Getting Thicker

I tugged my shirt against the uncomfortable tightness around my gut. I'd not worn this shirt - the one I somewhat embarrassingly called my "going out shirt" - in years and I hadn't realised just how tight it would be. Okay, so I'd put on a little weight, but it wasn't that much surely? I thought ruefully about my ex-partner Charlie telling me I'd let myself go, just a week before he ended it with me.

My mate Greg elbowed my side and leaned close to my ear. “Here,” he shouted. I winced at the feedback from my hearing aids. “One of your button’s come undone.” I looked down to confirm that the one closest to my belly button had popped open at some point and sighed. At least Greg was no slimmer than me, and I knew would sympathise. I sucked my belly in to relieve the strain and rebuttoned to save my dignity. I kept my core tensed to avoid a repeat and downed my pint.

“I'm off for a slash,” I shouted at Greg.

“What?” he bellowed back.

I leant in. “I'm going to the loo!”

“What?!”

I gave up and pointed my thumb towards the gents. He nodded his understanding and I left. As I walked I leant up and flicked the switch on my hearing aids, appreciating how the loud music immediately cut to a low rumble. I stood in the queue next to two snogging twinks, until a urinal opened up. I tapped one of the twinks’ shoulders, and pointed at the spare urinal, and he shook his head and said something that looked close enough to “cubicle” that I took it as confirmation. I drained my bladder and washed my hands. I caught my reflection and winced at the way my shirt was straining.

I left the toilet and made my way back to the old man’s corner, looking at my watch and wondering if it was socially acceptable to leave yet. I felt a tap on my shoulder and spun round to see one of the most gorgeous men I'd ever seen. He was over six foot tall, with a t shirt that strained against broad shoulders, a deep chest and bulging biceps. His jawline was square and dusted with neat stubble, his eyes were dark and framed with long eye-lashes, his skin and hair were perfect.

He said something which I couldn't lip read. “No thank you!” I replied automatically and turned away, assuming he worked there and was offering me something. He tapped my shoulder again and repeated himself. I turned my hearing aids back on and cringed against the sudden onslaught of music.

His eyes followed my hands and he gave a small smile and nod. He leant in. “Can I buy you a drink?”

I frowned in confusion. “What?” I asked.

“A drink,” he replied loudly. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“What for?” I replied. Had he mistaken me for someone? I was hardly likely to look like one of his mates. Maybe he somehow thought he'd knocked over my drink and owed me one.

He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Because I'd like to,” he said into my ear. “I've been watching you for a while.”

I leant back and looked at him. He looked about half my age. “Why?” I asked.

He laughed. “You're very handsome,” he said.

“What?” I asked again.

Rather than reply, he grabbed my elbow and pulled my towards the bar. A bartender appeared instantly in front of him, staring up at him with wide eyes. I thought back to waiting to get served for ten minutes when I first arrived. “A double vodka and diet coke and…” He looked at me expectantly.

“A Guinness,” I said. It wasn't my usual but it was either that or Carling on tap. The hunk next to me grinned and repeated my order to the barman. We stood quietly while we waited for our drinks, and then he once again took me by the elbow and led me towards the stairs. I caught Greg's eye on the way and shrugged at his confused face. We entered the smoking area and I inhaled the cold, fresh air greedily.

“I'm Lucas,” the mysterious hunk said with a smile.

“Adam,” I said confusedly, and took a heavy gulp.

“Nice to meet you Adam.” He took my hand in a firm handshake. “I don't see many men like you here.”

I sighed. “Mate's birthday,” I said with a shrug. “More used to places with a dart board and pork scratchings.”

Lucas licked his lips. “I bet,” he said. “You having a good night?”

“Not really. Look, what's this about?” I snapped gruffly. “I really can't be arsed with whatever joke you're playing. I know, a load of middle-aged blokes at a gay bar, it's all very funny, but-”

He cut me off by kissing me square on the lips. Despite myself, I melted into it, almost dropping my drink. God, how long had it been since I’d kissed someone new? Kissed anyone really? Not since Charlie, if you didn't count elderly relatives at Christmas, which I tried not to. His tongue gently probed my lips and his hand grazed the slip of skin between my waistband and my shirt.

Lucas pulled back. The bouncer and several smokes ogled at us. “I'm sorry that you're not having a good night,” he said. “And I'm sorry that you thought I was playing a joke. You really are very handsome.” He smiled and placed a hand against my roughly shaved cheek. “Maybe we could go find a pub with a dart board so we can talk?”

“I uh… those kind of places tend to close early,” I said lamely.

“Somewhere quiet then at least,” he suggested. “Maybe we could get some food?”

I gestured vaguely back inside, still stunned. “My mates…”

He shrugged. “You can go back if you like. Do you want to though? How much longer are they really likely to stay out anyway?”

I nodded. “I'll get my coat,” I said.

He grinned. “I'll be here.”

I went back inside and found Greg.

“Who was that?” he shouted.

“I think I've pulled,” I replied, handing him my pint.

Greg's shock mirrored my own.

“Pulled who? That fucking bodybuilder you were with?” he said incredulously. “Adam mate, you're drunk, let’s get you home.”

“He snogged me,” I said. “Wants to go get food.”

“Fucking hell,” Greg said. “No offence Adam, but you do know he's probably going to try and get money off you? He reckons you're an easy target.”

I thought for a moment and shrugged. “Probably,” I said. “Most enjoyable mugging of my life though.” I grinned and turned away, leaving via the coat check.

Ten minutes later, Lucas and I were sat at a table in a shop. Lucas was watching me hungrily eat a large donner and chips, occasionally leaning across to take a single chip dipped in garlic mayo from my tray.

“So what do you do Adam?” he asked.

I stifled a burp. “Civil engineer,” I said.

“That's interesting,” he offered.

“Not really,” I said honestly. “What about you? Some kind of influencer.”

He laughed. “Not quite,” he said. “I'm a teacher.”

“Blimey,” I said. “None of my teachers ever looked like you. You're barely older than the kids.” I paused to eat. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Twenty-four,” he said. My face paled. Not quite half my age, but not far off. He seemed to pick up on my discomfort, and he reached across to hold my hand. “How about we go back to mine for a drink?”

I hesitated, thinking back to Greg's warning. Still, if he was trying to rob me, surely he'd be suggesting going back to mine. I nodded and pushed the rest of my kebab into my mouth.

-

Lucas pulled his t-shirt over his head, revealing a torso of perfect skin with neatly trimmed chest hair and abs like cobble stones. I stood in awe, and my hand hesitated above my own shirt buttons.

"What's wrong?" Lucas asked.

"I guess I just don't usually, you know…" I said.

"What?" he prompted.

"Men that look like you don't look at men that look like me," I said, tugging my shirt down self-consciously.

"What do you… are you kidding?" Lucas asked, seemingly genuinely perplexed. "You're gorgeous. A proper dilf.” I winced at the word. “You're genuinely really handsome for your age." I smiled despite myself, ignoring the comment about “my age”. He really did seem like he genuinely meant it.

"You don't even know my age," I pointed out.

He laughed. "I guess not," he agreed. "In which case you look fucking terrible for twenty-one." I laughed, and looked up to see him smiling warmly at me. "Come on, it's not like I didn't notice there was an age gap at the club."

"But you look like a model," I pointed out. "You could choose to go home with anyone."

He shrugged and smiled a little. "Maybe," he said. "And I chose to go home with you, didn't I?"

He pulled me towards him and started kissing me, occasionally stopping to nuzzle his face against my rough stubble. As he did so, he unbuttoned my shirt and pressed his hard body against my soft one.

Finally, he pulled my shirt off, revealing a soft hairy pot belly sticking out over my jeans. I sucked it in, but knew it didn't make much difference. Lucas ran his hand over my stomach as he buried his face in my neck. “Relax,” he said. “You don't need to hide with me.” Slowly, a relaxed my core muscles and cringed at the feeling of my gut pushing into his hand. Almost as if to reward me, he immediately began to undo my trousers, and pulled them down.

The sex was electric. Better than I thought I was capable of any more. Fuck, probably better than I'd had even in my prime. Lucas seemed to have endless stamina, and used it all with the sole aim of pleasing me. All I had to do was lie back and enjoy the show.

-

The next morning I looked in the mirror, appraising myself. Okay, I wasn't under any illusions that Lucas didn't have some kind of daddy thing going on, but I looked alright, didn’t I? In a certain light, with a certain perspective maybe. Moustaches were coming back in, weren't they? And maybe my hair was more “salt-and-pepper” than “greying”. My hairline wasn't what it was, but I was fucking forty-six! The fact that I'd help onto as much hair as I had was a borderline miracle. What did Greg always insist on saying? “A mature hairline”? Yeah, that was the word. Mature. Distinguished. Experienced. Maybe I wasn't everyone's type, but it wasn't like I wasn't anybody’s; last night proved that.

My eyes drifted down. The gut didn't quite hold up sexy daddy image I'd convinced myself of. Still, maybe it wasn't nearly as big as I thought. We’re all our worst critic, aren't we? And what do they call it? Dad-bod? It's all very in these days, isn't it? Body positivity, self-care.

My eyes drifted to the scales in the corner of the room. My own set at home had broken years ago and I couldn't even begin to guess what I weighed. What was I before? 15 stone maybe? I knew I'd be more than that now, but by how much? 220 pounds maybe? I hefted my gut a little. God, I couldn't be 230, could it? I took a deep breath and stepped on. I forced myself to open my eyes.

Fuck me.

247 pounds.

I did some quick maths. 17 stone. Fuck, closer to 18 really, isn't it? I stepped off, stepped back on, expecting it to correct its mistake. The same number flashed back up at me. I grabbed the scales and moved them, knowing that an uneven floor can change the measurement. I stepped back on. 251.

I stepped backwards, bumped into something, and span round to see Lucas. He grinned at me and kissed me, his hands gripping my sides.

He pulled away and said something that I couldn't lip read. I did my best to convince myself that one of the words wasn't “chubby”. I told him I'd left my  aids in his bedroom and he smiled, grabbed my hand and pulled me into the bedroom. He held up two fingers. “Round two,” he mouthed.

-

The relationship weight hit me like a freight train. Every date was a meal out, complete with starters and mains, or a night at the pub with pint after pint topped off with a greasy kebab. I did my best to ignore the way Lucas would push half his food over to my plate, how he'd drink one or two gin and tonics then switch over to lime and soda while I was bloated on my sixth or seventh pint, the way he'd order cheesy chips, eat a couple then pass them over to me while I was choking down my own huge kebab.

Most nights I stayed at his, or he mine, he'd sneak out in the morning to go to the gym, so I'd wake up to him creeping back into bed. Each time, as an apology for leaving me alone, he'd pass me a coffee and a plate of breakfast; french toast one morning, two or three bacon sandwiches the next. As I luxuriated in being pampered, he'd slip beneath the covers and give me a blowjob while I ate. Afterwards I’d get up, my cock and gut satiated, to find he'd bought me a pile of treats for the day; chocolate I’d said I liked, pastries from a bakery he’d passed, countless treats that would inevitably disappear through the day.

I convinced myself that all of this was normal, that there was no ulterior motive to notice. That the early days of any relationship involved lots of eating and drinking, that it was only natural that I'd have a much bigger appetite than Lucas (just look at us!), that he genuinely did feel bad about leaving for the gym in the morning. Besides, who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when that gift horse was a twenty-four year old with the body of a greek god.

Regardless of what I told myself, my weight exploded. My wardrobe of clothes that fit awkwardly before, that I'd been too stubborn to get rid of, suddenly wouldn't fit at all. Lucas took me shopping for all new clothes, telling me to get a size above what fit in the changing rooms for a “relaxed fit”, then sitting me down for an hour and a half to gorge myself at lunch. I had to admit it was nice to wear clothes that didn't feel constricting constantly, but I balked at the numbers on the tags, and did my best to ignore the way that even these larger clothes stopped feeling quite so loose after just a month or so.

One evening, I flopped down on the sofa next to Lucas as he marked some books. He looked up, smiled, squeezed one of my thighs, then continued. I couldn't get my mind off of the number I'd just seen on the scales - 271 pounds - and the way my double chin looked so utterly, obscenely grotesque in the mirror.

“I might shave my moustache,” I said, after a while.

Lucas’ head flew up. “What?” he asked simply. “Why?”

“I might grow out my beard,” I replied.

“I don't see why you have to get rid of your moustache then,” he said.

I shrugged. “Just so it grows a bit more evenly,” I said. “Besides, it's been a while. I was only going to keep it for November. It's almost May.” I remembered the night in early December when I'd gone to shave it off. It was our first argument, nominally about me not wanting to meet up with some of Lucas' friends, but I couldn't help but notice how the tension faded once I left the bathroom, away from the razor.

Lucas huffed. “Do what you like,” he said into his books. “It's your face.” After a few minutes he snapped “I think you look great with just the moustache.”

I reached over and put a hand on his arm. “Come on, don't be like that,” I said. “I just think… I really need to do something about hiding my double chin a bit.”

“What double chin?” His eyes were all innocence and charm.

“Come on,” I pinched the fold of fat at the top of my neck. “My face is so fat. I've got jowls.”

He shrugged. “Never noticed it,” he grumbled.

We sat quietly for a while. “Maybe I'll just let my stubble grow out a bit then. Keep the moustache. Just,” I looked over at him out of the side of my eye, “go for a bit of a scruffy look.”

He sat up at the word “scruffy”. “Yeah?” he said. “That's a good idea. It's very trendy actually. It would really suit you.”

I sank back into the sofa, knowing that my double chin would stay visible to the world, but most importantly, Lucas.

-

After weeks of pestering, I'd finally managed to convince Lucas that I really didn't want to do anything for my birthday. I went to the pub with some mates on the Friday, and the next day, my actual birthday, me and Lucas stayed in while he cooked.

I slumped back on the sofa after finishing off the huge steak Lucas had cooked to perfection, sitting in my gut alongside a homemade cheddar and pickle tart and triple cooked chips. I drummed the crest of my gut as Lucas got dessert ready.

“What are you doing running up and down the stairs?” I called out to him.

He poked his head through the door. “I thought we'd take dessert up to the bedroom,” he said with a grin. “Why don't you come up? I’m almost ready.”

I laughed and hoisted myself up, tottering a little against the unbalanced weight of my gut. He led me by the hand up to the bedroom, and covered my eyes just as I reached the door.

“No peaking,” he whispered in my ear as he led me in. Through gaps in his fingers I saw the soft glow of candlelight. “Happy birthday to you…” I heard him sing, as he took his hands off my eyes to reveal a huge chocolate cake placed on the bed. He dipped a finger into the thick buttercream and placed it into my mouth. “Happy birthday to you…” The chocolate buttercream was rich and decadent. “Happy birthday dear Adam…” He reached down to where my gut hung out my too small t-shirt and lifted it up, so that my hairy belly shook and sagged. “Happy birthday to you.” He pulled me into a kneeling position in front of the cake. I could feel the warmth of the candles on my hanging chest. “Make a wish Adam,” he whispered, as slipped a hand down into my tight waistband. I blew and the room was plunged into a soft darkness.

Lucas gently led me onto the bed and pushed me back onto the pillows. “What’s happening Lucas?” I asked with a laugh. Through the darkness I saw him smile, take out a knife, and cut a hefty slice from the cake.

“I'm going to give you your birthday treat,” he said. He lifted the cake and pushed it towards my face. I hesitated before opening my mouth wide, allowing him to stuff the overly sweet, overly warm mess inside. As he fed me the rest, he methodically pulled my trousers, then my pants, down inch by inch until I was only wearing my socks. My gut hung down, trapping my cock against my lap.

I licked my lips as I finished the slice. “Kinky,” I said. “Is that my only treat?” I asked. Lucas’ eyes lit up.

“Of course not!” he said, glee evident in his voice. “Anything for you.” He reached back towards the cake.

“Oh, that's not what I…” I said quietly. I took his hand and moved it towards my crotch.

“I know exactly what you mean,” Lucas said. His hand cupped my balls and I leaned into his touch, moaning. Still, he brought the cake up to my lips. I paused. Didn't he know I was already full? The warmth of his palm beneath the crest of my gut made me open my mouth. What was just one more slice, anyway? I leant forward, just enough to take a bite.

The second slice was larger than the first, and even more sickly. Lucas began to stroke his hand slowly along my length. I sighed around the heavy buttercream and relaxed into his touch. Slowly, laboriously, the slice disappeared.

“That was great, baby,” I said. “Now how about…” I motioned downwards with my head.

“Of course,” Lucas replied. He shuffled down and settled between my legs. I closed my eyes, and widened my stance, allowing greater access.

I felt something heavy and sticky thrust into my palm. I opened my eyes to see yet another slice of cake filling my hand. “Lucas, I don't know…”

“Come on,” he whispered. “Isn't this sexy?” I gave a shaking smile back and took a large bite from the slice. This seemed to be enough for Lucas, who disappeared between the soft flesh of my gut, hiding him from my view.

I gasped as I felt Lucas’ tongue flick past my arsehole, and I leant back into the pillows, lifting my hips to meet Lucas’ mouth, giving greater access. After a moment or two of pleasure, I felt Lucas pull away, his lightly stubbled cheeks brushing my inner thighs, and his face emerged.

"You've stopped eating," Lucas said, slightly breathless.

"I'm enjoying myself," I replied, shifting up and placing my sticky hands on Lucas' shoulders to coax him back down, but he resisted, and remained resolutely in place. I looked down at the half of a chocolate cake still remaining, and rubbed my taut stomach, my fingers pushing into the developing plushness. "I'm so full already Luke, come on, just finish me off."

Lucas shook his head and moved backwards off the bed. "If you're not eating cake, then neither am I." He shrugged his broad shoulders and began to walk towards the door. I soaked in his muscular frame, huffed and pushed the slice of cake into my mouth until I could barely chew.

Lucas smiled. “There we go,” he said, walking back and settling himself back in position.

I did my best to force the cake down as quickly as I could, hoping I could trick my brain into not noticing the dull ache in my gut. My head began to swim against the onslaught of sugar, but eventually I was sat panting, covered in sticky chocolate, with no cake left in my hand.

Lucas grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand towards the cake. I winced, but was powerless against Lucas’ teasing and my throbbing cock. I grasped it messily, hoping I could take less while still making the plate look empty. My resolve pushed me into a rhythm; bite, chew, swallow, pant, bite, chew, swallow pant. All the while I squirmed against Lucas’ face, buried in my arse.

My hand fell towards the plate and bumped against cold ceramic and sticky buttercream. “Please,” I begged finally, crumbs spraying from my mouth. “Please Lucas, the cake is gone. Finish me off.”

Lucas sat up. I felt like I could cry. “One last present,” he said. He darted out of the room and returned a moment later with a strange metal frame. I watched him place it above my head through my sugar-rush and lust. Finally, he took a funnel and held a tube up to my lips. “I'd like you to start doing these in the evening,” Lucas told me. I shook my head. “Think of it like a protein shake.”

“Can't we just…” I wheezed.

“For me,” he said.

I looked up at his perfect face, his square jaw, his soft curling hair, his broad chest. The heaviness in my gut was giving way to a sharp stretching feeling. “Not too much,” I whispered.

Lucas kissed my lips, and replaced his lips with the tube. “Thank you so much,” he said. “I promise to make it worth your while.” He reached down and pulled my hearing aids out. I gasped, choked against the thick tube in my mouth. I reached my hands up towards them but Lucas was already gone. Lucas must have pulled some clip, or twisted some knob, as suddenly a cold, gritty liquid began to fill my mouth. I breathed heavily through my nose.

I struggled against my own weight, then collapsed as I felt the warmth of Lucas’ mouth envelop the entire length of my dick. I could feel his nose bury itself into the thick roll of fat that had recently filled my crotch  His tongue slowly swirled around the head of my dick and I bucked my hips, desperate for relief. Lucas raised himself so that he could see me over the horizon of my gut. He simply shook his head, nodded towards the funnel of shake above my head, and moved back down.

I could feel my gut stretched to it's limit, but I was becoming feral for release. I resolved to breathe slowly and calmly through my nose, closed my eyes and began to suck the tube in my mouth, pulling the shake down and swallowing, rhythmically and methodically.

My world narrowed down to pure sensation. The mounting sharp pain in my gut as it stretched around thick gainer shake on top of steak and chocolate cake, all sloshing queasily; my heavy, deliberate breathing around the uncomfortable thick plastic shoved into my mouth; the pinprick of tears forcing themselves through eyes shut tight against pain; but most of all, the intermittent warmth of Lucas’ mouth on my cock, gently teasing me, never allowing my release, always pulling away just as I got close. Without my hearing aids, all of this was set against the gentle rush of blood in my ears, all other sounds fading into a dull rumble.

The shake seemed to last forever. I fought hard to swallow every drop, to give Lucas what he wanted, so that he could do the same for me. Eventually, just as I thought my gut might burst, I found myself sucking on air. I was so desperate for release that I didn't stop, and simply carried on sucking, nervous that Lucas would find some leftover drop or two to deny my orgasm further.

He must have noticed my desperation because he patted my gut and picked up his pace, finally keeping my cock in his mouth for more than a few moments. I was still sucking on the tube as my balls emptied into Lucas’ mouth, and my fat shook. I hadn't cum so forcefully since I was in my twenties; pulse after pulse pumped down Lucas’ throat, seemingly for almost a minute and all the time, Lucas’ mouth stayed on my cock, almost to the point of discomfort, until I was writhing under the weight of my heavy gut.

Eventually, Lucas pulled away, wiped his lips and moved up the bed. He pulled the feeding tube out of my mouth and kissed me. “Did you like that?” I saw him ask, as he squeezed my love handle. My head was spinning from the sheer calories I'd consumed, my gut was painful, I felt nauseous, and I was still recovering from the best orgasm of my life. I could only whimper in reply. Lucas smiled and kissed my cheek. Five minutes later, I was unconscious.

-

A few months later I stood in the bathroom at work staring in the mirror. I couldn't help but be shocked at the changes happening to my body every time I saw myself. Since my birthday, Lucas had stopped with any pretense of subtlety in his feedings, giving me a “protein shake” each night. I pretended to not notice the pile of ice cream containers that would accumulate in the bins each week. Did I really have a choice? Lucas was amazing and gorgeous, so far out of my league. So his tastes were a little unconventional! This was the happiest I'd ever been, wasn't it?

I lifted my gut and checked I'd zipped my fly in the mirror. I sighed and let it go, doing my best to ignore the shaking fat and the pinching of the belt buckle against my overhang. Ever since I'd hit 300 pounds a month before, my suit jacket had stopped buttoning. I left it open over in matching, tight trousers. At the very least I was doing my best to keep up with the rate I was outgrowing shirts, but I even seemed to be bursting out of these.

My gaze avoided my face. I never imagined my cheeks would get so round, my double chin so pronounced. I dried my hands and left for my meeting.

“It's Adam, isn't it?” one of the clients asked as we finished up. I turned towards him and smiled. We’d met before, in some meeting or other. I remember thinking how grossly overweight he was; a heavy round gut filled his lap and a heavy beard did nothing to hide his double chin. I realised with some shock that I almost certainly weighed more than him.

“That's right,” I said, reaching my hand over the table to shake his hand. I felt my gut brush the table top and suppressed a shudder. “I didn't catch your name, I'm afraid. Did you have some more questions about the project?”

“Henry,” he replied as he pulled himself up with a grunt. “I was hoping to have a personal conversation actually.” My eyebrows raised. “I believe we have a mutual friend,” he continued by way of explanation. “A young man named Lucas?”

I nervously stroked my moustache. “Ah,” I said. “Yes, we umm…” I hesitated. Who was this man? Lucas’ dad maybe, angry at the old git taking advantage of his son? “We met a while ago. We, uh, go to the same gym.” I cringed at my nervous lie. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that I'd not been to the gym in years, nevermind one that catered to the likes of Lucas.

Henry smiled. “I see,” he said.

“How do you know Lucas?” I asked. I tried to smile as wide as I could to hide my nervousness.

Henry looked around the office to check it was empty. “I used to fuck him,” he said bluntly. “A few years ago, while he was uni.”

I swallowed hard and lifted my fat arms as I felt sweat began to pour out my armpits. “Ah, I see,” I said. “Righto.”

“I thought I was onto a good thing,” Henry continued. “Hot young thing like that, interested in an old git like me? You can't really pass it up, can you?”

I forced a laugh. I felt sweat roll down my back and pool above my love handles.

“I knew he must have, you know, some daddy fetish, but fuck it, why else would he be interested? I'm not an idiot. He never asked for money and it never got too weird. Well, until…” He sighed and held his face in his hands for a moment. “He started feeding me up. Subtle, at first, you know? Passing me his leftovers, buying me treats.” He looked at me and I watched his eyes move up and down. “Eventually he got more aggressive. Feeding me these gross milkshakes. I nearly got up to three-hundred pounds, if you can imagine it.”

I shook my head. “God, yeah, that’s uhh…” I said. I shifted in my seat and it protested loudly against my 310 pounds. “That's awful.”

“Yeah, well…” Henry said, shifting uncomfortably himself. “I did some investigating after I burst out of some trousers at work. I found some…” He shivered. “Fucked up account on this website for fat fuckers. I confronted him, he admitted everything.”

I nodded. “Wow, yeah, that’s… that's awful. I'm so sorry that happened to you,” I said. “I’d never imagine he was-”

“You do know he's just using you, don't you?” he interrupted.

I paused and swallowed heavily. “What?” I said breathlessly.

“Come on, don't act a prat,” Henry said. “You know as well as I do that he's using you to get his kicks, and he doesn't give a shit about how you feel about it.”

I was silent for a while. Of course I knew. “At least he's using me,” I said after a while. I cringed as I said it.

“Fuck me, he's got you good,” Henry said. He pulled himself up with a grunt and walked around the table. He patted me on the shoulder and squeezed it for a moment. “Good luck mate. You're in deeper than I ever was.” He walked towards the door. “Is it worth it though?”

-

I wanted to speak to Lucas about it. I really did, honest. I chose times that would work, scripted out what I wanted to say, a couple of times I even got so far as asking Lucas to talk. Every time I got close, I wimped out, smiled, asked him if we could order a takeaway and let him stuff me from both ends.

Lucas was out drinking with friends. Even without him there, he'd trained me well enough to stuff myself even without him, knowing what reward id be granted. I ordered two extra large pizzas, with the aim to finish them both by the time he came back to find the empty boxes and me swollen up like a tick. I fantasised about what he'd do to me, ever the obedient little pig even while his farmer was out. I hated myself for the thought. I pushed another slice into my mouth and moaned around it.

Slice by slice the pizzas disappeared as some film or other played on the TV in front of me. Who even knew what it was, some old war thing maybe. I didn't care; my world narrowed down to my shaking breathing, the engorged gut hanging down into my lap, and the taste of pizza on my tongue. Slowly, each slice disappeared and collapsed back, my hard dick pressing into my fleshy overhang.

The film finished with some soaring triumph or other, and stood shakily. There was a family sized tiramisu from Costco in the fridge. Lucas wanted to feed it to me tomorrow, but I knew he wouldn't mind. I belched, scratched the underside of my gut, and followed it towards the kitchen.

I found a spoon, found the dessert and lowered myself gently into a kitchen chair. It was only a matter of time, I knew, before they'd collapse under me. I’d hardly bought them expecting I'd ever be pushing 25 fucking stone. I pushed the first large spoonful into my mouth and breathed heavily through my nose. I considered flicking off my hearing aids, so disgusted as I was my my grunting and huffing. Still, that would involve slowing down, and I knew by now that the trick to stuffing myself far beyond my capacity, just as much as Lucas wanted, was to go as fast as possible.

As I shoveled the third spoonful into my gaping maw, I heard the front door rattle and open. I stood shakily. “Lucas,” I said. “You're back early.” I hastily wiped greasy fingers on the bottom of my t-shirt, ridden up almost to my belly button.

“Jesus fuck Adam,” Lucas sighed as he saw me. He rushed towards me and kissed me, hard enough for our teeth to clatter together and our noses to crashed into each other. If it hurt him, he didn't show it, and instead he just carried on in his frenzied grabbing of my body. At some point, he started undressing me, pulling my tight shirt off, the fabric getting caught on my freshly expanded gut and moobs. He whined as he undid my belt and trousers, clearly frustrated with having to use both hands and stop, however briefly, in his groping of me.

Eventually I was stood wearing in front of him wearing only a pair of tented white y-fronts that should have been retired a few stone ago, and were hardly fashionable when they fit, and a pair of mismatched socks. The elastic was long-gone in my pants, but nonetheless I could still feel the waistband digging into my overhanging gut. I could feel my overgrown stubble, deeply in need of a trim, caught between my growing double chin and thickening neck, itching like mad. My shoulder and back hair had gotten a lot worse recently, spreading to cover every available surface and becoming dense and wiry. I'd started to find grey hairs in my moustache and stubble, my rapidly thinning hairline, the copious curly body hair that was constantly encroaching on more and more of my skin. As I stood there, my flab shaking slightly as I panted from exertion, I knew I must look disgusting.

Lucas' eyes were clouded with lust. He stood back to take in the sight of my body, scanning up and down, pausing for a moment to take in everything in front of him. Despite how exposed I felt, I grew hard. Lucas was still fully clothed.

“Take them off,” he said, simply.

“You mean my…?” I gestured down, somewhere unseen below the crest of my gut.

“Off.” Louder this time, and more forceful.

I obeyed, peeling the old pants off and crouching down with a pronounced ooft before standing back up, tottering slightly at the shift in centre of gravity, and breathing just slightly too hard to be dignified.

Lucas stepped towards me, closing the gap between us, and kissing me again, gentler this time but no less urgent. His hands roved around my body, gripping handfuls of flesh, running along cellulite, swirling through coarse hair. I felt one hand reach around to my arse, and begin to probe at my hole. He pushed one finger in first, slowly but forcefully, and then two. I gasped and he laughed against my mouth.

He seemed to find my prostate with ruthless efficiency, and his fingers exerted a perfect, practiced amount of pressure. I went weak at the knees, pushing his fingers deeper into me and causing me to moan.

Lucas pulled away and grinned, his fingers still massaging my prostate expertly. His other hand pinched one of my nipples, then traced the arc of my gut before disappearing underneath and gripping my achingly hard cock and he began to slowly pump. He leant down to one of my moobs, his hands never stopping in their attentions, and his tongue made slow, lazy circles around my puffy, pointed nipple. My eyes rolled back and I staggered back slightly, gripping the counter for balance.

“Do you like that?” Lucas asked, taking his mouth away from my nipple for a mere second. I could only whimper in response.“And you like my body?” he asked. Another whimper. He pulled his mouth away and slowed both his hands, but didn't move them away. “I asked if you like this. I asked if you liked my body. If you like your boy toy.” His voice was stern.

I forced out a strangled “yes” and he resumed his attentions to me.

“And what will you do for me?” Lucas continued.

“Anything,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Jesus Christ, I'd do anything.”

Lucas laughed, the sound muffling against my soft chest. “That's good Adam. That's very good,” he said. “I didn't ask what you would do though. I asked what you will do?” His massaging, pumping and licking all increased in speed ever so slightly.

“I don’t- oh fuck Lucas, I - fuck me - I don’t know what you mean, I-” Lucas seemed to be able to tell with almost psychic precision exactly when I was close to cumming, and he'd slow just enough to keep me going.

He bent down further and knelt so that his mouth moved away from my tits and his face was level with my gut. He buried his face in the thick fat and fur there, and I felt his tongue swirl in my belly button. “What will you do for me?” he repeated.

My heart-race increased. My lips quivered. I could barely see. Could I agree to this? Tell him I'd let him take me and make me as fat as he'd like? Did I honestly think I had a say in the matter anymore? “I'll get fat for you,” I whispered hoarsely. “Fatter,” I corrected myself. Both of his hands faltered for a moment before subtly changing their pattern of movement. I almost fell to the floor.

“How much fatter?” he asked.

“Oh fuck Lucas please,” I begged. “I'll get so fat. As fat as you like. I'll - Jesus fuck Lucas, another hundred pounds, two-hundred, just fucking - aah, ahh, oh, ohhhh.”

Beneath my gut, my cock exploded in thick fountains of cum for what felt like minutes. After a while I opened my eyes to look down at Lucas, but could only see the top of his head over the sphere of my gut. He stood up to reveal a sticky mess covering his shirt, which he promptly removed to reveal his cobblestone abs and yard-wide shoulders. He smiled at me, leant across my gut to kiss me, then led me to one of the kitchen chairs to sit down.

“I'm going to get you something to eat,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I've eaten,” I told him shakily. “Pizza,” I clarified. “Two,” I added with some pride.

Lucas shook his head as he unbuckled his belt and opened the fridge. “You're eat[I]ing[/I],” he insisted. “You've not finished yet.” He pulled out a pint of double cream and set it down next to the tiramisu.

“I'm not sure if I can-”

“You've not finished yet,” he repeated. He unbuttoned and pushed down his jeans to reveal his python-like cock, tenting out his boxers as it reached towards his hip. “You said you'd get fat for me,” he said, pouting a little. He pulled his boxers down so that his cock sprang out, pointing straight at me.

I nodded. “I can eat,” I said.

“Good.” He placed his hands in my armpits and guided me into a standing position before turning me around to face the table. He placed the cream down next to the tiramisu. “The tiramisu first,” he said. “Then the cream.” I could feel the tip of his cock pushing between my arse cheeks and his hands started to stroke up and down the hair covering my love handles.

“I- uh babes, I'm not sure if- I mean, I don't know if I can go again, I've just cum and-” I started. He pushed my back down so that my face was inches from the tiramisu.

“I need to cum too,” he said simply. His cockhead pushed closer and stretched my hole. “The tiramisu,” he ordered.

As he pushed his whole length inside of me, I pushed my face into the tiramisu. He began to pick up a rhythm, sending shockwaves through my flesh. Despite having climaxed just moments before, I started to get hard again.

I focussed on eating, and after a few minutes the last of the dessert was gone. Lucas noticed and picked up the tray, inspecting it briefly before pushing it back towards my face, holding it there. “Lick up the rest,” he grunted. I obeyed, running my tongue around the container, pushing into the corners. Once that was done, he pulled me upright and pushed the double cream into my hand. “Drink,” he ordered. He picked up a new rhythm for this new position, thrusting more forcefully.

I ripped the top off and lifted the cream to my lips. I grimaced at the sickly taste and the feeling of the rich liquid sitting on top of my already full stomach, especially with it rocking and shaking, but I persisted and a few minutes later I dropped the empty carton onto the floor. As I did so, Luca picked up his pace and gave one final grunt and I could feel his semen filling me up.

He staggered back and pulled out of me, before gripping my shoulder and to turn me around. He kissed me, slowly this time, with more care. He rested his forehead on mine. “Thank you,” he said. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” I whispered back.

He stood back and smiled. “I'm going to have a shower.” He gestured down at himself, covered in sweat with his jeans and underwear still around his knees.

I nodded. “I'll have one after,” I said. “See you in bed.”

Lucas grinned and walked away, not bothering to pull up his trousers. “I’m going to make you so fat,” he said once he reached the bottom of the stairs.

I forced a smile back. I didn't doubt he would.

-

“Four hundred!” I said, peering over my soft gut to the heavy-duty scale beneath. I swallowed heavily. Perhaps finally this would be enough for him? I knew it wouldn't.

“Finally!” Lucas said, beaming. “Took you long enough, eh?” I had put on fifty pounds in just a few months. “How do you feel?” he asked me.

I needed to tell him I wanted to stop, that this had all gone too far. I'd never wanted this, it had all been for him, not for me. My gut still ached from breakfast, my stretch marks had been itching for weeks, I was tired and fat and disgusting and-

“Horny,” I replied instead. “And hungry.”