Endless Bulk

Angry at all the people who continue to demonize fatness SO MUCH that a consensual kink between grown humans is seen as disordered, when 90% of the diets we see in the mainstream are straight up disordered eating. But they make you thin, so it’s okay!! 🙄🙄🙄

When we demonize fatness, we demonize food. And with how quickly the ozempic-era has changed society and decimated the body-positivity movement, we are demonizing both like NEVER before. Even compared to early 2000s fatphobia, this shit is on a whole new level.

I have so many more thoughts and may make a more fully fleshed-out post in the future, if my account isn’t nuked. But really, all this shit boils down to too many people seeing fat (and disabled) folk as sub-human, and the dire need for fat liberation because of it.

Young Lee Priest

Commission by Kezzajam

Your gains are phenomenal!! You’re really filling out beautifully 🙏

My shake recipe ❤️‍🔥🕷️

Holy shit thank you so much! Here’s one of my recipes, ingredients fluctuate depending on how heavy of a shake I can take down.

1 box of cake mix: roughly 2000 cal

4 scoops of mass gainer: roughly 2000 cal

600 ml heavy cream: roughly 2000 cal

Milk to taste and water to thin it out (I don’t count those cals)

A darker tone for all you piglets.

"Butcher Block"

I checked the calendar on the kitchen wall and saw I was a little over 25 days out from the date circled in red. The day was fast approaching. The thought crept into the back of my head again this would be the 10th year of my particular situation. It really had been over 10 years since I went onto that forum board to reply to a obviously fake post. By that time the lore of the "The Butcher" had become well known, but it still had nothing more than urban legend status. I wanted it to be true however even if it meant making a handshake deal with the devil.

---------------------------------------------------------

The legend went...

The Butcher would make a random post on random bodybuilding forum of his choosing, and would see who responded. Out of that group he would hold a lottery and select one lucky (or unlucky) individual to be his guinea pig for the next year. He would show up on a random night in your home and you would have to agree to his rules whichever those were and have one year to hit an agreed upon weight goal if you didn't hit it. He would visit you in a year and carve you up perfectly leaving you in your bed like nothing had ever happened but very well butchered.

The rumor was that he was tired of the fakes who said "If I had unlimited resources I would be a MONSTER" he was out to rid the world of these fakes as he called them.

---------------------------------------------------------

I awoke with the feeling that I was being watched. I looked in the corner and saw the faint light of a cigarette being smoked, and somehow a smile that was lighting up a dark room almost pearly white they were.

"Well it would seem you're awake." The deep voice echoed in my head. "I'm...well I'm sure I need no introduction. You've won my lottery. The next question is would you like to..."

I interrupted him. "Yes."

"Well someone is an eager beaver." He chuckled at the lack of hesitation in my voice. "So I'm guessing you know what this entails, but I like to spell it out. Think of it as a reading the fine print so you understand that if you don't meet the expectations I set out then you know the results won't go in your favor. Although you have nothing to worry about if you're not a fake."

He paused a moment to make sure I had no questions.

"Good. Here are my rules."

"A year from now you must have gained 26lbs of pure muscle in a year. I will measure and make sure you hit those exact parameters and I want to make sure you understand I said of muscle you can increase your weight by more than 26lbs, but I only care about the muscles. Each month I will send you a package of everything you will need cash for food, and each day's injectables for the month that you must follow exactly if you want to succeed. If you have any questions you can email me at the address I left on the slip of paper on your bedside table there." He quickly pointed to the table and my eyes followed his finger to the slip of paper. "Although I don't expect a lot if your forum history is any indication I know you're a good little solider." He smirked at this own joke.

"You know what happens if you don't meet my goals." He said finishing his cigarette. "God I should really quit these." He then snaps his fingers.

I awake with a start with the sound of birds signing. I see a package on the bedside table the clock started.

I let the calendar page fall and head to the gym...

After returning from the gym I take a seat in front of my laptop to check the old forum for any updates. I scroll a bit down the second page when a topic caught my eye.

Butcher Sightings

It had 128 pages of discussion so I went to the last one, but there was a countdown clock that had been coded to show how much time it had been since the Butcher had been sighted. It read 9 years, 340 days, 15 hours and 19 minutes. I checked the last couple of posts and checked the last one.

It's been so long maybe the Butcher really was an urban legend.

I smiled and logged off.

On the morning of the anniversary I went to train chest and posted an updated video so he could track my progress online. He never replied to anything and I didn't expect him to although I held out the hope he would. I did my injections, and showered to head out to work. I had estimated some time ago that he must have hypnotized me somehow that's how he was able to get in, and out of my apartment building so easily and leave without me noticing. He always had precise measurements of me so to get me there without anyone being the wiser he had to have some trick up his sleeve. But he held to our agreement so I did mine. I finished my day and went home watching some random shows more anxious for the night like the numerous others before it. I turned off the television by 9 and got into bed. The floor creaking beneath my feet, and I got into bed. I long ago gave up my bedframe since it would sag to the floor anyways, and simply had several stacked mattresses on the floor. I turned off the light and dozed off quickly.

I woke with a weird sensation and for some reason my arms were crossed when did that happen I thought. But the next thought that flashed was the person standing over my bed I heard him spit onto his finger and rub it in the cleavage of my chest using it as if he wanted to fuck it.

"Hmmm this is what 550 pounds looks like in person. It's mighty impressive on it's on." He pulls out a page of printed documents with his other free hand. "Well that's what the scanner states you as. It would seem I have been foiled another year, you're easily the first to make it this far. 10 years in a row. 26lbs of muscle. You put on 27 lbs of muscle, and 40lbs of size overall. I might need to provide more somatropin over the next year if I want to give you a fighting chance. That is if you want to..."

"Yes" I interrupted him again as I had done every single year he wanted to renew his contract with me.

2023

2013-2014, about 180-200 lbs

2016 - 300 lbs

2016-2019 - 300-380 lbs, becoming the fat guy

2021 - about 400 lbs

2022 - about 450 lbs

2023 - almost 500 lbs

His gains has gotten obvious and out of hand the last couple of years, especially during the pandemic.

Maybe I should stop hyperfocusing on maintaining a slim body and ignore what the consensus world wants me to believe is good looking. I’ve always preferred to be a bigger guy..you know what? I’m going to start eating what I want. A few donuts here and there won’t hurt…

This lil pudge aint nothin. I’m enjoying all of this great food. Plus I could always just stop and lose any weight I gain. My metabolism is still pretty quick..

Oof ok maybe I’m getting a little carried away here. I’m feeling kinda big. My belly is starting to bulge…and my clothes are a little too tight 🥵

Ok ok enough is enough. I’m going back to the gym! Time to get back in shape. I’ve gotten a little carried away with all of this good food. These delicious cakes. All of this fried tasty goodness. The pizza, the burgers. That’s…damn…that looks so good 🤤 ah fuck it

*uuuuurrrRRRRRRRppppp*

Mmf what do you mean I’m fat? I’m not that fat! Look I still have my muscles, see!

Oops excuse me..ok so I’m kinda fat. I’ll go to the gym tomorrow or next week or something. I’m totally in control.

*eats a donut in one bite*

So you’ve decided to become a gainer.

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

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

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

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

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

190 pounds. 

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

200 pounds. 

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

215.

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

230.

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

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

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

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

250.

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

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

270.

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

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

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

300.

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

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

330.

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

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

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

350.

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

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

400.

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

You are fatter now than he has ever been. 

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

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

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

Drink another.

And another.

And another.

2000 calories. 

“Feel better pig?“ 

"yes sir.” you respond. 

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

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

When you think of a hypnotic trigger, you might think of a special word, a phrase, a snap of the fingers perhaps. I propose using musical triggers instead. At the end of this post, I have such a trigger and an installation file for you to play. But first…

The Case for Musical Triggers

Here’s why musical triggers can be more powerful than traditional ones:

1. Duration.

The usual triggers take only a second or two to perform, but what happens next? Unless a hypnotist is around to provide additional suggestions, traditional triggers rely on the subject to remain in the triggered state all on his own. A musical trigger, on the other hand, can keep playing and thus keep triggering the sub to remain in the triggered state.

2. Suggestion.

Music, even outside of hypnotic context, is laced with suggestions. A slow or slowing down rhythm can suggest relaxation. Melodic and harmonic changes can suggest happiness or sadness. Thus - music can continuously suggest the target state to the subject even if this state is not fully triggered at the start.

3. Natural anchoring.

It is natural and effortless for us to associate music with experience. The classic example is the song you heard playing right after your breakup that makes you sad long after. A musical trigger can be similarly anchored to the desired state or behavior.

Installing a musical trigger

I offer two approaches for installing a musical trigger. For the most powerful effect, use both.

1. Awake anchoring.

Play the trigger when you reach the desired state and let it keep playing as long as the state continues and deepens. So with the flex trigger, you can play the trigger music as you flex in the mirror, and focus on how powerful and hypnotic every flex feels, almost as if your muscles are hypnotizing your mind with every flex.

2. Hypnosis.

Ok, this is the one you were waiting for. Hypnosis can be used not only to administer the suggestion that the trigger will make you flex, but it can also induce the state where your muscles crave to flex and anchor the trigger to that state. Other suggestion techniques can be incorporated as well. 

For the trigger attached, I recommend combining both approaches. If you have a hypnotist who trances you regularly, have that hypnotist install the trigger for you. If not, you’re welcome to use the installation file below. You can also supplement live sessions with the installation file. Expect to have a few anchoring and hypnosis sessions before the trigger becomes effective. The requisite number of sessions will vary from person to person.

So, without further ado:

Here’s the trigger music (ugly alternate link).

And here’s the installation hypnofile (ugly alternate link).

The soundtrack (all music except the trigger) is available on Spotify, Apple Music, and all other music services.

Let me know how you experience the installation sessions and the trigger itself.

(CW: dark themes, drug abuse, health problems. But maybe not in the way you’d expect.)

Our agreement was simple — ten pounds of fat for every pound of muscle you put on. I bet you thought you had a pretty sweet deal, too. You’d get to become the bodybuilder you always wanted to be, and you’d get to have a cow at home you could keep constantly fattening for your enjoyment. And I’d have to put on dozens of pounds at a time just to keep up with you — you’d be in the driver’s seat, pushing me to wreck myself more and more with sweets and fatty foods, blowing myself up into an unrecognizable blob you could do whatever you wanted with.

Except it didn’t quite work out that way, did it?

I remember how shocked you were when we did our first weigh-in. You’d been working hard and gotten yourself another five pounds of pure, bulging muscle onto your frame. I could tell from your face you were planning to tease me for not keeping up — probably make me finish the bag of frozen eclairs you kept in the freezer for when you needed to “punish” me. But the scale didn’t lie — I was already up 54 pounds from where we started. You were flabbergasted, couldn’t believe I was already so much fatter.

“Hmm, almost half a pound short,” I said with a smirk. “Guess you need to get back to the gym.”

You never wanted to let that happen again. So every minute you could spare, you spent working out, building muscle, trying to stay ahead and make sure you were the one pushing me. You had to work so hard, eat clean, deny yourself so much to get your gains. Part of me felt sorry for you.

Because I barely had to try at all. I sat back, ate chips and snack cakes every waking minute, drank soda like water, got five or six huge takeout meals a day on your credit card, and watched my body balloon. As you were getting leaner and harder, I was getting rounder and softer — my belly bloated and grew to cover my lap, my ass swelled into a blubbery cushion weighing as much as a person on its own, and my arms and legs became flabby, inflated appendages storing all the fat the rest of my body didn’t have room for. I could have gained even faster than I did. But I enjoyed seeing you think you were pushing me farther and farther into the outer reaches of gluttony — my domineering feeder, driving me to become your helpless little piggy.

Eventually, it stopped being about you getting more buff at all, and started being only about building muscle so you could see me get bigger. You had to get more and more fat on me — were obsessed with the idea of how huge you could make me. You wanted to see me too big to reach under my belly, too blown up with lard even to waddle around the house, too fat to function without my encourager around to keep the calories flowing. And if you had to bulk up by 100 pounds to see me put on 1,000, you’d do what you had to do.

Eventually, you did what any determined bodybuilder does when they start to top out, when the gains stop coming and they need a little help, and turned to the steroids, even when your gym buddies tried to warn you off. And they helped, for a while — you started gaining again, and I porked up with you. But even as I was knocking on the door of 700 lbs, it was clear that you were wrecking yourself by trying to keep me going.

I think deep down, you knew who was really in control. When I would ride you, straddling your body, my obscene fat rolls flowing over your six pack abs and perfectly toned thighs, and all your muscle couldn’t budge me — could barely lift and jiggle my fat, so you could relieve yourself from the pressure and catch your breath — I think you knew you were at my mercy. You were under my spell, at any rate; hypnotized, obsessed with the idea of your personal fatty hitting immobility, so you could finally get me as big as you could ever want. You were willing to put yourself in danger if that’s what it took, but you were banking on the musclebound gym rat being in better shape than the super-morbidly obese homebound fooddump.