Sans titre

Having trouble reaching my food on the table lately…

It's turning someone into "this" because you're taking advantage of what they can't control. The voice in the video he's chugging to is my own....

The apartment smelled like old pizza boxes and that cheap body spray Alex liked to overuse. Three guys in their early twenties, sharing the kind of off campus place that felt like freedom until the dishes piled up. Alex sprawled on the couch, long legs hanging off the end, phone in one hand while he scratched at his flat stomach with the other. Six two, one eighty, still carrying that soccer build from high school. Sharp jaw, tight shirts, the guy who acted like he had everything under control.

"Dude, you seeing this crap online?" he asked without looking up.

Ben sat in the gaming chair, controller loose in his grip, his stockier frame already hinting at what could turn soft if he let it. Five ten, around one ninety on a good day, round face that made him look younger than twenty one. He paused whatever shooter he was playing and leaned in. "The virus thing? Yeah. My timeline's full of it."

Chris was on the floor, laptop on his knees, slim and put together at six feet and one sixty. Pretty boy features, dark hair always neat, eyes that darted away if someone stared too long. He stayed quiet at first, scrolling through whatever article had his attention.

They had been roommates since sophomore year. Alex was the organizer, the one who planned stuff and then actually followed through. Ben brought the snacks and the loud energy. Chris handled the quiet stuff, like bills and making sure the fridge didn't turn into a science experiment.

The news had been building for a couple weeks now. Some mystery bug hitting men. Started with tiredness, then this crazy hunger that wouldn't let up. A few stories mentioned strange changes, but the big sites called it stress or a bad flu. The wild corners of the internet were screaming bioweapon, foreign lab, something designed to mess with guys on a deep level. Appetite cranked up, calories turning straight into fat, hormones going haywire. Most people rolled their eyes. Memes about it being a "gay flu" were already everywhere, the dumb kind that spread faster than facts.

"They're saying it hits men hardest," Alex muttered. "Hunger, weight piling on quick, other stuff. Sounds like bullshit."

Ben gave a short laugh. "My cousin knows a guy in Chicago who packed on ten pounds in a week. Just eating everything in sight. Swears he picked it up at a bar."

Chris finally spoke, voice low. "Deeper threads call it the Adipose Agent or whatever. Engineered. Screws with metabolism, packs on thick fat cells. And there are rumors about... other sides. Libido stuff. Thoughts shifting."

He stopped there. Alex raised an eyebrow. "Other sides?"

"You know. Hornier than normal. Maybe not just for girls." Chris's face warmed a bit, but he kept his eyes on the screen. "Probably exaggerated."

Alex sat up. "Screw that. We're not catching it. Rules start now."

He grabbed the notebook they used for random lists and started writing in big letters. Ben set the controller down. Chris closed his laptop but stayed put.

"Number one," Alex said. "No big parties. We keep it to us three. Masks if we go out, quick trips only. No sharing drinks, no random hookups."

Ben grinned. "So your soccer girls are off limits?"

"Shut it. Number two, healthy food only. Chicken, veggies, shakes. No DoorDash marathons. We cook."

Ben pulled a face. "Man, one rough week and we're choking down kale?"

"Number three," Alex kept going. "Gym every morning. Runs at night if we can. Burn it before it sticks."

Chris nodded, but something flickered across his face. Not exactly scared. More like a spark he was trying to bury. Alex missed it, too busy in leader mode.

They spent the next hour hammering it out. Ben joked about the "fat apocalypse" but agreed to ease up on midnight chips. Chris suggested logging any weird hunger or tiredness right away. Alex added the no weird touching rule, half kidding. "And none of that bro stuff turning strange. You get me."

The talk wandered. Alex stepped out for a call from his mom, voice dropping into that good son mode in the hallway.

"Yeah, we're careful... No weird symptoms here... Tell Dad the med school stuff is still on track... Love you."

Back inside, Ben was already ordering what he called "one last cheat meal." They settled on pizza, nothing crazy. Chris had his laptop open again but snapped it shut when Alex returned. They ate on the couch, arguing if the virus was real or just another online panic. Ben tore through most of the pie like he hadn't eaten in days. Alex stuck to a couple slices and felt pretty good about it. Chris picked at his, quieter than usual.

That night after Ben crashed with the TV still going, Alex hit the bathroom. He caught himself in the mirror, shirt off, abs showing, chest solid from lifts. Flexed once, nodded, then went to bed.

Chris didn't sleep easy.

He stayed up in his room, door cracked for a sliver of light, phone under the covers. The forums got darker at night. Guys talking about waking up starving, clothes feeling tighter, sudden hard ons that hit different. Posts about bellies softening first, a gentle roundness pushing out, love handles starting to thicken like slow rising dough. Whispers that cum from someone carrying it made everything faster, like flipping a switch on the fat gain.

Chris's breathing picked up. He told himself it was research. But his hand had already drifted down, stroking slow while he read. He'd carried this secret for years. Hidden folders, old stories about bodies letting go, swelling soft and heavy, guts rounding out, thighs spreading, asses turning plush and heavy. The thought of a virus forcing it on someone... it scared him how fast it got him going.

He finished quiet, biting back any sound, then the shame rolled in like always. These were his roommates. Alex with that clean jock frame, Ben with his easy stocky build that could tip soft so quick. Chris cleared his history, rolled over, and told himself nothing was going to touch them.

The next few days mostly stuck to the plan. Morning gym sessions, Alex pushing reps and spotting. Chris on the treadmill, trying not to let his eyes wander over how sweat made shirts cling or how Ben's shorts rode up on his thicker legs. Meals stayed boring but safe. They even skipped a small get together down the street.

But the emails from campus health started warning about sudden appetite spikes in guys. A couple dorm students had apparently packed on weight fast and pulled back from classes. Alex read one out at dinner and made them all promise to stay strict.

"See? Rules are working."

Ben burped and laughed it off. "Sure. Pass the water. This rice is killing me."

Chris smiled but kept his thoughts to himself. That secret flicker inside him stirred again. What if it wasn't terrible? What if... He shut it down quick.

Friday night they made it through the week. Alex called for a movie, just them. They ordered one plain cheese pizza as a small reward and spread out. Ben took the couch and was already on his third slice. Alex sat on the floor against the coffee table. Chris claimed the armchair.

Halfway through, the doorbell. Alex had forgotten they tacked on wings last minute. The delivery guy looked wiped, mid twenties, mask on but coughing rough as he passed the bag. "Long shift, sorry."

Alex tipped fast and closed the door. They dug in. The wings were greasy and hot. Ben killed most of them. Alex had a couple. Chris ate more than planned, sauce on his fingers, the salt and heat sitting warm in his gut in a way that felt deeper than normal food.

Movie ended. Ben headed to bed first, groaning about feeling stuffed. Alex followed, clapping Chris on the shoulder. "Good week, man. We're beating this."

Chris cleaned up alone. His stomach pressed against his shirt a little heavier than usual. Not just full. Softer somehow. He caught himself rubbing it, the slight give sending a quick forbidden spark low in his body.

He told himself it was nothing.

Around two a.m. Ben stumbled out for water. He looked flushed, one hand rubbing his side where his love handles sat a bit fuller. "God, I'm starving again," he muttered, pulling cold wings from the fridge and eating them standing there in his boxers, grease on his chin.

Chris watched from the hallway shadow. His own cock twitched hard out of nowhere, a rush he couldn't pin on the meal. He slipped back to his room before Ben noticed.

Morning came and everything shifted.

Alex woke to noise from the kitchen. Ben was already there, shirt riding up, digging through the fridge like a man possessed. He'd demolished the leftover pizza and was working on cereal straight from the box, milk running down his chin. His face looked a touch rounder, cheeks softer. And when he turned, his stomach pushed out in a small, undeniable curve that hadn't been there yesterday. Not bloated. Softer. Like new padding settling in.

"Ben, what the hell?" Alex said.

Ben looked up, eyes glassy with hunger. "Can't stop. So fucking hungry. And my dick... it's been hard all night. Weird thoughts too."

Chris came out then. They both saw it at the same time. Ben's belly had a gentle roundness now, love handles thickening just enough to pinch over his waistband. He shifted and there was the faintest jiggle.

Alex went pale. "Shit. The delivery guy yesterday. He was coughing."

They didn't argue. Within minutes they had Ben quarantined in his room. Door shut, tape over the edges for good measure. "Stay in there," Alex called through the wood. "We're not risking it. We'll slide food and water to you. Notes for what you need. No coming out."

Ben's voice came back muffled, already sounding thicker. "Guys... I'm really hungry."

They set up the system quick. A tray by the door, plastic bags for trash on the other side. Notes passed under. Water bottles, whatever non perishable stuff they had. Chris suggested protein bars and fruit at first, trying to keep it light. Alex added a strict no contact warning.

For the rest of that day they kept distance. Alex hit the gym alone, pushing harder like it could fix things. Chris stayed in his room a lot, laptop open, heart racing for reasons he didn't want to name. Ben's requests started simple, then got bigger. More food. He was eating nonstop.

By evening the notes under the door mentioned how his clothes felt tighter already. Alex read one and swore. Chris read it and felt that secret heat bloom low in his gut again.

They left Ben a big bag of snacks that night, slid through with a stick so no hands touched. "One week," Alex said through the door. "We'll figure this out. Just stay put."

From inside came the sound of wrappers tearing and heavy chewing. Ben's voice had a new desperate edge. "Thanks man... fuck, this feels good."

Chris lay awake long after. His hand drifted to his own stomach, pressing lightly, imagining. The shame hit, but so did the thrill. Down the hall Ben was already changing, fifteen pounds or more probably on the way if the stories were true. Soft face filling, belly rounding, that stocky frame getting plush.

Chris swallowed hard and tried to sleep.

But the apartment already felt different. Hungrier.

READ THE FULL 7 PART STORY AS A MULTI CHAPTER SUBSCRIBER ON PATREON

who will help me get my gaining journey to the next the level? 🐷

Part 1 Part 2

The following weeks were a blur for Peter and Damian. They ate, worked, made love, and ate some more. They were two true lovebirds until the inevitable day came for Peter to board his plane to Dubai. His shirts had grown snug, but he wore them proudly, a silent testament to Ahmed and the journey he was on for him.

When he arrived at the compound, he was greeted by an imposing figure: Vladimir, a towering man in a polo that stretched tightly over his frame, hinting at a similar weight gain regimen. His heavy Eastern European accent broke the silence. “Welcome. Your bags will be taken to your room. Let’s get to work.” Without further ado, they climbed into a golf cart and began weaving through the estate. Peter was struck by the sheer scale of it. It felt vast, opulent—almost overwhelming.

They arrived at a building that was clearly a medical facility, its sleek design at odds with the warmth of the estate. It was beautiful in its aesthetics but unmistakably clinical, leaving Peter slightly uneasy. Vladimir ushered him into an office—a stunningly designed doctor’s room that still managed to give off an air of intimidation. “Undress to your underwear. The doctor will be here shortly,” Vladimir said before stepping out.

Peter complied, sitting awkwardly on the examination bed until the doctor entered. The man almost took Peter’s breath away—it was the same doctor, still strikingly handsome, with an aura of authority bit this time he also sported a belly.

The doctor wasted no time. “Good morning, Peter. I hope your flight was pleasant.” Before Peter could answer, the doctor had moved on. “Let’s check your blood pressure.”

"Normal," the doctor muttered to himself. “Great. Now step on the scale.”

Peter complied, curious yet apprehensive. “Good work, Peter. You’ve reached your goal.”

“Can I know how much?” Peter asked, anticipatory excitement in his voice.

“No,” the doctor replied curtly. “That’s for Ahmed to reveal. I’m just here to inform you of your new goal. You’ll be here for the next four weeks, during which you’ll gain the same amount of weight you’ve just gained in the past month.”

Peter’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Then I must know how much I’ve gained!”

The doctor, unfazed, simply said, “No.” With a quick press of a button, Vladimir reappeared. “Escort Peter to his room,” the doctor instructed.

Peter, frustrated and confused, tried with Vladimir. “Why won’t he let me know my weight?”

Vladimir, ever stoic, replied, “That’s Mr. Ahmed’s decision.”

“Where is Ahmed?” Peter asked, his voice tinged with irritation.

“You’ll see him at dinner,” Vladimir said simply.

Back in the main building, Peter was shown to his room—an opulent space that felt both familiar and extravagant. It was the same room he had stayed in during his first visit. “Lunch is served in the dining hall, and Mr. Richie will join you,” Vladimir announced. “You’ve got two hours to yourself. Would you like me to show you the pool?”

"Yes, please," Peter replied.

"Please use the provided robes when traveling to and from the pool," Vladimir advised. "It prevents slipping on the marble floors and avoids catching a cold from the air conditioning while wet. The dining dress code is smart casual. Beyond that, feel free to wear swimwear at your leisure."

Peter noticed his luggage had already been unpacked and expertly arranged in the walk-in closet. Among his clothing hung a stunning Arabian robe, tailored to perfection. Intrigued, he tried it on, marveling at how luxurious it felt. Vladimir then led him through the estate, pointing out significant areas: the open gym in the first courtyard, a formal middle courtyard, and finally, the third courtyard—a paradise of lush greenery, serene pools, and exquisite lounging spaces.

“Enjoy. What can I bring you?” Vladimir asked.

“A tea, please,” Peter said, still absorbing the beauty around him.

Minutes later, Vladimir returned with a trolley bearing a gleaming silver teapot and an elaborate tower of macarons and pastries. Peter curiously bit into one of the macarons, savoring the flavor. Before he realized it, he was devouring the entire tray, stuffing his mouth greedily. The pastries disappeared within minutes, leaving Peter so full and content that he dozed off on the lounger.

About an hour later, he was awakened by voices. Across the pool stood a striking man with an open robe, his tanned frame muscular but softened by a noticeable belly. The man waved and approached him.

“Hey there, mister,” he greeted warmly. “You’ve been out for at least an hour. I’m Jack, a friend of Ahmed’s. You’re Peter, right?”

Peter nodded, taken aback, and instinctively flexed his belly. Jack chuckled. “Relax, man. We don’t judge here.”

Peter exhaled, feeling more at ease. He noticed his tray had been refilled—an unspoken cue. Jack smiled. “Eat up, big boy. They don’t waste food around here.” With that, he stepped away, heading to the other side of the courtyard.

Shortly after, Vladimir emerged. “Lunch is in thirty minutes,” he informed Peter.

Peter couldn’t resist the temptation to dig into the refreshed tray, managing to indulge in a few more macarons before heading to his room to change. When he arrived at the dining hall, the table was set for two. Moments later, Richie entered, greeting Peter with a hug and a congratulatory pat on his belly.

“Well done!” Richie said, grinning.

“You too, I guess,” Peter replied, noting Richie’s own expanded waistline.

“Yeah, I’m nearly at my goal,” Richie said proudly.

“Lunch is served!” another assistant declared, presenting them with appetizers. They started slow, but each subsequent course pushed their limits. The main course—a perfectly cooked ribeye paired with butter-laden mashed potatoes—demanded persistence. By the time dessert arrived—a massive Matilda chocolate cake—Peter recognized it instantly. It was double the portion he had struggled through weeks ago on the boat.

“Do you think…?” Richie began hesitantly.

Peter smirked. “Yes.”

“Okay, let’s do it!” Richie exclaimed.

They tackled the dessert with determination. It was a challenge, but they finished. Exhausted, they retreated to the pool, where assistants served lemonade and snacks. Though full, they succumbed to the polite but insistent offers.

Dinner finished, and Ahmed finally addressed Peter formally. “Congratulations, Peter.”

Peter, emboldened, asked, “So tell me, by how much?”

Ahmed smiled. “Twelve kilos, exactly.”

Peter smirked with satisfaction.

The blissful routine continued for two weeks, with Peter reveling in constant eating, light exercise in the gym with Richie, and luxurious relaxation by the pool. But one night, an intense bout of heartburn disrupted the paradise. It lingered into the day, worsening as diarrhea set in. Unable to hold anything down, Peter sought help from Vladimir, who brought him to the doctor.

The doctor examined him, noting a fever and elevated heart rate. “It’s likely a flu. Rest for a day or two,” he instructed, sending Peter back to bed with light soup for sustenance, though Peter couldn’t keep even that down.

By nightfall, his fever spiked, and he began hallucinating. He awoke in a sterile hospital-like room, hooked up to monitors with a nasal tube in place. Vladimir entered, gently lifting Peter’s head to give him water. “Your body is exhausted. Rest is what you need,” he said with surprising tenderness.

The next morning, the doctor returned. “Good morning, Peter. Feeling better?”

“Yes, much better,” Peter replied.

“Good. We’ll keep you under observation a little longer before restarting your program,” the doctor explained.

Peter recoiled. “Restart? But I can’t—I want to stop this immediately!”

The doctor’s expression remained neutral. “That’s not up to you or me. That’s Ahmed’s call.”

“Can I see him?” Peter pressed.

“I’ll inform him that you’ve requested a meeting,” the doctor said before leaving. Peter lay back, unease bubbling under the surface.

Doc left, and another giant of a man entered, pushing a trolley. "Breakfast," he grunted, his heavy Eastern European accent unmistakable. The tray held a mass-gainer shake, a bowl of oatmeal with fruit, and a generous serving of scrambled eggs. "I will remove the tube. Hang in there. Take this pill," he instructed, holding a small tablet in front of Peter’s mouth.

Peter blinked at him, confused. "Who are you?"

"My name is Tarek. Now eat." He pressed the pill closer, his stern gaze unwavering. "Don’t make me force it."

Reluctantly, Peter took the pill and washed it down with water. Frustration and anger seethed inside him—he had no appetite. He poked at the scrambled eggs but felt nauseous after a single bite. The oatmeal was slightly better, but after a few spoonfuls, he felt uncomfortably full.

Half an hour later, everything changed. His stomach growled loudly, a visceral hunger taking over. Without thinking, he grabbed the bowl of eggs, devouring it in seconds, followed by the oatmeal. He downed the thick shake, gulp after gulp, until the tray was spotless. Bewildered, Peter realized—the pill must have been an appetite stimulant.

However, his newfound hunger made him restless. Desperate for answers, he got out of bed, dragging the monitor—still attached to him—across the room. Luckily, the monitor had wheels, allowing him to wander. He quickly discovered he was on the second floor, overlooking a sleek, modern courtyard.

In the corridor, he noticed a partially open door. Quietly, he pushed it further and stepped inside. His gaze instantly landed on two feet stretched out in a bed, followed by the unmistakable figure of Tarek standing nearby. Tarek noticed him, his expression darkening as he strode toward Peter.

"You are not allowed here," Tarek growled, firmly gripping Peter’s shoulders and steering him back to his room. There was no room for argument; Tarek’s strength was overwhelming. Once back in the confines of his room, Peter slumped with frustration, his mind racing. He wanted answers, but his phone was nowhere to be found.

Stepping into the hall, Peter shouted for Tarek, who soon appeared, visibly irritated. "No phones here," Tarek barked.

"But I’m bored!" Peter protested.

"Watch TV," Tarek replied. "I’ll bring snacks."

Minutes later, Tarek returned, pushing a massive trolley piled high with treats—chips, candy, macarons, and more. Peter eyed the array suspiciously, deciding to skip the suspiciously appetizing macarons. Instead, he reached for a few Reese’s and started Netflix. Despite the distraction, unease bubbled in his chest—Who was the man in the other room? Why wasn’t he allowed a phone? And why were they so intent on making him eat?

Hours passed. Tarek returned, this time with a burger, fries, and an enormous milkshake. "The perfect Netflix lunch," he declared with a smile. "Oh, you barely touched the snacks!"

"My body’s rejecting it," Peter muttered.

"No worries." For a moment, Peter felt relieved—until Tarek produced another pill.

"Eat this," Tarek demanded.

Peter refused, shaking his head warily. Tarek’s expression turned stony. With shocking force, he shoved Peter back onto the bed, trying to force the pill into his mouth. Peter struggled, but it was like fighting a brick wall. "I want to see Ahmed!" Peter shouted, his desperation echoing in the room.

Tarek paused. "First, lunch," he said coldly.

Realizing he had no choice, Peter promised to eat. He took a few reluctant bites of the burger, nausea threatening to overwhelm him, and stopped. When Tarek returned and saw the half-eaten meal, he didn’t argue. Instead, he silently grabbed a syringe, injecting something into Peter's shoulder. Peter could only gasp before slipping into unconsciousness.

When he awoke, it was dark. A feeding tube had been reinserted into his nose. He groaned, falling back into a fitful sleep.

By morning, he found himself strapped to the bed, leather restraints biting into his wrists. Panicking, he screamed for help. Tarek entered, calm and implacable as ever. "No one is here. Just me." He leaned in closer, his voice a low rumble. "Are you ready to eat?"

"Call Ahmed!" Peter shouted, voice cracking with fear.

Tarek ignored him. "Are you ready?" he repeated. When Peter refused, Tarek connected a glass bottle filled with liquid nutrition to the feeding tube. Once again, Peter’s world faded into black.

When he woke, he was free of restraints. Knowing better than to stay put, he ventured into the hallway once more. Returning to the room he had explored earlier, he peeked inside and froze. Jack, Ahmed’s friend, was bound to the bed, a feeding tube pumping food into him. His stomach was grotesquely bloated, like a balloon about to burst. Horrified, Peter slipped away as voices approached, hurrying back to his own room.

Moments later, Tarek appeared. "Follow me," he said.

Peter was ushered into a sleek office where Doc and Vladimir awaited him. "Step on the scale," Doc instructed. Reluctantly, Peter obeyed.

"Very good," Doc murmured, satisfaction in his tone. "Vladimir, take him to Ahmed, he has reached his goal.”

Reached his goal? Peter got confused, looked at his belly and saw that it grew increasingly.

Led into a wing Peter hadn’t seen before, he felt a strange tension in the air. When he entered Ahmed’s office, the man greeted him warmly. "Peter!" he exclaimed. "I’m so happy to see you. I was worried!"

Peter frowned. "Worried?" He gestured at his now-bulging stomach. "What the hell is this? I didn’t agree to this!" I was sick!

Ahmed’s expression turned serious. "You made a commitment, and we made sure you reached your goal. Truthfully, I wanted to give you time to rest and restart—but the decision wasn’t mine to make."

"Whose decision was it?"

Ahmed hesitated. "Michael’s."

Peter’s stomach dropped. "Michael?" He whispered the name like it burned his tongue.

Ahmed nodded. "Your car will arrive in a few hours. You deserved your rest now.

Rest? How could he rest? His mind spun with rage and disbelief—and an idea began to form. If Michael had orchestrated this, Peter would need a plan of his own.

Back in NYC, Peter was at the gym with Richie, both focused on reaching their personal goals. Peter’s strength was fully back, but he still had some lingering belly fat to lose. Richie’s belly was like a balloon now.

While spotting him on a bench press, Richie said, “Hey man, I know about your plan with Michael, but what if we also work on getting your numbers up? Are they paying you again for this?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know… probably. But i’m gonna lose the weight and I’m not getting fat again. That’s non-negotiable.”

Richie chuckled. “Don’t worry, man. I’m not saying that. But I seriously think you’ve got the potential to pack on some serious muscle. With the right supplements, you could grow into a beast. What do you think?”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “If you’re suggesting steroids, I’m not interested.”

“No, no,” Richie said quickly. “I’m not talking about that. I’ve got access to some new peptides. They show amazing results. I’m planning to use them myself, especially because this gut of mine is getting way out of hand. If I don’t fix it now, I’m afraid it’ll never go away. Plus, I need to get my numbers up too—or my investment’s going nowhere. So, what do you think?”

Peter hesitated but finally said, “Alright… let’s give it a shot.”

The following morning, they both took their first injection. Workouts became instantly more intense—they felt stronger, more energetic, and better overall. Later that day, Peter stood in front of a mirror and, for the first time in months, noticed his shape returning. His shirt even buttoned up without straining. Progress, at last.

When Peter went to the weight room to record his numbers and send them to Ahmed, he unexpectedly ran into Michael. It was their first time crossing paths since the breakup. Michael’s face betrayed a subtle blush as he offered an aloof, “Hi.”

Peter locked eyes with him and coolly replied, “Hi,” before stepping on the scale.

Later that morning, Peter received an email from Ahmed: *“Are you gaining weight again?”*

Peter replied, *“Yes. Just temporarily.”*

Ahmed responded, *“Great.”*

Not long after, Michael sent Peter a surprising text: *“You look good, mister.”*

Peter read it but didn’t reply.

With Damian overseas, Peter had settled back into his old routine. Two months in, and after one month of using peptides, his body had undergone a transformation. Pumped, ripped, and lean, his belly fat had nearly vanished. Richie, on the other hand, had bulked up significantly, but there was little evidence that his infamous gut had shrunk. On the contrary.

That day, as Peter weighed himself in the corner of the gym, Michael walked in again. Peter noticed the spark in Michael’s eyes as he looked him over—up and down. Taking the opportunity, Peter casually asked, “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Michael replied. “And you?”

“It’s nice to see you around more often,” Peter said, testing the waters.

“Likewise,” Michael stammered, cheeks slightly pink.

Just as Peter hoped, Michael later texted him: *“You’ve been looking really great lately. How’s life?”*

Peter responded: *“Good! I’ve been focusing on other clients, giving me more time to focus on myself as well. And you?”*

*“Good too,”* Michael replied. *“I just got back from Europe, so now I’m focused on establishing my life here again.”*

After that exchange, things went quiet—for days. Then, on weigh-in day, they crossed paths again. Peter was on the scale, his physique more impressive than ever, when Michael entered. Peter greeted him confidently, “Hi, Michael. Nice to see you again.”

Right afterward, Michael texted: *“I’d like to see you again—outside the office.”*

Peter hesitated but replied, *“I need to think about this.”*

The next day, flowers arrived at Peter’s place, along with a text: *“I’m sorry for how I ended things between us. Can I take you out to dinner?”*

Peter responded: *“Taking me out won’t undo the heartbreak, but… it’s a start.”*

Michael replied, *“You’re right. I’ll do better. How about dinner at Emilio’s?”*

Peter agreed: *“Sure.”*

As the evening approached, Peter pondered what to wear—he wanted to make an impression, to drive Michael absolutely wild. He chose one of his sharpest tailored shirts, some well-fitted chinos, and the cologne Michael always loved. The peptides and workouts had paid off—his shirt clung to his sculpted chest, and his pants perfectly framed his newly-defined physique. He left the top three buttons of his shirt undone and smirked at his reflection. He was ready.

When Peter arrived at Emilio’s, Michael’s eyes sparkled as they roamed over him. “You look incredible,” Michael admitted. “I’m so happy to see you again. I hope we can start fresh.”

Peter raised a hand. “Let’s not rush into things,” he warned. “I’ve built a life now—a *good* life. Back then, you were controlling, and when you tossed me aside, it took a long time to recover. I’m not sure how I’ll protect myself if that happens again.”

Michael looked genuinely remorseful. “You’re right,” he said. “I’ll prove that I can do better.”

Peter gave a small smile. “Well, I’m here, aren’t I? You were—are—the love of my life. But let’s take this slow.”

They ordered dinner, with Peter deliberately taking charge. “Let’s share the oysters and foie gras,” he suggested. “Then pasta and an entrecôte to split.” He even managed to convince Michael to eat most of the meal, including dessert. By the end of the night, Michael was slightly tipsy, giving Peter the upper hand.

Peter called a ride and sent him home in an Uber, victorious.

The next morning, Peter followed his regular routine, feeling quite satisfied with how things were progressing. He shared a laugh about it with Richie. Michael was noticeably absent from the office that day, prompting Peter to text him:

**Peter:** *Hangover?*

**Michael:** *Haha, yes.*

**Peter:** *Hungry?*

**Michael:** *Very much so.*

**Peter:** *Say no more.*

Thirty minutes later:

**Michael:** *Damn, Peter! That’s a ridiculous amount of food.*

**Peter:** *Let’s get rid of that hangover. I need you fit for tonight.*

**Michael:** *Tonight? I can’t, I’ve got a dinner.*

**Peter:** *I bet you can make it a quick aperitif meeting at 5 pm—then I’ve got you for dinner.*

**Michael:** *Damn, okay… let me see.*

**Michael:** *Alright, 8:30 pm at my place.*

**Peter:** *Perfect.*

Peter went for a 15 km jog before taking a quick shower and grabbing Thai food on his way. To round out the meal, he purchased a bottle of Coca-Cola, Coke Zero, and two slices of peanut butter cheesecake from The Cheesecake Factory. Before heading into Michael’s building, he swapped out the Coke Zero with regular Coca-Cola, then made his way inside.

When Michael opened the door, his eyes widened. "Wow, Peter! That’s way too much food!"

Peter chuckled. “No worries. Any leftovers can be tomorrow's lunch.”

What Michael didn't know was that Peter had secretly crushed a quarter of an appetite enhancer and mixed it into the Coke. As they sat down, Peter poured himself and Michael a glass—but refrained from drinking his.

It didn’t take long for Michael to devour the food, finishing it within minutes. Peter wasted no time and leaned in, starting to pleasure him. Michael climaxed almost instantly.

Still catching his breath, Michael asked, "Is there dessert?"

Peter smirked, pulling out the cheesecake. “Your favorite.”

They shared the cheesecake—or rather, Michael ate both pieces while Peter pretended to be too full after a bite. The evening ended in bed, where, between kisses, Michael admitted, “I’m so glad to have you back. And I love how incredible you look lately—your new physique is amazing.”

The next morning, Peter was up early and hit the office gym as usual, training alongside Richie. On his way back to the office, he bought a box of donuts and left them on Michael’s desk with a handwritten card. When he swung by later, Michael was already two donuts deep.

“Do I see you tonight?” Peter asked casually.

“Yeah!” Michael mumbled through a mouthful of donut.

From then on, Peter made it his goal to subtly add something unhealthy to Michael’s diet each day. This wasn’t easy, considering Michael’s strict calorie counting for the past year.

By the third week, Peter noticed a shift. That morning, he timed his visit to the weighing room to coincide with Michael’s routine. While pretending to organize some gym equipment, he overheard Michael grumbling to himself: “Damn it! These 2 kilos won’t budge anymore.”

When Michael emerged, Peter acted like nothing had happened. “See you tonight?” he asked nonchalantly.

Michael sighed. “Yeah, sure. But let’s just grab a salad, okay?”

Peter nodded. “Of course.”

Rather than risk suspicion, Peter brought salad as promised—but ensured the dressing contained a crushed appetite enhancer. As expected, Michael inhaled the meal, then grew restless, asking for dessert. Peter handed him a “protein shake,” secretly enriched with cream.

Minutes later, the restlessness persisted. “I need something to eat. Is there anything in the house?” Michael asked.

Peter shrugged. “Not really. What do you want?”

“I don’t know… Pretzels or M&M’s, maybe.” Michael frowned.

“I can run to the deli if you want.”

“Yeah, do that, please!”

Peter returned with family-size bags of chocolate-covered pretzels, M&M’s, and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. Michael’s eyes lit up. He dove into the snacks like a man possessed—half the M&M's bag was gone before Peter even managed to scoop some ice cream into bowls.

It was a sight to behold. Michael was in a frenzy, alternating between ice cream, pretzels, and M&M’s, consuming everything so fast it was almost surreal. When he finally slowed down, Peter leaned in to kiss him, and the two ended up in bed.

Over time, Peter's plan began showing results. Michael was gaining weight. First, his tailored shirts became snug, followed by buttons struggling under pressure when he sat down. Eventually, he abandoned some of his pants altogether, unable to button them. Yet, Michael remained blissfully unaware of Peter’s schemes.

Peter, meanwhile, was transforming into a muscle-bound powerhouse. Michael adored it, showering Peter with compliments and expensive gifts.

Richie was spending less time at the office gym, preoccupied with the nearing completion of his own gym construction. By then, Peter had developed enough expertise to train on his own.

One day, after an intense workout, Peter and Richie headed to the showers. When Richie stepped out, Peter froze in surprise.

“Damn, bro—you’re huge,” Peter murmured, staring at Richie’s bloated belly and massively pumped physique. Richie looked like a blown-up bodybuilder.

Richie gave a knowing smile. “Yeah, it’s wild. I won’t lie—being this big has its challenges. I need an oxygen machine at night, and I haven’t seen my dick in ages. But hey, it pays off big.”

Peter smirked, flexing in the mirror. The sight aroused him.

“Man, you’re making excellent progress too,” Richie said, nodding approvingly.

Peter grinned. “Michael loves it. No way I’m stopping now—let’s see how far we can take this.”

Richie chuckled. “I’m with you, man.”

As Peter's deadline approached, he received an email from Ahmed:

**Subject:** Incredible Work

*Hey Peter,*

*You’ve been doing an amazing job and have exceeded all our expectations. The progress you’ve made with Michael is something we haven’t been able to achieve in years. We want to reward your hard work with a larger bonus than what was initially agreed upon. On top of that, we’ll be recommending you for a promotion to the board. In our eyes, you’re ready to take the next step.*

*Also, I’d like to invite you to spend the summer at my my Saint Tropez house—no strings attached.*

*Best regards,*

*Ahmed*

Peter responded promptly:

**Subject:** Thank You

*Dear Ahmed,*

*Thank you so much for your generous offers. I’m thrilled by the news of the bonus and the potential promotion. I also gladly accept your kind invitation and would love to visit the house sometime soon. You’ll hear back from me shortly to coordinate.*

*Best regards,*

*Peter*

Not long after, Peter received another email, this time from Patrick Preston:

**Subject:** Follow-Up Discussion

*Dear Peter,*

*We’ve received an email from our UAE client regarding your work. I’d like to invite you for a lunch meeting as soon as possible to further discuss their request. Please let me know your availability.*

*Best regards,*

*Patrick Preston*

Peter quickly replied:

**Subject:** Meeting Availability

*Dear Patrick,*

*Thank you for your email. I kindly propose tomorrow for the meeting.*

*Best regards,*

*Peter*

Ten minutes later, Peter received a response from Patrick’s secretary.

*Subject: Lunch Meeting Confirmation*

*Dear Peter,*

*Mr. Preston expects you tomorrow at The Bistro for your lunch meeting.*

Just as Peter finished reading the confirmation, Michael burst into his office with a curious expression.

"Peter, what did you *do* to get such a glowing endorsement from Ahmed?"

Peter leaned back in his chair with a slight grin. "I’ve just been hitting my targets," he replied matter-of-factly.

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Well, clearly you’ve done much more than that. They’re demanding a promotion for you, Peter. We’ve *never* had a request like this before. Patrick will fill you in tomorrow, but trust me—it’s huge."

With that, Michael added with a smirk, "Oh, by the way, I just got back from the tailor. I’ve gone up three sizes! Dating you is officially fattening!"

Peter stood up from his desk, walked over to Michael, and gently wrapped his arms around him, resting his hands on Michael’s growing belly. He kissed him softly and said, "You’ve never looked better."

The next day, Peter felt a mix of excitement and nerves as he arrived at The Bistro for his lunch with Patrick. When he entered, Patrick was already seated and greeted him warmly.

"Peter," Patrick began, "the company is absolutely amazed by what you’ve accomplished."

He paused briefly before continuing, "Ahmed has granted us an extraordinary investment, but there’s one condition: *you* must lead his medical investment branch in the UAE. It’s a huge promotion, Peter. You’ll be managing a team, overseeing multiple Designated Individual Projects (DIPs), and working at a completely different level."

Patrick leaned back in his seat, watching Peter's reaction. "This opportunity involves relocation, but we’re fully supportive of the move. Plus, if for any reason you want to return within two years, we’ll rehire you with the same benefits and seniority."

Over the next hour, they discussed the details of the opportunity over a hearty meal. By the end of it, Patrick, who had indulged perhaps a bit too much, reclined slightly in his chair and patted his now full stomach.

"So, Peter," he asked, grinning, "What do you think?"

A little preview of some upcoming videos we have coming out soon. All the recent encouragement we’ve been getting has made us greedier and hungrier for even more

Tried sucking in to prove to you all I still have abs

Gainer shake are the only secret for me.

I made my shake with:

200ml of milk

200ml of heavy cream

200gr of condensed milk

2 tablespoons of nutella

4 tablespoons of sugars

A Brief Introduction (and Links!)

Hello, Tumblr! My name’s Charlie. I’ve been writing (and reading) gainer fiction for years, and I finally have the confidence to start posting. My goal is to publish one story or chapter every day for the rest of 2025.

Here’s what I have so far:

Long Stories:

Fat Passengers - 3 parts Nightly Feedings - 4 parts (ebook) A Milkshake a Day - 4 parts (ebook) My Former Best Friend - 5 parts (ebook) Go with the Flow - 9 parts (ebook) Fatter for the Wedding - 12 parts (ebook) Alex Gets Soft - 22 parts (ebook)

Short Stories:

Hey, Chubs! (2 parts) Chicken Shack Fatties Fattening the Actor Fat Felix Tries Ozempic Unrecognizably Fat Fat Farm Boys Improving Myself Final Destination: Obesity Three Roommates Scooter Hangry Search History Back from the Oil Rig Good Memories Tiny Tim and Small Sam You Ruin Your Perfect Body Metabolism Blockers Sliding Doors, Changing Waistlines I Really Want You to Like Me Liam's Sweet Tooth Are You Happy? My Best Friend Comes Back The Writer's Retreat Halloween Before and After Marriage Body Mark Wears the Pants Two Fat Guys on a Blind Date Giving In (2 parts) Fat Camp Reunion (2 parts) The Lottery Winner (2 parts) I'm Too Fat for My In-Laws (2 parts) Speedos (2 parts) Fat Blind Date (2 parts) The Hottest Guy in Town (2 parts)

And here’s a bit about me: