could feel his body working overtime, digesting the feast he’d devoured without a second thought. Each breath seemed to carry the weight of his meal, a reminder of just how much he’d packed away.

As he sat there, his belly pressing forward, the remnants of the meal sitting heavy inside him, Jake couldn’t deny the pattern he’d fallen into. Every meal like this, every drink and indulgence, every casual snack — it all added up. He was no longer the lean, instinctively athletic guy from college. He was here, with his friends, a man in his thirties with a growing belly and a lifestyle that was catching up to him, meal by indulgent meal.

[mehbles]

The weekend

A gaining story featuring @thiccboigains

The man sat back in his chair, his thick, expansive belly stretching out before him, a symbol of indulgence and satisfaction. His shirt, though sleeveless, clung tightly to his upper chest, unable to contain the fullness of his torso. His belly was truly massive, a soft, rounded mound that spilled forward with a rich, heavy weight. It rested on his lap, pressing outward with a softness that spoke of countless meals enjoyed and the life of pure relaxation he’d chosen.

As he shifted, his belly moved with him, the thick layer of fat rippling and settling, a natural cushion that surrounded him. His skin was marked with faint stretch marks, badges of honor from the growth he’d nurtured over time, and his navel sat deeply nestled in the center, almost hidden by the sheer size of his middle.

Above his belly, his chest mirrored the fullness of his frame, two generous mounds of soft flesh, almost like pillows, rounding out his shape. His chest was broad and full, the weight of his “moobs” pulling slightly downward, resting heavily on his belly when he relaxed. There was a solidity to his arms, too, a thickness from both muscle and fat that completed the picture—a body that had been fed well, taken care of, and encouraged to grow as big as he desired.

He seemed entirely comfortable in his body, each part of him showing the evidence of his journey toward pure mass and size. With each breath, his belly swelled slightly, a steady, powerful presence that filled the space around him.

The weekend began with a single goal in mind: complete, unrestrained indulgence. From the moment he woke up, he knew he wouldn’t be doing much moving. Why bother, when his mission was to stay seated, binge his favorite movies, and turn himself into a living monument to decadence?

The morning started slow, with a stack of syrup-soaked pancakes, a mountain of scrambled eggs, and the first of many gainer shakes, thick and heavy as it slid down his throat. Every mouthful seemed to trigger something inside him, a hunger for more that wouldn’t be sated easily. He let himself sink into the couch, his body settling comfortably, his belly pushing out even further as he slouched, fully embracing the journey he’d set himself on.

As the day went on, he barely moved, only shifting when it was time to bring more food to his already-full belly. Pizza, burgers, and fries came and went, each bite making his stomach swell a bit more, filling him with a pleasant ache. He could feel his belly stretching, the fat beneath his skin slowly firming up as he pushed his body to capacity. By early afternoon, his belly was no longer just a soft, jiggling mound—it felt denser, almost solid, pressing outwards with a satisfying heaviness. The stretch marks across his skin tingled as they strained to keep up with the expanding load, his body becoming a monument to excess.

Each time he stood to waddle over to the fridge, his body responded in kind. His belly swung with each step, a heavy, rhythmic jiggle that only emphasized how much mass he’d packed on. His chest, his “moobs,” followed suit, bouncing slightly with every movement, brushing softly against the upper curve of his belly. The weight of him was a new experience, every part of him pulled down by gravity, making even a short trip across the room feel like an event. By the time he made it back to the couch with his latest plate of snacks, his breathing was deep, labored, and his skin had a sheen of sweat that only made him feel more alive, more in tune with his body’s transformation.

By evening, he could hardly get up at all. He leaned back, almost trapped by the sheer weight of his belly pressing down onto his thighs. The final gainer shake of the night was thick, decadent, practically a meal on its own, but he powered through, feeling his heart beating heavily beneath layers of fat. Every pulse seemed louder, echoing in his ears as he realized just how much he’d grown, how much he’d indulged. His stomach was packed, a solid wall of fullness that left no room for anything else. Each deep breath pushed his belly out further, and he could feel the heaviness settle even more deeply, the fat around his middle feeling denser, solidifying as his body eagerly soaked in every last calorie.

He tried to stand one last time, but the effort was immense. His legs trembled slightly beneath him, his arms bracing himself as he rose, only to be pulled down by the weight of his belly. His heart raced, his chest rising and falling quickly as he caught his breath, feeling the weight of his massive frame bearing down on him. He sank back into the couch, his skin warm and slick with sweat, his entire body humming with the satisfaction of a day spent indulging to the limit. This was only the first day, and already he could feel the changes—the solid mass of his belly, the thicker layers of fat that clung to his frame, and the way each movement now came with a new, heavier rhythm.

The next morning, he awoke with a groan, every inch of his body feeling the effects of his indulgent day before. His belly was stretched, taut yet somehow even softer than before, and his limbs felt heavy, as if every ounce he’d consumed had seeped into his flesh overnight, adding new layers to his growing form. He glanced over at the clothes he’d picked out for the buffet—his biggest shirt and loosest jeans—hoping they’d manage to contain the fullness of his body for what he knew would be another day of indulgence.

As he pulled on his shirt, it was clear that even his largest size wasn’t up to the task. The fabric strained around his chest, hugging his thickened “moobs” and leaving no room to hide the roundness of his belly. The shirt barely covered him, riding up and exposing a soft band of flesh just above his waistband, which itself dug into his waist, cutting into the thick padding around his hips and stomach. Taking a few steps in front of the mirror, he could see the slight sway of his belly with every movement, a visual reminder of the added pounds he’d packed on, a new heft he could feel with each breath.

At the buffet, he was an imposing figure, his round belly leading the way as he filled up plate after plate. He was already full from the day before, but he ignored the protests of his stomach, driven by an insatiable urge to push his limits further. Plate after plate, he let himself indulge, savoring the weight of every bite as he piled on pasta, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and desserts of every kind.

With each trip back to his table, his overloaded belly jiggled and shifted, his exposed skin growing redder from the tightness of his clothes and the heat radiating from his overworked body. He could feel stares as he waddled from the buffet to his seat, his shirt riding up higher, exposing more of his overstuffed belly with every plate he carried. But he was too focused on his goal, too entranced by the sensation of filling himself up, to care.

As he finished his last plate, he felt a deep, almost overwhelming pressure settle in his middle. His belly was packed so tightly that he couldn’t even lean forward to reach his drink without feeling an intense strain across his abdomen. He leaned back, letting his belly swell forward, a massive, rounded weight that now dominated his entire torso. His breathing came in shallow, labored breaths, each one pressing his belly up against the edge of the table.

When it was finally time to leave, he knew standing was going to be a monumental task. Slowly, he pushed himself up, feeling his belly shift with a dense, almost solid weight as it hung heavily over the waistband of his jeans, which now felt like they were cutting into his sides. His legs felt weak, his thighs rubbing together as he stood, the mass of his belly swaying forward and making each step feel like an effort in itself. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his heart pounded, each beat a reminder of the load he was carrying.

Walking out of the restaurant was an ordeal. Each step sent a slight jiggle through his flab, his swollen belly pressing down on his legs and swaying from side to side, leaving him breathless and flushed. By the time he reached his car, he was almost gasping, his entire body worn out from the sheer exertion of holding up so much weight. He sank into the driver’s seat, his belly pressing into the steering wheel, trapping him in place. The warmth of his bloated body, the slight pain from the waistband digging in, and the heaviness of his stomach left him utterly exhausted, yet strangely content.

It was a sensation unlike anything he’d felt before—a fullness that left him nearly immobile, a new level of mass that had transformed even simple movements into monumental tasks. And as he sat there, breathing heavily, every inch of him feeling the day’s indulgence, he knew he’d reached a new threshold, one that left him utterly spent, yet hungry for more.

Settling back at home, he knew the buffet was only the beginning of what would be an afternoon of relentless indulgence. His belly was already taut, the skin stretched and tender from the monumental feast, but he wasn’t finished—not by a long shot. He eyed the case of Boost VHC, each bottle packed with calories, each one promising to push him further into the depths of fullness. Next to it, three large pizzas lay waiting, each slice an invitation to push past his limits.

He popped open the first bottle of Boost, the thick, creamy liquid sliding down his throat and landing heavily in his already bloated belly. Despite the fullness that pressed against his skin, there was something exhilarating about pushing himself even further. One bottle after another, he guzzled down the shakes, feeling his belly grow firmer, the fat beneath his skin solidifying as he packed himself tighter and tighter. With each bottle, his breathing grew more labored, each inhale a little shallower, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his belly.

By the time he’d worked his way through half the case, he could barely shift on the couch without feeling the strain in his overstuffed abdomen. His belly felt like a massive, heavy ball, pressing down on his thighs, thick and rounded, with the slightest hint of jiggle beneath its firm surface. His shirt, now completely rolled up to expose his swollen middle, offered no hope of coverage, leaving his belly free to press forward as he reached for the first pizza.

Each slice was a new challenge, each bite forcing him to confront the sheer enormity of what he was doing. He felt his belly stretch, pushing against the limits of what it could hold, his skin pulling tight as his stomach expanded to accommodate every calorie. Despite the intense fullness, he found a rhythm, one slice after another, his hands moving on autopilot as he devoured the entire first pizza. Then he moved on to the second, feeling his belly harden, almost like a drum, solid yet quivering slightly as he shifted, the weight of his consumption settling deep within him.

By the time he reached the third pizza, he was beyond stuffed—his belly was a mountain of fullness, pushing out so far that he could barely see past it. His arms and legs felt heavy, his whole body sluggish from the weight he’d forced upon himself. Each bite of pizza felt like an effort, his jaw working slowly, his body now resistant to any more food. But he pushed through, bite after bite, determined to finish what he’d started.

When the last slice was gone, he leaned back, his head resting against the back of the couch, his entire torso dominated by the sheer mass of his belly. He could feel it throbbing, each beat of his heart echoing within the dense, packed mound of flesh. His breathing was shallow, his chest struggling to rise against the pressure of his swollen stomach. He felt trapped beneath his own weight, barely able to move, every part of him weighed down by the excess he’d consumed.

Standing was out of the question—he could barely even shift his weight without feeling the strain. His belly was so full that it pressed down on his lap, sprawling outward with a firmness that felt almost unbreakable. His whole body was slick with sweat, the exertion of eating and drinking himself into this state leaving him flushed and overheated.

As the afternoon wore on, he remained in place, unable to move, a monument to indulgence and excess. The solid weight of his belly, the dense layers of fat pressing outward, left him in a haze of satisfaction and exhaustion. He was completely, utterly spent, his body filled to its absolute capacity, and all he could do was sit back, feel the heaviness settle, and bask in the blissful agony of reaching his limit.

After the weekend of absolute indulgence, by Monday morning, he’d tipped the scales at a staggering 397 pounds—an incredible 12-pound gain in just over two days. His body had ballooned over the weekend, each meal and gainer shake forcing his frame to adapt and stretch to accommodate the sudden influx of calories. His belly was visibly larger, a dense, round mound that pressed out even further than before, and his clothes felt tighter, clinging to every new inch of him.

But the changes didn’t stop there. His body needed time to fully absorb the surplus of calories he’d packed in, and as the week progressed, the transformation continued. By the following Friday, his weight had surged up again, reaching a solid 403 pounds—a full 18 pounds more than where he’d started just a week earlier.

Each day, he could feel his body adapting to the new weight. His belly grew softer, settling into a heavier, more defined shape, the fat redistributing and solidifying in layers across his midsection, chest, and thighs. His belly jutted forward even when he sat, now a constant, unyielding presence, and his chest felt heavier, his “moobs” hanging lower, with more bounce and heft with every movement. His legs and arms also thickened, his body catching up to the sheer volume he’d forced upon it, each part of him filling out to balance the new weight.

By the end of the week, he’d fully embraced his expanded form, feeling every new pound in the sway of his belly, the heft of his steps, and the comfortable weight that now defined him. His weekend of indulgence had set off a transformation, one that left him visibly larger, heavier, and contentedly settled into his new, plush reality.

Stepping into the gym, he immediately felt the difference. At over 400 pounds, every movement carried a new weight, a heaviness he hadn’t fully anticipated. Just walking from the entrance to the locker room left him slightly breathless, his belly bouncing and swaying with each step, pressing heavily against his shirt, which barely stretched over the roundness of his middle. His thickened thighs rubbed together as he walked, and even before starting, he could feel the warmth building up, a faint sheen of sweat forming on his forehead.

After changing, he made his way to the treadmill for a warm-up. He chose a slower pace than usual, knowing his expanded body wasn’t ready for anything too strenuous. As he stepped onto the belt and began moving, he could feel the weight of his belly pulling him forward slightly with each step, his balance shifting to accommodate the mass pressing out from his core. The jiggling sensation was constant, his belly and chest bouncing gently, a reminder of just how much softer and heavier he’d become. After just a few minutes, he was breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest, each step a small feat.

Moving on to weights, he selected a bench and sat down, feeling the firmness of his belly pressing into his thighs as he leaned back. With each lift, he could feel the strain, his arms thick with both muscle and fat, each repetition taking more out of him than before. His belly shifted with every movement, a dense, unavoidable presence that made him aware of his size with every lift and breath. The extra fat on his arms and chest made the motions more challenging; even gripping the weights felt different, his hands and wrists thickened with the extra padding he’d gained.

Next, he tried the seated leg press, carefully adjusting himself to fit, his belly pressing against his knees. Each push was an effort, his legs burning with the strain of lifting not only the weights but the additional pounds he now carried. The familiar jiggle of his flab added a new sensation to each rep, his thighs and belly trembling as he worked through each push. He could feel his breath quicken, a slight tremor in his legs as he realized how much harder this routine had become.

Finally, he tried some stretches and basic core exercises, but even leaning forward was a task, his belly pressing into his legs, limiting his range of motion. Sitting up felt like an effort in itself, and each twist or turn made him acutely aware of the mass he’d accumulated. His body felt heavy and sluggish, the layers of fat resisting each stretch, creating a tension that left him flushed and warm, even from minimal exertion.

After an hour, he was completely spent, his shirt damp with sweat, clinging to the new contours of his body. The workout had left him exhausted in a way he hadn’t felt before, his expanded frame requiring twice the effort for every movement. As he walked out of the gym, breathing deeply, feeling the weight of his belly and chest pulling him down with each step, he knew that every workout would be different now, his body transformed by his recent indulgence. But there was a certain pride in it, a sense of satisfaction in every new jiggle, every heavy breath, knowing he was carrying the weight of his journey with him.

[mehbles]

Rugby gains: A tale of freedom and fun leading to folds and flab.

The locker room was dimly lit, the fluorescent lights casting sharp, unflattering shadows on the white tiles and stainless steel fixtures. James stood in front of the wide mirror, towel slung low around his hips, water still dripping from his damp hair. The room was empty, a rare moment of solitude after practice. He was six foot one, a towering figure who had always drawn eyes with his broad shoulders and carved physique. But that was last term.

At the start of the university year, James had been the picture of athletic perfection. His lean, 210-pound frame had been honed through years of rugby, hours spent running drills, lifting weights, and sticking to strict, protein-rich diets. His abs had been defined slabs, the deep grooves between them emphasized whenever he took a breath. His thighs were powerful columns of muscle, the kind that flexed visibly with even the slightest shift in stance.

But now, the mirror told a different story. Three months of heavy drinking, late-night takeout, and a careless indulgence in greasy pub fare had made their mark. The scale in the corner, the one every player avoided when they weren’t at their peak, had shown 224 pounds the day before. Fourteen pounds heavier than the start of term—a stone, as James’s mates would jest, always clapping his softening back with a grin.

James scrutinized his reflection. The abs that once defined his midsection were now hidden under a layer of softness. His stomach, once taut, pushed forward, rounding subtly at first, then more noticeably when he let his core relax. The skin felt stretched, warmer and smoother than it had been when tight over muscle. James ran a hand over it, feeling the unfamiliar give, the way his fingers sank slightly into the new layer of fat. His obliques were still there, buried but detectable, though the sharp V that once directed eyes downward had all but faded. When he moved, his belly shifted with him, a subtle jiggle that caught his attention in a way it never had before.

A month later, James stood in front of the mirror again. The scale read 230 pounds now. He had started noticing how his chest had changed—the once firm, defined pecs now carried a softness that spread outward, rounding at the bottom. When he bounced on the balls of his feet, they moved slightly, a motion that left him surprised and embarrassed. His stomach had developed a slight overhang that pressed against the waistband of his gym shorts, and he found himself adjusting it more often. His love handles had grown, a soft curve that cupped his sides and gave his midsection a more rounded appearance. He poked at them, feeling the way the fat resisted but shifted under pressure, pliant and warm.

Two weeks later, James returned to the locker room after practice, now tipping the scale at 235 pounds. He could feel the difference in the way his body moved—the extra weight shifting with each step, creating a slight bounce in his stride. His thighs now rubbed together, the skin chafing in a way it never had before, and the tops of his quads had a noticeable layer of softness that jiggled as he walked. His belly, fuller and rounder, pressed more firmly against the waistband, creating a slight crease that dug into his skin. The fat at his sides now extended further back, giving him a wider, softer silhouette.

James examined his chest again, pressing lightly at the edges of his pecs. They were no longer just rounded; they felt heavier, sagging subtly when he hunched forward. His fingers sank deeper into the new cushion of fat, and he could see the way it pushed back, moving fluidly beneath the skin. His stomach now had a defined curve that bulged outward, and when he jumped slightly, the resulting motion sent a wave through the fat, making it ripple and settle with a slight, soft bounce.

By mid-spring, James was up to 243 pounds. The changes were undeniable, even to him. His arms, once cut with hard muscle, now had a rounded look, and the triceps that once flexed like coiled ropes were now smoother, covered in a thicker layer of fat. His belly had grown noticeably, stretching further over the waistband of his shorts. The skin was taut, but the fat underneath was soft and pliant. When he sat down, rolls formed at his sides, pressing uncomfortably against the fabric, and he would shift to relieve the pressure. His chest moved more freely now, a slight bounce accompanying each step or jump.

James felt the extra weight most when running drills. The way his stomach shifted with each sprint was disorienting, and the extra heft made him tire faster. The feeling of his belly pressing against his shorts was constant, and when he jogged, he could feel the jiggle spreading through his midsection, each step sending a ripple that took a moment to settle. His teammates had started to comment more, playful jabs and knowing looks. “Still bulking, mate?” they’d tease, patting the soft swell of his stomach as they passed.

Then came his birthday, and with it, a series of celebrations that spiraled into an uninterrupted streak of indulgence. The pastries from the morning surprise, the pints that followed in the evening, and the deep-fried late-night snacks—it all piled on. By the time the final term was drawing to a close, James stood on the locker room scale again, eyes wide at the number staring back: 254 pounds.

His reflection had changed dramatically. The soft, full curve of his belly now formed a pronounced overhang that pressed firmly against his shorts, even spilling slightly over the waistband. The skin stretched more with each gain, smooth and warm under his touch. His love handles were no longer just curves; they folded deeply into his sides when he bent over, and the movement sent a wave of motion through the newly added fat. His chest had transformed further, the pecs now looking more like soft mounds, resting heavily when he leaned forward.

The biggest change, he noticed, was in his face. The chiseled jawline that had once drawn compliments was now blurred by a fullness around his cheeks and under his chin. He turned sideways, taking in the profile: the roundness of his stomach now peeked out past his chest, a testament to every post-match feast and midnight snack. His legs still held their powerful build, but even they had gathered a cushion of fat around the quads and hamstrings. The muscles were there—buried deeper but present. When he walked, he could feel the slight resistance of his thighs pressing together more than they used to, and the gentle swaying of his body felt unfamiliar.

By the end of his first year, he was nearly four stone heavier than when he’d first arrived. The scale read 266 pounds. James stared at the numbers, a mixture of shock and acceptance washing over him. The whispers among the team had turned into full-blown ribbing, affectionate but undeniable. The words “bulk season” were thrown around with laughter, even when the season was long over.

James stood in front of the mirror, towel slipping as he rested both hands on his stomach, feeling its heft and the way it subtly rolled over the waistband of his shorts. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, watching the way his belly swayed, the new softness pressing against his hands. The skin was stretched, smooth, and warm, yielding under his fingers as he kneaded it lightly. The sensation was strange, both uncomfortable and oddly familiar, a constant reminder of the year’s excess.

He traced the curve of his love handles, now pronounced and folding slightly at the sides when he bent. Each movement sent a ripple through the fat, a slow, almost mesmerizing wave that settled back into place when he stood still. His chest, once a point of pride, now rose and fell with a noticeable jiggle. When he flexed, the muscle was still there, firm and strong beneath the surface, but the added layer of fat made it harder to see, blurring the hard lines that once defined him.

James turned to the side, studying the profile of his body. His stomach jutted out, full and heavy, and when he relaxed, it hung slightly over the waistband of his shorts, creating a shadow that hadn’t been there before. The skin at the lower part of his belly was the softest, moving with a gentle sway as he shifted his stance. His thighs, thick and powerful, now brushed together with every step, the friction constant and familiar. The extra fat around his legs jiggled with each movement, and even his calves, which had always been rock-solid, carried a slight curve now, the skin smoother and softer.

He reached for the scale one last time, almost dreading the confirmation. It blinked to life, the numbers ticking up until they settled at 266 pounds. James exhaled deeply, a mix of disbelief and resignation. He ran his hands over his body, tracing the journey of the past year—the nights of celebration, the shared meals, the careless indulgence that had transformed him from the lean athlete to this softer, heavier version of himself.

The locker room door creaked open, and a teammate’s voice echoed inside. “Hey, James! You coming?” He glanced at his reflection one last time, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. The year had changed him in more ways than one, and as he wrapped the towel around himself and turned to join his team, he felt a mix of determination and acceptance. The path back to the lean, chiseled version of himself would be long, but for now, he was content with the story his reflection told.

[mehbles]

The bear bar part 3: let your moobs hold your cash!

It was the start of another packed night, and Ethan was settling in behind the bar, adjusting to the usual energy of a Friday crowd. Tonight, he was shirtless again—a move that had become second nature over the past few months. But as he leaned in to grab a stack of napkins, he felt an icy shock spread across his belly. For the first time, the soft overhang of his gut made contact with the cold metal countertop.

The chill made him jolt back in surprise, and he could feel every inch of his belly jiggle in response, the flesh rippling in lazy waves before finally settling again. The cold had sunk into the softest part of him, pressing against the generous curve that now rested naturally over his waistband. The sensation was startling but also strangely thrilling—a reminder of just how much his body had transformed. Where once he would have simply leaned against the bar without a second thought, now he felt its cool metal pressing into the full, heavy warmth of his gut. His belly, round and plush, had become a presence all its own, something he was still getting used to.

As he recovered from the shock, one of the regulars—a burly man with a friendly grin—stepped up to the bar, watching with interest as Ethan shifted his weight, his soft belly jiggling slightly as he adjusted. They exchanged a few words, a laugh, and then the man pulled out a tip, a crisp bill in his hand.

“Mind if I slip this under here?” the patron asked with a chuckle, gesturing toward Ethan’s chest, his eyes twinkling with playful approval as he nodded toward the round, soft overhang of Ethan’s pecs.

Ethan felt a flush of warmth that had nothing to do with the chill of the bar counter. He grinned, giving a quick nod, and leaned forward a bit, allowing the man to place the tip under the warm fold of his chest. The man gently tucked the bill just beneath the lower curve of Ethan’s soft moob, his touch respectful but undeniably aware of Ethan’s plushness. The sensation of the bill sliding under his chest fat sent a subtle thrill through him, a mix of pride and acknowledgment that his body was now something to be admired—and enjoyed.

As he straightened up, his belly swayed with the movement, a full, warm weight that settled heavily once he found his stance. The tip, tucked under his chest, felt warm against his skin, a reminder of how far he’d come and how much space he now filled. The patron gave him an approving nod before returning to his seat, leaving Ethan standing there, a smile spreading across his face. He glanced down at his own body, at the generous belly that hung over his waistband, at the softness of his chest, and felt a surge of pride.

For the rest of the night, he moved with a bit more confidence, feeling the bar’s cool metal each time he leaned forward, his belly pressing warmly against it as he settled into his new reality, fully aware and fully embracing every inch of his softer, jiggling self.

[mehbles]

The bear bar part 2: jiggle for your tips.

It was packed at the bar, the noise humming as patrons eagerly placed their orders. Ethan’s shirtless form behind the bar was a regular sight now, his body proudly on display, and tonight was no exception. He’d long since embraced the extra weight he carried, the way his thick belly hung generously over the waistband of his jeans, a soft, round overhang that jiggled and bounced with his every step.

When a group at the bar ordered a round of martinis, Ethan grabbed the shaker and began to shake, feeling the cool metal in his hands. The force of his motions sent a wave through his body, starting with the heavy, round belly that pressed forward in a pronounced curve. As he shook the cocktail, his belly swayed and bounced in tandem with the motion, the soft flesh rolling over his waistband, jiggling in an uninhibited rhythm. Each shake made the full, plush rolls in his belly shift and sway, the overhang dipping lower with the motion, bouncing softly against his hips.

His moobs joined in, jostling freely with each shake, the fleshy curves swaying up and down, pressed and shifted with the movement. The round mounds of his chest rippled with each twist, each motion sending a gentle wave through the soft flesh that settled again as he paused to take a breath. His arms, thickened and rounded from years of comfortable indulgence, swung with a satisfying heft, the skin and muscle soft enough now to ripple with each forceful shake.

The motion extended down his back, where his softer form now carried rolls that pressed against each other in a cascade, moving in sync with his arms, the plushness shifting under his shoulder blades. His entire back jiggled subtly, the rolls forming a gentle rhythm that continued with each shake of the shaker.

As his belly bounced with each motion, his jeans were visibly strained under the soft weight pressing down on them. The overhang had become a proud symbol of his transformation—a full, prominent belly that hung forward with a softness that swayed gently, each bounce a reminder of the size he’d grown into. Even his hips and thick thighs joined in, subtly shifting under his weight as he kept his balance, every bit of him engaged in the motion.

The bar patrons watched with fascination, their eyes fixed on the way Ethan’s belly rolled and jiggled, the overhang creating a soft curve that swayed forward and back with each shake. When he finally finished, his body relaxed, his belly settling with a lingering jiggle, the plush flesh resting heavily over his waistband. He placed the shaker down, adjusting his stance with a soft smile, catching Eric’s approving grin from across the bar. Eric’s gaze lingered on every curve, every fold, the pride in his eyes unmistakable as he took in Ethan’s impressive, shirtless form.

[mehbles]

The bear bar

From the end of senior year in high school, Ethan had always been that effortlessly lean guy. His 165-pound frame was defined without being muscular, wiry enough to hint at strength but slim and comfortable. But after graduation, with no workouts scheduled and a lot of freedom to eat what he wanted, he started to change. When college began, his life of convenience foods, late-night snacks, and indulgent weekends quickly became the new normal.

At first, the difference was subtle. He could feel his stomach softening, a small layer of flesh rounding out where his abs once used to be. He’d catch himself adjusting his shirt over the slight swell, aware of a newfound warmth there. When he walked, he could sense an unfamiliar jiggle in his step, a movement that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t much, but it was there—a gentle reminder that his body was evolving. By the end of freshman year, he’d settled around 180 pounds, and everything just felt… different. His stomach didn’t lie flat anymore, and his thighs brushed together, a new sensation of soft friction with every step. He noticed the way his arms looked rounder in T-shirts and how his jeans pinched a little when he sat down.

He took a job at a local bar, and there, he met Eric—a regular with a sturdy, muscular build who often hung around the bar’s bear crowd. Eric liked big men, which surprised Ethan at first, but he liked it. Eric didn’t just accept Ethan’s softening frame; he reveled in it. With every approving glance and lingering touch, Eric made Ethan aware of each new curve and bulge. When Eric’s hands traced over the small layer of fat that now cushioned Ethan’s waist, Ethan felt something shift in him. The softness was no longer something he ignored; it became something he embraced.

And as his weight edged closer to 200 pounds, he felt that embrace literally. His belly, which now curved forward with a soft heft, became a comforting weight against his shirt. When he sat, he felt it crease into rolls that warmed under his hand when he rested it there, a plushness he’d never felt before. He felt his chest losing its lean shape, softening into a pair of slight curves that moved with him, something Eric loved to press into when they hugged. His arms, once wiry and narrow, began filling out with bulk, the skin rounding, less defined but solid.

With Eric’s encouragement, Ethan started noticing his growing body in new ways. His thighs became so wide and solid that sitting down felt different. They spread out under his weight, each motion coming with a slight, pleasant resistance. He had to adjust his stance just to stay comfortable when standing for long hours at work, which was becoming more of a workout itself as he shifted his weight to accommodate his increasingly sturdy frame.

Sophomore year marked another turning point, as his job at the bar took on a new level of support. Management started encouraging Ethan to show off his gains. The other bartenders went shirtless, but Ethan was shy at first, unsure how his soft middle would be received. But when he took the plunge, the reaction was instant. His once-lean chest had grown into thick, plush mounds that jiggled slightly with each movement, and his belly, round and full, hung over his waistband in a soft, undeniable curve. He felt the way it bounced gently as he moved, how it jostled with the rhythm of his steps, and how he could press into it with his hands, feeling the plushness.

By junior year, Ethan had reached 230 pounds, and every ounce was tangible. His belly, now rounded and protruding, had a warmth to it, a fullness he felt with every step. When he moved quickly, he’d feel it sway slightly, the weight a constant reminder of his changed body. Even his walk had adjusted, a more deliberate pace to handle the new mass in his thighs and belly. His chest had softened further, and when he’d reach across the bar or lift something, he could feel the flesh shift, a satisfying give under his hands, which Eric delighted in.

At work, his body had become part of the atmosphere. He’d occasionally catch sight of his own reflection and be struck by the difference—where he used to stand with lean, angular lines, he now saw a man with broad, thick limbs, his belly a plush focal point under the dim bar lights. When he turned, his sides would press against his shirt, creating small rolls, his arms swinging slightly heavier at his sides. Every movement felt more substantial, each step a reminder of the size he now carried.

By senior year, he’d reached 265 pounds. His belly was now a full, jiggling expanse, hanging forward with a weight he felt with every motion. Sitting down, he’d feel the way it creased and folded into warm rolls, each one a cushioned, soft reminder of his transformation. Standing for long shifts required a stance that allowed his thighs to spread out comfortably, solid and warm under his hands when he adjusted his stance. His arms and chest, too, had thickened, his shirtless form something he’d come to wear proudly as regulars cheered him on.

In the last stretch of college, he reveled in his size. He loved how his body felt as he moved, how each step came with the soft bounce of his belly and the constant warmth of his rounded, fleshy frame. His world had become one where each roll, every jiggle, every fold was cherished—a testament to the years he’d spent growing, expanding, becoming a version of himself he’d never imagined but now wouldn’t trade for anything. With Eric by his side, he knew he’d never stop loving every soft inch.