Growing Boy, Growing Belly

So you’ve decided to become a gainer.

This is you now. A 170 pound 20 year old man. Lean. Fit. Curious. And boy are you hungry.

It starts by obsessing over other men’s weight. You notice every change in men’s bodies. Your father has put on a beer gut. Your college classmates start wearing sweatpants all the time. Their lovehandles pop out in shirts. The skin around their flat stomachs becomes soft and plump. No change in weight is too small or subtle. You notice it. And you want it. 

You research it. Google “how to get fat on purpose.” “Best ways to gain weight.” “Highest calorie foods.” “Men who gain weight.” “How to gain weight fast”.

Get erect. All this excites you. And you know you need it. One day, the decision is made. You will get fat on purpose. You will force your body to get as big and plump and bloated and chubby and saggy and puffy and fat as you want. It will never be enough but at least it will be something. That day, you overeat intentionally. An extra burger from McDonalds. A pint of Ben and Jerry’s. A six pack of beer. You are stuffed and satisfied and horny. You jerk off that night feeling your bloated gut. You love the sensation. You must do this again and again and again. 

The first 10 pounds comes easy. You barely need to try. A little here, a little there, eat like a man. Finish an entire large pizza to yourself. Ice cream after. And beer. Your pants get snug. You fill out a little bit. No one notices. But you noticed. And now you realize how much more you’ll need to feel anything. This is not enough. 

190 pounds. 

No longer thin, but not noticeably fat. Just a little soft. Some call you beefy. You’ve been exploring more ways to gain. Drink a gallon of whole milk a day. You can barely move after. You push your gut out as far as it will go. The pressure is incredible. The liquid sloshes in your belly. Hard to go to the gym this way, so may as well stay home and snack. 34in jeans fit better now. You’re liking the bloat. Decide to keep it bloated every day. If you can eat until you’re stuffed bloated every day, surely you will gain weight fast. And you do.

200 pounds. 

These first thirty pounds have happened so easily. Too easily? You don’t feel like it’s any different. But it is. You are softer all over. You hate cardio and never jog anymore. Large shirts hug your budding belly. People can see your deepening belly button through your shirt. You always clean your plate, out of habit now. People offer you food, knowing you’ll never say no. You are a big guy now. He’s a beefcake. “hey big guy.” The other guys call you “thicc” and “meaty.” But you want more than that. And you will get it. 

215.

Eggnog chugs. Boost chugs. 12 packs of beer. Mass Gainer. Heavy Cream. Jars of peanut butter. Extra olive oil. You need MORE and you want it now. The next 15 pounds come fast. No amount is too much for you. You film all this now. You want a record of your progress. You pat your chubby ball gut in satisfaction. You find fat in places you didn’t realize got fat. That area around your cock is puffy and soft. The side of what once was your muscular pec is now dimpled and flabby. Your inner thighs. Your back. Softer. 

230.

Your gains are obvious. It’s been 60 lbs and two years. But college does that to people. Your parents realize your party lifestyle has impacted your diet. You’re not a high school jock anymore, but hey, why not enjoy college? You’ve graduated and you want help to keep growing. Meet up with a feeder. He’s older than you. Potbellied. Clearly he’s put on weight himself. He opens the door in his underwear. You are shy. But your gut poking through your large tee and your lovehandles spilling over your jeans are all he needs to see to know you’ve been doing plenty of damage to yourself without his help. He intends to fucking destroy you. And he will.

This is when it gets intense. He makes you open the fridge where a gallon tub of ice cream has been melting into a vat of chocolatey goo. You will drink it all and he will make you do it sitting in front of the mirror naked.You gets you high on marijuana and poppers. You step on the scale and realize in erotic satisfaction that you have put on 4 pounds instantly. 

Your gut has never been more full. You are more erect than you have ever been. You have never felt SO GOOD.

He has you now. Addicted. Welcome to gaining, pig.

250.

 There’s no going back now. Your gut is distended and chubby and bloated all the time. And you are PROUD of it. Bright red stretchmarks have erupted across your round, soft, stomach and lovehandles. They remind you of your progress and you love them. You want more. You look like a fat guy now. Your face is puffy and round. You never go to the gym anymore. You can’t hide your weight gain in the baggiest of clothes. A double chin has formed so you grow a scraggly beard to cover it. Clothes do not fit you the same. You look… disheveled. And you do not care. All you CARE about is getting MORE. 

You are becoming a proper hog.Your feeder has done some serious damage and you love it. You obey him. You trust him. He wants you fatter, and you oblige. Each session is intense and he’s pushing your limits. The challenge is so erotic, you don’t even realize the changes that are occurring. You just know you want more. You are his slob now. A greedy, hungry, gainer. You are transforming. But it is still not enough. You cannot stop now.

270.

You have gained 100 pounds. Or have you? You still look so skinny in the mirror. You’re pudgy, MAYBE. Definitely not fat. There are way more guys that are fatter than you, and they aren’t even trying. You must gain more. Your family is concerned. 100 pounds in five years is a lot. “You should get back in the gym.” “Lay off the beer.” “Too many sweets and fast food.”

This only motivates you more. You’ll show them just how big you can get. Next time they see you, they will be horrified; you will make sure of that. 

Your feeder is proud of his pig, and you need him more than ever. He pushes you to gorge unrelentlessly. New creative ways to pump you full of calories. Your skin is always tight. Every time you feed, you think, “I’ve never been this full.” Yet you crave more. Your cock throbs as you play with your soft underbelly. It sags now over your waistband, no matter what kind of pants you wear. Your ass cheeks are soft and dimpled. Your lovehandles are embarrassingly wide. People look at you funny. When you eat in public, people are grossed out. 

300.

You run into an old college classmate who has himself gained weight. He barely recognizes you with the double chin and the beard and the waddle. You converse. He says “I guess we all put on a little weight after college” as he pats your soft, flabby belly just above your navel. This excites you. But you play it off. “Yeah work keeps me busy. No time to exercise and I just love trying new restaurants.”

The truth is, you don’t care what food tastes like. You will chug anything, stuff anything into your fat face that your feeder tells you to. You are his now. He is the only person you are attractive to now. Too fat for normal men. You are now an acquired taste. Only chubby chasers and encourages want your sweaty, waddling, bloated, curvy body. 

330.

You are in denial. "It’s not that much, I think I want another 50 pounds.“ 

The statement is laughable on its face. You are a blubbery mess of a man. This is what addiction does to you. You can’t even realize that 160 pounds of pure lard packed onto your once-thin frame is a lot. Nothing fits you anymore. You are always out of breath. People you used to know do not recognize you. You’ve given up all your hobbies except the only one that matters: Gaining. 

Gaining is the only thing you want. The only thing you think about. The only thing that gets your cock hard. And you must have more. 

350.

You film yourself naked eating a pie on all fours. Sniff poppers. Then slam back two pints of melted ice cream. The flavor doesn’t matter. It drips out the side of your mouth and over your fat tits. Your nipples are swollen and sensitive. You love having your tits played with. Oink Oink. You reach under your heavy soft overhang and pull it up. Jiggle it for your camera. Burp. Slap your gut.

You masturbate to these videos you film of yourself. You are shocked when you look back at your video at 250 and think “WOW I was so thin back then.” Reality is, 250 was NOT thin. But your perception of what is fat, what is thin, is so distorted by your fetish that it’s completely disconnected from reality. 

400.

Your feeder laughs and pats your gut as the scale reads 400 for the first time.

You are fatter now than he has ever been. 

“How do you feel, pig?” he says, grinning, and with his cock leaking precum in his underwear. 

“I feel… small. Like I need another 50 pounds,” you respond as you rub the soft hanging part of your belly. “And I’m still hungry.”

He loves hearing that. He sits you down in front of the mirror and watches as you drink a Boost VHC. 500 calories a piece. 

Drink another.

And another.

And another.

2000 calories. 

“Feel better pig?" 

"yes sir.” you respond. 

As you look in the mirror, you let out a satisfying burp and jiggle your heft. Everything wobbles on you now. What you see back doesn’t shock you, but it should.

You think: What have I become? What have I done to myself? Why do I still feel so small?

Here I'm!

No way to reach!

oink

God I love fat, lazy, horny hogs. They make me so wet. I want to use that cock as you lay there stuffed and pathetic. That's about the only part of you getting any exercise now, isn't it? That and whatever hand you use to stroke it.

Aww look, talking about how pathetic you are made you even harder. You're going to get so fucking fat and useless. Keep going fat boy, I want to you sweat from the exertion. How funny it is that jerking off is hard work for you now, you're such a fucking pig. You're ruined. It's adorable.

You're going to cum and get even fucking fatter for me. I want every time you finish for you to feel hungry and every time you stuff to make you hard. I don't care that you're full. You're going to cum and then you're going to eat, do you understand?

You're such an obedient pig. That cock and that belly are mine now. You stuff yourself and you cum to please me, got it? It's not about you.

You're a horny piggy that is into bdsm as much as I am. If you love to be tied up like the hog you are. You want to see that rope become submerged in all your fat. You want to be spanked till you jiggle all over. You want to be gagged with an apple like the pig you are. You love to be called a porker, a piggy, a gluttonous slut. You want to be force fed while tied down, your belly being filled to the brim until it's ready to explode. You just want to be completely at someone's mercy while they fatten you up nicely. You want, no, you need to be over 600lbs. Nothing but a massive tub of lard.

Not everyone is wired like you are. Very few people are. There must've been some mishap or reason to cause this, but it's apparent you share the mental characteristics of a pig. You may pretend you have some higher career or life aspirations for yourself that society would deem acceptable. But those goals are facades you use to hide the truth. The truth is, the loftiest aspirations you have revolve around food, sex, and growing to the biggest size you can.

For a time, maybe, you keep that pig brain of yours under control. Only letting it out late at night when you're alone and at your most hornily vulnerable. But the more you let this side of you out, the longer it decides to stick around. This side of you encourages and tempts you to eat food beyond what a normal person should. You let yourself become a slut for calories. The higher the calorie count, the better for you, greedily getting your fill. You feel at your best when you're chewing, so you actively try to make it so you can take more. If you ever had a skinny body, it disappears quickly. Pigs aren't supposed to be skinny, so neither will you.

You let yourself grow fatter like a common pig, marketing your increasing obesity as a personal triumph to any feeder willing to consider you a suitable mate. You see your deepening rolls, lower hanging flab, and lard-packed belly as value. They're now your tools in your arsenal to attract the most fitting breeding partner for your unquenchable lust. Your increasing size is a promise that you'll consider growing for whatever feeder wants to take you on as their project and partner. You know, if the right feeder comes knocking, you'll submit yourself entirely to them, allowing them to make you into the perfect blue ribbon hog.

Now that you're fat, you only want feeders in your life since their goals align with your piggish aspirations. A feeder will let you eat during sex. A feeder will feed you more when you get too lazy. A feeder will supply you with a steady supply of feed to keep your pig-like gluttony sated. A feeder will know when you're in heat and be willing enough to mount you like the fuckpig you are. You'll be taken care of as your feeder grows you to their desired size.