fatty

(You don't actually want to get fat, do you? CW: weight gain encouragement, fat stereotypes)

You say you want to be a fat fuck, do you? You say you want a big blubbery body you want to feel wobble with every lumbering step? Are you sure?

You know what, I dare you to fucking do it. You won’t. You probably can’t handle it. You know you’re going to need to re-learn how to walk; fuck, you’re going to need to re-learn how to stand with as fat as you want to get. You know how they say to lift with your legs, not your back, right? Turns out, that’s still good advice when the only thing you can carry is yourself, too. Keep that in mind, fatass, if you’re going to keep pushing donuts down your greedy maw.

Is your furniture even reinforced enough and ready to handle the new, out of shape, pile of you that you want to be? Yeah, I know you’ve jerked off to the idea of breaking a couch under your fat ass, but let’s see you try doing that more than once and not regretting that second lunch you sneak out for every day. Then I want you to come back to me and tell me what a great heads up I gave you that you completely ignored because you think property damage is hot.

And you know what, it is! …the first time. But once you hear that definitive creak-SNAP under you, and you get hit with that sinking feeling that starts with your chest and ends in your center of gravity, those consequences are going to catch up with you just like the ice cream you stuffed yourself with catching up to your waistline. And you’re never going to feel like more of a fat fucking pile of lard than in that moment, your body still jiggling from the force of the drop, your ass only slightly sore from the reinforced padding you gave yourself. You sure you’re ready for that?

Speaking of consequences, you know you can’t wear ‘that’, right? It doesn’t matter what the ‘that’ is, it won’t fit those great big plans you made for yourself. Have you internalized what that means? You don’t just have to clothe the imagined you that exists at the end point of you becoming the massively fat person you imagine (if there even is an end point for you, you greedy pig), you also have to clothe every you in between, and that means looking at least a bit like a slob, with cheap, unflattering shirts marked with grease stains you can’t help but wear until your belly peaks from the bottom of, OR cutting into your food budget. And I think we both already know which one YOU’RE going to pick, tubby.

Dressing like the out of shape, slovenly fatass you know you want to embody isn’t even the only way your social life is going to be affected, either. You won’t have that light, spritely body you ate yourself out of anymore. No, instead you’ll have a slow, lumbering, waddling one, wideload. You better hope wherever you go has reinforced benches (see above) for you to plant your fat ass into after your tanked stamina gets extinguished from hauling the permanent fetish gear you decided to design your life around.

And you WILL have to design your life around your slower, more greedy, more impulsive, less active self. It’s not just the furniture, or the clothes, or the sedentary social life, it’s…everything. The you that fills a doorway, the one that could wreck a buffet? That’s the same you that can’t go a couple hours without stuffing some food in their mouth. The one that needs their partner on board with their fat fuck lifestyle so they can have some help shoveling Twinkies in their mouth because it gets exhausting doing it alone. The same one that forgot how to exercise their moderation and couldn’t slow their own widening if they tried.

But you won’t bother with all that, would you. You couldn’t manage it anyway, shrimp. You don’t want to hear people whisper about ‘that land whale’ under their breath when you waddle into the room. You don’t want to do the mental math every time your heels hurt from walking a few dozen feet on whether the wooden bench you’re moseying toward would hold you. That’s way too much for someone like you to handle, isn’t it?

Or is that doorway filling you the one desperate to make themselves comfortable in their body? The version of you that eats for a family of four, is THAT you?

Go ahead then, make that who you are.

(Don’t say I didn’t warn you. CW: implied weight gain. slob. sensory descriptions. encouragment.)

I hate to break it to you, but you’re going to be such a slob when you get fat.

I know, I know, you’re not actually going to be that sloppy, surely those folks just don’t care about their appearance, and a nice, put-together fatass is pretty hot anyway, right?

Sorry, but I just don’t think that’s going to be you. I’m sure you’ll start with great intentions, you might even try to keep up your clothes with your rapidly expanding body, but sooner or later everything is going to catch up with you.

Do you think you’re going to want to buy new clothes when you outgrow your shirts again, especially as your appetite necessitates that food budget ballooning? Or will it be easier to let your standards just…drift a little?

It might start small - you wouldn’t normally wear a shirt that makes your tits that prominent, but maybe it’s okay just for a few weeks to wear ‘em a little taut, maybe Christmas is coming up and that holiday indulgence can get covered up with some money afterwards, and you can get away with wearing an extra sweater (that’s also tight…)

You’re already used to that feeling of you being stuffed into clothes like a sausage, it makes it easier to accept when you notice that your shirts sort of rest on top of your belly, coming to rest just past your overhang, making you look even bigger - it’s not like you dislike the look, and even though you’re supposed to make sure the hem of your shirt reaches your pants, you swear you just bought this shirt a few months ago, and you’re hoping it at least lasts a year or so…so you let it go.

Of course, once all your shirts start fitting like that, it might take you a bit longer to notice when a sliver of belly starts showing, too - at first, it’s your tightest shirts, and only when you raise your arms. You probably won’t even notice until you catch yourself stretching in a mirror as you’re about to head out. Of course, you’re already dressed at that point, and you don’t want to to dirty another shirt with your natural sweat…and that little give, that little relaxation, starts gaping wide open once that sliver shows itself more and more, and starts growing into an omnipresent curve instead.

What’s that? Oh, you’re not naturally sweaty? That’s okay. Fat-You will be. Don’t believe me? You know that hot, sticky feeling of skin-on-skin, friction meeting body heat meeting perspiration, the kind that happens when getting intimate with someone while naked? Imagine that feeling across every inch of your yielding flesh.

Maybe it starts with your overhang pressing into your thighs, a joyful blossoming that’s also met with a new sweat patch. Or maybe your side rolls will start accumulating, sagging fat pressing into itself and trapping heat. There’s always the classic, too - fattened, increasingly insulated arms pressing against the sides of your fattened tits (the ones pressing into the front of your shirts), warmth and heat trapped in your new, space heater body. Eventually, your thighs will fight for space with your crotch fat too, you’ll have to fat-spread when you sit just to give a chance of getting some air.

Oh, you can try mitigating some of it - wearing extra layers (which obscure the sweat stains but insulate you even further), or caking yourself in deodorant. But face it. You’re going to be a sweaty fucking pig. Might as well enjoy it.

Speaking of those layers, you’re going to start to understand what fat fucks dress the way they do as you pack on the pounds. That aforementioned clothing budget is made a little easier with some elastic sweatpants, because at least your fat, blubbery ass won’t start hanging out of them for a little longer than usual. (Wondering what happens when you blow out the waist from over stretching? Yup, plumber’s crack.)

And even when you can find clothes that fit, you’ll find that taste goes down as Xs go up - did you think all big folks had no fashion sense? Nah, it’s because the only clothes that go past 3XL tend to be the most painfully generic brand T-shirts. You know the ones.

’Kickin’ it old skool’ in Comic Sans. Stock photo of an NES.

Star Wars Font:** ‘Big Daddy.’ **Clip Art Darth Vader.

Cartoon dog pointing. Speech Bubble: ‘VAXXED?’

Similarly, the act of bending over is going to go from difficult to untenable in the span of a few binges, and you’re going to love the ease of slipping into some cheap flip-flops once the thought of lacing a pair of shoes leaves you breathless.

Oh, yeah. Breathless. You’re going to have that fat fuck mouth breathing habit crop up, and it’ll get harder and harder to hide once a short walk leaves you winded, and walking and talking gets harder than it used to be.

Not even the most cartoonish acts of slovenly decadence will be completely obscurable - as that overhang grows, as that belly you’re going to be so proud of starts to fill your lap, you’re going to have an expanse to cross to get food to your mouth. And you know what that means, right? That’s right, tubby: food stains.

All of it will start to pile up - the stretched clothes and strained waistbands, the lethargy and the sweaty exertion, the sheer urge to no longer give a fuck…maybe you’ll start to realize - all those little things, that extra effort at your weight, will all be to try and placate people who don’t want to see past your size, to cater to tastes you don’t even share, to fit a model for your life you deliberately outgrew two sizes ago.

Then, you’ll realize - maybe those other fat fucks you’ve seen, maybe they haven’t given up. Maybe they merely chose to no longer squeeze into those imaginary rules. Maybe they’ve escaped.

Maybe that’s the feeling you’ve been chasing ever since you decided to get fat.

Summary: Marco is a cocky jock used to coasting through life on his good looks. His stepbrother Jared has always been fat, and teasing him about it is Marco’s favourite pastime. But when Jared starts slimming down, Marco’s latest scheme (sabotaging Jared’s diet) comes back to bite him in a big way.

This story owes a huge debt to “Neighbors” by Anonymous. I couldn’t match that story’s rapid-fire pace, but I do think I did justice to the narrator’s snarky tone.

~

I’m one of those guys who can eat whatever he wants. It’s true—my whole life I’ve had this amazing metabolism. I ate like a pig all through high school, and I had the best body in that place. Probably because I played so many sports. 

My stepbrother, Jared, wishes he could eat like me and look as good as I do. Dude is so lazy, and so damn fat. The only exercise he gets is lifting a fork and getting up for seconds. I don’t know where he gets it—my stepdad keeps in pretty good shape; he’s a pretty good looking dude, all around. My mom definitely could have done worse.

lol my dad really thought this would fit me 😂

CONTENTS

Incubus — A shadowy creature has already made you eat yourself well past morbid obesity, and he’s not even close to being done with you.

Tough Guy — You may think you’re a man’s man, even if that waistline says otherwise. But your enabling partner’s happy to let you keep thinking whatever you want.

On Your Own — What does the future have in store for your superchub self without your feeder?

Real Talk — Your friend has some “advice” to share with you about your weight and habits.

Rebound — It’s easier to regain, and then some — as you’ll soon find out.

The Middle of Nowhere — Part One — A gainer who chooses an idyllic life in the country with their feeder might have gotten more than they bargained for.

The Middle of Nowhere — Part Two — How does a rural superchub handle dinner guests and a trip into town?

Lecture — You’re the focal point of a scientific teachable moment about the effects of hypermorbid obesity on the human body.

Deaf Ears — You haven’t been listening to your feeder’s warnings about your habits, and this is the result.

Step By Step — You don’t become a superchub overnight. But there are signs that’s where things are going.

Big Deal — It’s time you gave your feeder a talking-to after they get cold feet from your recent gains.

The Makings of a Glutton — What makes a superchub? A menu of food that’s terrible for you, apparently.

Too Much of a Good Thing — It may be wonderful, but the weight of your feeder’s affection is catching up with you.

A New Home — A newly-immobile superchub gets used to life in a facility meant to help them lose weight, but the caregiver who fed them that size has other plans.

Sedentary — Years of poor diet and too much time on the couch has made it harder and harder to get around.

A Normal Life — You consider a return to civilian life after years as a live-in feedee.

Out and About — Your feeder recounts their favorite things about taking you out and showing you off to unsuspecting, shocked civilians.

Wish Fulfillment — You awaken to find yourself the immobile superchub of your dreams, but how long will you get to enjoy it?

The Look — Your feeder wants to make sure you understand your situation.

Weakness — Your feeder confronts you with how your weakness for food brought you to your current obese condition.

Best Intentions — Unsuspecting bystanders gape, mock, and try to help as you begin mysteriously and rapidly gaining hundreds of pounds.

Enabling Delusion — You and your partner still think you’re going to lose the weight. Your friends think differently.

Center of Attention — Your popularity as a superchub influencer won’t save you from humiliation when your gains finally catch up to you.

Consumed — A poetic exploration of how gaining grew to dominate your life.

Expressions — A feeder recounts a gainer’s progress through how they react to their burgeoning body.

The Biggest Size They Make — You’ve been fighting your wardrobe for a long time, and now you’re losing the battle.

Morning — Nothing beats a cozy, comfy morning being spoiled by your feeder.

Excuses — You always have an excuse ready for why your weight isn’t a problem. But there are signs that you’re only fooling yourself.

The Deal — Your bodybuilding arrangement with a savvy gainer proves to be more than you bargained for.

Over The Edge — An admirer puzzles over how you let yourself get to the edge of the gaining abyss.

Just A Number — That’s all weight is, but yours has been going up alarmingly fast.

A Growing Problem — Your partner finally gets their concerns about your weight problem off their chest.

When, Not Whether — Gaining like you do isn’t sustainable. You’re heading for a crisis; it’s just a matter of time.

Realization — Your partner finally takes off the mask, revealing their inner feeder once it’s too late for you to do anything about it.

No Going Back — You thought you could experiment with gaining and lose the weight after you’d had your fun. You were wrong.

Trough — A shadowy feeder sets you up to eat like the farm animal you are, to see just how long you can manage.

Big and Tall — A rotund clothes shopper needs the help of a chaser sales clerk after a sartorial mishap.

Polite — You’ve gotten too fat to make fun of, but the polite restraint from your friends tells you everything you need to know.

Vignettes

You Ate

Beyond Your Control

Animals

Love

The Tailor

Comment Section

Drive-Thru

Scale #1

From 160 lb to 300 lb to 430 lb ☺️☺️☺️

Well here I am. 110 lbs heavier than I was at the beginning of college. I thought I'd revisit some of my favorite moments along the way

Start weight: 170 lbs

+10 lbs:

I began drinking a half gallon of whole milk every day. It was a pretty cheap routine, but I gained the weight FAST.

+20 lbs:

My best friend was staring at me and randomly asked if I had been working out. I told him yes (I actually hadn't).

+30 lbs:

I passed my first "stopping point" and suddenly began thinking about how much time I had left in the school year to keep gaining. Some shirts were starting to get tighter but I hadn't retired anything yet. I started drinking a gallon of milk a day.

+40 lbs:

I went to a family gathering and had my weight commented on for the first time. Was told I was "getting beefy."

+50 lbs:

I got to go swimming with some old high school friends. Nobody said anything, but I caught them staring quite a bit. Almost like they were too nervous to say anything.

+60 lbs:

Got called a "big guy" for the first time. And by a worker at McDonalds of all places.

+70 lbs:

Regularly wore some of the tightest clothes I've ever worn just because I still hadn't bought new clothes. I had this particular pair of jeans that I had to zip over and over again throughout the day because the buttons were strained so much that the zipper wouldn't stay up. And my shirts were just as tight. I was constantly embarrassed.

+80 lbs:

Got told seriously by my parents that I needed to lose weight. I soon after added a pint of heavy cream to my daily milk routine. Back at school, a chubby guy in my glass started talking to me about how much we have in common, which I was very entertained by. He knew me back when I was 170 lbs so he definitely had noticed what was happening.

+90 lbs:

Suddenly started noticing faint stretch marks in tons of places. On my arms, legs, love handles, and stomach.

+100 lbs:

Noticed that my stomach hangs out the bottom of some of my shirts now. Also tried on my summer shorts and discovered that I don't have a single pair that fits.

+110 lbs:

Got asked by a friend if I'm capable of doing a single push-up. Can't remember the last time I even tried so I didn't know what to tell him.

End weight: 280 lbs

Goal weight: 320 lbs by the end of the year

i do know what’s next and i don’t know if i’m ready…

Be free!!

May need to go up another size.

525 pounds of blubber.