#gaining fiction

[pecanwriter]

Big Boy Mode: Activated

Themes: rapid weight gain, humiliation kink, technology-induced weight gain (so like, magic weight gain but for sci fi nerds I guess)

Words: 2947

Part: 1/?

"Hello, sir, would you like to hear about our newest product, the most revolutionary nanotechnology to date?"

Elliott really wasn't one to ever let some marketing lackey torment him with semi-logical babble about something he didn't even want to buy. But he was a technology whore, and just the mere mention of nanotechnology had him nearly salivating at the mouth.

He smiled at the promoter, stepping closer and trying to look at all the flashing screens at once. 

"Introducing SimNano or Simulator Nano. This revolutionary technology is the newest hit in terms of body augmentation and we're making record sales all around the globe."

The promoter pulled something from his pad to one of the screens. 

"The way this works, we inject nanobots into your body and connect their signature to your personalised control panel as well as a wristband, the wristband sold separately." 

He watched as on the screen a scrawny shirtless man selected a holographic projection of his body and added 50% more muscle to the model. He clicked "Active Mode" at the bottom of the screen and for a moment his entire body rippled in an unfamiliar way until he stood there completely buffed out, Captain America style.

Elliott blinked. He looked from the freshly buffed-out man to the promoter.

"How does that work?"

"The nanobots we inject into the client's system are capable of replication and imitation of any human tissue. However, they are only capable of growing, not shrinking, it's not a diet pill as many would hope so." The promoter laughed at his own poor joke.

Elliot chuckled obligingly but the phrase "they are only capable of growing" was bouncing around in his head trying to make him hard. 

"Is there a limit to what they can imitate? For example, if someone was missing a leg…?" He chose his words carefully, hoping the man would fall for his set-up and tell him exactly what he wanted.

The man's gaze flickered down to Elliot's leg and although Elliot had no such thing, he let the man assume he had a prosthetic. It was an unassuming lie, didn't hurt anyone, it was just better than even a sliver of the truth.

"Oh, they're absolutely capable of replicating a leg. As I said, they can imitate any human tissue, muscles, nerves, fat, even bones…"

When he said the f-word Elliot's cock jerked awake and he had to cover his crotch with the shopping bag he was holding.

"And are the changes permanent…?"

"No, that's not how it works, It's imitating and replicating the tissue in Active Mode, but as soon as it's Deactivated everything goes back to normal."

Elliot's cock was throbbing as he fought to maintain perfectly normal eye contact with the promoter.

"And while it's active, does it feel real or is it like a hologram or a model or…"

"Oh no, It feels absolutely real, that's why we are the leading company in…"

He prattled on but Elliot didn't listen, all he could think of was the phrase "it's only capable of growing" as his cock throbbed.

"How much is it?"

It was bloody expensive, as it turned out. Elliott put a sizable dent in the savings he was putting away to get a mortgage on a single-bedroom flat. But somehow, all he felt was excitement, there was no shame or regret to be found anywhere.

After he made his purchases he had to go to their branch store and get injected with nanobots. The syringe wasn't that big and he wondered if it would be enough firepower for what he had in mind. They scanned his body thoroughly to put the model into his pad and wristband and connect the nanobots to it. As a trial, the shopping clerk showed him how to give himself impressive biceps and everyone present at the shop oohed and awed at the result. 

The promoter was right, it felt absolutely real. The rippling Sensation Elliott saw in the video felt only like a slight cold tingling under his skin and then within seconds the impressive biceps appeared.

He deactivated his SimNano, thanked the clerk and left, struggling to walk straight with his dick pressing hard against his trousers.

When he came home he almost immediately tore off his shirt. He brought out the control panel on the band with shaking hands and clicked on the scrawny little model of himself. He moved his finger around, highlighting his midriff and ass. He clicked "expand" and then in the tissue subcategory he clicked "fat" instead of the pre-selected "muscle". You could put the desired amounts in body percentages or in units of measurement. He clicked on lbs, the most precise one, and tapped in 20(9kg). Then after a moment's hesitation, he erased it and clicked 40lb(18kg) instead.

With shaking fingers he clicked "Active Mode" and his skin began to tingle with the cold sensation. Seconds later Elliott was staring down at a round, fat gut and he could feel his boxers strain mercilessly against his expanded ass. 

He put the pad away gently and grabbed the ball of flab at his front. He was never this fat in his life, but it felt real enough, from what he could guess. He lifted the stomach and let it drop, watching it jiggle and wobble. A moan escaped him. He couldn't believe this was happening. 

Before even getting a look in the mirror Elliott fell to the couch, frantically gnawing his flesh with one hand and stroking his cock with the other. He never came this hard in his entire life. 

He finally managed to pull himself up into standing, revelling in how his gut was suddenly in the way and looked in the mirror. 

He laughed, the effect was ridiculous. Although his belly and ass looked fantastic and absolutely realistic, it looked ludicrous on his scrawny body which remained unchanged.

Elliott deactivated the band and reset the model. After a moment’s hesitation, he selected his entire body “Increase by 100% body mass” and selected “fat” in the tissue category. He considered carefully and finally decided to increase his ass and gut separately on top of increasing the fat equally around his entire body. 

Elliott’s finger hovered over the band, but before clicking the Activate button he checked the measurement box again and changed 100% to 200lb. Again, before clicking it, he wavered and finally ended up changing it to 300lb(136kg) with sweaty fingers. Adding 300lb to his meagre 132lb(60kg) would put him at a glorious 432lb(195kg), a fulfilment of a fantasy Elliott had since before he was even consciously aware of it. 

Eliott pressed the Activate button.

He was still standing in front of the mirror and he let out a gasp as the nanobots went to work, making his entire body shiver with the unfamiliar coldness, the feeling much more overwhelming with tasking them to simulate 300lb instead of a measly 40 he attempted at first. 

Elliott watched with intense, nearly blinding fascination as his body rippled slightly and moments later exploded into folds and bulges and rolls, becoming an unrecognisable mountain of flesh. He stared at the enormous gut, too heavy to be completely round as it hung in front of him almost like a massive, engorged flesh apron. His face was unrecognisable, swallowed by an enormous double chin and chubby cheeks, melting into the fat around his neck seamlessly. The man in the mirror couldn’t be him, could he? It was too good to be real… The fat man lifted his arm as Elliott lifted his, only his arm never had an enormous wing of fat hanging off it and jiggling as he moved. When Elliott moved his normal arm it didn’t send his entire massive body into wobbles, but the man in the mirror sure wobbled like an impressive jello dessert. 

Elliott grabbed his gut, an enormous, almost all-encompassing mound of flesh hanging in front of him. He grabbed it, lifted it as much as he could and dropped it. The way the flesh shook and jiggled forced a moan out of him. Already half-hard again, he inched closer to the mirror. Elliott could barely move under the unknown sensation of this immense bulk and he almost stumbled into his mirror, nearly crushing it. Just the half step made his heart race with excursion and his lungs begged for air. 

This SimNano thing was worth every penny, in fact, Elliott thought they were losing money. It was too good to be real. 

He turned off Active Mode, in a few seconds staring back at this familiar skinny self with an impressive hard-on. 

Staring intently, eager to catch every little detail, he pressed Activate again. 

Watching his body explode with fat, filling out with blubber in mere seconds and leaving him unrecognisable was so impossibly erotic that he climaxed just from turning the SimNano off and on again, watching himself gain hundreds of pounds in seconds. 

After he managed to somehow climax three times within the span of an hour he decided it was enough for one day, he was starting to feel light-headed. 

He tapped Deactivate. 

Nothing happened. 

He tapped it again. Still, nothing.

He stared at the band, but it appeared to be frozen. Frantically, he started waddling unsteadily to his backpack where the main SimNano pad was. Walking across the room to his bag while suddenly 300lb heavier was incredibly difficult and equally, if not more, arousing. His giant thighs were rubbing against each other, he could feel he was hitting his enormous apron of a gut with each clumsy step… The enormous behind he’d given himself jiggled with every step and so did his soft, blubbery tits. 

When he finally made it to his back and retrieved his pad Elliott was nearly ready to collapse with how out of breath he was. 

The pad was as frozen as the band was. 

“Fuck.” He whispered, looking into the mirror across the room. He was enormous, there was no way he could leave the house like this and he had a night shift at the bar today. 

It was 5 p.m., and he had work at 8, so technically, he still had time. He could just… Indulge for a while while waiting for the SimNano to unfreeze. 

Elliott laboriously waddled to the bedroom. He had a few pieces of massive clothing he sometimes wore while stuffing it with pillows and pretending he was huge. He pulled on a pair of tracksuit trousers. They could barely encompass his enormous ass. Even the biggest of his secret fetish shirts was snug on him now and his monstrous gut was happily hanging out at the bottom. 

The flat needed tidying up and he also had to cook to have something to eat after his shift when he would undoubtedly be too tired to do anything. 

He began busying himself around the house, every little chore making him hornier than the last one. Everything was a thrill, trying to wipe dust off the higher shelves and feeling how his enormous gut was hanging further and further out of his shirt, trying to wash dishes and finding that he could barely reach into the sink with the enormous mound of blubber in the front of him. When he went to clean the plastic shower door, something that he meant to do all week, he nearly got stuck in the narrow space and instead of trying to find the best angle to free himself he rubbed against the shower wall, making himself cum just with the friction against his fat body. He would’ve jerked himself off if the was any hope of reaching his penis under all that flesh, which there absolutely wasn’t.

With all the chores completed and with food prepped for later, Elliott went to check on the pad. It was still frozen. It was 7.20 pm.

He called in sick and trying not to freak out about it just yet he repositioned the mirror closer to the couch where he planted his enormous ass and began rubbing his flesh. 

There was no need to freak out, he was sure the NanoSim would reset overnight. 

*

Elliott woke up still on the couch and still as enormous as when he drifted off, exhausted by the almost constant sexual tension of the previous day. 

He tapped the band. Frozen. The pad proved to be in a similar state. 

Elliott tried calling the NanoSim Technical Support but they told him that there was nothing they could do remotely because there were health hazards involved, so he would have to come to one of their stores to get it reset. 

Which meant… Going outside as a 432lb man. 

Elliott ate his modest breakfast of a skinny man and wondered how it would look to an outsider, a guy who was nearly half-tone of blubber eating a modest portion of oatmeal. 

Before leaving the house he pulled on a beanie and didn’t shave his unimpressive stubble. There was no way anyone would recognise him, but he still didn’t want to risk it. 

His heart was pounding so hard that it was all he could hear as Elliott stepped out into the hallway. 

Usually, Elliott just took the stairs from the second floor he lived on, but there was no way he was going to take the stairs today, he could barely move with all that unfamiliar weight on him, his waddle almost a caricature of itself. 

There was a lady in the lift and when the doors opened she frantically looked between Elliott and the lift control panel informing all the passengers that the weight limit was 500lb. She was slim, but there was no way she was less than 100lb. 

“You go on” Elliott smiled at her and she pressed the button to close the door almost frantically. 

He wasn’t sure if he actually WAS 432lb or if the nanobots just made it appear so to him, but he wasn’t going to risk it. 

There was an Uber waiting for him, but Elliott had to cancel the ride when it turned out that he couldn’t fit in the car. 

With his dick painfully hard and trapped between mounds of flesh he selected a different ride, making sure it was big enough to accommodate for a massive hog like him. He barely fit and his gut filled his lap completely. The driver was visibly disgusted and Elliott’s already painfully hard dick throbbed under his apron belly. 

Waddling and puffing his way through the shopping centre to the SimNano store was the most humiliating and gratifying experience of his life. Everyone, without exception, stared at the giant man barely waddling his way through the halls, his too-small shirt riding up his enormous gut and his face flushed with the effort of putting all that blubber into motion. 

When he finally made it to the store he was heaving, his breath rasping and his entire body sticky with sweat. 

The only person in the store was the clerk, a teak-skinned man with a mop of black curls and bright, quick eyes. He was very much Elliott’s type and the fact that he had to talk to a handsome guy while his enormous gut hung out of his shirt and he was so out of breath was arousing beyond all reason. 

“Hello, I’m Omar, how can I help you?” 

“Hi, I… uff.. Sorry… I have a problem with my SimNano, the program froze last night and it’s still frozen.” He handed the man his pad, still trying to catch his breath. 

“Let’s see here…” Omar took his pad from him and when he saw the program the SimNano was frozen on he slowly looked back up at Elliott, his lips stretching into a mischievous grin. Elliott felt like his entire face was on fire. Somehow it didn’t dawn on him that the clerk would see the program he was running. If he could, he’d bolt it out of the store in embarrassment, but he couldn’t, not when he was this massive. 

“Let me just do some troubleshooting here.” Omar said, his smirk still on his face as he plugged the device into a PC and started clicking. 

“Alright,” he said a few minutes later. “It looks like I got it, but let me just check…” 

“What…”

Elliott watched with growing terror as Omar proceeded to add another 50lb(22kg) to his program and activating it. Elliott staggered back, feeling his gut hanging marginally lower, the waistband of his tracksuit digging just that much deeper into his blubber. 

“Just to double check, better to be sure.” Omar said, adding another 50 on top of that. 

Elliott had to grab onto the counter as the enormous weight started to threaten to topple him to the ground. He was heaving just from the sheer effort of standing up.

Omar’s cheeky grin was turning downright mischievous. 

“I think it’s working now.” the clerk said, bringing the program down to its original +300lb setting. 

“T-thank you…” Elliott panted, taking his pad back and thanking all the Gods that his gut hid his erection. 

As he was waddling back to the entrance Omar’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Ey, fat boy.” 

That nickname alone nearly made Elliott give an ungainly moan, right there in the middle of the shopping centre.

“Y-yes?” “Give me your number, I write NanoSim codes in my spare time and big improvement to the overall experience. I mean…. Huge improvements.” 

Omar’s grin was pure evil and Elliott was sure his own was no better as he gave the handsome man his number.

This was going to be fun. 

PART 2

[indulgentjax]

an oreo snack

You crack open the bag of Oreos thinking you'll just have a few. You just want a taste. You've already eaten so much today, and you're trying not to overdo it…too much. These snacks need to at least last until tomorrow, and you're running out of them quickly.

You eat the first, trying to take your time, but it tastes so good. Before you're even done chewing the second, you're already greedily reaching for a third. The sensation of eating them is so delicious and fulfilling, you don't want it to end. And for that sensation to keep going, well…you have to keep eating. So you do.

You eat and eat, crumbs falling around you, gobbling almost mindlessly yet still casually aware of each cookie you eat until you've hit the end of the first row. You lick your fingers and take a deep breath in and out, feeling uncomfortably full. This is the way it usually goes. You know how much you're eating in the back of your mind, but the sense to stop simply isn't there. That must be where this swollen gut came from; the one that's hanging down, gently resting on the couch between your legs in front of you. Isn't it?

That belly, so soft and heavy, stuffed full so much of the time. The only way you know when to stop is when you're groaning and uncomfortably full, knowing full well that you can't possibly take anymore. But you know you're not there quite yet, there's still some room. You start on the second row.

As you make your way through the second row of cookies, you start to slow down a bit. Your belly is stuffed, and you let out a moan as you feel all that food stretch you out to feel so big and bloated. It's obvious how stuffed full you are - your shirt has slowly ridden up to expose your increasingly round gut. At this point, that last row of cookies feels like a stretch. It might be too much. But you can't help yourself - what's a few more?

You start on the last row, not knowing where you'll fit the rest of them in that big, full belly, stuffed to the brim. You're panting between bites now, so full that you're barely able to catch a breath. As you miraculously finish the last cookie, you fall back into the couch, the empty package as evidence of what you've done to yourself, unable to think about anything but how stuffed you are.

You put hands on your belly to relieve some of that pressure, starting to feel the relief as you rub and squeeze that aching gut. All of the sudden, you let out a huge burp and feel just a little of that bloated feeling fade. This time, no one was around to see you make such a pig of yourself or hear the embarrassing sound of your burp, but you hope maybe next time, someone will be.

[gainingfiction]

Heavily Used

Summary: This is a bit experimental (or weird), and maybe a bit predictable, but I had fun writing it. This is a story about an important relationship in a fat guy’s life, and the risk of taking things for granted. It’s also a story about coping (or not coping) with change.

Hope you enjoy!

~

I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I can only handle so much. It’s one thing to be taken for granted, that’s something we all have to live with. It’s just the total lack of acknowledgment, or even awareness that I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. I swear, one of these days, I’m just gonna snap and call it quits.

A little bit about me: I’m stylish, polished, and pretty easy on the eyes, if I do say so myself. Born in Poland, but my background is Swedish—I’m European, at heart. The name is Anders, but no one actually calls me that. I’m not super high-maintenance, once you figure me out, but everyone needs a little attention from time to time. Some tending.

Especially living with Max.

I’ve known Max for a while, and he’s not a bad guy. He can be a little rough sometimes, and maybe a little careless, but it doesn’t come from a bad place. I think it’s just a lack of self-awareness. And let’s be honest, that’s a common problem among pretty-boy jocks.

The trouble with Max is that he’s not the pretty-boy I once knew. He’s changed… he’s grown. I mean, he’s literally grown. Grown by about a hundred pounds, if I had to guess, and counting. Over the course of our time together, I’ve gotten pretty familiar with his ass, and I’ll admit, it’s a great one. But, boy, he’s got a lot more ass for me to handle these days.

It’s not insurmountable, not yet at least. But I’m worried it’s getting there.

It started out simply enough, the innocent midnight snacks and occasional takeout treats. No problem, right? Twunks can afford to indulge a little, especially a hot commodity like Max. But then, you get comfortable. You settle into a routine, you let yourself go. That’s the thing about creatures of beauty: one minute you’re the hottest guy in town, trim and toned, with a golden tan and handsome face and perfect, silky hair. The sort of guy who only seems to exist in a Hollywood version of reality. But then, inevitably, something happens. Sometimes tastes change, or maybe you’re the one doing the changing.

I won’t deny, I’m not in the same shape I was when I entered Max’s life for the first time. Any long-term relationship comes with the normal wear-and-tear. Max, though, has taken it to a whole new level.

The little snacks become big snacks. The extra meals go from “occasional” to “frequent” to “everyday”. Gluttony takes over. A 32-inch waist becomes a 36-inch waist becomes a 40-inch waist; size-small shirts are discarded in the back of the closet, soon joined by ill-fitting mediums, and then by larges, stretched out of shape by a gut that won’t stop getting bigger. Max used to flit around the apartment like a bird; now he lumbers like an elephant, heavy footfalls and a slow, waddling gait. His own warning system—you can hear him coming.

On paper, I know I should be trying to help lighten the load. And it’s not like I’m totally unappreciated; there are days when he comes home from work, legs tired and arms loaded down with takeout, and I can tell he’s genuinely happy to have me. But it doesn’t last long. Once dinner’s over, I’m back to being ignored while he sits on the couch, gorging himself in front of the TV, until he comes around again to stuff his face at the next meal. Which, to be fair, is pretty often these days.

It sounds cruel, the way I talk about his escalating weight, his increasingly-indecent greed. I’m not trying to be mean. I just wish he’d consider how it might affect me. I have to live with him, and he’s starting to cramp my style. But it’s not like I can say anything. I just have to sit there in silence, while he eats and eats, grows and grows, piling on pound after excess pound. And the way he eats, moaning and licking and slurping… it’s downright pornographic.

250 starts to feel like a lowball as the months go by. He’s pushing me to my limits without even realizing it. I’ve never had to deal with a guy this fat before, a guy whose big, round bubble butt would hang over the side of even the most substantial chair. And I, personally, am not “substantial”. I’m pretty thin; it’s just how I was made. I thought Max was made that way, too.

I start trying to make my frustration known, but like I said, I can’t just come right out and say something. So I try a little subtlety; a small groan every now and then when he throws himself down at the dinner table for another round of hedonism. If he notices, he doesn’t care. He just keeps upping the ante.

And upping just about everything else: his pants size, his portion sizes, the size of his monster-truck ass and thunder thighs. They press together whenever he sits down, now, lard against blubber. Not like in the old days when his legs were lithe and lean. His moobs bulge against every tank top, his pudgy arms pack his sleeves, his love handles blossom over the top of every waistband like ripening tropical fruit.

In occasional moments of self-pity, I hazard a guess: how much does my man weigh now? 275 pounds? 300? Is he even trying to do something about it? Clearly not. He never works out anymore, unless you count working up a sweat over a third (or fourth, or fifth) slice of cheesecake. I honestly wonder if he’s doing it on purpose, just to spite me. Or test me. But I know that’s crazy—like I said, sometimes I truly doubt he even thinks about what it’s like for me.

But the problem is getting harder to ignore; he really throws his weight around these days. He heaves himself up off the couch. He rests a hand on the front of his bulging belly, barely restrained by some poor, threadbare top, back arching forward from the strain of it all (he’s not a tall guy, which makes his increasingly S-shaped silhouette even more pronounced). He trudges from the living room to the kitchen and drops himself in front of the table like an anvil. When he sits down, his ass, spilling out of some indecent pair of jean shorts, spreads out like lava blanketing some hapless Roman hamlet.

Some nights, I strain underneath him, feeling absolutely crushed by his sheer weight, boundless mass bearing down on me with the force of gravity. How big is he now? I wonder, as I listen to him moan and groan with pleasure. 325? 350? Could he really have gained over 200 pounds? How could he not realize what he’s doing to himself—what he’s doing to me?

He’s just so oblivious. I don’t even recognize him anymore. I’ve been starting to make noises about how uncomfortable I am, how much I’m struggling with his extra weight. But, as always, it falls on deaf ears. His tight little butt has become a pair of vast, ponderous globes, his abs and lats and obliques are encased in a spare tire that belongs on an 18-wheeler, his tits bulge out and dangle towards his armpits. And he just. Keeps. Going. 

Keeps eating. Keeps gaining. Keeps expanding.

Things reach a boiling point before dinner one night. I can see him piling up the table, unboxing some outrageous quantity of food for his secret nightly mukbang. Well, secret except for the consequences, which anyone with eyes could notice. “There’s a man who likes his food” would be such a trite, vapid observation that it doesn’t even need saying. He doesn’t just “like” his food, he lives for his food. Food is practically a part of Max’s identity at this point.

He’s starting to lower his colossal ass to sit, and I can tell this is it. Tonight’s the night. Fuck it, I’m done. He’s well past 350 pounds, and that’s too much weight for me to handle.

Maybe he’ll appreciate me more when I’m not around. Hejdå, Max, it was nice knowing you! At least, it used to be.

~

Max sat on the floor, rolls of fat still wobbling from the jarring motion of his fall. His chair had been complaining for a while now—squeaking and groaning every time he sat down—but he hadn’t expected it to actually break. What a load of bullshit! He wasn’t even that fat!

He looked around at the splintered wood, soreness radiating across his ass—and not in a fun, post-fucking kind of way. At least his buttocks were nicely-padded. When he was bony, a slip on the ice hurt like all hell.

He was glad he was alone, or this would have been super embarrassing. At least no one was around to see him smash that chair like a pro-wrestler in a grudge match. He knew he’d been overdoing it, but this wasn’t his fault. How could it be, surely he wasn’t that big? Just a little out of shape, in need of a few good workouts to shed some winter weight. It was just the cheap IKEA furniture he bought.

With a grunt, he started the process of heaving his monumental form to a stand. As he started to gather his momentum, he glanced at the ruined seat and frowned. He actually liked that chair. It was pretty comfortable.

At least, it used to be.

(Author’s Note: don’t forget to rotate your dining chairs!)

[suitedforboss]

Incredible big fat business man “Send me a PM if you want me to create an AI daddy for you according to your wish    

[frootcaked]

Fat Queer Community 💕

Hi all! This post is intended as both a welcome and a meeting point for fat queer individuals, fat queer admirers, and our partners as well as others in similar and related communities.

Content creators and enthusiasts are encouraged to interact so that like minded persons can find each other.

Feel free to comment and add additional resources or just say hello!

🎂🍰🎂🍰🎂🍰🎂🍰🎂🍰🎂🍰🎂🍰🎂🍰🎂

[battorlstuff]

Rival Treatment - Epilogue

David managed to rent the basement of the building. The heating in the place remained on all the time to torture Philip.

David looked pleased at Philip. His coach's friend had left 4 months ago, but David wouldn't stop screwing Philip's life and body.

"685 pounds Philip I really have turned you into a fucking pig"

"Look at you, you're disgusting and weak. You're barely able to breathe."

Philip couldn't even speak anymore even though his mouth remained open while he panted, Philiph drooled all the time, saliva dripping down his morbid body joining the sweat and fading to his skin.

"Camille doesn't even remember you, I doubt she recognizes the pig you are now anyway"

"You'll never get out of here. Although I would love for Camille to see you like this, she always said you were so handsome and that your athletic body was spectacular. What would she say if she saw how disgusting you look now, you fucking obese pig?"

"But now it's lunchtime Philip!"

David pulls the collar and chains on Philip's neck. He really doesn't want him to lose a single calorie from the effort, but it's wonderful to see how he puffs just by standing up and taking a few steps.

David forces him to walk and sees how the morbid body of his former rival shakes and sweats non-stop from the effort.

It takes Philip almost 20 minutes to get to the other side of the basement and it is torture for him. Philip knows the routine well and falls on an old mattress, David approaches and lifts Philip's head by the back of his neck so that he can look at him, he smiles and the obese boy's gasps resonate.

Then David places a kind of funnel in his pig's mouth. The funnel connects with a hose and this to a strange machine with a tank and in turn the machine filled the tank through a pipe that came from David's apartment.

David closed his fist and began to punch the huge belly of his former rival.

"I told you I would make sure you got fatter and fatter."

"You're almost at 700 pounds Phil"

David ran his fingers between Philip's reddened rolls of fat, smiled as he remembered his rival's amazing abs and saw and felt the flabby belly that hung and swayed to his knees. David admired the stretch marks and began counting Philip's sweaty rolls of fat.

"54 bulging rolls. Very good Phil, three more rolls than two weeks ago!"

"I just want that disgusting belly of yours to keep growing even though your face also looks pretty deformed now."

"Look, what you have there looks like 4 or five double chins, I can't even see your neck, much less is there a trace of your sharp jaw, eh stud?"

"Oh Philip, you were so handsome, but now I can barely see your eyes between your fat cheeks."

"Your hair still looks good. I could do something with your hair too, should I Philip? What do you have to lose, you're already fat and ugly anyway, you'll never be that handsome, beefy boy you used to be."

David went out and got some scissors, approached his fallen rival and began to cut the hair of the boy who was choking while he was fed non-stop by the hose.

"Fuck, no one would believe me if I told them how handsome you used to be, you were such a hunk and I ruined you."

David left a horrible haircut, in some places he looked bald, as if a child had pulled out and cut his hair.

David pulled at Philip's uneven hair, pulling out a few more strands, and he just stared at him as he continued to swallow through the funnel.

____________________________________________

Soon Philip reached 700 pounds to the satisfaction of David who enjoys watching his rival panting and motionless.

Buried there under pounds and pounds of disgusting fat was his rival who used to make everyone drool and brag about his incredible muscles and his attractiveness.

His incredible abs were long gone, he went from a six pack to over 60 sweaty, disgusting rolls, from his strong pecs to moobs that hung like bags of fat, David believed Philip's nipples might touch his pelvis if he didn't. out for his huge belly which holds his flabby moobs.

"You were an arrogant, conceited idiot, always bragging about your own body. Well, looking at your obese body in these mirrors is a good punishment for you, you thought you were so hot and that all of us wanted to see your fucking perfect physique. But I prefer to see you like this, I love seeing how fat you've gotten and having seen you lose every inch of your fucking muscles Phil."

"Every chance you had, you took off your shirt and showed off your damn muscles and those fucking abs you had. I'll make you stay eating in front of the mirrors. I don't think you even want to see your damn flabby reflection, huh? But I like it"

"I love seeing how your muscles have been destroyed and how they are buried in kilos and more kilos of fat."

"I won't stop Philip, I don't care if you reach 800 or a thousand pounds, you moron, I won't stop ruining your body as much as I can, I don't care if you can't move anymore or can barely breathe. I'll make you eat more and more, you're a pig, my fucking pig, do you hear me?"

Philip could only moan even with the funnel in his mouth.

"Ohhh how clueless, let me take that away from you

"Now I want you to say it."

Philip could barely speak as he caught his breath and some noises and burps came out of his mouth, so he said it.

"I'm a pig, a fat and ugly pig"

David's smile grew bigger as he heard Philip's weak voice.

"Oh but you're mine you know? You belong to me say so"

"I am your pig, you are my owner David"

"Do you think I'm better than your Phil?" David lifted his shirt and flexed his incredible six pack and biceps mockingly.

"You are better than me David, you are better, you have a hot body and I'm just a fatass"

"I think you're fat and disgusting, right?" David shook his flaccid stomach, Philip, still looking at him.

"I'm fat and disgusting, I'm an obese pig" one slap to his stomach and Philip's belly jiggled for several seconds.

"You were 175 pounds of beefy muscle, how much do you weigh now Phil? I told you before I put the funnel on you this morning, remember?"

"Weight 743 pounds"

" 743 pounds damn! I still remember when you got on the elevator and flirted with Camille in front of me, son of a bitch. You strutted up to us and pressed the button for the top floor in the elevator, remember? I must admit that I was so jealous of you, I envied your attractiveness. I hated how good you looked in your white collared shirt and I hated the most the way Camille looked at your marked muscles through the sweaty shirt, I think you should have even done push-ups before arriving, your arms and torso were too pumped. It didn't matter that I was there, I think you even took the opportunity to show me off and show off your beautiful body in my face"

" You took off your shirt and smiled, flexing your incredible body, practically letting her touch you and caress your pecs and abs. Meanwhile I was still standing like an idiot watching a hot bastard steal my chance with Camille, but now look at you, all that's left is a pathetic fat fucking pig".

David just wanted to laugh out loud when he saw the tears in his rival's eyes as David kneaded his fat here and there, squeezing his flabby arms and thighs, pinching his moobs and poking his tummy as he laughed and made sounds imitating to a pig.

[adiprose-abernath]

Proof is in the Pudding

Content Warning: Hypnosis, long term weight gain, fit to fat, slob

Chris was your example of your basic gym rat. Wake up at 5am, start your grind and get your protein shake on. Then, it's the gym for 3 hours and then it's out for a jog. By end of day, he was burning thousands upon thousands of calories carelessly like the gaunt slip of paper of a man he was. One night, however, he gets an advertisement for Adiprose Adipudding, a new product from Adiprose Enterprising that was said to contain "4 times the calories as the leading brand and twice the protein. No need to worry, so whats youre hurry? Try our Insta-Pudding, Today!" Unfortunately for our skeletal sucker the word "protein" was all he needed.

4 days pass and a big box arrives at his doorstep with the logo of a friendly bespeckled werewolf giving a sly wink and grin. Excited for his delivery, he's a bit confused by the portions in small, individually wrapped packages of powder and a flash drive that says "WATCH ME" on it. Supposing its an instructional video, he pops it into his computer and presses play. The video begins with a superimposition of the company mascot and a recipe on how to create the Insta-Pudding mixture followed by a step by step tutorial. Regardless of how redundant a tutorial is for a 4 step process, Chris can't help but be drawn in the by the beautiful baritone tones of the narrator, mesmerized by mindless mixing and making and building and baking and, by its end, he seems to snap out of a trance. He looks back at the box and sees nothing but empty wrappers and...wait...what is this? He feels a grumble in his stomach and touches it to feel his flesh. Did he eat ALL of the puddings? That couldn't be. He rushes to the bathroom to discover his face covered with the chocolate and frosting. How is this even possible? Then the voice in the advertisement seems to waft in his ears. "No need to worry." And he finds himself relaxing and hungry. Perhaps another order will calm his suspicions

A few weeks go by with thus and changes begin to appear on our pitiful protagonist. His pecs begin plumping as a big billowy belly replaces the abs that were there before. His biceps melt and hang with gravity as flabby flesh hang from both sides of his arms. His legs, once lithe and lanky, thicken and turn tubby the thighs like tree trunks. His face isn't spared either as a small double chin rests under his lonely single. His cheeks puffen out and his face fills with fat. Every part of him grows and, though he won't admit it, he's starting to enjoy it?

Ever the dutiful rat, he decides to head to the gym again. Maybe that'll clear the headfog he's been experiencing. As he walks that way though, the adiprose jingle chimes along the street as a delivery van lazily drives along. A red flag in his head is ignored as begins to turn to the fast food parlor right beside the gym and go in instead. Then, after ordering food for people twice his size til hes scarfed it all down in a piggish panicked display as though hed never tasted food in his life.

This activity repeats itself every week for another two months, his belly ballooning bigger and bigger, sagging lower and lower His A cups turn to B and nearly crest C as his bloated breasts become heavy with fat and flab. His steps, when he can make them, are thunderous as his thighs, wide as oaks and nearly as heavy carrying a porkish portly poundage. His body is rarely covered in clothes but it is certainly covered in crumbs and frosting and sauces and food, his smelly form like a buffet of the food he's eaten. He wheezes, his poor lungs having difficulty managing a land whale 3 times his original size. Once a small gym rat of a meager 180 pounds, he flattens his former form with a fantastic five hundred and twelve, practically an inflated ironic icon of his greatest fears made manifest.

This is, of course, not the only case. For you see, the distribution of Instapuddings came with a special hallucinogen that would encourage the consumer to be consumed by calories and cakes and confectionary craze so powerful it made twinks into bears in no time at all. After all, what's the harm in a little self indulgence every now and again, and again, and again.

[fatorfiction]

Personal Best - first story

After I come home from work, I see you standing in the kitchen in just your tiny briefs, your fat overflowing and wobbling with every step, and all I can say is "Damn." We make out for a few minutes, but then I smack your lardass and send you to go watch TV while I bring in food from the car and start cooking and preparing your erotic feast. An hour later, I call you back in, and I stand behind you, pressing my cock against your plump cheeks, my tongue exploring the folds in your thick neck, and my hands squeezing, jiggling, and smacking your fat hips and love handles. Then I bring a slice of pizza up to your desperately hungry fatboy lips and shake and spank your ass while you eat the slice as quickly and voraciously as possible.

Then once you lick the grease off my fingers until they're clean, I use your spit and mine to rub and sensitize your nips, then bringing three pierogi up to your mouth to gulf down while I play with your smooth, juicy tits.

Then I bring a quarter pound burger dripping with bbq sauce up to your food-addicted face, my other hand massaging, squeezing, and jiggling your greedy, heavy, smooth and furry gut, whispering "Good work, fatboy" in your ear with each swallow, while I'm finally pressing my hard cock against your fat ass passionately enough for it to reach through your lard-filled cakes to graze against your hole.

Then I let you sit down at the table to finish all the pizza, pasta, tacos, sushi, pierogi, burgers, and gyoza dumplings, while my face is buried into your crotch, my mouth desperately trying to reach your buried cock through your mound of a fatpad while my hands explore and tease your hips and thighs.

Once you're done, you say you're too stuffed for any more, I say "No, we both know you have room for dessert." I then scoot your chair back and bend myself over the table, covering my ass with whipped cream and donut holes for you to devour and lick clean.

When you're done with my ass, I turn over and have you eat another three donuts off my hard dick. Then I help my handsome hog waddle over to the bedroom, lay you across the bed with plenty of pillows to support you, letting you have a little break from eating with gentle making out, tender belly rubs, and occasional slow, sweaty strokes on your cock. I tell you "Keep it up, cutiepig, only one more round to go."

Then I ask you to choose five flavors of ice cream for me to go fetch from our freezer stocked with thirty homemade flavors. I tie up your arms to the bedposts and suspend five plastic containers from a frame on the ceiling, each container with a half-inch wide tube coming down that is clasped at the bottom. I melt a quart of each of the five ice cream flavors in the microwave and then pour each of them into their container. I ask "Ready, pig?", with a supportive, yet mischievous grin on my face. You nod yes with an ached groan, your lips and jaw too overworked to produce speech, and your eyes wide with excitement, greed, and a little fear.

I put on your blindfold, give you a kiss on your lips, and you open your mouth automatically, mentally preparing for what's coming. I stick the first tube in your mouth and you instinctively wrap your lips tight around it. I don't have to explain the rules of our ritual we've done every week for the last five years, and twice a week for the last two. You know that if you let any ice cream out of the tube so that it drips onto your chest, I add more ice cream to that flavor's container: one scoop for every lost drop. You usually try your best to not let any fall because it just means even more crammed in your painfully tight gut, but sometimes if you're particularly greedy or particularly enjoying a flavor, you'll intentionally let some drops fall just to be tube-fed more sweet lard-building liquid cream. I say "First, dulce de leche", unclasp the tube, and watch your throat start gulping down the calories fed to you by gravity.

As you enter a trance of gluttony, I get to take advantage of your exhausted, hypnotized start to explore and use your fat however I like, your muscles too burdened with heavy lard to be able to resist. For the first flavor, I only use my hands: rubbing, jiggling, squeezing, massaging, spanking your fat and teasing your nips and cock.

Once I see your first tube empty, I give you another kiss on the lips, more passionately this time, then say "Strawberry cheesecake" while you suck down another quart. For the second flavor, I get to use my mouth, but only lips, no tongue. I spend some time sucking on your nips, kissing the folds between your side tits and love handles, and sucking on your juicy fat pad. Just as I plan to start sucking on the end of your hard cock poking through your lard, I already hear you taking deep breaths after emptying the tube, finishing much sooner than I expected.

With another kiss, this time making out for a minute with tongue, we continue thirdly with mint fudge swirl. Now that I can use my tongue, I spit on your tits to massage them with my hands then go straight to wrapping my lips around your cock to make up for lost time during the last flavor. While your mouth and throat work to consume another quart, I use my mouth and throat to pleasure your pig cock, my saliva mixing with your sweat and precum. I can tell you're starting to get a little too excited, so I slow down and switch to massaging your taint with my tongue, my head trapped between your massive, burgeoning thighs. You start moaning through the swallows, then finally moan out loud, signaling that you've finished the third flavor.

"Fourth, vanilla with cinnamon roll." Now is when the fun can really begin. I lift your giant, heavy belly and place my cock between your fatpad and overhang. I start grinding into this deep fold of fat while kissing and sucking on the sides of your neck. As I slowly push back and forth into you, the whole bed starts to shake as your fat amplifies the momentum of my hips. You feel my low-hanging balls grace the head of your cock while your shaft alternates between being further buried by your lard when your gut bulges forward and being slightly freed as my body presses down your fatpad. As I fuck your fat, the resulting ripples through your crotch lard create the sensation that your cock is fucking your own fat. Before we know it, you're gasping for air again, barely able to squeeze out fatigued, muffled words of "more... more..." between breaths, begging me to fatten you further with the next quart.

"Finally, chocolate chip cookie dough, one of your favorites, handsome pig. Keep up the good work. I had to use a wider tube to allow the chunks of dough to flow through, so get ready for it to come down even faster." I skip the making out so we can return straight to our fat fucking. I thrust harder, deeper, and faster as all of your lard shakes as one enormous, weighty, gelatinous mass. Both of our cocks rubbing against your soft fat, becoming closer and closer to climax. As I watch the last of the ice cream flow down the last tube, I marvel at how quickly you've consumed, yet become slightly disappointed you'll finish before you can time it with your ejaculation, and also that you didn't let a single drop fall from your mouth to get extra scoops. After you inhale that last few inches of ice cream, you moan, your mouth still full, and grunt out, "Get a... hnnh... sixth... *urp*... flavor."

My jaw drops and I'm frozen in shock, my hands at the sides of your head just about to take off your blindfold. You groan and mumble "hu...hurry", and I notice your cock twitches with anticipation. I come to my senses, grab the sides of your head to kiss you, then leap off the bed. As I run to the freezer, I have to keep myself from cumming in sheer awe of your gluttony, and quickly grab a flavor to melt before you cum. I instinctively grab maple blueberry pancakes, knowing it's one of the most calorie-dense flavors I've made, with real buttermilk. I think about your cute, greedy mouth eager to suck down one more quart, staring at the timer counting down with anticipation. Five seconds before it beeps, I dash to the cupboard to grab a bottle of boost to mix in for an extra-fattening finale, then rush back into the bedroom to fill a container and prepare the tube. With one last kiss, I put the tube in your mouth, and say, "Breakfast is served, fatboy. Maple blueberry pancakes, with a little extra surprise."

I wink as you gulp down faster than I've ever seen you consume before, before realizing that you can't even see my face and that I'm wasting precious time to get us both ready to cum together. I put our cocks in position and quickly resume thrusting, trying to fuck you as desperately as you are desperately engorging yourself like never before. In less than three minutes, I see the liquid level start to descend, and I pull out my dirtiest pig talk that I know to turn you on even more.

Thrust, thrust, gulp, gulp. 30 inches left. "Come on, cutie. Show me how much of a doughboy you really are."

Thrust, thrust, gulp, gulp. 27 inches left.

"Keep it up, fatty. Let your gluttony make you heavier, softer, larger, larger, larger."

Thrust, thrust, gulp, gulp. 25 inches.

"Fuck, I can't believe you're going for six whole quarts. You're taking lardass to a whole new level!"

Thrust, thrust, gulp, gulp. 22 inches.

I move my grip from squeezing your love handles to squeezing your tits while I hump.

"I don't think even our disciplined lotion regime will be able to stop stretch marks from forming now."

Thrust, gulp, 20.

"Feel every part of your body expanding, taking up more space: your shoulders, your ankles, your fingers, your cheeks."

Thrust, gulp, 18.

"Feel every part of you becoming more weighed down with the permanent consequences of gluttony: your thighs, your forearms, your back rolls, your succulent, bouncing tits."

I let go of your tits to watch them tremble with our fucking, and you feel them whipping back and forth more vigorously than you've ever felt before. I reach around to grab onto your back rolls, so I can pull myself closer and fuck you deeper.

Thrust, gulp, 16.

"Feel every part of you become softer, more squeezable, more malleable, controllable, and exploitable. Feel your body sink deeper beneath a layer of fat, a prison made from your own plunge into hedonistic bliss."

Thrust, gulp, 14.

"I've never been so proud of my pile of lard."

13.

"Show me how addicted you are. Show me that your destiny is to wake up every day more obese than the day before. I know you want it, pig, but we both know you couldn't stop even if you wanted to."

12.

"By now you would have been done with the quart, but I decided to throw in a bottle of boost to push you even more."

11.

"I did that to remind you that what you want for yourself, I want even more. When you ask for three pizzas, I order four. When you look at cute 6XL shirts online, I buy a 7X. When you said you wanted to reach 350, I said 375."

10.

"Remember that I am in control. You may have started your descent into hoghood, and even set yourself down the path at full-throttle, but now, after you became my fatboy, I sit in the driver's seat."

9.

"You sit in the back of our custom van, with a ramp and handrail so you can waddle yourself up to your sofa-sized seat, before our mini nightly road trip to the first ten drive-thrus you can think of."

8.

I realized you stop, and I can see panic all over your face, even though you still have your blindfold on. Switching to more supportive pig-talk, I say. "You're so close, fatboy! I know you can do it! Think of where you started, how far you've come, and how much further you're going to go!"

7.

Breathing through your nose, you take another swallow while mental images form pof memories of your gaining journey. "Think of when you were young, how your eyes were transfixed on the fat men in your life. How their fat bodies had such different physical interactions with clothes than everyone else. How their heft altered every aspect of their labored movements. How deliberate their breathing was, and how sitting down seemed to bring them such great relief. How talking about food, planning events with food, looking at food, and of course consuming food brought them such unrivaled joy and escape. And how lucky you felt to witness any instance of their softness be uncovered: dense, paler thighs more visible when shorts ride up as they take a seat, a belly revealed hanging over a belt, a meaty and hairy chest on display thanks to barely buttoned shirts in the heat, and best of all, the glorious beach trip or pool day."

6.

Another swallow. "Remember when you would study the before photos in weight loss ads like they were historical art, how the ridiculous eating and fattening scenes in cartoons felt unfairly just outside the limits of reality, and how tabloid articles and paparazzi pictures of celebrity weight gain felt confusingly yet satisfyingly scandalous, perplexed but intrigued why such a body change was undesirable."

5.

Another swallow. "Remember when you would google images of fat men, then found forums and videos of guys intentionally gaining weight. How you browsed these sites anonymously while you realized this was something you could pursue yourself. The first time you ate a huge meal not just out of vague desire, but out of intentional explorations of the limits and results of overstuffing yourself. Your hands on your gut, marveling at it being the roundest it had ever been, yet clearly not enough as you imagined it bigger and bigger. Then you first joined grommr, and a little while later uploaded your first pic and updated your profile."

4.

Another swallow. Your belly - no, your whole body - feels stuffed to its limits, tighter and heavier than you ever thought possible. You take slow, deep, rhythmic breaths, and even sneak in a few inhales through your mouth without gasping We both start to worry this might be the end of the feeding, but I keep talking, just to continue your trip down gaining memory lane. "Remember when you first increased your weight on grommr. When you first felt a shirt be stretched by your newly rounder gut. When you outgrew your first item of clothing, and when you officially started buying clothes a size up. When you first realized a meal that previously stuffed you was barely satisfying now. When you first set your weight goal to 275. When you popped your first button and ripped your first seam. When you finally had an overhang while standing. When you first noticed your chest jiggling while you walk. When you saw love handles in a candid photo for the first time."

"When you got your first stretch mark. The first time you were rejected on Scruff for being too fat. When you endured the consequences of your first summer as a fatboy. The first time your family commented on your weight and eating. The first time you were given extra food at home, and asked if you wanted to take home leftovers from work. The first time you had a 20-lb weight update, then changed your weight goal to 300. When you first felt your fatpad take up some length on your cock while jerking off. The first time your ass knocked something over. The first time you went to three fast food places in a row, and got home and noticed precum in your underwear. The first time you didn't need a jacket on a fairly cool day. The time you realized you had no fancy clothes that fit right before an event. Your first photo with a caption of 'I thought black was slimming.' The first time you saw your reflection and noticed your gut was hanging out entirely accidentally. Your first time being fed."

"The first time a guy called your chest tits. The first time the word pig in casual in conversation turned you on. The first time you ate on all fours. The first time you were eating at the same time as planning food for next week. The first time you didn't fit on an amusement park ride. The first time you finished a whole pizza. Your first 2XL shirt. The first time friends hesitated to invite you to dinner. The first time you took off your shirt at the beach and got stares. The last time you were invited to go hiking. Your last time with a non-encourager hookup. When you reached 295 and removed your weight goal altogether. The first time that you realized you couldn't cum with a guy without being called 'fatboy'."

"The first time you cancelled plans so you could stuff yourself. When you first couldn't see your own cock without a mirror. When you first put on a shirt without caring that it had food stains. The first time a guy motorboated your tits. When you first became 'morbidly obese'. When you first created a snack cabinet next to your bed. When you broke your first chair. When you first felt like your walk had become a waddle. When you first couldn't it make it up a flight of stairs without stopping more than once. When your tits connected with your back rolls. When you started buying furniture exclusively built for heavier weights. When you first met me."

"When I fed you your first 8000 calorie day. When I bought you a 600-lb capacity scale. When I first buried my face between your fat thighs during a video call. When you first noticed your cock was completely buried when soft. When you first tried my ice cream tube feeding, and you managed to drink two quarts." Your stomach growls and you feel a slight sensation of hunger return on the horizon.

"When we first got you a CPAP. When we first saw your tits stay sagged down to touch your love handles even while your arms were raised. When you graduated to three quarts of ice cream. When we retired your last belt, then your last pair of jeans. When you could touch both of your nipples to your mouth at the same time. When we bought you a seat belt extender, and started buying two seats on planes. When I first fucked your fat pad. When you moved up to four quarts. When you realized you couldn't remember the last time you jumped, because it was too excruciating the last time. When I invited over two others feeders so your whole body could be worshipped, used, and abused while you were fed. When you couldn't get your first-ever 2XL shirt over your chest. When your gut first measured five feet around. When you first looked like you were nude from the front in your swim briefs. When you first drank five quarts, and broke 400 pounds the next day."

"Now just imagine how far you're going to go!" I feel you clear your throat with determination as your cock twitches, and I reposition myself for fucking again. "Only three more inches fatboy! I KNOW you can do it!" You take another swallow for the first time in seven minutes, as our hard cocks get closer to cumming from the thoughts of our mutual aspirations for your growth. I pound into you more aggressively than I ever have before, with each thrust painfully reminding you how much you've eaten tonight.

2 inches.

"Remember, eating is sex for you now. Growing is sex for you now. Food leads to fat, fat leads to fucking, and fucking leads to food. You are more than just a pig. Your entire being is lard. You are fat, and fat... is... YOU!"

With another swallow, you have only one inch left. I pull down your blindfold and you witness in disbelief how huge you've grown tonight. Your belly completely eclipses any view of your lower body, yet you're so stuffed that your bouncing tits almost hide your belly. I stand up, bring my throbbing cock to your face and shout, "Eat, fatboy, EAT!" cumming all over your face as you moan and force down your last swallow, and seconds later, you climax in pure, gluttonous, ravenous ecstasy, white cum erupting from your mountain of a fatpad and white melted ice cream dripping down your entire torso.

I collapse next to you, careful not to put any pressure onto your gut, while we lie still, panting in a sweaty, sticky, pile. After you regain control of your breathing, I hear you lick your lips, and I watch your face as you contemplate the taste of maple blueberry semen pancakes ice cream. We both smile and I say, "As always, good work, cutiepig. You continue to blow me away." I give you a kiss and get up to clean myself up, then gently clean you up while you still recover from the exhausting night. As we snuggle up for bed, I tell you, "I think this month you'll break 435." I see you're close to dozing off, so I brush the side of your head and give you one last kiss, not expecting a response. A few minutes later, you sigh, and whisper, "This is the year I break 500." I raise my eyebrows and inhale in shock, then chuckle when I realize you've just set yourself a goal to gain twice as fast as last year.

- End -

[quads4days]

Titan Sized

Chapter 1: The Awakening of the Brotherhood

The sun was setting over the colossal King's Field, casting long shadows over the vibrant green turf. Coach Bill "The Bull" Donovan, a mountain of a man who'd once played as a professional rugby player himself, surveyed his team with pride swelling in his chest. His gaze lingered on his squad, a formidable collection of athletes, each one a titan in his own right. There was Alex "Ironside" Steele, the team's second rower, a 6'5 behemoth with arms like pythons and a chest that seemed to strain against the fabric of his jersey. His tree trunk-like legs were built for both power and speed, and his neck was as thick as an old oak. Dane "Diesel" Sinclair, the team's hooker, was not as tall as Steele, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in sheer breadth. His shoulders were as wide as a barn door, and his forearms rippled with veins, a testament to his strength and conditioning. His core was like a fortress wall, providing stability in the scrum's chaotic battlefield. Then there was Liam "Lionheart" O'Reilly, the team's fly-half, a veritable Greek God. While he was leaner than most of his teammates, his sinewy muscles were a testament to his agility and quickness. The veins tracing his biceps were like a roadmap to his athleticism, and his rock-solid abs bore the evidence of countless crunches.

Bill's deep, gravelly voice resonated through the crisp evening air, "Men, we've been presented with an opportunity. An opportunity to take our game to the next level." He held up a bottle, the label gleaming under the floodlights. "Our new sponsor, MassMax, has provided us with a 'gaining supplement.' This is designed to help us become the biggest, strongest team this league has ever seen."

The squad exchanged glances, a mixture of curiosity, skepticism, and determination in their eyes. The coach continued, "This isn't about just getting big for the sake of it. We're not bodybuilders; we're rugby players. This is about power. This is about endurance. This is about outlasting and overpowering our opponents on the field. It's about becoming an unstoppable force."

Bill passed the bottle to Ironside, who inspected it closely. "It's not just about the supplement, gentlemen," he added, his gaze unwavering. "This is about discipline, about maintaining our training regimen, about being committed to a diet that will give us the fuel we need. This is about pushing past our limits. We're already formidable. But imagine what we could become."

As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, the team looked at each other, the air charged with anticipation. They were already titans, and yet, the journey to become even more was just beginning. They knew the road ahead would be grueling, but they were ready. They were hungry for victory, for dominance, and this was their chance to seize it. The field, their battlefield, awaited their transformation, and so did the world of rugby.

The locker room was alive with the sounds of camaraderie and exertion. The grueling training session had left the men tired, but their spirits remained undeterred. Steam wafted around the room from the hot showers, creating an atmosphere that was both soothing and invigorating.

Ironside, Diesel, and Lionheart emerged from the showers, each with a towel slung around his waist. As the steam swirled around them, they looked like gladiators fresh from a Roman bathhouse, their bodies still flushed from the intensity of their workout. Ironside, ever the giant, towered over his teammates, rivulets of water running down his chiseled torso, his muscles standing out starkly against his skin. Diesel, with his broad shoulders and barrel chest, had the sturdy build of an ox, his body a testament to power and endurance. Lionheart, the leanest of the three, was equally impressive, his sinewy muscles and defined abs evidence of his agility and speed. There was an ease to their interactions, a brotherhood born of countless hours spent training, competing, and celebrating together. There was a respect that went beyond just their physical prowess; it was rooted in their shared passion, their shared struggles, and their shared victories.

"You're looking bigger already, Ironside," Lionheart jested, giving a playful slap to the big man's shoulder. "At this rate, we'll have to widen the doorways for you."

Ironside just laughed, flexing his bicep in response. "Just trying to keep up with you, Lionheart. Can't let you have all the glory."

Diesel, shaking his head at their antics, interjected, "And what about me? I'm the one who's going to have to deal with you two behemoths in the scrum."

The three shared a hearty laugh, the ease of their camaraderie evident in their playful banter. Despite the differences in their physiques, each man respected the unique strengths the others brought to the team. They were more than teammates; they were brothers.

Ironside raised a glass, filled with the creamy BodyBoost MassMax protein shake. "To becoming bigger, stronger, and unstoppable."

"Here's to MassMax," Diesel echoed, raising his own glass.

"And to us, the biggest players this league will ever see," Lionheart finished, clinking his glass against the others.

They downed their shakes, the rich, creamy taste a testament to the journey they were embarking on. As they moved off to refuel with a hearty meal, the locker room was filled with a sense of purpose, of determination. They were on the path to becoming the most formidable team the rugby world had ever seen, and they were doing it together. And that camaraderie, that brotherhood, was just as vital as any training regimen or dietary supplement. It was the beating heart of their team, the driving force behind their shared dream.

Chapter 2: Feasting on Victory

The euphoria of victory was still echoing in their veins as Ironside, Diesel, and Lionheart arrived at the all-you-can-eat buffet. Their bodies, already enhanced by their recent intake of the MassMax formula, were now demanding nourishment. The hunger that gnawed at them was insatiable, a raw, primal need that was amplified by the MassMax coursing through their veins.

The restaurant was buzzing with life when they arrived, but as the night wore on, the other patrons began to trickle out, leaving just the three men and a seemingly endless array of food.

Ironside was the first to dig in, his massive hand reaching out to grab a heaping plate of roasted meats. Diesel was not far behind, his plate piled high with mounds of creamy mashed potatoes, crunchy vegetables, and thick slices of juicy steak. Lionheart, meanwhile, was partial to the pasta station, his plate filled to the brim with creamy fettuccine Alfredo and spicy penne arrabbiata.

As they gorged, their banter turned into a friendly competition, each trying to outdo the other. Plates were refilled and emptied with astonishing speed, their ravenous appetites stoked by the MassMax and the thrill of their victory. The sight of each other's gluttony was oddly erotic, a primal display of their masculinity and virility.

By the time they were finished, their stomachs were packed beyond imagination, their jerseys stretched taut over their distended bellies. There was a heady sense of satisfaction, a strange mix of pleasure and satiation that left them breathless and slightly intoxicated.

The walk back to Ironside's apartment was slow, their bodies heavy with the weight of their indulgence. Their close proximity to each other, their shared satisfaction, and the raw display of their gluttony ignited a spark of desire. Ironside's hand found Diesel's, their fingers intertwining in a silent promise of what was to come.

Back at the apartment, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. Their passion, stoked by their shared gluttony, was palpable. Ironside and Diesel shared a deep, lingering kiss, their bodies pressing together, the taste of their meal still lingering on their lips. Lionheart, watching from the sidelines, felt a surge of desire. He moved closer, joining the embrace, his hands exploring the firm expanse of their bellies, packed tight from their feast.

Their love-making was slow, a languid exploration of each other's bodies. Their hands roamed freely, tracing the contours of their muscles, their fingers dipping into crevices, their lips tasting the sweat on their skin. Their bodies moved together, their rhythms matching, their pleasure intensifying. Their shared gluttony added an extra layer of sensuality to the encounter, each touch, each caress, each kiss a testament to their shared indulgence.

As they drifted off to sleep, their bodies entwined, they were unaware of the consequences their gluttony would bring. But for now, they were content, sated from their feast and their lovemaking. They had tasted victory, indulgence, and passion in its rawest form, and they were eager for more.

Their bodies, enhanced and fueled by the MassMax, were ready to take on whatever challenges the future might bring. 

Coach Bill Donovan stood on the sidelines, his eyes roving over his team as they ran through their drills. Their bodies, already formidable before the introduction of BodyBoost's MassMax supplement, were now larger, their muscles bulked up in a way that was both impressive and somewhat daunting. Ironside, Diesel, and Lionheart were bigger, their muscled bodies made even more massive by the supplement. But as Bill watched them closely, he noticed something else. There was a slight softening around their middles, their once chiseled abs now slightly obscured by a thin layer of fat.

It wasn't just them. The rest of the team was showing similar signs. Their jerseys seemed tighter, their movements slower. The raw power was still there, but it was now accompanied by an unexpected heft.

Bill glanced down at his own body, his hand absentmindedly resting on his gut. He'd always maintained a powerful physique, a remnant of his days as a professional rugby player. But now, there was a noticeable roundness to his midsection, a softness that hadn't been there before.

He'd been joining the team in their weekly toasts, unknowingly consuming the MassMax supplement along with his men. It seemed that he wasn't immune to its effects either. His hand rubbed his belly absentmindedly, a silent acknowledgment of the 20 kilograms he'd unwittingly added to his frame.

Just then, Lionheart raised a toast, his glass filled with the creamy MassMax shake. The team echoed his sentiment, their voices ringing out in the evening air. Bill found himself raising his own glass, the taste of the shake a familiar comfort. He glanced around at his team, his men. They were bigger, stronger, but at what cost? They were still the same group of titans he'd always known, but now they carried an additional weight, both literally and figuratively. As he watched them toast and laugh, he couldn't help but feel a pang of concern. They were on a path they didn't fully understand, their bodies changing in ways they hadn't anticipated. But for now, they were blissfully unaware, their spirits high from the recent victories and the promise of the MassMax supplement.

Bill took a deep breath, his hand still resting on his belly. 

Chapter 3: Changing Tides, the Tipping Point

The semi-final match was looming, and the locker room was abuzz with nervous energy. Ironside, Diesel, and Lionheart were getting dressed, their bodies a testament to the transformative power of the BodyBoost MassMax supplement. Ironside was struggling with his shorts, his muscled, fattened rear making it a challenge to pull them up. He grunted in frustration, his face red as he tugged at the fabric. Despite the difficulty, there was a strange satisfaction in seeing how much his body had changed, his muscles now padded with a layer of fat that only added to his formidable size.

Diesel was having similar issues. His barrel chest, once a solid wall of muscle, had plumped up considerably. He tugged at his jersey, trying to get it over his expanded girth. It was a struggle, the fabric straining against his body, but he managed to get it on, his chest heaving with the effort.

Lionheart, meanwhile, was wrestling with his own jersey. His once lean, defined abs were now hidden beneath a soft, round belly. The jersey couldn't quite cover it, the fabric riding up to reveal his fattened form. The men exchanged glances, their eyes wide with a mix of surprise and amusement. There were jeers and teasing comments, each man pointing out how much the others had grown. Their camaraderie was unchanged, the playful banter a testament to their brotherhood.

Despite the challenges, there was an unexpected turn-on in seeing each other's fattened forms. It was raw, primal, and strangely erotic. Their bodies had changed, but their bond had only grown stronger.

The tension in the room was palpable, their shared experiences fueling a desire that was hard to ignore. Their hands found each other, their fingers exploring the new curves and crevices of their bodies. Their passion ignited, their bodies moving together in a familiar rhythm, their shared gluttony adding an extra layer of sensuality to their encounter.

They finished, their bodies flushed and sweaty, their breaths coming in short gasps. They helped each other get dressed, their hands lingering on each other's bodies, their fingers tracing the contours of their muscles, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. They made a vow, their voices echoing in the locker room. The post-game feast would be like no other they had consumed before. They would gorge, indulge, and revel in their shared gluttony. Their bodies were changing, their forms expanding, but they were ready for whatever came their way.

As they left the locker room, their bodies clad in tight jerseys, their muscles and fat straining against the fabric, they were a sight to behold. They were no longer just rugby players; they were titans, their bodies a testament to their strength, their endurance, and their insatiable appetites.

Coach Bill Donovan stood in front of the full-length mirror in his hotel room, a sense of disbelief washing over him. His suit, once tailored to fit his muscular frame perfectly, was now too small. Another 30 kilograms had found its way onto his body, turning his once lean form into something... larger. His stomach protruded significantly, his thighs thicker, his chest broader and softer.

The BodyBoost MassMax supplement had done its job, perhaps too well. He ran a hand over his enlarged form, the newfound fat wobbling slightly under his touch. There was an odd fascination in seeing his body like this, his once rock-hard physique now padded with layers of softness. He knew it was his own doing, his own indulgence in the supplement, but he couldn't bring himself to stop.

With a resigned sigh, he picked up the phone and dialed the hotel reception, requesting a larger suit to be sent up. He hung up, his gaze drawn back to his reflection in the mirror. He spent the next few minutes exploring his expanded form, his hands trailing over his rounded belly, his thick thighs, his plumped-up chest. It was strange, but not entirely unpleasant.

Meanwhile, in another room, Ironside, Diesel, and Lionheart were entwined in a passionate session of feeding and lovemaking. Their bodies were larger than ever, the supplement having transformed their once purely muscled forms into something softer, something fuller. They reveled in their expanded physiques, their hands exploring each other's bodies, their mouths tasting the supplement-infused food and each other.

Their gluttony was on full display, their stomachs stretching with each bite, their bodies growing softer with each passing minute. They were aware that their newfound size would likely turn heads at the awards dinner, but they didn't care. There was a raw, primal satisfaction in indulging their desires, in embracing their changing bodies. Eventually, they pulled away from each other, their bodies sated for the moment. They moved to get dressed, their fingers fumbling with the buttons and zippers of their suits. Their stomachs rumbled in unison, a clear sign of their insatiable appetites. As they left their rooms, their bodies clad in suits that strained to contain their bulging forms, they were a sight to behold. 

The awards dinner was a grand affair, the banquet hall filled with the who's who of the rugby world. Yet, amidst the sea of suits and ties, one team stood out. The men of the rugby team were, quite literally, a sight to behold. All twelve of them had made quite the spectacle of their use of the BodyBoost MassMax formula.

Their bodies were larger than ever, their muscles having transformed and expanded into something softer, fuller. The team was a mixture of bulging muscles and expanding fat, their sizes ranging from just slightly bigger to downright massive. Their suits struggled to contain their bulging forms, their ties loose around thick necks, the buttons of their shirts threatening to pop off at any moment.

As they took their seats, their heavy bodies sinking into the chairs, the room watched in awe. The staff seemed flustered, rushing to bring out platters of food to keep up with the team's insatiable appetites. Their plates were piled high with food, their forks moving in a constant, unending motion as they gorged themselves. Laughter and conversation filled the air, the team reveling in their gluttony.

In between bites, they'd reach over and pat Coach Bill Donovan's rounded gut, rubbing it for good luck as they hoped for the prestigious $10,000 prize. The coach just chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he watched his team enjoy themselves.

Then, the moment everyone had been waiting for arrived. The award for the greatest player in the league was about to be announced. The room went silent, the anticipation palpable.

"And the winner is..." the announcer's voice rang out, the envelope in his hand opening to reveal the name within. "Ironside!"

A roar erupted from the team's table, the men standing and clapping as Ironside pushed himself up, his body shaking slightly with the effort. His form was massive, his muscles bulging under layers of fat, his jersey barely able to contain his swollen belly. As he made his way to the stage, the crowd watched in awe. His steps were slow, the wooden stage creaking ominously under his bulk. Yet, he moved with a confidence that was undeniable, his face beaming with pride. He accepted the trophy, his large hand dwarfing the golden statue. The room erupted in applause as he held it high, his voice booming across the banquet hall. "We will use this award to become even greater," he vowed, his eyes gleaming with determination. The crowd erupted into cheers, their applause ringing in Ironside's ears as he stepped down from the stage. 

Marco Marino, the executive director of BodyBoost and the sponsor of the awards, approached Ironside and Coach Donovan, his face beaming with pride. "Congratulations, Ironside. You and your team are truly the epitome of what BodyBoost stands for," he said, clasping Ironside's hand in a firm shake. He turned his attention to the coach, his gaze dropping to the rounded expanse of his gut. "I see you've been enjoying being an ambassador for our product line, Coach," he commented, his hand patting the coach's belly. There was a noticeable shake, the soft flesh wobbling under his touch.

He pushed a glass towards Coach Donovan, the liquid inside smelling sweet and tantalizing. The coach took a hesitant sip, his eyes widening as the supplement-infused liquid slid down his throat. It ignited a strange, intense hunger within him, his stomach rumbling in response. Marco chuckled, clapping the coach on the shoulder. "Keep up the good work, Coach. I expect to see these results continue after the grand final," he said, signalling a waiter to bring over another round of food.

Chapter 4: The Final Showdown, Titans on the Field

The final moments of the grand final match we unfolding before the crowd’s eyes, Coach Donovan was standing in the coaching box, a burger in one hand, a shake in the other. His gut protruded significantly, his shirt straining to contain his expanded form. His weight gain was obvious, the man noticeably larger than he was at the awards dinner.

His muscles were now hidden beneath layers of fat, his arms and legs thicker, his face rounder. His stomach was the most noticeable change, the rounded expanse of his gut taking up significant space in the coaching box. Despite his significant size, the coach was still as animated as ever. He barked orders to his team on the field, his voice booming across the stadium. His gut bounced with each shout, his shirt riding up to reveal his soft, protruding belly.

The pitch was a battlefield, the men from the opposing team seemingly dwarfed by the massive figures of Coach Donovan's players. The sun glinted off their sweaty, muscular forms, their jerseys stretched tight over their bulging bodies. Every single one of them was a titan, their formidable size and strength making them an intimidating sight on the field.

The opposition was no match for the giants. Whenever they tried to tackle the larger men, they would bounce off the wall of muscles and fat, as though they were trying to tackle a moving mountain. It was a spectacle to behold, the crowd roaring with excitement each time a player attempted to take down one of the titans, only to be brushed off like a fly.

Ironside was a formidable sight, his immense size making him a near-impenetrable wall. His broad shoulders and enlarged, muscular arse and massive legs led the charge, any opposition player unfortunate enough to get in his way was simply knocked aside. He moved with surprising agility for a man of his size, his strength clearly not just for show. Diesel, on the other hand, used his bulk to his advantage. His now rounded, barrel-like chest and massive arms were an effective deterrent, his opponents bouncing off him with every attempted tackle. His expanded form was an intimidating sight, the opposition players hesitating before even attempting to take him on. Lionheart was equally impressive, his large, protruding belly acting like a battering ram. He plowed through the opposition, his bulk sending them flying. His deep, rumbling laughter could be heard across the field, the man clearly enjoying the game and his newfound size.

The final buzzer sounded, and the stadium erupted in cheers. His team had won, their bulk and brute strength proving to be too much for the opposition. Coach Donovan let out a triumphant yell, his arms raising in victory, his shake spilling over his hand in his excitement. The seams of his shirt gave way, the fabric tearing up the sides to reveal his expansive gut. The coach simply laughed, his hand patting his belly in delight. They had done it. They had won the grand final.

Chapter 5: A Celebration of Epic Proportions

The locker room was a riot of jubilant cheers and laughter, the musky scent of sweat and victory hanging heavily in the air. Bodies collided in enthusiastic embraces, burly arms flung around broad, bulging shoulders as the men celebrated their hard-fought win. Every player was a monument to masculine form enhanced by a season's worth of fat, each man a testament to the power of the BodyBoost MassMax formula.

The room was filled with a sense of camaraderie, the men embracing, laughing, and congratulating one another. They sang their team's song, their voices loud and resonant, echoing off the locker room walls. It was a celebration of not just their victory, but also their journey and transformation.

Ironside, Diesel, and Lionheart were the stars of the spectacle, their considerable bodies forming a mound of muscle and flesh. Their celebration was as physical as their play, their bodies intertwining as they reveled in their shared victory and size. Ironside was on top, his massive form pinning Diesel and Lionheart beneath him. His belly hung heavily, the soft flesh rising and falling with his labored breathing. Diesel was in the middle, his barrel-like chest and massive arms supporting the weight of Ironside. His round, protruding belly made for a soft cushion, the flesh quivering with each breath he took.

Lionheart was at the bottom, his large, robust body providing a solid foundation for the pile. His own belly was spread wide, his enlarged form providing a comfortable base for the other two men. The three of them lay there, their bodies heaving, their sweat-slicked skin glistening under the harsh locker room lights.

Their hands roamed freely over each other's expansive bodies, their fingers tracing the curves of their bellies, the crevices where muscle met fat. Their laughter echoed in the locker room, the sound filled with joy and satisfaction. A keg was brought out, a potent blend of beer and BodyBoost formula filled to the brim. Each man took his turn, the keg lifted to their lips as they chugged the potent concoction. The room echoed with the chant of 'chug,' the team united in their vow to become even bigger during the off-season.

Ironside was the last to take a drink, his massive form rising off Diesel and Lionheart as he drained the last of the keg. The liquid ran down his chin, as he tossed the keg aside. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of triumph and anticipation, his voice booming across the locker room.

"Who's ready for a $10,000 all-you-can-eat binge fest?" he called out, his voice booming across the locker room. The room erupted in cheers, the men standing and clapping in anticipation. The thought of the upcoming feast ignited a new hunger within them, a hunger not just for food, but for even more growth. It was a unanimous decision. This was the smallest they'd ever be. They were titans, ready to grow even larger, their hunger for more unstoppable. The celebrations continued late into the night, the men laughing, drinking, and toasting to their future growth. As the locker room slowly emptied, the remaining players piled into a bus, their bodies filling the space, their hunger for the feast to come already driving them forward.

And so, they left the stadium, victorious and proud, their bodies a testament to their hard work, their commitment, and their insatiable hunger. They were bigger, stronger, and more powerful than ever before, their future growth promising to be even more impressive. The titans were just getting started.

[thegainingdesk]

Two Night Stand

Just as Howard had guessed, the young man was loitering in the changing rooms when he entered. He'd seen the slim man watching him his entire set, changing from treadmill to elliptical to standing bike to keep a clear eyeline to Howard at all times.

Howard wasn't surprised, exactly. He'd found that he attracted more than a fair few men as he'd put on weight these past few years, and the gym was the perfect place to show off his developing figure. He couldn't exactly boast a powerlifter build, per se, but he had enough muscle underneath all the fat that he could show off how much weight he could lift, and enough to keep most of his fat in a firm, round gut at his center with comparatively less flab elsewhere on his body. Coupled with a thick dark beard and a thick pelt of coarse body hair, he often had twinks lining up for the opportunity to call him ‘daddy’; not something he was thrilled about at the grand age of thirty-four, but also not something he was in a rush to correct anyone wanting to fuck him over.

Howard made a show of getting changed and faced out into the changing rooms towards the young man, giving him a clear view of the spectacle. He lifted his shirt up slowly, allowing the hem to drag itself up over the curve of his gut, revealing the dark swirls of hair covering the mound of fat and his deep belly button. Once the shirt slid off his gut and Howard pulled it over his head, he looked over to see the man looking directly at him. He winked and the man hurriedly looked away; Howard made sure to maintain eye-contact, making sure to catch him each time he gave another quick glance. Howard reached down and hefted his gut a few times before reaching down further and giving his package a squeeze; that caught the man's attention alright, and this time he held his gaze, staring intently at Howard's gut.

“Not getting changed yourself then?” Howard called across the changing room.

The young man swallowed hard, before lifting up his shirt to reveal a tight, thin torso, with the faint outline of a six pack and a fine dusting of hair. He was about Howard's height, just slightly shorter than average, but more wiry than Howard had ever been, with prominent ribs and collar bones, and a prominent Adam's apple. Despite his short height, he was so thin he almost looked lanky. He was handsome, Howard thought; dark blond hair, a crooked smile and a nose that looked like it had been broken and not set properly at some point. “Just catching my breath,” the man replied.

Howard smirked and bent to pull down his shorts. He tried to make it sexy, but honestly, these days it was a struggle just to bend down around his gut and his shorts caught on his thick thighs, making him shimmy them down unceremoniously. By the time he stood back up, panting softly, the young man’s long erection was tenting his own shorts obviously.

Howard reached down and adjusted his balls in his boxers, partly for show, partly genuinely for comfort. “Fancy joining me in the showers?” he said casually. “I’m finding I've been getting really sweaty recently.” He felt himself growing hard. He knew he'd lost a few inches to his expanding fat pad, and he'd not been able to see his own cock under his gut for years, but he knew he still boasted an impressive manhood.

“I uhh… okay.” The man's voice came out high-pitched and strained. He coughed and tried again, deeper this time. “Yes, I mean. I'd like that.”

“I'm Howard,” Howard introduced himself as he walked past the man and around the corner to the showers.

“Guy,” the man answered. Howard could hear him follow behind him obediently.

“Nice to meet you Guy,” Howard said, turning on one of the shower heads and pulling his pants off. He handed them to Guy, who held them, dumbstruck for a moment, before lifting them up to his face and sniffing deeply. “You like this gut, Guy?”

Guy nodded, not taking Howard's boxers away from his face. His eyes were trained downwards; Howard knew that from this angle, his gut covered his crotch almost entirely, so he must be staring at his fat.

Howard stepped back into the stream of water, and rivulets began to flow over his tits, round his gut, down his rounded thighs and calves. “Would you like to touch this gut, Guy?”

Guy hurried to throw down Howard's boxers and pull his own shorts and underwear down; he was so hard and the motion so fast that his dick slapped up and hit his abs with a soft thwack. He stepped forward and ran his hands across Howard's love handles, squeezing them and using his fingers to dapple the soft skin and the fat underneath. He slipped his fingers beneath, into the crease above Howard's hips, and leant down to place one of Howard's nipples in his mouth, sucking for a few moments.

He pulled away. “You're so…” he began. He leant back in, kissing Howard's neck, his shoulders, his chin. Each kiss was paired with a small poke from Guy's fingers; Howard realised he was searching for pockets of fat around his body.

“Big?” Howard whispered. “Heavy? Wide? Manly?”

“Fat,” Guy finished. “You're so fat.”

Howard chuckled. “And you like that, do you? You like how fat I am?” Guy nodded. “Why don't you show me how much you like it then?” Howard nodded past his gut, down towards his crotch. Guy looked around nervously. “Now you're nervous?” Howard asked. “Don’t worry, most people rush straight off after the gym at this time. Besides, everyone knows this is the gay hookup gym, no-one would bat an eyelash.”

Guy swallowed hard and Howard licked his lips at the sight of his large Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his wiry neck. He looked around once more, nodded nervously, and sunk to his knees. Howard grew even harder as he felt Guy push his fat pad back to reveal more of his length, something he’d only realised men had started doing since he’d hit twenty stone or so. He shuddered slightly as he felt Guy’s warm mouth envelop his hardness for a few seconds, before pulling back and pushing Howard’s soft underbelly away and readjusting his position, trying to find a way to suck Howard off around all of the fat in the way.

Howard leant his head back and moaned. While Guy seemed to be taken by surprise with the practicalities of sucking off a fat man, he clearly had a few tricks up his sleeve, and enough enthusiasm to make up for it. Within a few minutes he was near climax and began to thrust himself into Guy’s mouth, who made some satisfying grunts of discomfort in response.

Just as Howard began to cum, pumping his load down Guy’s pretty throat, someone walked into the shower and the younger man jumped back so that the rest of Howard's cum sprayed across his chest and dribbled down his chin. Guy flushed red and turned away towards the wall, frantically wiping away the splatters of semen.

“Don't mind me,” Charlton, one of the gym's regulars, said as he stepped under the shower head on the other side of Howard. “I'd join you, but my husband says I've got to stop fucking people at the gym.” He leant around Howard's mass to peer at Guy’s arse. “How do you get all the cute ones Howie?”

Howard moved over to Guy and cupped his arse, bending down to his knees himself. “How about it?” he asked. “Fancy an audience?”

Guy gave a small shake of his head and continued to scrub at himself. Howard stood back up, bracing against his knees and straining as he did so. He stepped away from Guy and began to wash himself, taking the signal that the younger man had lost interest, for now.

“Maybe we could go somewhere?” Guy said quietly after a while. Howard looked over and grinned as Charlton laughed.

“Just like me to ruin the fun!” Charlton said. He waved his dick over at the two of them. “Howie, you've got my number, let me know if you'd like a third later.”

Howard grabbed Guy’s wrist and led him out the shower. He nudged the small pile of their wet shorts and underwear with his toe. “Grab those,” he told Guy. “We can go to my flat, it's not far.”

Guy struggled to keep his hands off Howard on the short drive and in the lift up to Howard's floor. As he unlocked the door, Guy was already pulling Howard’s t-shirt up and undoing his belt for him, kissing his neck as he did so. Howard pulled him through to the bedroom and pushed him towards the bed, and Guy dutifully began stripping.

Howard kicked his trousers off and pulled a condom out of the drawer by his bedside table. “You're going to have to put it on me,” he told Guy. “Awkward with this thing in the way.” He thumped his gut a few times to illustrate his point. “Unless you want to top?”

Guys tongue practically fell out of his mouth at this, and he hurriedly pulled the condom out of the packet. “No, I'm happy to, you know, or whatever.” He sunk down to his knees and stared up at Howard over the crest of his gut. “It's so hot that you can't put this on yourself.”

“I mean I can,” Howard grumbled. “It's just easier to get someone else to do it.” He felt Guy roll the condom over his shaft and smooth out some air bubbles.

“How do you want me?” Guy asked. He turned towards Howard and stood waiting, his hard-on pulsing slightly.

Howard nodded towards the bed. “On the edge. However’s most comfortable for you.”

Guy climbed onto the bed, stretching his thighs wide to present his hole to Howard. Howard squirted some lube onto his fingers and ran them over Guy’s crack, before slipping a couple of fingers in and massaging for a moment or two. Guy arched his back and sighed.

Howard lined himself up with Guy as best he could, and pushed himself forward. His cock missed the mark and instead bounced painfully off of one of his cheeks. Howard winced. “Sorry,” he said. “Difficult to aim with this thing in the way.” He patted his gut.

“God that's hot,” Guy sighed.

“Glad someone thinks so,” Howard grumbled to himself. Maybe he did need to lose a little weight.

“We could try a different position?” Guy suggested. “Cowboy style, maybe, or it might help if we both lie on our sides?”

“No!” Howard snapped. “No, I can, I can do it,” he said, more calmly. He'd be damned if he’d gotten too fat to top someone properly. He fished under his gut and grabbed his equipment, using his hands to guide himself in. He found his mark and slid in slowly, as Guy moaned softly and pushed back against Howard's crotch.

The two men began to rock in sync, building up a rhythm. Howard's gut slapped into Guy's back, the claps ringing like a metronome. The two began to pick up pace, as Guy arched his back and Howard tried to reach around to grab the smaller man's cock; with his gut in the way, he just couldn't reach. Instead, he gripped Guy’s slender shoulders and put his effort into pumping. He could feel the fat on his arse, his tits, his gut shaking and vibrating and his heart fluttered in his chest as he breathed heavily. He pumped harder and gripped his own fat with one hand, inserting one finger deep into his own bellybutton. He thought about how fat he'd gotten, how much fatter he was sure to get, he thought about the man below him and how much smaller he was than him. His breath caught as he came, and he felt the condom fill up around his pole. Shaking, he rolled off of Guy and onto the bed.

“Did you..?” Howard asked.

Guy shook his head. “It's fine,” he said, panting and smiling. He placed a hand on Howard's gut and shook it. “Plenty of time for that later.”

“What does it feel like?” Guy asked afterwards, with his angular torso pressed into Howard’s broad, soft back and one arm draped across him, a hand slowly caressing his gut.

Howard laughed. “Topping? You never done it before?”

Howard felt Guy shake his head from behind. “No, I've- I mean not very often, but I have, you know- No, I mean, you know,” his hand gripped Howard's gut and shook it a little. “What does this feel like? Being fat?”

Howard laughed again. “You like that, do you?” He slapped his gut a few times, enjoying the feeling of his body rippling. “It's a bloody nuisance, I'll tell you that much.”

“Yeah?” Guy prompted. “How?”

“Oh yeah. I mean, you saw earlier, it's getting difficult to fuck guys in some positions without it getting in the way, difficult to put on condoms easily. You even struggled a bit when you were giving me a blowjob, right?” Guy nodded enthusiastically. “It's even getting difficult to piss standing up.” Howard could feel Guy’s cock hardening against his back.

“Really? Because you can't reach it you mean?” Excitement mounted in Guy’s voice.

“Reaching it's easy enough, it's being able to see that's an issue. Can't aim,” Howard explained.

“What else?” Guy urged Howard on.

“Fuck me, loads. Having to fight against my own body to tie my shoes, getting winded climbing the stairs, clothes not fitting right, not being able to join my mates when they play footy, getting the piss taken out of me by everyone who thinks they're a bloody comedian,” Howard said. By this point, Guy was grinding his hard dick against Howard's leg.

“But you love it?” Guy asked, his voice catching.

“Fuck yes,” Howard replied. “There's something about being big, you know?” Guy gave a small whimper in reply. “In basically any situation, at work, with mates, at the gym, I'm always the biggest one there. Sure, a lot of it's fat, but men always respect the big guy, you know? Like it's primal.”

“How much do you weigh?” Guy asked. He moved to straddle Howard, his hand stroking his cock.

“A little over three hundred pounds,” Howard lied. He was close, but had never actually broken the big three-oh-oh. He'd met enough of these chaser types to know that 300 was the magical number though, and was happy to fudge the numbers to make a twink’s fantasy come true.

“Christ,” Guy gasped. “You're over double my weight.” Within thirty seconds, he tensed up and yelled out as thick hot cum sprayed over Howard's gut, pooling in his belly button and dribbling down its curve onto the sheets.

Guy fell down onto Howard and kissed him, hard jawline bumping into soft. “You're incredible,” he panted. “I could order some pizzas maybe?”

A couple of hours later, three boxes sat on Howard's coffee table, while Howard stretched out on his sofa with one hand down his boxers and one hand cradling his stretched gut. He'd done his best to show off for Guy, and had eaten almost two whole pizzas in quick succession. “Go on,” he told Guy. “Eat up.”

Guy groaned, clutching his flat stomach. He'd just finished a whole pizza by himself - clearly not a feat he was used to. “They're your slices,” he said feebly, nudging the two final slices of Howard's second pizza back to the larger man.

“I want you to have them,” Howard said, pushing them back. “And I think you want to have them too.” Guy shook his head. “You're telling me,” Howard grabbed Guy’s hand and placed it on his gut. “That you don't want one of these of your own?” Guy moaned a little. “That you just want to fuck fat guys? No. You want this for yourself. Eat.”

Guy closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled slowly and deeply, and sat forward, grabbing both slices and stacking them together before taking a large bite out of both. “That's it,” Howard whispered. “Good boy. Eat them quick, before your body has a chance to register. Good boy, there we go.”

It took fifteen minutes, and by the end Guy was clearly uncomfortable, rubbing his stomach and suppressing sickly hiccups, but eventually the slices disappeared. He sat quietly, moaning and cradling the invisible curve of his stomach. Once it became clear that he wasn't in a position for conversation, Howard put the TV on and left him to it.

“I should go,” Guy said quietly after two episodes of Doctor Who. He stood and began to pull his t-shirt back on.

“You don't have to,” Howard said, making no move to stop him. “You could stay the night, if you wanted.”

“No, it's late,” Guy said. “I was supposed to meet up with some friends.” He winced as he buttoned his jeans. “Maybe we could do this again sometime though?”

Howard sighed. He never really did ‘again’. “Maybe,” he said. “I uh, I'm only in Portsmouth for a few months for a work thing, I probably won't be uhh…”

“No, it's fine, I get it,” Guy said with a thin smile. “It's fine if this is just a one-time thing. Thanks for umm,” he looked over Howard's body, still laid out across the sofa, his gut overlapping his too-tight pants. “You've helped me figure some stuff out. Thank you.”

Howard heaved himself to his feet and stuck his hand out. “Always happy to figure some stuff out with someone,” he said. Guy took Howard's offered hand and shook it. “All the best Guy.”

“You too.”

The door closed and Howard collapsed back down onto the sofa. 

-

Howard groaned as he lowered himself into the seat, grateful for the easing of the pressure on his feet. He closed his eyes and just sat for a moment, breathing just a little too heavily for his liking. Ever since he'd crossed the 300 pound mark almost a decade ago, he'd been eagerly eyeing up 350, but he was starting to worry that it might have been just a little too much weight for him. He was just so big these days, and at more than a little ways past forty, he was starting to think that the big leagues, weight-wise, were a young man's game.

He opened his eyes slowly and reached towards the menu. No need to go hungry, anyway, whether or not he wanted to get much bigger, especially with his company footing the bill. A couple of starters, he thought, a big main, maybe one of those steaks, and then some big heavy dessert. That should just about hit the spot. He squeezed his overhang just a touch and sighed. Sitting down, with the dull ache in his feet fading away and his breathing going back to its usual light wheeze, rather than a heavy pant, he started to forget his earlier apprehension, just a few moments before. Being big felt fucking great, didn't it? What difference would another ten or fifteen pounds make, really?

His thoughts were interrupted by a shadow falling across his menu, and he looked up, expecting to see the waiter. What he saw instead was a wall of flesh - a man stood in front of him, outweighing Howard by, god, who knew how much? At least a hundred pounds, maybe even one-fifty. The man's soft gut hung down, almost touching the table, and his arms sat awkwardly at his sides, visibly pushed away from the man's huge, soft torso by gut and tit and roll. He looked like something out of one of Howard's fantasies, a scale he'd fervently imagined himself at, but never really aspired to.

"Howard?" the man asked. "It is Howard isn't it?"

Howard was stumped. He'd remember this man if they'd met, surely? Fantasised about him for weeks afterwards presumably, wistfully thinking back to that human barge he'd met in some business meeting or other?

"I'm so sorry," he said after a while. "I'm really trying to remember…"

"It's Guy," the man - Guy - said. "We met about eleven or twelve years ago." When Howard's face didn't lose its confused stupor he added - "In Portsmouth? I, uhh, look a little different I suppose." He punctuated this last bit by laying his hand on top of his gut.

Howard thought back, he'd not spent long in Portsmouth after all, six months maybe. Had he met a Guy? He looked up at the round face in front of him, subtracted ten years, a couple of chins, tried to imagine cheek bones beneath those jowls, noticed the bent nose that looked like it had been set badly, years before…

"Jesus fuck, Guy, " Howard said softly, his eyes widening. "Twink Guy?" he asked, his voice high. This whale in front of him couldn't have ever been that small fry, could he?

Guy laughed. "Twink Guy, I like that!" he said. "Can't say there's been much call for a nickname like that for a while now though." He smiled at Howard. "Are you waiting for someone? Maybe I could join you?"

Howard made a blustering noise that could be interpreted as a positive, and gestured at the seat opposite him. Guy pulled the chair back, far away from the table edge, and slowly, carefully, deliberately lowered himself down into it. Howard marveled at the practiced routine of it all - how far back the chair needed to go, the care with which the sturdy oak chair needed handling, the way that every movement was slow and deliberate and carefully considered to avoid bumping into anything, everything, around him. Most of all he marveled at how Guy barely seemed to register that any of this was out of the ordinary.

"God, it's good to get off your feet, isn't it," Guy sighed.

Howard studied Guy, trying to remember the rail thin twenty-something year old underneath the blubber. His face was huge, round cheeks bulging over sagging jowls around squinting eyes. His body was enormously broad - tits sloped down a mountainous gut down into his elbows. Even his fingers were fat - stubby little sausages attached to pillow palms.

Guy reached over his belly and picked up the menu, resting it on the shelf of his gut. “Shall we just get one of each of the starters and sides and share?” he asked after a while.

Howard’s eyebrows rose. He looked back at the menu - there was at least ten starters and the same amount of sides. How much was this man planning on eating?

“I'll foot the bill, don't worry” Guy said, misinterpreting Howard's reaction. “The least I can do.” He slapped the top of his gut, setting it swaying. “After all, I've got you to thank for this.”

Howard’s mouth closed and opened a few times. “Sorry, I'm not sure I… You've got me to thank?”

“Oh absolutely!” Guy said, nodding. His double chin shook with the motion.

At that point the waiter arrived, interrupting Guy. They both ordered a pint of ale, Guy ordered all the starters and sides, as he'd said, and Howard ordered the steak.

“God, that sounds good actually. Two of those. Medium-rare, yeah. And we’ll want the dessert menu after. Perfect, yeah, thanks.” Guy turned back to Howard. “Where were we? Yes! Thanking you, that was it.” He leant back, and Howard could see his shirt pulling out of his waistband to reveal a slab of pale flesh hanging out even while sitting. “After we, you know, after that night anyway, I just sort of knew I guess.”

“Knew what?” Howard asked.

“That I wanted to be fat!” Guy said loudly. Howard sank down in his seat as people at other tables looked over. “I mean, I knew before then, I guess, but it was all, I don't know, wanking over YouTube videos and those stupid stories about people getting paid to fatten themselves up or something. I never, god, I never imagined I could really do something like that.”

Their drinks arrived and the two were quiet for a while as they took their first large gulps. “And then you met me,” Howard offered.

“And then I met you!” Guy repeated. “God, the number of fat guys I must have stared at before you.” He laughed. “I thought I was being so subtle, but clearly you noticed pretty quick.”

Howard laughed as well. “Yeah, subtle didn't really come to mind,” he said. “I thought you were cruising, honestly. You were actually doing that to any fat guy you saw? Just, down the street?”

“Christ yes,” Guy laughed. “They must have all thought I was a creep.”

At that point, the first of the starters arrived. Guy fell quiet as he focussed on eating. Howard could see how he's gotten so large - eating was clearly serious business to this man. Each bite was relished, with time taken to enjoy the flavours, but no time was wasted - as soon as one bite was swallowed, more food would immediately be brought to his lips.

After the starters and while they waited for their mains, Guy spoke. “You know, I always imagined how much weight you were putting on,” he told Howard. “And I always sort of, I don't know, compared myself to the image of you I had in my head. Especially once I reached three hundred pounds, and I was so much softer than I remember you being, and then when I hit three-hundred and fifty, four hundred, and I thought, god, when did he hit these weights? How much bigger did he get? And I started to imagine, you know, we'd meet at some point and I'd have managed to get, I don't know, ten, twenty pounds bigger. And it'd be, god this is so stupid saying it out loud, like you'd passed the torch on or something. Honestly, it's a big reason I've been pushing myself to still get bigger and bigger.”

“Sorry to be a disappointment,” Howard said, rubbing his gut. He'd done his best to eat half of the food on the table, and while not full, he could feel himself slowing down; in comparison, Guy seemed to be impatiently waiting for more food. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so small.

“God, no!” Guy said. “I don’t mean, no, I'm not disappointed or anything. I do know, you know, that I've kind of taken this whole gaining thing further than most people are into. I never really, honestly I mean, thought I'd meet you again or whatever. It was always just something knocking around in the back of my head. I didn't even really know that you were a gainer, you might have lost it all for all I- fuck, sorry, I don't even- are you even a gainer? I just assumed.”

Howard waved his hand. “Don't worry, yeah, I… well. I mean, fifty pounds in ten years, it's hardly the kind of weight you've been putting on. But yeah, I'm on all the sites and stuff.”

“Hey, anyone else would be pulling their hair out over fifty pounds,” Guy said. “Us guys just have a skewed perspective about this stuff.”

Howard shrugged. “I guess. Sometimes I feel like I'm not making progress and sometimes I really look at myself and see just how big I am.”

“How big are you, if you don't mind me asking?” Guy asked.

“Three-sixty-something these days,” Howard said. “Probably a little more - lots of business trips. And you?”

“Just hit five hundred a couple of weeks ago,” Guy replied proudly. “Hit a bit of a plateau since, but it's great finally getting there, you know?”

Howard gave a low whistle. “That's a big boy number right there.” Guy laughed. “You're going for those kinds of weights then? Five-hundred plus?”

Guy grinned and nodded his head enthusiastically. “It's all I think about,” he said. “The more weight I put on, the more I want to put on. It's like, okay, when we first met that time, right? I got all excited and I decided I could put on, I don't know, twenty pounds, see how that felt. And it was nothing. So I thought, okay, fifty pounds, and then I'd put on fifty pounds and I was starting to feel chubby but…”

“It wasn't as big as you'd thought it would be?” Howard asked.

“God, not nearly anything like it,” Guy agreed. “Like, fifty pounds you know? That's a lot of weight! And it just didn't look like it. So I went up to two-hundred and fifty, and that wasn't enough, then three hundred, and I thought, surely, surely three hundred’s where you start to feel big. And that's how big you were! I fucked other big guys, don't get me wrong, but you were the first - I built you up into a bit of myth in my head I think.”

“I'm flattered,” Howard said.

“Well, I got to three-hundred pounds, as big as Howard, and it still wasn't big enough,” Guy continued. “So I added another fifty, and that wasn't enough, and another, and four-hundred still didn't feel big enough.” He sighed. “You never feel like that?”

Howard spread his hands on the table and studied them for a while. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “Not often. I do feel big, most of the time. Big enough. But every so often I catch a glimpse of myself and I just think… is this really twenty-five stone? Surely I should be huge by now? When I was younger I couldn't imagine how big that must be and now…”

“Now it's just the size you are,” Guy finished. “It's normal.”

Howard nodded as their mains got brought over. Howard tried to hide his nervousness at the size of the portion; chips were piled high next to a steak as big as his face and over an inch thick. Guy licked his lips and started eating immediately, stopping only when the sides got brought over.

It took nearly two hours for Howard to get through his steak, sides and the selection of desserts Guy had ordered. Guy watched him, having finished long before, occasionally offering words of encouragement, but generally just filling Howard in on his life; the company he'd started, the relationships with increasingly larger men who were just never big enough, the years and years of gluttony and sloth that had built him into the man Howard saw before him.

Howard leant back and drummed his fingers on his gut. It has been a while since he'd felt it so taut, and the sensation left him rock hard. He opened one eye and watched Guy for a while.

“I've got a room upstairs,” Howard said after a while. “If you wanted to…?”

Guy smiled. “I thought you said you were married now.”

“We’re open,” Howard reassured him. “I spend a lot of time away with work and we both know that we’ll be better off if we get to relieve some tension every so often.”

“Well then,” Guy said with raised eyebrows. “Shall we?”

They both stood, Howard feeling particularly spritely for the first time in a while; he found himself waiting for Guy to haul himself to his feet. The two made their way slowly to the elevator, which sunk noticeably as the two men entered.

As the doors closed, Guy reached over and put a hand on Howard's love handle and squeezed. “Just like I remember,” he said with a smile.

“Hopefully a little bigger?” Howard said.

“Don't worry,” Guy said. “I can see all the progress you've made. But it's that same solid ball gut I've been having wet dreams about for the past decade.” He slapped it a few times, resulting in a dull thump. He slid a finger through a gap between the buttons in Howard’s shirt and stroked the furry skin around his belly button.

The elevator door opened, and the two made their way to Howard's hotel room. Howard let them in and Guy made his slow way over to the bed and gingerly sat down. Howard stood in front of him and let his gut bump into Guy's face, who reached up and began to unbutton Howard's shirt for him.

“Oh yes,” Guy said. “I've missed this a lot.” He ran his fingers through the hair on Howard's gut and up onto his soft chest as Howard pulled off his jacket and shirt and threw them to the side. Guy leant forward and nuzzled his nose into Howard's belly button, before replacing it with his tongue as he worked his fingers under Howard's overhang to undo his belt and pull his trousers down.

Guy lifted Howard's gut slightly, and deftly pushed the fat back slightly to reveal more of his hardening cock. “This is bigger than I remember,” he said.

“My cock?” Howard asked. “Really?”

Guy laughed. “Sorry, no. I meant your fat pad.”

“Ah,” Howard said. “Suppose that would be a bit too much to ask for.”

“I personally have come to enjoy the effects of fat on a man's cock,” Guy said.

“Not one I'm particularly thrilled with myself,” Howard grumbled.

“Well maybe I can make it up to you,” Guy said, before slipping his mouth over Howard's dick.

Howard's breath caught. The key to giving a good blowjob, Howard had learnt over the years, is to really, truly, genuinely want that dick in your mouth, and Guy was clearly hungry for it. No opportunity was missed to taste or lick or suck on any and all exposed skin. His balls, his shaft, his head, his taint, all of it was lovingly cared for in turn. It wasn't long before Howard was shooting down Guy's throat.

Guy sat back and smiled as he swallowed. Howard thought back to how prominent his Adam’s apple used to be - it was now barely visible in his lardy neck.

Howard sank down to his knees, and lifted Guy’s gut to gain access to his belt buckle. As he undid his trousers, Guy pulled his shirt up and over his head, revealing soft, undulating flesh. Together, the two slowly managed to peel Guy’s clothes off of his body until he was sat in only his socks.

Howard once more lifted Guy’s gut and pushed back at the soft fat filling his crotch, unveiling the nub of his cock. He leant forward to lick the exposed head, but quickly had to pull back as his face became enveloped with fat from above.

“You don't have to,” Guy said. “I know that it's not easy to-”

“Lean back,” Howard said, pushing back on Guy’s torso. “And hold your belly.”

Guy obeyed, laying down on the bed so that his flab cascaded back towards his face. Howard pushed down on his fat pad, revealing another inch or so of cock. As Howard took it into his mouth, licking its meager length and the small scrotum, he thought back to the long cock Guy had the last time they'd met, now swallowed on thick fat.

Howard inhaled deeply, taking in the sour musk of Guy’s crotch and continued to lap at the small length available to him. He began to pump the fat surrounding his cock, using it to jerk the length he couldn't see. The wall of fat above him began to shake and quiver, until sticky cum spurted out. Howard noted how sweet it tasted, and wondered if his own cum had gotten sweeter as he'd gotten fatter.

“That was great,” Guy said.

“Glad to be of service,” Howard replied.

Guy shuffled his weight back up the bed, setting the frame creaking and groaning. He patted the bed next to him. “I think I was big spoon last time.”

“I think you might have been,” Howard said. From this angle, Guy looked almost impossibly wide. His gut spilled out, pulled down and to the sides by gravity, so that he resembled a large pillow. Howard settled down next to him, teetering on the edge of the bed, and curled up to the large mass. “I don't think these beds are really built for men our size.”

“Not two of us, anyway,” Guy said. “I can go, if that's easier?”

Howard shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “We can stay a while.”

The two lay quietly for a while. Their heavy breathing filled the room.

“It's been a while,” Guy said after a while.

“What has?” Howard asked.

“Since I've been with anyone,” Guy clarified. “Once you reach a certain size, the mechanics all get a bit awkward.”

“How so?” Howard asked.

Guy sighed. “I can barely even reach my cock these days,” he admitted. “Bit of a faff for someone else to reach it, too. Generally guys just feed me these days, then deal with themselves.”

“You okay with that?” Howard asked.

“Oh yeah,” Guy insisted. “Don't worry about me. Not much difference these days between eating and sex for me. But this was… this was nice.”

“You still like it then?” Howard asked. “Being big? Getting bigger?”

“God yes,” Guy beamed. “There's nothing like it. I can't imagine stopping. How about you? Happy to stop where you are?”

“You know, I might well be open to packing a little more on,” Howard said.

“You let me know if you're ever up to getting fed then, eh?” Guy said. “I saw you struggling with those kiddy portions. You’re going to need pushing if you want to get really big.”

“Is that so?” Howard asked, laughing. 

Guy struggled to sit up. “Absolutely,” he said. “I distinctly remember you pushing me to eat two extra slices of pizza beyond what I thought I could. That lesson stuck with me. It's time you learnt it too.” He hauled himself to the side of the bed and panted for a moment or two. “I'll leave you be. Can't have you hanging off the bed all night.”

“Leave your number?” Howard said.

Guy smiled. “Definitely,” he said. He looked down at the clothes strewn about on the floor. “I uh… don't suppose you'd pick up my clothes for me? Bending down’s a bit of an ordeal these days.”

Howard chuckled and helped Guy collect his clothes and put them on. “Let's make sure it's not another decade, eh?”

Guy smiled. “Of course,” he said and patted Howard's gut. “We've got to make sure to put some meat on these bones.”

The door closed and Howard collapsed back down onto the bed. 

[pecanwriter]

“Do you think it still fits?”

“ I mean… No, not even in the slightest… You look like rising dough trying to stay in its container and failing miserably.” 

“So you don’t think I should wear this to the show?”

“Oh no, no. You should absolutely wear it.”

[lucipiggy]

Some feeder who wants to see me eat wants to see my belly as inflated as a balloon about to burst write to the Dm

[suitedforboss]

Daddy really let himself go with the stuffing, he is about to burst...and he loves it! * Send me a PM if you want me to create an AI daddy for you according to your wish      

[allfryam]

Sugarcoated

Andrew was an all star basketball player all through high school and he loved it. He worked out often and he had a slim body with a nice six pack.

andrew was always in shape. He loved playing sports and exercising so it was easy for him. When Andrew was almost finished with his senior year of high school, he had to pick his college classes. When Andrew was looking through the list he found a baking class. Andrew always wanted to step out of his comfort zone and maybe get into a new hobby. Besides, Andrew loved sweets so it would be free food. Andrew was always in for free food.

His whole life, Andrew loved eating. It was the only thing he liked more than working out. He had a crazy fast metabolism though so he would never gain a pound. Once, he ate an entire pizza all by himself. When he was finished he even drove out to get some ice cream. His mom always said his stomach was like a bottomless pit.

andrew’s first few weeks at college were great. His roommate was in a few of his classes including the baking class. With all of the homework and parties Andrew was going to, he almost never had time to work out. This was fine with him though because he couldn’t gain weight if he tried.

one day in his baking class, the teacher made Andrew and his roommate stay and talk to him after class. He told them he accidentally baked three times the amount of cookies he needed to bake. He was wondering if Andrew and his roommate could eat the extras so he wouldn’t have to throw any away.

Andrew thought this would be easy. How many cookies could it even be? 10? 12? “48”. Said the teacher. Andrew didn’t know what to say. 48 cookies was a lot. But he was definitely going to try.

The first few cookies were great. They were like sugar cookies but with a really rich icing on top. After about 10 cookies, Andrew’s roommate said he had to go, so he wished Andrew good luck and left.

Andrew ate the cookies two at a time, one in each hand. Eventually it came down to just two more. Andrew could barely eat another bite. With the encouragement of his teacher, he shoved the last two cookies down his throat and let out a massive burp of relief. And for the fist time in forever, Andrew could see his stomach just barely poking out from beneath his shirt.

over the next few months, Andrew started eating more and more desserts as the class got more intense. Pies, cakes, cookies, biscuits, pastries, bread, scones. And Andrew loved it. He started to notice that all of his shirts were starting to get tighter. There must have been a problem with the washing machine.

it eventually got to the point where Andrew found out he could take a lot of his classes online so he would even have to leave his dorm. Even the baking class would send him ingredients to make the pastries at home. Andrew loved this idea. And apparently so did his stomach.

andrew’s roommate eventually said something to Andrew about his weight gain. He pointed out how none of his shirts fit anymore and he could always see his new round jiggly belly bouncing around when he walked. He also told Andrew he loved it.

Andrew decided that his roommate was just playing a prank on him and he wasn’t gaining weight at all. But it got so bad that Andrew would only wear sweatpants, and he didn’t even bother trying to put on a shirt. Besides, he enjoyed the freedom of letting his belly do what it wanted.

Andrew’s roommate loved to bring home dessert for Andrew and he loved to watch Andrew eat it even more. One time he brought home an entire chocolate cake with rich, creamy icing and bits of Oreos drizzled on top. Andrew was eager to have a slice or two but his roommate wanted him to eat the whole thing.

Andrew started with the first slice. He didn’t even use a fork, just his chubby, greasy hands. He shoved the cake into his face, smearing chocolate all over his lips. He grabbed a second slice and did the same, his stomach began to stretch and expand, getting closer and closer to the counter. After the third slice, Andrew’s stomach was pressed up against the counter. Andrew was eager to finish this cake as he never gave up on a bet.

he moved to the couch and laid on his back with his expanding stomach in the air, wobbling as he laid down. He shoved the fourth piece into his mouth and was starting to feel full. He told his roommate to help him with the last two slices. He was happy to shove some more cake into his mouth. He climbed on top of Andrew’s stomach and began to push cake into his mouth like he was pushing coins into a slot machine.

by the end of the year, Andrew had completely changed. His sharp jawline now completely covered by a thick double chin. His muscular arms were more like flabby sausages now and the most significant change was his stomach. At the beginning of the year he had rock hard abs that looked like they had been carved from stone. But now, he had a large, round, hairy, ball of lard for a stomach. It completely hung over his belt and Andrew hadn’t seen his feet in months. Andrew didn’t plan on stopping either. After nearly 85 lbs of weight piled onto him, he finally realized that he was fat. And he loved it.

[battorlstuff]

A Real Dad P.2

The Biggest of His Fantasies

They all arrived at the airport early, seemed to be in a good mood and were even laughing and suddenly there was silence when Carlos arrived. From that moment until they boarded the plane the men barely spoke, so Frank was the one chosen to share a seat with the arrogant stud.

"You have a good physique, you spend a lot of time in the gym huh?" Frank started the conversation, deep down he just wanted Carlos to give him even more reasons to ruin that body.

"You bet" Carlos proudly flexed his biceps, and there was the obese man looking at those muscles and imagining what it would be like to turn them into pure lard.

"You'll see it will be great" he said simply, he could have stayed there, oh no but Carlos always had to be arrogant, it was in his nature.

"I don't doubt it man, althoughI think I'll have a lot more fun than you guys, look at me" he lifted his shirt and revealed his sexy six pack "I'll have the attention of many ladies, rest assured".

"It's a shame they won't be able to have fun in the same way"

"I know, we're all married man" Frank remained calm, but he didn't make it easy for him.

"I didn't just mean that, you know."

Carlos slapped Frank's belly and laughed, not even noticing the serious look on the man's face. "I don't think the girls want to see that, you better keep your that thing covered haha."

Carlos was laughing but Frank seemed too serious, his calmness was fading as he looked at that muscular body.

"Oh we are having fun, that's for sure" Frank's smile suddenly seemed malicious, although Carlos thought the man laughed at his joke, in reality it was a mocking laugh staring at Carlos's bulging biceps and muscles out of the corner of his eye.

After the first hour of flight Frank had a strange dream, one of the best he has had in his life...

Frank was still on the plane, but it hadn't taken off, then he hears laughter, Carlos.

He kept laughing and pointing at Frank, at first the man was confused, then he realized, Frank was shirtless showing off his flaccid body, each roll of fat was worshiped between the seat while he struggled to get up and get to Carlos, who had his shirt in his hand.

'Fatso, disgusting pileof lard, pig...oink...oink' somehow all those insults were what Frank had heard since high school, all those idiots picking on him for being fat, Carlos reminded him of all of them.

Then everything goes dark and Frank is in the cockpit, Carlos tied and naked in a seat, a strange gallon in his hand and a funel in the jock's mouth. Frank knows what to do and with a smile he pours the liquid into Carlos's mouth. He starts laughing like a maniac while he watches Carlos's muscles deteriorate.

His abs practically dissolve, the seat squeaks and his pecs turn into mobs, as he pours more and more of the liquid. It seems to have no end, Carlos cries and growls while his body is being ruined. His arms lose definition as those biceps he is so proud of become lost in the fat, his butt becomes deformed and his face is buried between double chins and chubby cheeks.

Folds and folds of fat hang from his thighs, his enormous belly grows to cover his knees, and his mobs hang as two sacks of lard up to his waist, oh where his v-line used to be.

"You think girls will like that? you think they like it! I don't think so, you're disgusting, what's wrong, where are tour muscles? You're not so cocky anymore, huh?" Frank loves the view, the arrogant jock is crying, it's not just Carlos, it's all the guys who have screwed him over throughout his life.

"Flex those abs now, flex them!" The man shouts red with anger and shaking the fat rolls of the devastated Carlos, who miserably tries to find some trace of his six-pack among the mound of fat that is now his belly.

Thus his dream, his fantasy, ends, the stewardess announces that they have arrived in Hawaii and they will be able to get off in a few moments. Frank looks to his side and sees Carlos still thin and muscular, still arrogant and cocky, for now, because Frank is willing to change that and make his fantasy come true. The man can't stop thinking about how fat Carlos was in his dream while he looks at the hard pecs and flat stomach of the younger man.

Frank was silent, he couldn't stop thinking about his dream, so when it was his turn to share the room with Carlos and he took off his shirt, Frank could only imagine him fat and out of shape, after all that's what a dad must look like, not with tight muscles and abs, no. . I will teach you Frank thinks.

"Alright guys, Carlos has joined the group on this trip, we must welcome him..." Frank takes a strange glass bottle out of the suitcase, inside it you can see a whitish and milky liquid that is too thick.

"Drink this Carlos, it's a gift, one of the most luxurious drinks you could get... it's a tradition, we've all done it" Frank laughs but once again that smile is malicious, as he looks at the others to play along.

"Yes, it is delicious, man, the best of the best, deep down." Carlos only drank it while everyone encouraged him, the thick liquid immediately fell into his stomach. It was difficult to swallow but Carlos didn't stop and they wouldn't let him stop.

Soon the bottle was half full and Frank approached, put a hand on Carlos's abdomen and tilted the bottle further, Carlos almost choked, the strange serum stained his shirt and soon it was done, he belched and wiped his mouth. Carlos raised the bottle in victory, little did he know that it would actually be his downfall.

P.1

[adiprose-abernath]

The Living Exhibit

A nightguard working part time at the Adiprose Museum of History and Science gets a little more than he bargained for when the exhibitor becomes the exhibit

Cw: Male weight gain, immobility, force feeding, unwilling weight gain

Jason headed into his new job, whistling a short tune. It's about 9pm and most to everyone in the facility is gone. He took this as a part time job but he enjoys the new exhibits that come and go. Art pieces and statues, old bones and experiments, histories and mysteries unfolded for the public to see. This museum recently got an addition from a new anonymous benefactor and it would be presented to the public tomorrow.

He slides in his keys and lets out a sigh. He walks to his desk, coffee in hand and proceeds to login. Checking the cameras, he clocks in and proceeds his evening shift. He flips through the different wings: dinosaurs, paleolithic, ancient civilizations like Greece and Rome, and more modern ones of America and Britain. He finally gets to the last camera which was installed today over the new exhibit. It's a gigantic rectangular cube covered in a sheer sheet that the shitty camera can barely display. It appears to be at least 20 feet tall. Curious and with nothing better to do, he heads to the exhibit.

It isn't far, just in the left wing, and he makes it to the chamber. Seeing it in person it dwarfs him. He takes out a little remote from his pocket and clicks it twice, knowing that the camera will be down for its scheduled maintenance so he could get a look at this device. Pulling at the sheet, it comes undone and is revealed in full form.

It is a strange device, with nozzles and buttons galore. Different tubes are filled with multicolored liquids that seem to bubble and churn within a myriad of vats. This all culminates to a singular hose that extends out of the front of the device and a keypad. Emblazoned on the side it says "The Tru-Feed Machine: Prototype 1." Supposedly, according to research, Ipidlay Industries was developing a new machine that was to revolutionize the way they handled world hunger. Why worry about getting the exact ingredients when you could simulate the taste with the appropriate amount of calories. Unfortunately for Jason, what he didn't know was this specific machine was only a prototype which had some...setbacks.

Knowing about its ability to produce any kind of food one could want, he decides to test out the machine a bit and ask it for a mocha latte with marshmallows. He then plinks that into the keyboard and hits the enter key. The machine whirrs to life, beeping and booping, its nozzles and containers mixing and churning and screeching, slowly but surely producing a slurry into the central nozzle. Little by little, it spins and swirls, til a small cup is produced and the nozzle dispenses the concoction in a small sampler for him. Jason takes a sip and, while it certainly was not the exact consistency that he was used to, this was the best mocha he'd ever had. In fact, the one he'd had only a minute before paled in comparison to the one he'd gotten. Hell, he'd never have to bring food here ever again! Of course, it was set to sampler mode so he'd need to adjust it a tiny bit but that could be remedied.

Jason went to the back of the machine and found the sampler module and ripped it out. With a spark, the machine died, but only for a moment. As it came back on, Jason cracked his fingers and prepared an order list. Then, grabbing his bag, he dumped out the food he'd had and input the device the exact same food he'd had. This would be a cinche.

Except that was not what happened. Instead of the nozzle producing a cup, the machine began to whirr and whistle and churn and chortle til it began to shoot a gloopish stream all over the floor. Panicked at the discovery of such a mess, Jason did the only think that he could think to do and placed his mouth on the nozzle.

It was cold and metallic but not altogether unpleasant as streams of marinara and meat sauce and pasta went down his throat. Feeling himself full, he prepared to detach his face from the device before two twin clamps distended from the sides of the machine and clamped onto his hands. Attempting to scream, he tried to yank off the device to no avail watching the screen in front of him, assuming its nutritional mode, attempt to feed like it would an entire African village. Of course, this wasn't the only thing notable of the experience.

His shirt was feeling tightened, the buttons visibly straining against the belly that was blimping beneath it. It wasn't but a second later before he heard a clatter of plastic on the floor, followed by three and four. He was fit prior, with a beautifully sculpted Italian abs akin to the statues they'd taken from Rome. But now, those same abs became hairy flesh that sluggishly popped buttons as dozens upon dozens of calories were pumped inside.

He began to tear up ever so slightly. How the hell was he gonna get a guy now? But those thoughts were pushed away as he felt his belt begin to undo itself, willed by the bloating behemoth of a beach ball belly that was budging against it. With a massive crash, it fell apart clattering to the floor, followed by his pants soon after. Without shirt or pants in the way, he swelled further and further, the perky pecs replaced with plumply pillows. He was red in the face, both from embarrassment, and also from the feeling in his stretching underwear which was being made ever tighter by a feeling in them. Was he...starting to enjoy this?

It didn't take long before the underpants went too. It was around midnight when this occurred and he felt his belly descend and begin to send his center of balance off. He stumbled a bit before collapsing on his ballooning buttocks, fully giving into the great gains. At nearly 4 times the size he began, he used his arms to caress the furry flesh his form was becoming. Soon enough, he could feel himself pass nearly a thousand pounds. It didn't matter though, because in that moment he could feel years of sexual repression go, a blast of white in the underside of his monumental mound. Aroused and truly engulfed in fat, he gave in and found himself drift gently asleep.

The following day came and rather than be shocked or appalled, the museum staff saw an opportunity and made Jason the living lard: a statue made in the gluttony of mankind's greed. You can visit him now and for a bit of extra fun, plug in a couple more meals into his feeding computer. I'm certain he won't mind