I wrote this short gainer fiction story quite some time ago! I didn’t express these encourager/feeder desires as openly as I should have, and it was to my detriment. Now I’m choosing to be open and honest about it. This story is just fantasy, and I don’t mean for it to be offensive or dark in any way! It’s just meant to be a good break from the selfies and belly shots :)
When my 28-year-old boyfriend Matt hit 500 pounds, I was out of town for work. As a flight attendant, I’m typically away a few days a week on layovers all over the US, and this has never been problematic because we each enjoy time on our own, especially since he quit working at his job in hotel management downtown last year to focus on gaining in a more full-time capacity. He sent me a text message while I was on the plane in LA: “Baby, I have a 500-lb. surprise to show you when you get home! PS—Can we order a new, higher capacity scale on Amazon?” YES! I just KNEW he had hit the big 500, because he was hovering in the 490’s for so long and had really put all his attention into passing that quarter-ton mark with an incredible determination. He KNEW how much that would excite and titillate me, and that was a very bad thing at work. I was turned on enough as it was when we traveled together using my free flight benefits—he not only needed his own seatbelt extension (well, that was actually 150 pounds ago), but he also now needed to reserve two seats together because his huge, wobbling ass had gotten too wide for a single one! At any rate, I couldn’t wait for the flight from LA to Chicago to be over so that I could get home as soon as possible!
When I met Matt online on a gainer website 3 years ago, he was about 280 pounds. At only 25 years old, he was already the front desk manager at a stylish hotel downtown, and looked great (although somewhat overstuffed) in his work suits. We instantly bonded over the fact that we shared a fat fetish since our respective childhoods: he as a gainer and myself as an encourager. I had only met a couple of people from the website, and not with much success. Matt was just so vastly different from the rest: handsome, fun, outgoing, smart, stylish, creative, and exactly what I was looking for in a potential boyfriend. He had already proudly gained over 80 pounds on his own since college, but he wanted to share his intense weight gain desires and fantasies with the right kind of person. Why? Because early on (well, with the help of a few cocktails), he confessed to me that he had secret fantasies about being totally selfish and lazy in bed, gaining to immobility or being housebound, and even darker fantasies about his own growing fat crippling his health as his weight climbed the charts. He wasn’t sure if he wanted someone to help him actually make these fantasies a reality, but he definitely wanted someone to at least understand how it was such an important part of his sexuality.
The amazing part? I did! What he never knew right away was that I fantasized about ALL of those things too. Ever since I was very young, I had secretly padded myself with pillows, drawn hundreds of pictures of fat men, collected magazine clippings of them, and saved them under my mattress. Somewhere along the way, it transferred to being about OTHER men, wanting to feed them, watch them stuff themselves, rub their growing bellies, and help them get fatter and fatter. I knew my obsession with fat was really about watching and helping someone else grow. I wanted Matt’s desires and fantasies to become a reality.
In 3 years, Matt blew up from 280 to his current 500 pounds. That’s an almost mind-boggling 75-pound gain every year since we’ve been together! Living in the city, we’d go out to dinner frequently, and he’d order 2 appetizers, an entree, and a dessert. After eating the whole thing, he’d complain that he was still hungry so we’d stop at McDonald’s and he would devour 2 Big Macs and fries. To relieve the pressure at night, I’d rub his belly, now riddled with itchy, angry stretch marks. I’d bring him Ensure Plus shakes to have with every meal—and at 350 calories each, a six-pack would be well over an additional 2,000 calories a day. At night, he’d eat pints of ice cream and whole bags of family-sized Oreos. I’d make sure he had food constantly within reach.
When he was just over 400 pounds, he had become so increasingly exhausted from being on his feet at his hotel management job that he suggested he quit to find a new job in which he could work from home. His feet and back ached, he was always sweaty and out of breath, and finding suits to fit him was a task in itself! Even though I knew it could be a bit of a financial burden, I quickly relented. By then I knew that he had become so lazy and piggish that he probably wouldn’t find employment again as long as he continued to gain. After all, it would fulfill both of our ultimate fantasies for him to be this size and begin to be unable to do certain things while my own responsibilities grew. Working wasn’t the first of these things, but it certainly was the most significant for him as a gainer. Truly, I didn’t mind—I could swing it, and I wanted him to be happy. It was all I ever wanted for him.
Matt had become a very selfish gainer over the years as he grew comfortable with me, who he called “the holy grail of encouragers”, as his boyfriend: he truly got off on his own fat and his own weight gains, and often watched himself or other fat men on his laptop, eating or jiggling his enormous belly while I jerked him off or gave him head. In the beginning, he’d constantly apologize for forgetting about taking care of me in bed. “I’m so sorry, I got caught up in the moment. The way you were stuffing those greasy, oil-soaked French fries down my throat got me so hard!” But now, he’d just say “Get me off, baby, would you?” And I’d gladly oblige while he’d slowly down a gainer shake I had mixed of heavy whipping cream, oil, melted ice cream, chocolate syrup, and peanut butter. Afterwards, he’d just lie there, red-faced and sweating, panting from his exertions. “Thank you,” he’d barely manage to muster after I got him to climax by going down on his throbbing dick buried under all that incredible fat. Sometimes, he’d let me “belly fuck” him, as we called it. Other times, I’d jerk off while watching him stuff his face and jiggle his growing belly and huge tits that rested like water balloons on top of his gut. And that belly? Massive and still riddled with stretch marks, it almost filled a queen-sized bed, and I LOVED him to smother me with it. But mostly now, he’d never ask or offer to get me off, completely lost in his gaining fantasies and pleasures. And for lack of a more descriptive word, I somehow found this to be INCREDIBLY hot. He was the lazy, selfish pig of my dreams. To say that this was a turn-on for me was an understatement. The fact that he was sexually aroused by his own fattening body and would rather have cheesecake in his mouth instead of my dick made him all the more desirable to me. It was a turn-on for me to have him be so physically spent after our feeding sessions that he’d pass out and forget about fulfilling any of my sexual needs.
As I snapped out of my daydreaming and reflections on Matt’s mind-blowing weight gains, I was reminded of the CPAP machine he had just gotten for breathing better at night when his snoring had become so unbearably bad. I hoped he was using it and hooked it up when I was on the road! I needed to make sure he was adjusting it properly over his face. I knew it was a turn-on for him to have his health be failing at 500 pounds, and that was where we both sometimes were hesitant to admit the nature of our darkest fantasies with gaining. Matt LOVED me to tell him how unhealthy and out of shape he was getting. He loved sweating and being out of breath, and he loved how his doctor chastised him for his morbid obesity, high cholesterol and blood pressure and warned him about heart disease. It only made him want to get fatter. He had completely relinquished himself to his gainer fantasies. Whenever anyone stared at him in public, or scoffed at him at the movies when he poured gallons of greasy, salty fake butter all over his extra-large popcorn, he became aroused. The more weight he gained, the more he found that he was turned on by his fat and the remarks from those who noticed it. I wasn’t sure where our darker fantasies would go in the future, but I’ll admit that I was eager to find out!
By the time I got home from work, Matt was lying on the couch absent-mindedly rubbing his massive belly. He was surrounded by donut and cake crumbs, an empty bag of Cheetos, and McDonald’s cheeseburger wrappers all over the floor. “Welcome home, baby. Aren’t you proud of me now that I’m 500 pounds?” he said, grinning widely between the fat cheeks that engulfed his face. “I told you I’d make gaining my full-time job!” he laughed.
“What do YOU think?” I said as I jumped on top of him. His body had become a mattress in itself, and I couldn’t wait for it to be bigger.
“Now make me fatter. Please, I NEED to be fatter,” he begged and pleaded. I knew his buried dick was rock-hard and throbbing under all those layers of jiggling fat when he begged like that.
“I need you to be fatter, too,” I said. And I did. For the both of us. Jumping off of him, I ran to the refrigerator and pulled something form the fridge that I had bought on my way home from work. A surprise. “Now open wide, pig,” I said as I forcefully began to cram an entire stick of white, creamy lard into his mouth. Shocked at the pure, disgusting gluttony, he groaned in ecstasy and swallowed it all. Matt always said it was his dream to be 600 pounds by the time he was 30. It was my job—my duty—to make it happen.
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