teaseandsqueeze

[teaseandsqueeze]

The Program: Chapter Two

The Assessment

                “So…huff…what is it, exactly…puff…that I’m supposed to be…herm…doing?”

                Coach Hermes had instructed Dylan to dress himself, to go about clothing himself as normal. As had become the standard—one which Dylan barely registered as problematic—the effort of putting his socks and shoes on in the morning had become a challenge, just like the act of tugging those tight shorts over his fattened booty…just like yanking on a shirt so it covered the whole of his belly…   

“Today is our first full day of interactive assessment,” said Hermes in a cool voice. It was disconcerting having an A.I. device capable of whispering in your ear at any given time in the day. Even more disconcerting was the fact that the A.I. had gotten more familiar with him. It had learned quite a bit about him in the twenty-four-hours since Dylan had locked it into his head, since he had committed to its assistance for a full year. “Yesterday, I observed your habits without commentary. Today, we discuss those habits…and potential for how to change them, as a team. You are to go about your day as normal, and then we will assess together your eating, exercise, and social habits…Now, as we have a busy day today, Dylan, it might behoove you to get a move on with those socks.”

Trying to retain some semblance of dignity, Dylan hurried, swapping out his legs, pulling one blubbery thigh up over the other. His legs were taking up too much space, pressed up against his big belly, to allow him to comfortably dress as a normal man would. As a fit man could. As he used to be able to do without thinking twice about it, not so long ago.

“Tsk, tsk,” said the A.I. in his ear. “Such a shame, that a young fit man would eat himself silly like this! The fat really went to those chubby legs of yours, didn’t it, big boy?”

Dylan said nothing. He had finally pulled the sock up over his foot and was now squirming off the edge of his bed.

Coach Hermes cleared his throat. “Ahem…I believe I asked you a question, Dylan. Did your legs not blimp up faster than the rest of your body as you put on weight?”

“Um…yes!” said Dylan. “Y-yes, they did…Coach”

“Thank you,” said the app. “Don’t worry. You’ll remember your manners in no time! All it will take is a bit of conditioning!”

Dylan wasn’t exactly worried that he had ‘forgotten his manners,’ but was considering if he would not soon regret that the Coach was locked permanently in his ear for the next 364 days.

He moved to his closet, surveying his shirts. It was Sunday, his last day of the weekend before he had to return to work. He could wear something casual, today. Something stretchy. He reached up to grab one of his largest oversized t-shirts, when the app said in his ear…

“What about that one?”

“Which one?” asked Dylan, his heart sinking before he hastily added, “Coach?”

“The pink one…three shirts down. To your left,” said Hermes.

Dylan looked. It was one of his favorites—or former favorites. A bright pink one that complimented his tan skin tone and once drew attention to his rugged good looks and fit, muscular body. Ashamed by the results of his newfound eating habits, he hadn’t even tried it on since he had gained the weight.

“I…I’m not so sure I would fit into it, Coach,” said Dylan.

“But it’s one of your favorites, is it not?” asked the app.

“Uh, well…it used to be…” said Dylan. How did he—or rather, it—know that?

“Before you blimped up, you mean,” said Hermes, smugly. Dylan didn’t know what to say. “Oh, go on. Try it on. What could it hurt?”

Dylan obliged, removing the shirt from its hanger. He stalled by taking time to pick one of his stretchier pairs of shorts, a light cream khaki pair that would complement the vibrant pink. It would still be insanely tight on him, he knew. But at least there wasn’t the risk of him popping a button in public…hopefully.

At last, the time came. As quickly as he could, Dylan wriggled his body, first into the shorts, where he found some considerable trouble tugging them up over his rear end and then struggled for a couple minutes to locate his button, which was caught beneath his doughy stomach. When at last he got his fly zipped, he could see his belly, a round white sack of voluptuous fat, straining against the waistband. Oof, he thought internally. I look fat as fuck.

Then came the shirt. It wasn’t much of a struggle to slip over his head. But the rest of it was a feat. He managed to get both arms through the tights sleeves and was about to start rolling it down the rest of his body, when the A.I. Coach interrupted.

“Listen,” said Hermes. Dylan groaned internally. What now? he thought. “Dylan. I want to draw your attention to something. Go ahead and take a look in the mirror.” Dylan did as he was told, moving over to the mirror leaning against the wall. “I think it’s pretty remarkable how all your fresh fat accumulated in your body. In such a unique way, wouldn’t you say?”

“Uh…sure, Coach.”

“Now, go ahead and finish putting the shirt on.” Dylan did so, unrolling the pink fabric down his chubby body. His man breasts took up so much of the space and jiggled with nearly every movement of his body. “Hehe, well, we’ll certainly have to do something about those ‘pecs’ of yours, wont we?” Dylan blushed. He tugged the shirt further, covering the rest of his chest, his upper torso, and finally the bottom of his shirt landed just above his navel.

“See…” huffed Dylan. “It doesn’t fit…”

“I can see that,” drawled Coach Hermes. “Wow! That fat stomach is even pudgier than I thought! I figured you would at least be able to cover your whole belly! No matter…”

“No matter?” exclaimed Dylan, indignant. “Coach, I can’t go out looking like this!” he glanced at himself again. He looked like the Pillsbury doughboy crammed into a Ken Doll outfit; all his dough exposed in all the wrong places. So much—too much—of his thighs ballooned out from his shorts and his stomach and love handles were exploding up over his waistband. It wasn’t even cute…

“Sure, you can go out like that,” purred Hermes. “It’s 2023, isn’t it? There’s that whole body positivity movement and whatnot? And it’s summer! Crop tops are all the rage!”

For fit jocks with six-pack abs, thought Dylan.

“Go on…” said Hermes, “Daylight’s wasting! And you haven’t even had breakfast yet! I know you’re hungry, aren’t you big boy?”

He was. His stomach was already growling at him. It was past ten o’clock and by now, he would usually have walked down to the local bakery and would already be stuffing pastries into his face. But he was a regular there. Of course, the baristas knew him and they already knew he had gotten fat. In fact, they had been some of his main enablers, always offering him treats, extra coffees that were made incorrectly; thick Frappuccino’s, new baked goods they wanted him to try. Especially that tall, fit barista who always wore the beanie; a muscular beauty with beautiful tattoos that covered the ginger brown skin on his arms. Xavier could always be counted on to coax a newly-made frosting into Dylan for him to try.

Dylan looked down at his belly, the light white strip of fat protruding in front of him, obscuring his toes. What would stop someone from simply poking him in the belly? From poking fun at him as he waddled by?

“You know what, Coach,” said Dylan. He smiled as he reached down to the bottom of his shirt, crisscrossing his arms as he prepared to yank the thing up over his head. What was he doing, anyway, listening to an automated device? He could make his own decisions! “I don’t think I will be wearing this out in public.”

“Oh, no?” said Hermes.

“No,” said Dylan. “Not today.”

“Suit yourself,” said Coach Hermes.

Dylan did, and he began to pull his shirt upwards, to yank it off his body.

Just then, a sensation coursed through his body. It emulated from his wrist—from the watch that accompanied the earpiece and contact lens in his head—and spread in an instant through his arm, up his chest, and across his nervous system. For a second, his body was illuminated in a sharp, hot flash. Stunned, he gasped, rendered petrified, unable to move. And almost as quickly as it had begun, it was over, and he collapsed against the edge of his bed in a plump, heaving, sweaty mess.

“That was a mild shock. For your defiance,” said Hermes, as cool and as calm as ever. “Defy me again and you will see increased consequences. Is that understood, Dylan?”

“Y-yes, Coach!” Dylan whimpered.

“Very good,” said Hermes. “Now, let’s get some shoes on and get you some breakfast…”

Within minutes, Dylan had his shoes tied, a backpack strung across his back, and was treading out the door towards the café.

The shock had been enough to keep him in line until he got out the door. He didn’t remember it being on the contract. But then, he hadn’t really read the contract. He’d just pressed his thumb on it. Still, his coworker, Diego hadn’t mentioned anything about it, either! Maybe he’d just forgotten. Or, maybe, he’d never tried to tell his own fitness app ‘no.’ At any rate, Dylan understood why the designers would integrate a failsafe like this into the device. It was certainly an effective deterrent, if a cruel one. But, perhaps there was a way to get it uninstalled. He would have to ask Diego…or even call the software store, if it came to it.

“Hehe, out of breath already, are we?” teased Hermes in his ear. He was only a couple blocks from home. He hadn’t realized he was panting. And he wasn’t even walking that fast. He had been so focused on trying to keep his arms in front of his belly, to cover as much of his fat tummy as possible. It was driving him wild, the jiggling of his belly, the way it quivered, left to right, up and down, every which way with every step. Trembling and exposed, for the entire city to see.

Dylan did his best to steady his breath as he walked the remaining blocks. “I never seem to understand how you humans can get so out of shape without realizing it. Based on my observations, you put on…am I correct in estimating seventy-five pounds…since the start of the pandemic?”

“Yeah…” huffed Dylan. “Something like that…Coach…”

“Fascinating…and you never realized what was happening to your body? How much weight you were putting on? How you no longer fit into your clothes anymore?”

“I didn’t own a scale at the time,” was all Dylan could think to say.

The A.I. paused, not saying anything for a moment. And then, “Well, I suppose we’ll have to make sure to keep you in steady supply of the necessary equipment, won’t we fat boy? Ah, looks like your big belly’s in luck! We’ve arrived!”

They had. The familiar green door, covered with advertisements for local meetups and music and fun stood closed before him. He leaned forward, drawing in a breath, and pressed. The familiar scent of coffee, hot breakfast sandwiches, and pastries filled his nostrils. He looked around. Not many regular customers—no one he was super familiar with—and none of the friendlier baristas. He swiveled his eyes to the other end of the counter and his heart dropped deep into the pit of his enlarged stomach.

There he was. Xavier, shaking a metal cup of something. He looked up, smiling as Dylan walked in. “Hey dude!” said the barista, friendly as ever. Dylan returned the greeting. And then he blushed as Xavier’s eyes fell, from Dylan’s face to his navel, where his exposed belly was still quivering from his last step. Xavier’s eyes widened, but the rest of his face remained unchanged.

“Here,” he said, “I’ve got your order right here.”

“Oh,” said Dylan. “But I haven’t ordered yet.”

Xavier looked confused, but in Dylan’s ear, Coach Hermes whispered. “Actually, I took the liberty of ordering ahead for you, as we are behind on time. I cross-referenced your bank statements with the company’s receipts of your orders, as well as the typical caloric intake for your patronage. And then I averaged the results…”

“Wait…this isn’t yours?” said Xavier.

“Oh, never mind,” Dylan faked a laugh, smacking his forehead. “I’m dumb! I literally never order online, so I forgot.”

Xavier laughed, curiously as he picked up the receipt from the stack of food and drinks.

“I’ve got two turkey-egg-and-cheese breakfast bagels, one poppyseed muffin, one blueberry muffin, a cream cheese Danish, and one extra-venti caramel iced macchiato with extra whipped cream on top?”

“That’s the one…” said Hermes.

“That’s the one!” said Dylan, a little too enthusiastic. God, he’s gonna think I’m such a fatass. Dylan blushed, as he reached his hands forward, allowing Xavier to place the bag of food and drink into his thick, extended arms.

“All yours man,” said Xavier. He dropped his voice. “And I snuck in a cookie for you as well…I know how much you like them! Fresh out of the oven!”

Dylan squirmed internally. “Wow…uh…thanks so much, Xavier!”

Xavier grinned. “You’re welcome.” Dylan turned away to find a table. “Hey, Dylan,” Xavier called after him. Xavier turned, raising his eyebrows. “I really like your crop top!”

He couldn’t see himself, but Dylan could feel his face turn beet red. He thanked the barista and then waddled as fast as he could to the opposite end of the café.

“Hmmm,” purred Hermes in his ear. “I think I’m starting to understand part of why you blew up. You’ve been coming in here for a couple years, haven’t you?”

“Uh huh,” muttered Dylan as he began to gulp his drink. It was delicious, but he barely tasted the overwhelm of sugar and flavor on his tongue as he eyes fixated on Xavier’s bulging arm muscles. He imagined those arms, those comely caramel hands, pressed up against Dylan’s cream-colored ones. Like a chocolate-vanilla-swirl ice cream cone.

“You like him, don’t you?” asked Hermes. Dylan said nothing and for once Hermes let him get away with it. “I think he likes you too…”

“Really?” whispered Dylan. He was starting to get looks from the patrons around him. He stuffed the bagel into his face, gulping it down in a couple bites.

“Oh, for sure!” said Hermes. “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to allow you to see him during our training…he might interfere with your progress…but still…it’s nice to be able to recognize your motivations…and your reasons for blubbing up…and look at it this way. At least someone isn’t completely disgusted by the fact that you’ve porked up into a fat fucking pig!” And then the coach laughed, meanly, cruelly.

Somehow, the taunting did not prevent Dylan from eating. If anything, his stomach seemed to have stretched to accommodate the whole of the heaping mound of food before him. As if the teasing made him want to eat his feelings, rather than stop. It wasn’t until he had pushed the last morsel of food; the warm cookie Xavier had snuck into his pile, that the App said, “damn! What an appetite! You’ve eaten almost as many calories as you need for the day! And it’s not even eleven!”

Dylan brushed the crumbs from his chest, his stomach, which jiggled as he did so. “Well, now that we’ve stuffed ourselves silly, are we ready for the rest of the day?”

Dylan gulped down the last sip of his glorified milkshake, the caffeine pumping through his thickened veins. He was anything but ready for a day of teasing and taunting. But, if it kept Hermes from shocking his arm again, he would do anything to keep that sensation from ever happening again.

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” he whispered. “…Coach!”

[teaseandsqueeze]

The Program: Chapter One

“Dude, I swear by it! Six months! That’s all it took to whip me into shape! Two years of Pandemic fat gone like that! Trust me, you won’t regret it!”

                Diego’s words rang in Dylan’s memory as he stared down at the little earpiece in his hand. It looked like a little white snake, curled up in his softened palm. This was his last opportunity to back out, to put the thing back in the box and return it to the software store. He could get back in shape on his own, couldn’t he? if he just committed to going to the gym four times a week, documenting his workouts, journaling his food habits…

                He looked up at his reflection in the mirror. A husk of the former man he used to be. Or rather, it looked more like the hottie-with-a-body from the past had been stuffed into a suit made of dough, which had only expanded over the course of the last three years. His face still retained his former “adorableness,” as the ladies and gays at the office put it. He still had the good looks as the fat had hardly affected his face.

                But the rest of his body…it was an entirely different story. Just the sight of himself, standing alone in his room, was enough to make him blush. Everything had filled out. Exposed in his underwear, he looked first at the thighs which pressed up against each other like rising bread. His love handles that now jutted up over his waistband. The tight briefs he had not bothered to replace were covered in the front by the gut that had just begun to descend—a major factor in his deciding to try out this new technology—covering the front of his crotch and the fabric was beginning to rip on the sides because of the size of his ass. His butt had always been big for a guy’s, but now it was absolutely ‘ridiculous,’ as his friend, Cody, had teased, grabbing one of his juicy cheeks and giving it a jiggle. And of course, his tits had grown ripe, bouncy, his arms thickened not by muscle, but by fat, and his neck was slowly starting to plump up as well, teasing just the hint of a double chin.

He knew no amount of working out, writing down his exercises, keeping track of his calories would get him any closer to the fit jock he was over three years ago. It was a tried and failed recipe for disaster that had only resulted in him ballooning even fatter every time. Of course, during the pandemic, he had simply sat on his ass like everyone else and stuffed his face until he couldn’t fit another bite…but what was his excuse for the last two years?

At the beginning of the pandemic, there was no risk of being asked to go back into the office. Who knew how long that would last? And so, Dylan had kept on growing, kept on eating. But after a few years of remote work, the company had finally started to crack down on working-from-home, requiring a slightly-to-surprisingly chubbier office to return.

On the dreaded day, Dylan, after a morning of wrestling himself into the loosest chino’s he could find and wriggling into the only button-down that would button over his tubby gut, had waddled himself back into the building. He was shocked, stunned, and dismayed to find that out of all the dozens of employees, he had put on the most weight in his time larding out at home. And his coworkers were equally-stunned to see his new status. No one, upon smiling at him and greeting his return, could seem to keep their eyes from falling to size up his sized-up belly. And a few even made comments; his rival, Luke, who only looked fitter, more muscular, going so far as to poke his tummy.

It was already a miserable day. One which resulted in Dylan trying his best to drown out the associated feelings by glutting out on the snacks he had brought back to stock his desk. But to make matters worse, as he stood there, a granola bar dangling out of his mouth, restacking the papers on his desk, he watched as Diego, suited with brand new pants, a shirt, and shiny new shoes, came strutting into the office, looking at least fifty pounds thinner than the last time Dylan had seen him.

Diego had already been a thick-bodied man. Chubby, even. He had been so even a year before the pandemic, when both he and Dylan had started. The desk job had caused him to fill out quite quickly and by the time everyone was sent home to work, his obtuse ass cheeks could barely even fit into his pants. It was, perhaps, a lucky break for Diego that he could now work from home, as Dylan could see the seams on his buttocks starting to become unraveled as his doughy coworker waddled out the door.

But the pandemic went on, and so Diego’s weight went up. Dylan could see the changes during the zoom meetings, as his flawless brown skin was stretched tighter over the young man’s plumping face. Once, even, Diego had to stand to plug his computer back in and Dylan could see his lower half, clad only in a t-shirt and the tightest sweats Dylan could imagine his office friend wearing, his gut jiggling as it “bwomped” out from beneath his shirt, smacking against the keyboard on the desk.

That’s why it was a surprise when, two years later, Diego came strutting into the office, looking thinner than when he had started. Luke had elbowed his way to the front of the cluster who had walked up to congratulate him, feeling Diego’s muscles, running a hand over his stomach to check for abs through the fabric. The whole sight made Dylan want to puke. Instead, he stuffed a muffin into his face and glowered until they were called into the conference room.

It was a tighter fit than Dylan could remember, as he wedged his widened ass between the armrests of the chair. By accident, he was right beside his friend, Cora, and Diego. They had always been on good terms, but Dylan could hardly stand to look at him.

“What’s wrong, man?” Diego had asked.

Dylan didn’t hesitate. “How the fuck did you lose all that?” he spat. It came out far more volatile than he intended.

Diego looked slightly dejected, throwing up his hands. “Just wanted to take care of myself, man.���

Dylan softened his tone. “Sorry…it’s just. You, of all people…”

Diego laughed. “Would it make you feel better if I said that you were part of the inspiration? That I wanted to look like you did…you know…before.” He laughed, elbowing Dylan in the chubby side. Dylan couldn’t help but smile.

Diego glanced around. Everyone was busy chatting and celebrating each others’ return. He lowered his voice. “There’s an app…and a device. It’s called the ‘Encour Rager!’” Dylan gave him a look. “Cheesy, I know. But hey!” He looked down at his own body.

“What does it do?” asked Dylan.

                “It’s an A.I. trainer. It encourages you to work on your goals.” Diego chuckled. “And man is it brutal! But it’s effective. Which, clearly you might want to consider,” he glanced at Dylan’s stomach. Dylan squirmed.

                “I might give it a try,” he said absently. Of course, he didn’t know how he felt about A.I., but like everyone, he used it almost daily in some way or another. But he had already tried so many apps; calorie trackers, workout calculators. None of it had helped.

                Diego leaned in closer. “Listen, dude. It’s not like anything else you’ve tried. It’s a commitment. I don’t recommend it lightly. But once you buy it and put it in, it stays in there. You don’t take it out again for a year! I mean, it’s as close to permanent as you can get!”

All that flashed through Dylan’s mind now as he looked at himself. A tubby version of the hottie he so badly wanted to be again.

A small chirping sound went off from the device in his hand. He looked down to see it glowing blue. It was fully-charged. Now was the moment of truth. He could back out now, if he wanted to. He gave his thickened body one last glance in the mirror, catching a glimpse of the pile of clothes he had set aside because he no longer fit into them.

He clicked the button on the side of the earpiece, raised it, and inserted it into his ear.

A pleasant tune filled his brain. And then, a voice. “Hello, Dylan.” It was deeper than he had imagined. Masculine. He envisioned an attractive, muscular jock. “I’m your Coach. You can call me Coach if you like, or by my name, Coach Hermes.” ‘Hermes,’ the god of games and sports.

“Hello,’’ said Dylan awkwardly.

“Hello, Coach,” corrected the device.

“Hello, Coach,” said Dylan, smiling.

“Much better!” said the device. “Now, you are aware of my function, are you not?”

“I am,” said Dylan. “Coach Hermes,” he added, grinning.

“Very good. Just to recap, I will act as your personal fitness trainer for the next twelve months, during which time, we are going to whip your body into the shape you most desire! My function is to optimize your fitness level to suit your needs and to best-satiate your personal self-image. During our first week together, we’ll be getting to know one another quite well, and I will be observing and commenting on your lifestyle; your eating habits, your exercise routine, things like sleep schedule, how much television you consume. Does that all make sense to you, Dylan?”

“Yes, Coach,” said Dylan. He was growing placid, as if the voice was lulling him into a trance.

“Excellent, Dylan. Now, as I will be observing, I will also be curating a program which I believe will best-benefit your body…money-back guaranteed, of course. The watch that accompanies my earpiece will allow me to monitor your heart rate, your breathing, and your responses to my words. The contact lens will allow me to see the world through your eyes and will give me a customized projection which is designed to motivate you towards your fitness goals. Please go ahead and place the watch on your wrist at this time.”

Dylan did as he was told, strapping the watch onto his chubby wrist. “My, that’s a tight squeeze, isn’t it?” said Coach Hermes.

“Uh, a bit…” mumbled Dylan.

“I am reading that your pulse has been elevated. Might I suggest you do some deep breathing to calm your nerves. There is no need to be anxious. None of this is permanent until you give me the final say-so.” Dylan took some deep breaths.

“Now,” said Hermes. “Please place the contact in your eye…so I can get a good look at you.”

Again, Dylan obeyed, dropping the contact in front of the mirror, and blinking as he adjusted it into place. It was the smoothest contact he had ever worn. He could barely tell it was there!

“Very good!” said the Coach. “Oh…what a handsome dude.” Dylan was looking at his own face.

“Thanks, Coach!” said Dylan, half-forgetting he was talking to a robot.

“You’re welcome, Dylan,” said the robot. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind standing back a bit, so I can see you. You did remember to wear the minimum amount of clothing so I can see your full person, did you not?”

“Yes, Coach,” said Dylan to both question and request.

“VERY good! I can tell we’re going to whip you into shape faster than you could ever have thought imaginable! Now, please step back.”

Dylan stepped back, still put off by the quivering of his stomach as he did so. Still disturbed by the increased rubbing of his thighs.

“Oh!” said Hermes in a shocked voice. “Oh, my! You have lost control, haven’t you…big boy?”

Dylan blushed. Why he would do so in front of a robot was beyond him. But it was embarrassing nonetheless.

“No matter,” said Coach Hermes. “We can work with this. Can’t we, thiccums?”

“Uh…yes…?” stammered Dylan, questioningly. ‘thiccums?’

“Yes…?” said Hermes.

“Yes, Coach.”

“That’s better, fatty.”

Dylan nearly fell over. Diego had warned him the words of the A.I. could be harsh. But it would all worth it, when he came strutting into the office in a new suit…right?

“Well, now that I’ve gotten a good look at you, chubbs, there’s only one thing left to do. Your wristwatch will take your thumbprint as your signature.” As the app said this, Dylan felt the watch buzz, illuminating on the screen. “If you are prepared to commit for the next year, please go ahead and place your thumbprint on the screen at this time.”

Dylan hesitated. Could he really handle being called things like ‘chubbs’ and ‘fatty until this time next year?

“Or, you may decline the offer and return the app. Your one-day trial is cost-free so long as the device is returned to the nearest software provider without damage.” The voice dropped to a whisper in Dylan’s ear. “But, do you really want to look like this for the rest of your life, porker? You know that you won’t be able to do this without me, right, fatboy? You know you need my guidance. That’s what I’m here for. To help you. I’m nothing like those other apps, where you can lie to them about eating a salad before you go binge on a carton of ice cream. I’m the real deal. I see everything. I feel everything. Like how out of breath you are, just standing there. Like how I can tell by your pulse that you’re embarrassed. But you don’t want to be embarrassed for the rest of your chubby life, do you? Go on, biggums…sign the contract.”

Dylan looked down at his watch again. He raised his thumb over the screen, letting it hover.

“Sign. It,” hissed the app.

He couldn’t do it alone.

“Yes, Coach,” he said. And then he pressed his thumbprint down and held it against the screen.

“Very good, fatboy,” said the A.I. in his ear. “Now, we can begin our training!”

[teaseandsqueeze]

My Chubby Boyfriend

You’ve gotten so oblivious since we started dating.

                You’ve been happy. That’s obvious. You can see it on your face, how content you are, how comfortable you’ve gotten. How docile. I’ve been treating you well. And you’ve let me. You’ve allowed me to spoil you, to pamper you. And all that relationship satisfaction has certainly taken a toll. On your mood, on your mental health. Everything has improved.

                Everything, that is, but your weight.

                You’ve sort of ballooned, fat boy. You’ve thickened quite a bit during our time together. You’ve been letting me feed you, as you sit on that widening, pampered ass of yours. Letting me stuff you silly at dinner. Letting me bring you endless snacks, coaxing goodies and treats down your greedy throat, convincing those plump, submissive lips of yours to part for my desserts. You’ve been letting me fill you; not just filling your heart or your mind or your time. But I’ve been filling up your body as well.

                You’ve changed somewhat, fatty. You’ve let all the weight accumulate all over yourself, transforming from that handsome, fit jock I smiled at as I watched him pack away dinner, my own leftovers, and dessert as well. As I sat back, like a fox watching a plump porker fatten himself, knowing your potential, knowing what I could do to you if I put my mind to it.

                And it’s unmistakable now. You’re not a fit, single jock anymore. You’re my dumb, handsome chubber of a boyfriend. A plump boytoy whose mind is filled with the thought of donuts and cupcakes and cookies and pies. All being brought to him on a plate by his loving, doting significant other. By me.

That relationship weight has accumulated all over. Your stomach, once muscular, is now covered in layers of lard, its dough spilling out onto your lap. Your legs covered in fat, fighting to take up space in your chair as you squeeze your enormous ass back so you can play your video games. You’ve gotten uncomfortable, in this new, chubby body of yours. But I do my best to minimize the discomfort, to make sure you don’t have to struggle into those terrible shorts with the button anymore. No, those all burst a while ago. Now, I’ve spoiled you and bought you several pairs of stretchy athletic shorts that leave little room for growth. Packing away your work shirts and button ups and replacing them with stretchy, breathable t-shirts. Shirts that crease under your juicy moobs, that rest above your belly button, exposing your chub. You don’t even notice as I hold a plate of brownies in front of you. As you stuff your face, stupidly, watching your mind-numbing shows and scrolling on your phone. Your double chin highlighting the cuteness of your face, outlining the plumpness where your handsome jawline used to be.

I love showing you off to the world, taking pictures and posting them on social media. “Look how cute my man is, everyone!” I write. While in my mind I think about how much of a pig you are. How you jiggle now, when you step. How your ass cheeks have to shift because your butt has ballooned so big. How your undies ride up between them and you have to tug when you don’t think I’m looking. How we go for walks and you’re always at least a couple steps behind, struggling to keep up with my long, fit legs. I give you lots of belly pats though, bountiful attention, and of course, endless offerings of food! And you  love it…of course you do! Because you’re a fat boy at heart and now, thanks to all my cooking and spoiling and pampering, you’re a fat boy all over. Now, all that chub is mine! That belly is mine to rub! That ass is mine to grab! Those love handles are mine to squeeze! Maybe you’ll go mad from all my poking and prodding, from my teasing. Maybe you’ll lose your mind from all my delicious cooking, the toll it’s taking. But you certainly wont do anything about it. It’s simply too addicting; my cooking, the way it makes you grow…the way I make you feel…

There’s just no hope for you anymore, now, fat boy. So open wide.