Skinny To Fat

(Your growing relationship with your favorite food preservation appliance. Contains: weight gain, feeding.)

For a long time, you had only tried it once.

It was late, a while back, when you were still living with your parents. You always glanced at it curiously, pushed thoughtlessly into the back of the fridge. The night rendered the fridge light harsh and blue, and your eyes squinted a little. Picking up the carton by the edge of your outstretched fingertips, its heft felt surprising to you in the moment.

You turned the carton around to read the nutrition information. 50 calories per tablespoon. Your mind started spinning with the napkin math implications. Unscrewing the cap, you put the spout to your lips and drank a gulp. Rich, so rich, with only a mild lactic sweetness. The fat coated your tongue and lingered, butter on your lips. Your ears got hot and you tipped it back again before you could even think otherwise.

The heat from your ears migrated to your face. You didn’t want to leave the carton noticeably empty. Against your worse judgement, you hastily screwed the cap back on and shoved it back into its forgotten corner.

You will eventually learn that months later, the remainder of the carton of heavy cream would end up in the trash can, expired.

—

It was years later, living on your own. You were just settling in, and you hadn’t had your newfound privacy and space for very long. An old thought re-entered your mind. Your eyes blinked awake, sometime past 1AM. Making your way through the darkness to the kitchen, you stood in front of the fridge for a moment. The fridge door squeaked open in a way that couldn’t help but make you wince a little, alone in your empty apartment, old neurons still firing.

You assessed the contents…leftovers, some snacks you had picked up, takeout containers…you popped open the container with some leftover pizza and shoved a slice in your mouth cold. The cheese was muted by the chill, sauce rendered dry from its tenure in the fridge, pepperoni tasting more like cold cuts. Still, there was something that felt like heat in your chest when you acted so decisively, taking that first bite. The slice was gone before you had another thought, along with its sibling.

Dropping the empty carton on the floor for later, you grabbed a package of deli meat, hastily ripping open the container and greedily pulling out a mound of shaved ham. It hit almost refreshingly, slightly juicy and salty. You couldn’t stop yourself. You didn’t need to anymore.

Gulps of milk straight from the carton, a half a sandwich, and a few sticks of string cheese later, you finally closed the fridge door…and opened the freezer. Immediately, your eyes had set onto your nightcap: a carton of ice cream. You practically ripped open the container, feeling around in the dark of your drawers for a spoon, seeing the pit that was the bowl you had eaten the night before, and started spooning it into your mouth.

The first few spoonfuls met with some resistance, your metal spoon scraping against the frozen dairy. It was bracing cold, and rich. You got a hint of the flavor that had graced your tongue all those years ago, but rounded out with a decadent sweetness, a boozy vanilla adding a touch of complexity.

As you held the carton in your hands, the job got easier, the edges of the mound folding into ribbony rivers of melted confection, your spoon scooping greedy helpings with relative ease now. You ate mechanically, each bite registering less and less, settling into a rhythm. Finally, you surprised yourself when you felt the bottom of the paper carton meet your spoon with a soft tap, the only remainder being the small pool of white liquid that settled.

You tipped the carton up to your mouth and finished the rest.

—

Soon enough, the ritual you snuck out of bed for had turned into a borderline habit, the once treat settling into a rhythm of extra calories to end your day. You had finally started putting on weight, real weight, and you needed to show it off. What better way than to replicate the show you gave your fridge so often?

You set the tripod holding your phone down a few paces away from the fridge and hit record. Then, you slid a chair over from the dining room, and planted it in front of the fridge. Settling yourself down, you heard a light creak as your ass-fat made contact with the seat. You were so eager for signs of your progress like that back then.

From the camera’s lens, your body looked grainy in the ambient light, and then, a flash bang of blueish glow emerged from the door of the fridge, pouring out in streaks. Your camera’s eye adjusted to the harsh light, your belly coated in the glow, darkness pooling where your thighs met your belly.

Time in front of the fridge, just like this, had grown your body since you started your ritual. Your belly had blossomed and folded over your waistband in a gentle curve, the roundness pressing against your thicker thighs. Above, your chest had started cresting downward from gravity, the slight crease tracing a dark line where it met your belly curve. Your greedy hands looked a little more plump, and you could no longer hide the burgeoning double chin looking prominent when you sat down.

You had loved every inch, and you would give yourself far more to appreciate in time.

The camera watched as your pudgy fingers reached out, only slightly leaning forward to grip the container of cream. Resting backward again, your belly settled with a gentle wobble as you eagerly unscrewed the cap and began drinking straight from the bottle, rich and creamy.

You had gotten so excited, your ears burning again, that you could barely taste it, your throat chugging it like it were water. You got into the role - soft grunts muffled by butterfat were picked up by the mic, dribbles of cream sinking down the edges of your mouth, over your bulging double chin, down your thick neck, over your fatter chest, down your wider belly curve, into your deeper belly button.

Your throat made a bubbling gllk sound as you reached the bottom of the container faster than you had anticipated, a gulp from your throat coming up relatively empty. You let out a big sigh, body working a little harder from the pile of calories you had just gulped down, your belly expanding and contracting with every breath, almost bigger every intake.

You needed to show off for the camera more often.

—

It had been a while, and your body had grown to match the time spent gorging. Your eyes blinked awake, your bigger stomach letting out a barely perceptible growl. Your partner had finally started staying over, which was wonderful for your relationship but terrible for your former fridge habits. You couldn’t stand it, you had to eat something.

Shifting and sliding off the mattress with as much grace as your now large, cumbersome body could muster, your head was spinning. Your partner didn’t seem to mind the weight, even appreciated that you were a big eater, but…this. This had to have been different, you thought. This is too much, isn’t it. Your heavy, plodding footfalls attempting a tiptoe, you made your way back to the fridge.

The door squeaked open in a way that should have made you wince, but you could barely believe you were even doing this. Am I THIS far gone? I can’t even hold back from stuffing my face at 2AM when my partner is staying over? I’m fucked. I’m fucked. I’m-

Your running guilt tally went quiet when you saw the leftover cheesecake. You couldn’t even stop yourself, popping open the container with a POP, you grabbed a slice with your hand and ate it like a chicken leg. A few crumbs from the graham cracker crust fell onto your shelf of chest-fat, where it slowly rolled downward over the curve of your large belly.

From the fridge’s perspective, you had really blown up. In the harsh cold light, your curves were rendered in stark detail - your chest had long since flopped over to rest on your large gut, the light struggling to reach around your sides that had collapsed into rolls under each tit. Your belly stuck out noticeably from you now, arcing outward before falling in a cascade that flopped over and rested onto your underwear.

Your fingers had plumped into thick, sausage-like digits gripping onto the shrinking wedge of cheesecake, the thickening following up your forearms and into your now fat arms squishing into your sides. Your face had to carry some of your indulgence, too - fat cheeks matched your even bigger double chin that, from the view of your fridge, had completely rendered your neck invisible. Even your thighs - the parts that weren’t obscured by your overhang - had become large and plump, your body growing into something at least as heavy and decadent as the cheesecake you had shoved into your mouth.

As heavy and decedent as the next piece that followed, too.

There was a prominent section missing now, only a couple pieces left, and your fat cheeks went crimson, even in the blue-tone light that had still made your eyes squint. Fuck fuck I’m fucked I’m fucked I’m-

“You going to finish it?” The voice hit you icy cold and sharp.

“I…uh…I…” You stammered unconvincingly.

“Here. Let me help you.” Your partner slid in front of you, the smaller body casting a shadow nestled into your much larger one, as they grabbed another slice and gently pressed it to your lips. “That’s right, open up, fatass.” Their other hand traced a love handle gently, warm against your skin.

You complied.

—

The fridge opened with a creak, but the body standing in front was much smaller than it had gotten accustomed to. Eyes scanned over the contents, then grabbed a two liter and a couple of prepared sandwiches. “Will two do as a snack until I make lunch?” The fridge heard the voice call out to the other room.

Your fridge had gotten used to being more filled than before, the contents of prepped meals and snacked piled into neat stacks to make best use of the space. Your fridge had also stopped seeing you sneak food in so much, especially as you had gotten bigger, and heavier, and more dependent, and less mobile.

From the other room, you cried out “Maybe something else too?” followed closely by a loud belch.

He enjoys it. The view from the Control Room, his little kingdom. Surrounded on all sides by screens displaying the surveillance projections of the men in his charge…his personal ‘Guinea Pigs,’ he likes to call them. He smiles as he leans back in his chair, folding his strong, muscular arms behind his head, propping his big feet up on the desk as the eyes on his handsome face alter from one screen to the next. Just the thought of them…of the power he harbors over them, the knowledge of what he can do to them at any given time, on a simple whim makes him smirk with pleasure. And as he settles in for his shift, heart hammering with excitement and anticipation, he lets his eyes move from one screen to the other, from one overblown ass to the next as his fingers tease the control switches beside him, as he weighs his options of who to toy with first…

                Who should it be today? He looks at the top screen, displaying a fatty in his late college years, his distended belly and fat, swollen ass bursting out against his gray sweatshirt and sweatpants…the only things he is capable of squeezing his overblown body into since his rapid, recent weight gain. The controller’s eyes move to the next screen where a big ginger man cowers away in the bathroom, panting as he desperately attempts to close the button on his dress pants, ashamed and embarrassed as his voluptuous belly struggles against his waistband, his overindulgence at lunch catching him in the act of gluttony. He looks again, from the chubby businessman on the screen now to the man huffing along on the treadmill, his jiggling rolls warring against his exercise clothes as the fat on his enormous ass wobbles, his thunderous thighs rubbing as he attempts to do something resembling a run.

                “At least fat fuck number three is putting in a little effort today,” he snickers, watching the former jock’s pathetic version of athleticism. The same cannot be said for the others, though, as they do their usual, wiggling in their seats as they try to get comfortable, picking at the undies and shorts that ride up the ballooning asses that swallow them up. Struggling against buttons and seatbelts, or desperately whimpering as they try to put on their shoes. But none dare to do the fattest thing he can think of…none dare to stuff their chunky faces. They know he is watching them, keeping tabs on their gluttony…that he will punish them for their weakness and their greed, the moment they break and begin to stuff their tubby faces with more fat, fast food!

                He adjusts in his seat, calming himself. His job is to hold these porkers accountable…at least it was, when the obese men first signed up for the program. Each of them had heard of the results, had seen their coworkers and friends shed the pounds at a rapid weight. They had waddled their quivering asses as quickly as they could to the stores where they could sign up to have their ears implanted with an irremovable headpiece, their brains injected with signals that could control their appetites and fatigue receptors, their fat cells connected to “alterers,” which could supplement a rise or fall in swelling, in fat storage…

                At first the results had been dramatic and quick. The controllers spent their days encouraging the plump men to exercise, eat right, engage in healthier activities…and their clients reaped the benefits of their hard work! Nothing like taking the easy route for fatboys like these; handsome heads on blowfish-like-bodies, whose only thoughts seemed to be about their next opportunities to stuff their faces with greasy food. But then, corporate stepped in. He and the other controllers had been doing too good a job, and other drugs which would result in more rapid weight-loss were starting to take the place of their program. They were starting to lose customers, and corporate certainly couldn’t have that. So they encouraged their employees to…prolong the formerly-recent results. Maybe even reverse them if it came to it…

                He had been surprised by the instructions, even resentful. So his job was to help a bunch of fat fucking porkers who couldn’t keep their chubby hands out of the cookie jar to get even fatter? He scoffed at the idea. But that all changed after his first bout of tampering with his customer’s weight. He had caught the man bingeing, hiding out in his car so his roommates couldn’t see him cheating on his diet. And he had taken the opportunity, not to speak words of redirection or encouragement, but to whisper into the mic that connected directly to the man’s ear, “you know you want it fatty. You know you want another burger. You know you want to shove down another fistful of fries!” And to his surprise, the fat fuck obliged, gobbling down every greedy mouthful in the bag until he had to lean back, his belly puffing out between his waistband and his shirt as he looked at the chubby, round results of his greed. Far fatter than the little binge could account for…

                He hadn’t even realized as he was whispering what his fingers were doing, that they had wrapped around the control knobs, that they were pushing buttons. That they had made his client’s fat cells swell so much that by the time he stripped and stepped onto the scale, he had gone up twenty-five pounds.

                A sudden, intense twinge excited him and made him realize that there was a flicker of enjoyment in teasing the fatboy, in calling out his greed, in blowing him up with the touch of a button and even gaslighting the flustered fat fuck afterward into believing that it was his own fault for gorging on the bag of burgers, despite the impossibility of him putting on twenty-five pounds in a day!

                That moment had blossomed and ballooned as rapidly as his clients’ backsides, as he realized just how much he enjoyed toying with their bodies and their brains, and tampering with their appetites. Now, as he sits in his chair, surveying his collection of struggling, fatties, his harem of young, handsome piggies who were growing right before his eyes, he leans into the feeling, his toes clenching, his fingers itching for the control panels as he weighs who his next target will be…

                Who to fuck with? His eyes move from the chubby swimmer barely able to fit into his swimsuit to the TA, hardly able to keep his buttons from flying and hitting his students to the delivery man whose lips wet as he smells the aroma of food steaming from the bags beside him.

                His index finger tickles the top of one of the knobs. “Eenie…” He looks at the groomsman, desperately trying to fit into his tuxedo. ”…meenie” A mechanic tries to wiggle his blubbery body beneath a car as his coworkers tease his chub. “…miney…” A fatass sweats as he tries to decide at the lunch counter between a bowl of pasta and a salad.

                He leans in, a sneer curling the lips on his chiseled, pretty face. who should it be? He would have to deserve it, of course…and while he enjoys watching them all struggle, none of them seem to be doing anything that would warrant punishment. Who will be the one acting enough like a fat fuck to tip his hand?

                And then he sees him…the former model, the social media influencer. The handsomest of all…or at least he was until he blew his fat body up like a pastry! Well, his face was still handsome…and the rest of his body looked like an overinflated Thanksgiving Day Parade float.

                He watches as the ridiculously-cute fatty strides into his room, fat ass wedged into the designer underwear he could fit into about a hundred pounds ago. Flustered as he crosses his apartment, but apparently not caring or remembering that the controller can see what he is doing. The chub’s thick arms wrapped tightly around something, as if trying to hide it from view of the camera. The controller leans in, adjusting the camera to reveal that the object is a gigantic bucket of fried chicken accompanied by potato wedges. All deep fried. All fattening.

                He leans into the screen, about to burst from his excitement. The overfed model jiggles his fat body onto the bed, leaning back as his belly takes up half his lap, as his thighs fight each other for space, as his man tits and chubby arms battle over the bucket. The piglet reaches his hand in, drawing first a chicken leg and then a potato wedge in the other. He opens the plump, pretty lips on his handsome face…

                “Do it, fatty,” says the controller into the mic. And he watches as the fataboy sinks his teeth into the chicken, ripping a chunk greedily!

                That’s all he needs! The controller flicks the switch and as the fatty binges, he watches as his skin stretches, his fat rolls swelling, the pudge rapidly blimping around his swelling body. He eats and eats as the controller whispers in his ear. “That’s right piggy…eat like your life depends on it fatboy,” the settings so low that the fatass won’t be able to even register that he is being talked to…commanded to act like the true, fat piggy boy that he is.

                It isn’t until the former model is done stuffing his face that he even realizes the change. But when he does, the controller can see him grow flustered in an instant. The porker leans back, sweating, grabbing at his belly, eyes wide with shock, as if unable to believe what he sees before him.

                The controller smiles, satiated by the handsome fat fuck’s flustered state. But it doesn’t keep him satisfied for long. In an instant, he turns his attention to another, to the fat businessman still struggling to button his pants. He flicks a switch and laughs as the man’s belly blubbers out by a couple inches, sending the button flying wildly across the bathroom, accompanied by a satisfying r-i-i-i-i-p of the lardass’s trousers!

pretty boy to greedy hog

A little disclaimer: This is just a fantasy post made "purely" for entertainment. I do not recommend doing this IRL… or do I? Don't care :D

By "ruined," I mean gaining a ton of weight, losing all your fitness, dropping braincells, and turning your entire life into a nonstop hedonistic binge.

Minimize Movement: Don't move a muscle unless you absolutely have to. Set up your life so you never leave the bed if possible - switch to online classes, work remotely, or better yet, find a feeder to bring you food and handle all the boring adult stuff. Move your bed right next to the door or bathroom to cut down on those pesky steps. Rule of thumb - fewer steps mean more flab. This'll cause you to lose muscle mass and strength super quick, so you'll get exhausted from the tiniest activity and spend even more time lounging around, packing on the pounds like the lazy sow you aspire to be.

Track Your Calories: Count those calories, but make it brain-dead easy - no thinking required. Download an app that lets you just select your food and it counts everything up. Set your goal to double your current weight in three years - the app will tell you exactly how many calories to shove in daily. Bonus if you've got a feeder doing it for you. If you miss your daily quota? No cumming the next day, or double up on the eats. That'll turn you into a calorie-obsessed piglet who lives for that stuffed feeling.

Always Be Snacking: Keep snacks on you at all times - bags of chips, candy, energy drinks, or shakes. The second you're not eating a main meal, start munching. Aim for a perpetually full stomach. Pro tip for the extreme pervs: Hold off eating until afternoon so your body thinks it's starving and hoards more fat. Or gorge late at night when your metabolism is the slowest.

Guzzle Sugary Drinks: Chug high-calorie liquids nonstop - sodas, milkshakes, energy drinks, whatever packs the most empty calories without effort. Keep a stash by your bed and sip constantly - it'll bloat you up, spike your sugar addiction, and make you even lazier since you don't have to chew. Why bother with solid food when you can slurp your way to obesity?

Eat Unhealthily: Yeah, it's cliché, but feedees should live on fast food - burgers, pizza, fries every damn day. It's insanely addictive - once your body craves that greasy hit nightly, the pounds will pile on like nothing. You're not a health nut - you're a junk-food junkie.

Smoke Weed: Light up that green! If smoking's not your vibe, go for a weed pen or edibles. This stuff makes you dumber, hungrier, and hornier - tailor-made for perverted pigs like you. Don't even get me started on building a dependency - it'll have you munching mindlessly while your brain turns to mush.

Ignore Your Health and Body Signals: Tune out any pain, fatigue, or doctor's warnings - those are just your body whining about the fun we're having. Push past fullness, ignore heartburn. Focus on the instant pleasure of indulgence - long-term consequences? Who cares when you're living the hedonistic dream? Keep going until you're a wheezing, waddling mess - adorable!

Link Sex with Eating: Wire your brain to associate sexual pleasure with stuffing your face. Every feedee I know who gets wet/hard just from food, is enormous - why? Eating turns them on, leading to more edging and more eating in a vicious, delicious cycle. Achieve this by edging or pleasuring yourself every time you eat, and never edge without food nearby. It's a total mindfuck, but perfect for turning you into a food-obsessed fuckpig who can't tell the difference between hunger and horniness.

Build a Food Addiction: Link eating to every emotion - not just sex. Bored? Stuff it down with a burger. Sad? Ice cream binge. Happy? Celebrate with cake. Angry? Eat fries to calm down. Make food your go-to for everything, so when life hits hard (like a breakup), your first instinct is to gorge - and get ridiculously aroused in the process.

Watch Tons of Porn: Dive deep into porn, especially feedism stuff on Tumblr, Twitter, DA, or wherever. Consume and interact with the kink constantly to normalize obese bodies in your brain. You want to reach the point where gaining for fetish feels totally normal. Plus, porn's more addictive than heroin - spend your days jerking off instead of exercising or thinking straight. Waste away into a porn-addicted blob.

Only Edge: No full orgasms for lazy pigs who can still get out of bed - you haven't earned it! Seriously though, edging is insanely pleasurable, prolongs the fun, and builds addiction. It also prevents that post-nut clarity where you might regret your life choices. I edge all day and finish late at night - your goal is waking up horny and needing that dopamine hit from touching yourself first thing. Bonus: Gooning - sexualize your own addiction to porn and edging until you're a drooling mess.

Follow Softcore on Your Normie Socials: On your regular social media, start following softcore porn, mukbangs, plus-size models, or ideally plus-size porn stars. It'll trigger more edging while normalizing obesity and gaining. Soon, scrolling Instagram will make you crave calories.

Experiment with Hypnosis or Audio Files: Dive into weight gain hypno audios or files designed for this kink. Listen daily to reprogram your mind into craving expansion, laziness, and submission. It'll amplify the mental conditioning, making you dumber and more obedient to your urges.

Get Dumber: I adore bimboification, but this isn't just my kink - being stupider is great for gainers! Someone who doesn't think, plan, or question gets fattened way past their limits easily. Flunk out of school, forget responsibilities. Focus only on food, weed, porn, sex, or your phone screen. If a thought strays from gaining? Shut it down. Plan nothing but your next meal.

Create Rituals: Build daily habits, like weighing yourself just for the thrill of seeing the numbers climb, or snapping progress pics for the community. Make stuffing sessions sacred events with specific snacks and porn. These rituals reinforce the hedonism, turning gaining into a worshipful routine.

Join the Community: Nothing motivates a gainer like hundereds of anonymous profiles urging you to get fatter. Believe it or not, the internet's full of pervs cheering on your self-destruction - some even pay for it! Start an OnlyFans, Fansly, or whatever, and monetize your body. Ideally, let it replace your job.

Corrupt Others: Spread the kink! Talking to someone unsure about gaining? Tell them how amazing it feels and push them to start. Friend scared of hitting 300 lbs? Shove 'em over the edge. Buddy worried his girlfriend won't gain? Assure him she secretly wants it. The more people you drag into this with you, the better you'll feel - misery loves company.

You’re going to let go of all your inhibitions and potential.

You’re going to let your gluttonous hedonistic urges take full control.

You’re going to become the fat brainless disgusting pig you know you are inside.

You’re going to park your ass on the couch and shovel food into your face endlessly while you stare at the TV.

You’re going to get so lazy that even the thought of getting up makes you exhaused.

You’re going to just keep eating and eating endlessly, shoving whatever fattening food desire into your mouth while you grow fatter and fatter.

When you’re not eating, you’re going to be jerking off to gainer porn nonstop, indulging your own depraved urges with no care for decency or moderation.

You’re going to let your hunger and lust drive out all other thoughts, letting yourself get dumber and dumber with every bite and with every load blown.

You’re going to let your body hair grow out of control, until it’s a carpet that covers every jiggling inch of your expanding body that traps all crumbs and food that you spill on it.

You’re not going to care about your hygiene or cleanliness anymore, you’re going to let your body stew in your own sweat and grime and let the trash just pile up on the floor while you stuff your fat face and jerk your cock.

You’re going to become gassy, releasing mighty belches and thunderous farts that shake you’re elephantine body constantly and every time it’ll make you’re cock rock hard hard.

You’re going to be so addicted to porn that you won’t be able to go 10 minutes without jerking off.

You’re going to take pride in how absolutely disgusting you are.

You’re going to grow so fat that you’ll be too obese to lift you’re colossal, sweat soaked, ass off the couch.

You’re going to grow so fat that you’re cock will be completely buried in your fupa so you’ll learn to fuck your own lard to get off.

You’re going to grow so fat that you’ll be forced to go where you’re sitting so you’ll learn to take pleasure when you piss and shit yourself; eventually, you’ll forget how to hold it in at all.

You’re going to forget how to speak so you’ll just communicate in belches, farts, and the occasional groan.

You’re going to become the fattest, most useless, disgusting hog man ever.

I’m not that wide… right? 😈

New video available: Stuffed In 🐷

It was the most mundane of settings in which to have the most erotic, real-life conversation of Kieran’ life. There he was, sat in an ordinary coffee bar, across from one of the most handsome men he had ever come across; feeling more blood pumping into his groin than was obviously going into his brain. After all, what other reason could there be for him being there that day, offering himself up like this?

Aaron was opening his notebook, propping one of his feet onto his other knee and breathing in, ready to begin. Unlike Kieran, he seemed completely unaroused by the situation, treating it like nothing more than business. In his mid-twenties, the guy had the prettiest face Kieran had ever seen. His chest was broad and strong, making it obvious to all just how fit and muscular he was. Perhaps that was what made him so alluring; he seemed capable of doing almost anything.

“So, I know we’ve gone over some of these things when we spoke online, but I just want to get some clarity on things before I consider taking you on,” Aaron began, clicking his pen to start writing. “Age?”

“Twenty-one,” Kieran shot back eagarly.

Taylor stood in his kitchen looking down at the small vial in his hand. As he held it up to his eye, watching the light glinting through the clear glass and the pale blue solution inside, he thought back over his actions of the past few hours. It had been a wild ride, all to obtain this small sample of a drug that promised to make his deepest fantasies come true. It had been the subject of nearly a year of indecision at this point, and now, holding it in his hand, he could feel those same concerns resurfacing. He read the scrawl on the piece of tape again: BLOAT. Would it really do as they had promised? Could something so small and innocent looking really produce the massive results that he craved? 

For the briefest second, he considered smashing the vial on the floor, an act that could free him from the burning desire inside of him. Banishing the thought, he opened a cabinet, pulling out a small tumbler and a bottle of whiskey. He filled the glass a quarter full and then downed it. Filling the glass again, he reached for the vial. The stopper made an audible “pop” as he removed it and he quickly added the liquid to the drink. Here goes nothing, he thought and brought the glass to his lips, allowing the cocktail to flow down his throat. 

The first sensation to hit him was fear. Had he really done this? He’d never even smoked weed, and now here he was, drinking something that he’d bought from a back door in an alleyway. What if it was poison? Should he force himself to vomit? Would that even work at this point? These thoughts flowed through his head, plunging like a waterfall down into the sinking pit in his stomach. Taylor winced at the pain in his torso, placing a hand on his lithe stomach, feeling his solid frame beneath the loose sweater he was wearing. And then, suddenly, there was more. More to his body. A small bit, but it was there, he could feel it forming. He pulled himself back to a standing position and raced to the bathroom, throwing his top off in the hallway as he ran. 

There in the mirror was almost the same image he’d seen ever since he reached adulthood. But only almost. The area immediately surrounding his belly button was suddenly bulging outward. It would have been nearly imperceptible to anyone else, but to Taylor, it was earthshaking. He placed a single finger on the area, gasping as he felt it sink in to his budding gut. He pinched it slightly, feeling something he had never felt before, the sensation of his own body jiggling, if only slightly. He couldn’t believe it. It actually worked! A light pressure behind his belly button confirmed it, he was getting fatter! 

If someone had been watching Taylor at that moment, they would have also noticed the bulge in his shorts growing in tandem with his belly. Watching his body slowly inflate before his eyes was like a dream come true for him, a deep fantasy realized. As he placed his whole hand on his belly, which was now as large as it would have been had he recently eaten a large meal, movement higher up his frame drew his attention. His chest was beginning to puff up as well! The pressure behind his nipples sent a surge of excitement running through his body. He let out a gasp as he felt his balls tense and orgasm overtake him. He rubbed his new pudge feverishly as wave after wave rushed over him. 

And then, it was gone. He looked into the mirror to once again see that same wiry frame that he had always hated. The only difference from earlier was the wet spot that had formed in his shorts. He stood there, feeling literally deflated. It hadn’t been much, but it had been the most amazing feeling he had ever felt. 

Taylor struggled to get through the following day. It seemed that no matter what, every thought kept looping back the euphoria that he had experienced as a part of the rapid expansion he had experienced the night before. As he sat at his desk, more fidgety than usual, he could scarcely concentrate on his work. Taylor stood up and began walking to the restroom. He thought that perhaps splashing cool water on his face might help him to snap out of it. 

As he wove through the other desks in his lab, one of Taylor’s coworkers glanced up at him with a look of concern. She asked if he had been sleeping alright, noting that he looked more tired than usual. He brushed off her concern with a shrug and continued his path toward the bathroom. 

The water felt good against the skin of his face as he brought handful after handful to it. Water dripped from his beard as he stood up, glancing into the large wall of mirrored glass in front of him as he reached for a paper towel. For nearly his entire adult life, he had felt too small, but now, as he looked at himself, rather than just a casual desire to be bigger, he was experiencing a deepening incongruence with his own reflection. It was wrong to be so small, a strange alien feeling assured him. The sight of himself from the night before flashed before his eyes, tormenting him with what could have been. He could feel a burning growing in his belly as it ached to be filled up again. As he left the bathroom, a single thought was running through his mind: get more BLOAT. 

Taylor once again stood in his bathroom at home, clutching a vial identical to the one from the night before. The dealer hadn’t even seemed surprised when he had returned to demand another dose from them.

Tonight, Taylor had elected to wear the tightest button down shirt that he owned as well as a pair of shorts that fit him like a glove. This time, he needed no drink to steel his nerves. He popped the stopper out of the vial and immediately downed the liquid inside. The result was instantaneous. Once again, he felt the bloated feeling, as though a great deal of gas were building inside his stomach, but a quick touch showed that he was actually filling with soft fat. He watched as the fabric of his shirt began to fill out, the roundness of his beginner belly pressing against the lower buttons. Soon, his chest began to soften and fill out the top part of the shirt as well. As he reached the size he had been the night prior, it took a great deal of concentration for him not to blow his load and lose all of the size right then and there. He was being extra careful to resist touching himself this time around. 

And it was paying off. Just as his belly was straining the buttons on his shirt, Taylor became aware of a new feeling: his butt being compressed by his shorts. Turning, he saw in the mirror that each cheek was now pressing hard against his shorts, swelling more and more, desperate for freedom from their confines. His body was increasingly taking on the accentuated S-curve of a truly fat individual. As love handles began to blossom on his hips, the first button exploded off of Taylor’s shirt. He dug his fingernails into his palms, trying to focus on the pain to keep from coming. He continued to digas another button popped off the bottom of his shirt. He stared in awe at the belly that now graced his form. Whereas before he had only developed a small potbelly, this was a legitimate gut. A single sweeping swath of lard wrapped around from his love handles to the roll beneath his belly button, now flopping over the waistband of his shorts. His shorts, too, unable to contain the growing globes of his ass, had begun to slide down, revealing at least an inch of his ass crack. He allowed himself a brief moment to caress his belly, appreciating the distance between his belly button and the lower crest of his gut. Beneath that, a new sensation thrilled him as he began to feel the pressure of his expanding pubic roll on his erection. Being fat enough to have a fat pad was nearly enough to send him spiraling into orgasm, but he maintained his composure for the moment.  

His tits were expanding as well, filling with fat not only on the front of his chest, but also back into his armpits. Soon, they too became too much for his clothes, and the top two buttons burst off his shirt. Freed from their confines, his tits flopped forward, sending ripples throughout his body. A soft moan escaped his lips. He could feel the jiggling make its way to his ass, no longer covered at all by his shorts, and to his fat pad. That little bit of stimulation was finally the last straw, and he stumbled backward onto the edge of the tub as orgasm overtook him. The incredible high of it all sent his head swimming, and he collapsed onto the cold tile of the bathroom. 

When he finally came to again, it was well into the afternoon of the next day. “Shit,” he thought, “How could I have let this happen?” He hastened to clean himself off, hoping that he could maybe still get into the lab for a few hours. As he got into the shower and looked down at his naked body, he was filled not only with shame, but also reproach. His body was disgustingly thin. Had it always been that way? This wasn’t him. The only time that he was really himself was when he was taking the BLOAT. The word seemed to echo around his head. BLOAT. Yeah, that’s what he needed. That was the only way to assuage the emptiness that he felt when he looked down at himself. BLOAT would fix it all. 

Taylor panted heavily as he threw open the door to his apartment. Why hadn’t they just cooperated? Wasn’t that their job? To deal drugs? What had they said? “Side effects.” “Too many doses.” He was pretty sure that others had heard the altercation in the alley, or had seen his car as he’d driven away. Oh well, doesn’t matter. It had all been worth it, right? For the vial? He was nearly unable to stop himself from downing it as soon as he’d gotten it. Needing to run away had been his only barrier. He locked the apartment door behind him and dashed back into the bathroom. A single deft movement later, and the BLOAT was once again entering his system. Anticipation coursed through his body as the familiar feeling of pressure building within overtook him. He moaned heavily, so grateful for the rush the drug brought him. 

Within minutes, he was nearing the size he’d been when last he had finished. Already his t-shirt had ridden up the widening curve of his belly and was now swaddling his ever-expanding cleavage. The growth of his ass and hips had completely shredded the seat of his pants, revealing underwear that were rapidly wedging themselves deeper into his ass flesh. Now, forging onward into uncharted territory, Taylor could almost feel his body vibrating as it surged with fat. Love handles grew wider and deeper as his belly draped further and further down his torso, soon hanging over his fat pad, which itself threatened to burst forth from his constricting underwear. He watched as his chest spread further outward and to the sides, blubber pooling beneath his arms. His sensitive nipples sent waves of pleasure through him as he felt them stretch to accommodate the growth. His ass fat was piling up behind him at an alarming rate. It nearly pulled him off his feet as his underwear finally gave up, allowing his lard-filled posterior to go free.

Just as he could feel his lust beginning to get the best of him, a knock came at the door. “This is the police. We’re investigating an alleged assault.” Chills ran through Taylor’s massive form. Here he was, drugged, expanding, and naked, save for a thin piece of his underwear that was wedged between his belly and fat pad. He took one lumbering step out of the bathroom, but whereas other superobese people typically had years to build their balance up, he had only had a few minutes. The shifting of all of his lard caused him to list to one side, before landing with a heavy “BOOM” on his living room floor. Taylor struggled to heave his body back up, but it was no use, he simply didn’t have the strength or coordination. And then it hit him, all he had to do was come! And so, he reached his meaty forearm into the crevice where his waist had once been, under the massive apron that was his belly. Pushing back his fat pad, he could just barely wrap his sausage fingers around the top of his cock. He began tugging at his buried prick, desperately trying to end his growth before the authorities decided to break down his door. It was easier said than done, however, because as he pleasured himself, the growth was continuing. His belly was growing wider and wider, pushing his arm away from his needy loins. At the same time, his pubic roll was slowly swallowing his cock, making it harder and harder to get to. Taylor huffed, sweating heavily from the effort of trying to move so much bulk. He managed to give the head of his penis one final touch before the avalanche of belly fat finally made it impossible for him to reach. 

A loud crash signaled that the police had decided that they could wait no longer. As they entered the apartment, there on the floor was Taylor, sweating profusely and breathing heavily, as his fat hands grasped either side of his massive belly, desperately trying to shake the hundreds and hundreds of pounds of lard within it enough to stimulate his now-buried cock. 

“Looks like we got ourselves another junkie,” the older of the two cops said, shaking his head. “Think this one’s the biggest I’ve ever seen.” Taylor watched as the cop removed a syringe from a small pouch on his belt. He felt the needle slide home in the endless expanse of his belly fat, bringing the steady march of his growth to a halt. “Guess we’d better ship this pig back to the lab, huh, boss?” said the other officer. “Nah, as long as he gets there eventually, no reason we can’t have some fun with him first,” the first cop said, standing up, his uniform stretched over his well-muscled body. 

This was a fun one to write! A little perspective change.

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     You walk into the spacious brightly lit stall, closing the slatted door behind you. From the wall opposite you, you greet yourself, the image in a shiny full length mirror. You set the swim suit down on the bench next to you, tag still hanging out, revealing a price far higher than many would consider reasonable. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, after all, how could you not? How could anyone not? You stare into the brilliant green eyes looking back at you from the glass, both set into a perfectly symmetrical face built of strong cheekbones and a well-defined jaw. Your closely cropped blonde hair sits beneath a backwards cap, the finishing touch on the pinnacle of beauty that is your own face.

     You release the button on the size 32 shorts that you’re wearing and drop them down to your ankles, revealing a pair of red and white checked trunks. You don’t really care much about the pattern, but the girls you’ve banged recently seem to like them, so all the better, right? You pick up the swim suit and slip it on over legs, pulling it up around your waist. An ordinary person would have just stopped at that, but you’re far from ordinary, aren’t you? You lift up on the shoulders of your muscle-fit t-shirt and pull it off. You watch yourself in the mirror as your hand runs over your tight abdominal muscles. You look lower to see that the suit accentuates your Adonis belt perfectly. Your whole body seems to glow, but a good spray tan will do that. Your hands almost move of their own will up to caress your solid pecs, each adorned with a bee sting of a nipple. You can’t help yourself but put your arms out and flex, watching the definition of your shoulders and biceps bulge outward.

     A few moments pass with you staring into the mirror, banal pop music drifting through the air like the perfume that the store sprays from the ceiling, before you finally decide that it might be time to go buy the suit. After all, it looks great, doesn’t? What doesn’t look great on you though, right? You’re gonna get all the pussy you could want this summer. Your hands reach for the tee that you were wearing, but all they come into contact with is the cool plastic of the bench. You look over to see that it’s not actually there anymore. Your shorts seem to have just disappeared as well. You just stare, puzzled, trying to fathom where they could have gone. Something catches your eye off to the side of the room. Piled over in the corner is an amorphous pile of dark fabric. You pick it up. At first it seems like it must be a blanket, but you realize that it’s actually a shirt. You didn’t even know that this store made clothes that big, and to be honest you’re pretty disgusted by it. Lying next them is an equally massive pair of shorts. You decide that it would be a good idea to go get an employee to see if somehow your clothes got misplaced. You go to grab the handle on the door, but your hands just graze against wood. There isn’t a knob there to turn. The door is just closed, without a means to open it.

     You turn around, trying to think of what to do. Your eyes meet the man in the mirror again, but something seems off. The mirror’s surface seems less shiny, if that’s possible. And everything seems distorted in some way. You look at your flawlessly, tan skin as it starts to itch. Your eyes widen as a thin red mark forms just to the right of your navel. You can’t help but watch as it snakes it way up and over the mounds of your abs. It looks as though your skin has just split. Horrified, you watch as more marks just like the first appear on your flat middle. A few appear on your sides and under your arms as well. You want to look away, but you just…can’t. As you watch one finish digging its way from your armpit to you pec, you notice that your nipples look larger. And indeed, you watch as they puff up just a bit, the areolas spreading out over your pecs, stretching out and growing larger and larger. You think it must be a dream, but something tells you that it’s all too real.

        Whether it’s from fear or from some new change, you feel yourself begging to sweat. It even feels harder to stand there in place. You feel so weak, like all of those hours in the gym are suddenly gone. Your body just feels so heavy. You’ve been so busy concerning yourself with your now-huge nipples that you didn’t notice as your abs slowing drowned in a sudden rush of fat onto your middle. It’s so foreign to you that you can barely comprehend what it is. You feel your own skin yield against our fingers as you press against it. Fear grips you. Skin blemishes you could handle, but getting fat?! You watch as your belly progresses from flat, to rounded, to a full-on pot belly. The tight waistband of the swim trunks cuts into your sides as you watch the lower portion of your belly begin to grow faster than the top, slowly lopping over the knot on the front of your trunks. Your sides are pressing against the fabric too as love handles form to your left and to your right. Somehow, you make the connection that the lines covering your body now are actually stretch marks, though they seem to have formed prior to the actual stretching. None of them even appear to be tight yet, meaning this is far from over.

         Panic fills your stomach as your stomach fills out with even more weight. You bang on the stall door, but all that does is send waves through your new, heavy gut. You can feel the ripples spreading up from your ponderous middle to your pecs which, once pronounced with muscle, are now beginning to fill out with blubber. They begin to puff out, growing to match the massively overstretched nipples that you’ve already developed. It’s a foreign feeling for you to feel your chest rubbing against the top of your belly, but as your huge tits sag lower and lower, it’s quickly becoming impossible to avoid. Your mind fights to accept that this is even really happening. You lament the fact that no girl is ever going to want you like this. That thought is accompanied by the sound of strained fabric crying out in pain as the trunks  and you underwear split, destroyed by your ass, which has gone from firm to fat to cellulitic in a matter of moments. You turn to see it, huge and bulbous, shaking from the movement of you rotating your weighty body. From this angle, you can see that your legs have not been spared from the fattening. Your calves bulge out, growing larger in circumference until they surpass the girth of your thighs, giving you an almost comical shape. It isn’t long before you feel the skin on your thighs bulging outwards as they too, expand. You let out a yelp as you feel your underwear riding up your billowing thighs, the last remaining fabric pinching your genitals. Relief comes as your thighs finally burst the last shreds of the trunks and your underwear.

         As they fall to the ground, you look up into the mirror at your massive, naked body. You have no concept of how much you must weigh, since you’ve never been a pound over 170 your entire life. Now, though, your body is spreading out more and more. Your breathing has gotten heavier as you’ve grown and with each heaving breath, and because of the pounds added each breath, it never looks like you fully exhale. Your eyes drift down below the curve of your belly, searching for your cock. You always were proud of it, weren’t you? You struggle to see any of your 8 inches. Your thighs, now rubbing together, push your balls out, engulfing the lower portion of your cock, while the rest is being sucked into a massive fat pad forming below your gut. You watch in horror as it slowly fades from view as you belly sags lower and lower. You can still feel it getting swallowed up as your pubic fat grows around it. You can’t believe this. How are you ever going to get off again? This question nags on as you feel the curves of your gut finally slapping against your legs. You’re beginning to look like a pile of rising dough. The only thing that remains untouched by the encroaching lard is your chiseled face, the backward cap still resting snugly on top.

          You continue to mourn the loss of the use of your penis for your own pleasure, when an odd feeling starts within you. It’s a dull itch that gradually grows into a slight yearning. You suddenly realize that it’s been forever since someone gave your ass a good pounding. Wait, what? You don’t like men do you? You can’t seem to remember. You’ve always enjoyed getting fucked in the ass haven’t you? Or for that matter, fucked in your fat rolls. That’s right, you remember, you’ve always been huge so it just works out really well that you like getting fucked so much! You could probably go for a good fuck right now!

         You look at the pile of lard in the mirror, now easily nearing the size of a 600 pound man. A rumbling in your stomach suddenly sends a wave through your digestive system, and a massive belch blasts from your mouth. As it does, you can see your cheeks puff outward, fat obscuring your prominent jawline and cheekbones. A faint hint of stubble forms on your smooth complexion. Another burp flies out, adding another ring of fat around your neck and a thick covering of facial hair. This continues until your face is unrecognizable beneath a deep golden beard and an even deeper layer of flab. Your beard tickles your chest as your neck fat rubs against it. Another rumble from your stomach, and, this time, almost proudly, you blast out a massive fart, feeling your massive as vibrate as you watch it expand, spreading to the edges of the full length mirror in front of you. One more blast from your rear, and your whole body expands, overfilling the mirror. You can’t see the lateral curves of your love handles any longer as they lop off to either side. Your belly hangs down almost to your knees, covering your thighs which spread out almost as wide as your love handles. Your huge moobs hang like heavy saddle bags from your shoulders, encircling your chest in blubber. They’re so big that they force your fat-laden arms up from their usual perpendicular. You trace the multitude of stretch marks with your sausage fingers, chills running over your massive body. You feel a swell of pride in your size. . You stare at your reflection in the mirror, after all, how could you not? How could anyone not?