Unbetitelt

Sneak peek of the beer and ice cream bloat ill be posting on patreon and OF later! Belly play included duhh! Also it will be an unblurred version :)

Its all starting to fit a little too snug

Fuck!!?!? I guess I’m no longer a medium anymore 😳🐷

More videos and photos on my patreon

Go check out my full 2:22 long video on patreon of just pure lard jiggles….

Spidey let himself go 😵‍💫😵‍💫

Goon your pig dicks to me boys n flood my paypal w feeding money 😋😋

Fatboy needs a huff n more importantly… a dedicated feeder!

New 3.5 min vid out now on my two highest patreon tiersss ;)

Gonna post a chugging vid tomorrow :)… any ideas what i should glug down?

Piggy tries his tight clothes. I think they shrunk in the washing machine?

August 2025 to April 2026 :0

I swear something about me looks different?

Im getting so fat icl… is there any content youd like to see in patreon cos a lot of members are cancelling 🥲🥲

The Reluctant Gainer

Alex had always been the skinny guy. At 24, he stood 6’1” and barely weighed 160 pounds, all sharp angles and long limbs. He worked a quiet data entry job from his apartment, exercised just enough to stay healthy, and never thought much about his body beyond making sure his clothes fit. That changed the day he met Marcus.

Marcus was the opposite: broad-shouldered, thick around the middle, and unapologetically confident. They matched on a dating app, and their first dinner date stretched for hours. Marcus ordered generously—steaks, loaded fries, two desserts—and encouraged Alex to do the same. “Life’s too short to count calories,” he said with a warm smile, his hand resting casually on his own soft belly. Alex laughed it off and ate more than usual that night. He felt full, heavy, and strangely content.

A few weeks in, Marcus revealed more. “I like bigger guys,” he admitted one evening while they lounged on the couch. “Not just ‘dad bod.’ I like when a guy lets go and really grows. Soft. Heavy. Full.” His fingers traced slow circles on Alex’s flat stomach. “You’d look incredible if you filled out.”

Alex blushed but didn’t pull away. The idea was new, a little scary, but the way Marcus looked at him—with open hunger and affection—stirred something deep. They started slow. Marcus cooked rich meals: creamy pastas, buttery mashed potatoes, pizzas loaded with extra cheese. He praised Alex constantly. “Look at you, eating so well for me.” After every meal, Marcus would rub Alex’s belly, gentle at first, then firmer as it swelled with food.

The first ten pounds came quickly. Alex’s face softened. His sharp jawline rounded out. His shirts felt a little snugger across the chest and stomach. He caught himself in the mirror one morning, turning sideways, and felt a strange thrill at the tiny pouch forming above his waistband. Marcus noticed immediately. That night, he fed Alex by hand—chocolate cake, spoonful after spoonful—until Alex’s belly was drum-tight and gurgling. “Good boy,” Marcus whispered, massaging the taut sphere while Alex moaned softly from the pressure and pleasure.

Months passed, and the changes accelerated. Alex quit the gym entirely at Marcus’s gentle urging. “You don’t need to burn it off anymore. Just let it settle.” The weight poured on. Twenty pounds. Thirty. At 200 pounds, Alex developed a proper gut that rested over his belt. His thighs thickened, rubbing together when he walked. Love handles spilled over his pants. Marcus couldn’t keep his hands off him. Every evening became a ritual: massive home-cooked feasts followed by hours of belly rubbing, feeding, and sex where Marcus worshipped every new inch.

Alex’s appetite grew with his body. He started craving the fullness. He’d wake up hungry, eat a breakfast of six eggs, bacon, pancakes swimming in syrup, and a protein shake mixed with heavy cream. Mid-morning snacks turned into second breakfasts. Lunches were entire family-sized meals. Afternoons meant constant grazing—bags of chips, boxes of cookies, liters of full-fat soda. Dinners were events: multiple courses, always ending with dessert. Late-night fridge raids became normal, Alex standing in the glow of the refrigerator in just his underwear, his growing belly hanging heavily as he shoved leftovers into his mouth.

By 250 pounds, Alex barely recognized himself. His once-flat chest had softened into plump pecs with a distinct softness underneath. His belly was prominent now, a round, heavy dome that forced him to adjust how he sat. Stretch marks, faint silver lines, traced the sides of his gut and hips—badges of his surrender. Walking felt different; he waddled slightly, his thick thighs and wide ass shifting with each step. Marcus loved measuring him. “Forty-eight inches around that beautiful belly,” he’d say proudly, kissing the taut skin after another stuffing session.

The addiction deepened. Marcus introduced “full days”—entire weekends where Alex barely moved from the couch or bed. Marcus would bring endless trays: burgers, fries, milkshakes, pasta bakes, cakes, and more. He’d feed Alex until he was panting, belly massively distended and shiny from oil and sweat. Then he’d rub and knead the overloaded gut, pressing out burps, easing the pressure only to fill him more later. Alex’s moans filled the apartment. The sensation of being so completely stuffed, so heavy and helpless, became his favorite feeling in the world.

One year in, Alex hit 320 pounds. His body was transformed. A large, sagging belly hung over his waist, resting on his thick thighs when he sat. His chest was soft and jiggly, nipples sensitive. Arms and legs were padded with fat, making movement slower but more sensual. He had developed a double chin and full, round cheeks. Clothes were a constant struggle—Marcus bought him new ones every few weeks, always a size or two too small at first so Alex could feel himself outgrowing them.

They moved in together. Marcus worked from home too, which meant constant access. Mornings started with Alex being hand-fed in bed, belly already swelling before he even stood up. By noon he’d be stuffed again. Evenings were marathons of eating and pleasure. Marcus would straddle Alex’s massive thighs, grinding against the huge dome of his belly while feeding him one last milkshake or slice of pie. “You’re my perfect gainer,” Marcus would growl. “Look how big you’ve gotten for me. I want you even bigger.”

Alex’s fantasies evolved. He started imagining 400 pounds. 500. The idea of becoming truly enormous—barely able to reach his own belly button, waddling with a massive apron of fat, constantly full and aroused—made him rock hard. Marcus encouraged it all. They bought a bigger bed. Reinforced furniture. Alex stopped wearing real pants at home, opting for stretchy sweatpants that could handle his expanding waist.

One special night, Marcus prepared the ultimate feast. The table groaned under platters: two whole roasted chickens, mountains of mac and cheese, buttered bread, three large pizzas, a gallon of ice cream, and liters of heavy cream shakes. “Tonight we push you,” Marcus said. Alex ate ravenously, encouraged by constant praise and belly rubs. Course after course disappeared. His stomach ballooned outward, tighter than ever, skin stretched shiny and red. He groaned, half in discomfort, half in ecstasy, as Marcus kept feeding him.

When he finally couldn’t take another bite, Marcus laid him back on the bed and worshipped the immense, overfed orb. His hands sank into the soft fat while pressing on the hard, packed contents beneath. Alex came hard just from the pressure and the overwhelming fullness, his massive body quivering.

Years later, Alex tipped the scales at 480 pounds. He was enormous— a true gainer success story. His belly was a vast, pendulous masterpiece that reached halfway down his thighs when standing. Rolls cascaded over his sides. He moved with slow, deliberate waddles, breathing heavily from the sheer effort of carrying so much weight. Marcus still fed him daily, still rubbed and loved every inch. Alex had never been happier. The skinny boy was long gone, replaced by a gloriously fat, constantly stuffed, utterly devoted gainer.

Heres a preview of the new stuffed video up on patreon! I chug 2 boost milkshakes anddd inflated with over 10L of air… it hurt like hell but made me groany asfff :p go check it out!

Does this count as twink death orr

Every meal counts 😉