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We have a meal - mum had made a big pasta dish before leaving for an ill timed conference - and it's not hard to see why he's gotten so fat. Dad had three spoonfuls to my one, and his portion was four times the size of mine. It's impressive.

I retire to bed not long after washing up the empty dishes - polished off mainly by him - saying dad can sit back on the sofa. Before I go I ask if he wants anything, to which he responds: "the six pack of lager in the fridge and... ooh! The pot of custard! Cold!" It's an odd request, and I've never liked cold custard, but I get it for him and go.

His gut floods my mind as I try to drift. It's so much bigger. HE'S so much bigger. There was a sliver of it poking out of his tee as he laid back on the sofa, and he looks hairier? I know he's always been a hairy monkey of a man, but his belly hair is much thicker than I remembered. He's really gained a lot of weight... I wonder what brought that on...

I lay on my back and stare at the ceiling, mumbling to myself. "It's clear his appetite has gone up... His clothes looked new but they didn't fit especially well... He's got a hairy ball gut filled with fat..." I can feel my cock stir. "He's gotten so fat..." But I catch myself. "No he's my dad... I can't find my dad sexy, that's wrong." I turn over and try to sleep, try to think of something else other than my dad's ballooning body.

I have a dream about him. He's on the sofa still, double fisting cans of lager and pots upon pots of custard, his huge ball gut bigger than before I went to bed. He takes another few gulps of custard and his shirt rides up, exposing ALL of his furry gut - and wow is it furry. He takes a hard swig of his lager and as he belches his belt flies off with a bang, the button and fly yielding also. He grabs a second pot of custard and guzzles the whole thing down in seconds, the furry ball growing massively until BANG.

I wake up in a start, my cock rock hard under my sheets - which are soaked and sticky. "Did I have a wet dream? I haven't had one for years..." My thoughts are interrupted by more bangs, and some weird noises coming from downstairs. Is someone in the house?

I take off my cum sodden boxers, leaving them on the floor to deal with later, and put on a dressing gown to hide my blatant erection that still hasn't died down. "What on Earth was I dreaming about...?" I pull the cord firm and hesitantly open the door. My dad's bedroom door is open, he must be downstairs where the noise is coming from.

I quietly make my way downstairs to investigate and find some hulking, hugely hairy, massively ball gutted man standing in front of the open fridge. One hand pouring what looked like a litre tub of double cream right into his open mouth, and the other rubbing the impossibly hairy ball held firm on his body. By his feet are empty packets of chocolate, various empty sweet wrappers, two enormous tubs of trifle that looked to be licked clean.

Doing a quick scan of the room I spy empty cupboards all opened, the products of their foodstuffs all across the countertop and floor. I then see a ripped pair of massive boxer shorts. Only then did I realise that this beast is completely naked, having eaten so much that his comically sized underwear had ripped off him.

My attention snaps back to the beast lit dimly by the glow of the fridge belching loudly, dropping the empty carton of double cream to the floor.

"I need more... I'm not fat enough... He likes them fatter..." I can just hear him mumble as he grabs two cans of whipped cream and sucks them hard.

I watch his fat neck contort as it swallows the huge amount of cream being forced into his huge bloated cheeks. Lower and lower my gaze takes me, passed hugely hairy, round and sagging tits with nipples as wide as pepperoni slices, to a belly the looks to be rivalling the size of an exercise ball - ironic really, since it looks like he hasn't done any exercise since Christmas. I'm amazed he looks so furry despite being so huge, and as I follow the fur down I spy a fat pad that pales in comparison to the size of the men I let rest theirs on my cock while they fuck me in my halls of residence.

The lower part of it I see a ball sack so huge... So hairy... So wet... Why is it wet? I take a closer inspection and I can see a fat cock head pulsing in the fat pad, endlessly leaking precum. He's aroused by stuffing himself... But who is he? I muse, who wants this heavy bellied, furry pig even bigger than he is now?

"Whoa I didn't see you there!!" I hear a full mouth grunt from in front of me, taking me out my daze and seeing my dad stumble backwards a little, trying to cover his drenched fat pad - whilst dropping the cans of cream that sound empty as they bounce on the floor - but it looks like he couldn't reach it at all! "Sorry I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's not a problem." I say calmly, finding myself getting red faced as I realise my boner has not only not gone but had gotten even firmer, threatening the cord of my dressing gown. "Why are you eating naked? Are they your boxers on the floor?"

"Oh shit really?" I spot a smirk from him, following where I pointed to the ground to the ripped fabric. He goes around the kitchen island, looking to be blocking his lower half from view as he goes to pick them up. He has to adjust his stance so his legs are spread wide, but he impressively manages to lean over and reach the boxers on the floor. "Yeah they're mine! I knew they were getting a little tight..." He stands and examines the boxers. I'm not certain but I think I see a moistness from the crotch - which would make sense since he was dripping from his cock so much.

"You didn't answer my first question."

"I wasn't eating naked when I started! I get hungry in the night sometimes, really hungry." He looks to stifle a grin.

A beat or two of silence passes between us.

"Who is he? Who likes them fatter?" I break it.

"You were standing there watching your old man eat for a while..." He rubs his face and leans forward on the island - I notice he is quite a distance away, his firm and furry ball belly pressed up against it. "Do you remember at Christmas? At the restaurant there was that hugely fat man sat behind me?"

I did remember. He was a ball bellied polar bear type - he reminded me of Santa in his looks and attitude. I had seen him on Grommr before he came in and was immensely excited when he did. But what impressed me and brought my attention to him was how much he could eat. I counted at least 6 courses going into his huge fat belly, and when he leaned back he proudly rubbed the ball as a button on his shirt shot off. It hit his wine glass with a loud ping, at which he laughed and apologised.

I passed him on the way to the bathroom, letting my hand drape over his hand on his belly. He followed me and fucked me over the toilet, his immense ball belly resting proudly on my back.

"I do remember." I nodded shyly, wondering if he knew that I had let the Santa bear fuck me in the same restaurant we enjoyed a meal.

"The way you watched him as he ate and ate and ate... The way you were almost drooling when the button on his shirt shot off," Shit I was too obvious... "It made me jealous."

"Jealous?! What?!" I exclaimed.

"It's wrong, I know, but I knew in that moment that I wanted you to look at me like that." I could feel the shame coming off him, almost as if it were sweating out of his pours. His gaze only on the island.

"You're my dad..." I stepped a little closer to him.

"I know. It's disgusting that I'm thinking this way but I can't help it! I don't even know why I'm telling you!" He sounded like he was about to cry.

"You've been eating because you want me to look at you with the same lustful gaze I gave that Santa bear..." I took another step closer to the island.

"I'm so, so sorry..." He whimpered and held his face in one hand.

I placed my hand on his, which caused him to look up. He looked so pained.

"Don't be sorry, dad. If I'm being honest... I think you look so sexy with all your fat." I can't match his gaze, I can feel my face go redder. "I'm harder than I ever have been..."

His hand pulls out of mine. I simply look away, ashamed of myself. A few stomping footsteps pass as I assume he is walking away - both of us so ashamed - but he turns me around and pulls me into a firm embrace, his solid ball belly pressing so hard into me.

He reaches down to open my gown, exposing my slim body and raging boner to press hard into his fat, furry body. I can't help myself, my cock just throbs into him.

"Of course. JO Breaks are important. Think of it this way, the whole concept of our jobs is that we're going to sexually tease ourselves and edge for a full shift. I keep asking Uncle Mac to install a one way window in the bathroom stall, so we wouldn't get distracted on our phones with porn and instead get off to the giant buffet of men already in the building, but he says that's sexual harassment.

"Frankly by the time I get to the bathroom, I don't need a lot of material." Lance said. Lance was the last new hire to stick around before Charles. He was the platonic ideal of a bear: soft dark brown fur that covered his whole body, softened muscular features and a round stomach that made him look approachable, and a smooth deep voice that made his Southern accent seem more refined than he really was. "All I gotta do is close my eyes, picture the last blubbery guy eating whatever meal I delivered and- Bam! I'm done. No muss, no fuss, and I can get on back to work. I mean, most of us don't ever take long anyway. All of us have a story of a guy who walked in and left us with a stain of leaking pre to clean up later." Everyone nodded their heads. 

Lance continued, "I'll never forget that time a guy showed up in these skimpy little clothes. And like this dude was huge, definitely wider than he was tall. He had this big flabby round gut with a nice overhang, and the shirt was so small that every time he tried to pull it down it would ride back up to his moobs. 

"So when I come back with his milkshake and his appetizer, I go 'I know you have to wear a shirt to come to the restaurant, but why are you wearing a shirt that's obviously made for someone half your size?' 

"And he says, scratching the underside of his gut, 'Because this is the only place I know where I can go dressed like this. I have officially outgrown every article of clothing in my closet. They all have broken buttons or split seams or won’t stretch around me far enough so I can break them. My new clothes are getting delivered in a couple days, but until then I’m stuck wearing clothes like this.'  

"I go 'You know there's a big and tall store not too far from here. The owner has a giant poster in the window by our front door for a reason. Our best customers are his best customers. ' And he says yeah, I've outgrown all the sizes at the actual stores.'"

"Wait", one of the other servers interrupts, "He's outgrown 8X clothes?"

Lance continues, "He's outgrown everything in the entire physical store. I double checked afterwards. At this point, I feel like I have to do the public service of reminding him and say 'You don't think you should maybe try to slim back down into clothes for people? Like, you know that we're not going to make it easier to get into those clothes, right?' 

"And then he has the nerve to tell me 'Yeah, but clothes aren't worth not eating good food anymore. I'd rather just buy some more. So why don't you hook me up with an order of those chicken fried steak fingers while I figure out what I want today? And that's when I knew I needed to take a JO break."  

"Reminds me of this one time this giant dude and his friend that came in one afternoon." Ben said, his twang making his voice sound musical. Ben was adjusting his faded rainbow trucker hat, using his reflection on a napkin dispenser for a mirror. He had been working at Uncle Mac's for years, ever since he moved to the city after his parents kicked him out. The hat and the twang all reminded you of just how country he still was inside.  "I knew they were construction workers because they were wearing those bright t-shirts and stained brown pants. Big guy had a burly powerlifter type build with humongous arms and a touch of his belly hanging out the bottom of his shirt. He's got this sexy slate gray beard around where his chin should be. And his pants are doing that thing where his pockets are flaring because his ass is too big for them. Yeah, y'all know what I'm talking about! So as I'm coming up to get their orders, the friend makes an off-handed comment about how big guy really needs to buy himself some new trousers, especially after all the squats he's doing- wink wink. 

"I ain't think nothing of it until as they come out the booth, everything comes out the guy's pockets. I walk back to pick up his stuff but the friend yells out- 'No, let him pick it up for himself! Show the nice waiter you can bend down in public.' And truth was, the minute he turns around, I can see what's going to happen. All the seams connecting the two legs in the back already look worn out. Somehow it still catches me off guard how strong the rip is. Like it was loud enough that folks started poking their heads out to see the damage- and boys, when I tell you it was rough..." A soft whistle escaped Ben's lips. "Both the pants and his drawers were destroyed. So I swoop in to help him and stem the embarrassment. 

"I tell him, 'Between you and me, I liked the way you looked in these shorts. It's a shame that they couldn't handle a man like you.' So as I help get his stuff up off the ground, he says 'Compliments like that are why I wear pants like that in the first place. It's what boys like me do squats for. ' He gives me a hug and his arms give me this strong, warm bear hug. The whole time my dick is rock hard, just two pieces of fabric away from fucking his belly. I just walked away and went to the bathroom because I knew ain't no way I was gonna focus on anything else until I took a break." Lance grabbed his apron off the rack and started to fold it. 

Taylor took his hair out of his ponytail and unfurled his long black tresses. "I remember late one night, I had this guy come in whose stomach would not stop talking to him, I mean it was rumbling and growling . I tell him, ' Seems like you've got some needs for me to handle.'

He goes 'yeah man. I was having dinner with my girlfriend and her family and she told me she didn't want me to put on a show and embarrass her, but I mean the people eat rabbit food. They don't have any idea how to feed a big guy like me.' 

"I'm thinking to myself the whole time, like, I don't think even you know how much you can eat right now, but anyway..." Taylor tucks a hair behind each of his ears.  "He orders this mountain of food and when I try to take the menu, he holds onto it. Like, we love a fighter, love to see it. So I double his order and when I come back to check on his food, guys- the plate is clean but his t-shirt looks like a Kindergarten class did finger painting. I mean he's covered in gravy, grease, breadcrumbs, barbecue sauce, mustard- just, everything is a mess and all the extra food is gone. He looks at me and just growls 'more'. So I make him a plate with a bunch of random stuff that was already ready to go and watched him dig in. I crouch down and I ask him, 'So, do you normally eat this much for dinner?'

He goes, 'I'd probably eat more, but I had a little snack before I went out with my girlfriend. You know, nothing too heavy- just an 8 piece combo.' I must have made a face because he confessed without me asking, 'Okay, so I didn't like the drink at the place, so I stopped somewhere else to get a different drink and bought some other snacks to eat in the car on the way.' At that point, I was like weak in the knees, my eyes were trying to roll back in my head and I just say 'I guess you've had more than enough to satisfy you now. I'll bring your check right away. And he stops me. He pulls on my apron and goes, 'But what about desert? I want a mud pie.'  I was too in shock to think it all the way through and I tell him 'I'll bring you a slice of pie.' He goes 'No no. The whole pie and maybe a stick of the deep fried butter or 2. I shoved my hand in my pocket and I bolted to the bathroom. It was time for my JO break.'" 

Charles looked around at his coworkers and said "Ok, I think I get the picture, but Raul what are you taking JO breaks for? You only talk to the customers for like a minute when they walk in the door."

Raul explained ,"No one here looks at more fat guys, spends more time looking at fat guys than I do. Every fat pig who passes through those doors, waddles through those doors, squeezes through those doors, is in my face. The biggest ones like to lean on the podium trying to struggle to catch their breath after the not at all long walk from their cars so they can come tell me they need a table not a booth. Like I already knew you weren't going to fit in our booths, not even the extra large ones. I analyze every guy that comes in the door to figure out if we have space for them. And I can't just use like a standard formula, because if dude with a 70 inch waist decides to bring 3 of his fat friends, they're not going to fit at a normal 4 person table- especially once those milkshakes hit and they order for 4 people each. I keep track of every chair in the place so I know if we have spares for everyone whose ass is too big for them to sit on a chair designed for a normal human being.  Especially considering how many of them break. 

“All that said, I can't dictate how big the waiting area is at all. And like one time in the middle of the summer it was scorching outside so everyone was coming into the restaurant covered in sweat. Shirts were clinging tight to every love handle, belly fold, and arm roll. All I could focus on was the sound of guys panting to catch their breath. It was the middle of lunch rush, so people were trying to leave the spaces open for the biggest customers. Eventually the whole bench is packed end to end- four grossly obese megachubs have squished themselves together. When I call one of their names, the guy tries to move and he's stuck. The two guys next to him start to squirm and you can hear, like, their skin unstick from each other because the sweat has glued them in position and the bench is groaning under all of the movement. There's even a brief second where I wonder if they managed to actually be over the weight limit. Finally someone from his party helps pry the guy out of the seats and I can visibly see all the blubber on everyone left in the chair recoil and redistribute. But none of the other three move because they know that there's another guy who's also gigantic with thighs busting out of his shorts who's been waiting this whole time to get a turn to sit down. So he waddles over slowly, positions himself and plops his body to be wedged in that same spot. Way louder than the guy's sigh of relief is the sound of the bench crying out under the strain of yet another fatso. At that point, I wanted to get these people to their table so I could take a quick break because I wasn't going to make it through the rest of lunch the way things were going." 

Raul took a deep breath and yelled "Fuck! I need a glass of water. I am thirsty."

Sheldon patted  Charles on the back and told him, "See, it's totally normal to want to get off while you work here. And the more of the really dark stuff gets you hard, the less you have to kill your boner.  If you're like Raul and a fat ass wheezing from basic physical activity that not even senior citizens would consider strenuous is something that excites you instead of worries you, that ups the difficulty. If you're interested in things like high blood pressure, sleep apnea and diabetes, "

"These are a few of my things!" sung Aaron as he entered from the kitchen with a bag in his hand. Aaron wore a wicked smile on his face, but Taylor wore a scared expression on his face. "I'm kidding! Mostly. Look, the further you get down the road of obesity, the more problems there are going to be. They don't all stay 200 pound ex jocks forever, and some guys are willing to pay the price to keep eating whatever they want. They just don't know how to tell themselves no, no matter how dire things seem. Some guys like their size enough that the price doesn't seem that high. It's been ages since they fit in roller coaster seats or airplane seats, they sweat so much anyway in the sun; what does it matter if they're too big to walk around the theme park. They'd rather stay in and eat anyway.  Some guys, though, some guys like me are wicked and are tantalized by the idea of having more fat than the body can manage. It's hot knowing that fatties got so big that their lungs cannot expand fully because of all the fat on top of them. But that's why I'm on delivery. I visit the guys too big to come anymore, and my job is to take care of them and help them with all the problems caused by them guzzling this food.  That's the trade off for liking guys that big. (Plus Uncle Mac doesn't want me scaring off anybody.)  So yeah, when you get off on feeding guys until they're too fat to do stuff and then your job is to enable them, you've got to take some time to jack off. "

"Is it still a villain era if the era never ends?" Taylor asked as he put on his apron.

"You don't ever seem to mind bad boys when you get railed in the bathroom, stuck between a belly and the stall wall," Aaron spat back. 

"Kid, Lance said, his drawl reminding Charles of his grandfather, "don't worry about when duty calls. Someone is always around here who knows what it is like to be a waiter here. We get it. Just don't hog the stall, because one of us might be ready for our turn pretty quickly."

A bell rang in the distance. Raul looked over and saw a tall beefy muscular man waiting. He always gave the name Lucas; Raul wasn't sure if that was a last name or the first. Raul was only sure that he always came when Charles was on duty. "Your new friend is here; maybe he'll inspire your next JO break." 

"I doubt it." Charles rolled his eyes as he stood up.

Lucas took a seat and ordered a plate of chicken fried steak with a side of collard greens- no intoxicating milkshake. Charles and Lucas exchanged tense glances as Charles tried and failed to upsell him an extra entree. Lucas would only relent to a single slice of apple pie. When Charles came back with his receipt, Lucas was already standing. Charles scanned his t-shirt for any curvature at all. 

Lucas asked, "What are you doing?"

Charles sighed. "You know what, I'll admit it. I'm trying to figure out what's going on here. You've been coming here every couple of days for the last few weeks, but all of a sudden today you don't want to play along. I know you always play like the big alpha male, but you normally still give me a fighting chance. What happened?"

"You want to know what happened?" Lucas lifted up his shirt. There was a soft pooch where the killer six pack abs had been when they first met. "This is what happened! Look at me, I've got love handles! When I walked in here the first time, it was for one little cheat meal. I just wanted to try the place out. It wasn't supposed to become a thing. We weren't supposed to know each other like this. But the more I came, the more I needed to come back, the more my lifestyle started to change around it. It was like I could hear you whispering in my ear all the time. And now, I've gotten soft thanks to you."

"Look I'm glad to be the one to blame for getting you fat, but don't pretend you're some helpless victim. If you were really the strongman that you claimed to be, you would have resisted. You didn't have to come in here a second time, you probably shouldn't have come today. Instead you decided that you would rather have another taste of Uncle Mac's." Charles took a step closer to Lucas. "You just don't want to admit that you like it here."

"I don't have anything to admit."

"You sure? That's not what your waist says."

"That was a mistake I never plan to make again."

"Yeah, because apple pie is a healthy decision."

"Considering the way you drool over handing out sticks of deep fried butter and trays full of grease, I'd say I got away pretty good."

"I don't know if your body is going to agree; all it knows is that you added a few more grams of sugar and fat. And you know where it's going to sit right?" Charles asked with a devilish grin. He placed a hand on Lucas' love handle and slid it under the slight overhang that was spilling over the waistband. 

Lucas took Charles' hand off him. "A couple extra calories is nothing a good workout can't burn."

"I bet all your gym buddies notice the extra calories though. I bet it's a lot more noticeable in a tank top and some skimpy athletic shorts. They watch you and whisper and snicker at your ballooning body."

"No they don't!"

"Of course they do."

"But I do-"

"Give it a rest, buddy! You are settling into a fat boy lifestyle. You like it here. You've become addicted to the feelings that good-tasting food gives you. Now your body has cravings, and that meal-prepped stuff with a couple steamed unseasoned stalks of asparagus is not going to satisfy them."

"I don't have to satisfy every craving." Lucas took a step forward. The two of them were centimeters away from each other's face. Lucas told him, "People need self-control and discipline."

"There's a reason self-control is in short supply, and we can experiment for ourselves." Charles took a to-go cup filled with the restaurant's signature milkshakes from the pocket of apron.  He unscrewed the top and the intoxicating smell of chocolate wafted out. The irresistible flavor was a trojan horse for a cocktail of chemicals designed to transform customers into fat addicted eating machines, but the most addictive ones were all available in common junk food to begin with. 

"Those milkshakes are vile," Lucas spat. 

"This milkshake is everything you want and more." Charles lifted up the cup underneath their noses. Lucas' eyes rolled back in pleasure. Lucas snatched the cup out of Charles' hand and took a couple giant gulps of the chunky drink. 

"Give me the straw so I can finish this."

Charles handed Lucas a straw with a big smile. "I knew you still loved it. Glad to see you're growing into being a regular."

"Oh no. You haven't heard the last of me."

"I know- when you finish that milkshake and your workout, you're going to be real hungry." Charles gave Lucas a pat on the belly. What used to be abs now gave way under Charles' fingers like warm butter. He followed the burgeoning belly along its bottom curve from the love handle across to where the cellulite rubbed against the top of Lucas' pants. Charles could feel his own pants grow tighter as his dick got harder. "I promise that I'll take good care of this guy, and I'm going to show you how good life is when you start listening to him and start feeding him the way you're supposed to. You're going to taste flavors you've never experienced before, know the richness of pleasure and fulfilling your own desires, and when it's all done, you'll walk around with the proof of just how good life is treating you right on your waist. And you can be mad at me all you want; when you walk in here from now on, what comes through the door first is proof of everything I have done for you."

Lucas cradled his own gut for a moment. He caressed the fat until his finger ran into Charles'. Then he turned away and walked out without a second thought. Charles yelled out to the table of servers still waiting for business to pick up: "Someone bus my table, I need a JO break!"

One of the design details that I had all over the house is I had mirrors right next to photos of Marco as he used to look when he was fit. As a way of taunting him. Amazingly, he never really put it together, he just saw that he was a hot guy and that was awesome and now he can do whatever he wants which was also awesome. Sandra didn’t know she was going to be cooking for someone who at the moment was about 530 pounds. Not only that, without anyone but me and his encourager boyfriend, he had lost all sense of decorum and table manners as he was encouraged to stuff food in as quickly and shamelessly as he could; never timid about asking for, or demanding, more food at any time. It was part of my plan to make a Marco one of those greedy pigs that he saw watching episodes of My 600 Pound Life. It was all part of a larger plan.

Sandra didn’t know any of that, and when she found out that her food was being used to make a 23 year old guy who was already so heavy that he struggled to get up, even fatter… she felt like she was doing something bad, and when she insisted that she would try to intervene and get Marco to start being healthier, she had to go. If need be, I could make up some story about unprofessional conduct, or she had a death in the family and needed to move away, or whatever.

I wasn’t sure, but I had a feeling that Marco had already gotten so fat that he would struggle to actually get into that fucking car of his. Once I knew that he was so fat that he would just keep stuffing himself for the rest of his life, I would point that out so maybe we could sell the car and he could keep the money for his rainy day fund and that would be so much less power that he would have to do things for himself. I didn’t need my pig to get away.

“Yeah, I don’t know what happened to her. I haven’t heard from her in a long time. I don’t know if she’s in the game anymore.” There was Nick, though, who had just moved up from Tennessee and had gotten used to putting too much butter and gravy in all of his southern cooking at the restaurant though. He was interesting, a little unpolished, but as soon as his techniques got better, I think he would jump at the chance of cooking for Marco, someone who would appreciate food made with as much butter and gravy as Nick could whip together.

Two-thirds of the food was gone. At this point I would usually go into the kitchen and rinse off stuff and put it in the dishwasher while he was absorbed in stuffing his face with more food, something that happened more and more often.

Once he got over 400 pounds and lost his job because people said he was too fat, he tried to rally a little bit, but it was moving out that really broke him. You see, he used to be a guy who could benchpress hundreds of pounds so when he was packing stuff up and moving stuff out of his room, I was making great progress with my stuff and I wasn’t helping him. His parents weren’t really talking to him that much because he kept on teasing them that he was going to move out and eat whatever he wanted and they were not happy. Fortunately for me, they are not people who communicate well. They’re the kind of people that, when they’re unhappy with you, they just stop talking to you. That was supposed to make the other person want to reach out and extend an olive branch, but Marco was just too stupid and oblivious for that. So all he registered was that they just weren’t giving him shit about what he was eating anymore and that he was almost ready to leave. I had packed up most of my wardrobe, the gym equipment, some of my smaller pieces of furniture, as well as other stuff like things from Marco’s and my childhoods that our parents didn’t want anymore. They were getting older and wanted to move into a smaller place. The house they were living in was part of a really great school system that was also really expensive. Since they didn’t really need to worry about that since they were empty-nesters, they could move into a much smaller, two-bedroom place without any stairs that was closer to his father’s job, and would be the kind of place that even if their knees started to go from all of their exercise, they wouldn’t have trouble getting around the house. A smart move, I thought.

So there I was, I would fill my car with a bunch of stuff, the big items first. It was easy. I would be packing up some stuff, with help from the guys at the gym, and I was making a ton of progress. Marco insisted that he could do it himself. He had his own car. The only problem was, the last time he had done a lot of weightlifting was 200 pounds ago, back when his weight was below 200. That belly was in his way. When he would be folding up his clothes, and lifting boxes off of the ground—it ended up being some thing that was not possible for him without getting winded or frustrated. Even with creating a mobility aide, such as putting the box on the desk chair while he was still sitting on the floor, and then using the desk chair to hoist himself up off the floor, he got worn out packing up a single box over the course of an afternoon. One day, after our parents have gone to sleep, I was back from the restaurant, and I was stuffing Marco with all of the foods that had gotten returned, as well as a bunch of other stuff that I was whipping up once he finished with that. It was our nightly routine.

He came to me, despondent. I knew it was serious because he’d stopped eating and put down the food for a few minutes. He came clean that he just didn’t have the stamina right now. Maybe he was just bloated from too many celebratory freedom meals. (That’s what he was calling every meal now that he was unemployed). He told me that he just didn’t have the energy to do this anymore and he wanted to know if he could have some help from me and my gym buddies, the ones that used to be his friends. I looked at him coldly, making sure to look down at his bloated, gut and food-stained shirt. The shirt that he had been wearing at the restaurant when he got fired. The one that had been tight then and now his belly was hanging out of the bottom of. He didn’t even care. I told him that I would get him his help, but in exchange he needed to sit there, in that shirt, stuffing his face the entire time they were packing up his room and he need to apologize that he had just gotten too fat to do this kind of stuff. I told him that I wanted him to own up to the type of man he was now and come clean. That he was too fat, and too out of shape to do anything other than eat. He started to object, but I told him that if he didn’t have his shit out of here, he would be unemployed, living with his parents, and I knew he didn’t fucking want that. I had him over a barrel. He relented.

Marco was on the last tray of food today, so while I was cleaning up the kitchen, I brought out some of the snacks that got him through the morning. I placed them in front of him I along with a remote. Sometimes he got so fat and heavy after eating, that he couldn’t manage to hoist himself up for several hours. So, since we had one of those giant flatscreen TVs across the living room, he would sometimes just sit at the table, snacking on food until his bladder or his appetite forced him to hoist his fat ass up and take care of something. “Thanks man. I didn’t wanna say anything, but those four trays are starting to not cut it anymore, you know? Like I’m not hungry obviously it’s just I’m not really as full as I’d like to be.”

God he was a pig. “Yeah, I know man. I used to be heavy too. I know how good it feels to really weigh yourself down after a nice meal. I’ve got you buddy. We’ll move up to five trays starting tomorrow. That should fill you up.” I figured by the time he got to 600 pounds a year from now I would be up to six trays, which was as much as that table could hold, but I also figured at that point I might be able to condition him to just start taking most of his meals in that bariatric bed with the foldout tables, and once I got him to start eating in bed, I knew he would never get up again. Then my plan would really start.

Anyway. Moving day. This was before Nate entered the picture. I saw Nate at the bar that Marco used to go to. He was trying to coax his date into finishing another plate of fries and all I heard was this random ex jock, shouting “stop trying to fatten me up dammit!”

I knew I had found the right person.

So I talked to Nate and explained about my brother. I knew I had chosen the right person when he got this hungry look in his eyes seeing the before and after picture from a hot, sexy confident jock to this puffy blob of a man lounging on the sofa with a huge tray of food resting on his belly, because it was the only place his fat arms could reach easily anymore. Nate immediately wanted to start playing around with Marco and it helped that he worked at a bakery, a place that tends to be open in the mornings and close by dinner time so I had someone who could feed Marco while I was at work during the dinner rush. I need to keep my brother full.

I couldn’t let him get hungry and start wasting away, now could I?

I’d set it up as if Nate was someone going to culinary school who was interested in Marco and loved his confidence or whatever, which was true. I wasn’t expecting Nate to develop genuine feelings, I was honestly only thinking of creating another incentive for Marco to continue being a pig, now that I had broken him with moving day.

Nate would come over about three times a week, and they would talk on the phone a lot, Marco never really putting it together that Nate always liked call when he knew Marco was going to be eating something. Whatever boats your float, Nate. They even fooled around… occasionally, because sex with Marco tended to be more of an ordeal, or so Nate said. The bigger Marco got, the less energetic and mobile he was. The more likely he would get out of breath, of his pulse would race too much, or whatever. This meant that his partner would need to take it even slower, and do more of the work. This meant that sex was fairly rare, especially since his belly and fat pad had buried so much of his dick at this point. I knew this because I was the one who needed to wash him down there now that he couldn’t reach everywhere anymore. The lack of sex thing was nice though, because that kept Marco horny and that made him eat more. It didn’t matter though because when he had sex, he felt like that hot stud he was before, and that also caused him to eat more.

I had done most of the washing up except for the final tray that Marco had in front of him and that’s when I heard the TV flip on, which was my cue that I could head out and start doing some cardio. I’d gotten myself into peak physical condition, so at this point it was all about maintenance. I didn’t wanna look like some kind of power lifter, so fitness was more about about going to the gym to maintain and burn off steam. I had about 45 minutes before I needed to leave for work so I had enough time to run a couple of miles before I took a quick shower and throw on my work clothes. Him being done with breakfast was a good sign. I would go for my workout, come home and then start the dishwasher. “You feeling good bro?” I’d shout from the kitchen.

I just heard a few mumbled words as he tried to talk with his mouth full. I smiled. I loved how easy this was. If the old Marco had seen what he was like now, he would be horrified. The fact that he was more than double his high school weight and didn’t really seem to care was more than I had hoped.

Sometimes, at the end of the day, he was so weighed down with food and muscle atrophy that he thought nothing of letting me help him up. The idea that he struggled to hoist his fat ass out of a chair after doing nothing but eating all day, didn’t even seem to bother him. “Awesome. I’m gonna go for my run. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I walked past where he’d seated himself on his bariatric bench with the wheels, so he could easily hoist himself up. I’d managed to convince him to let me install a little rope pull attached to one of the ceiling beams right above where he sat, to help hoist himself up. He said he didn’t need it, but I noticed that he uses it pretty much every time now. I was also gonna have one right above the spot on the couch that he usually sits in so we can use that one to help with himself up off the couch when he needs it.

I took off the apron and hung it from the hook in the kitchen, revealing the running clothes underneath. It was just easier to cook in my running gear that way I could save some time. Cooking that mountain of food for him was not easy. I glanced over at him and saw that he had already finished the fourth tray and was wolfing down a bunch of the snacks already. He was insatiable. I was glad to see that he had the TV remote and the door remote if he needed them.

That was one of the things that I treated him to when he got to 450 pounds. I had gotten to be pretty senior in the restaurant since I was saving money all over the place and getting rid of food waste (Which was going to Marco) and customer satisfaction was through the roof. Being in the food industry, and the restaurant industry in my town, you get to know chefs from all the other restaurants. It’s like a brotherhood. You find yourself calling them for references and stuff like that and eventually I’d broach the subject of what do you and delivery drivers do with food that you can’t sell. Dishes that get returned and deliveries that the customer paid for but didn’t show up to accept. Situations where you order too much of something and it needs to be used today and you’re not likely to do so. Well, wanting to have less food waste, it was easiest to just give all of that food to a delivery driver and have them run it over to Marco’s place. Marco would press the button on the door remote and let the guy in, who would place all the food in front of Marco and get five to ten bucks for his trouble. That way Marco would have piles more food and the guy (or the restaurant would have 5 to 10 bucks more than he used to. It didn’t happen every day, but it was getting more consistent as pizzas and cheesesteaks or whatever would arrive and Marco would be there to stuff it down his fat face.

Anyway, I turned down at the end of my block and continue on with my run. I wasn’t really worried about my time or my pacing anymore. I’m basically where I wanna be but I do try to keep my pace at a certain level just so I know that I’m not backsliding.

I’m very curious as to how much walking it would take Marco to get out of breath, but I don’t think he has left the house more than once in the last six months. I get all of his clothes and anything else he needs. I do the grocery shopping mainly because I don’t want him to buy a bunch of shitty tasting junk food which might make him bored. Eventually, I’ll need to resort to that when his appetite is such that I can’t really do a full-time job and feed him all day. Happily, he’s not at that point yet.

So anyway, moving day. Over 100 pounds ago. Marco had his instructions and I brought some of his old friends went and seen him in a few months and I choose the judgiest of his old gym buddies and I prefaced it by saying that Marco was unrepentant, and all he wanted to do was just be a pig out and stuff his fat ass with as much food as he could. He’d gotten himself so out of shape that he didn’t even have the stamina anymore to pack boxes and move them into his fucking car. We needed to get him out of the house so we’re gonna need to do it for him. Should only take a few hours with a couple of us working together.

The stage was set. I had given Marco a fairly lean breakfast, so he was already complaining for food by the time my friends from the gym got there. He didn’t know that they were his old workout buddies and some of his old lovers. They saw Marco with his belly hanging out of his old uniform, stuffing himself with anything he could get his hands on. Apologizing for not being able to help but he’s just really bloated lately and he just doesn’t have the stamina. That it just wears him out packing up all those boxes. He played his part to a T, and he was eating slices of cheesecake with his hands, right out of the tin. He takes a messy pile and holds it out to one of the gym rats and says “do you want a slice? It’s really good!”

They look at him disgusted. “Jesus fuck dude. You’re like a fucking disgusting pig. I think you might be the fattest guy I’ve ever fucking seen. That’s all you do. Just stuffing your fat ugly face with more fucking food? I remembered when I used to lust after you. I asked you for lifting tips. The only thing you’re lifting is your fucking fork. Do you even use silverware? Are you literally just stuffing food into your face with your hands? God what the fuck happened to you. You’re such a gross pig.” Marco looked totally defeated.

Fortunately, he was so hungry, and he was so prone to eating his feelings that it just made him want to stuff his face more, and when he realized they were not going to be convinced to treat him nicely, he almost wanted to stuff his face more to antagonize them. This gave me the idea that I’m going to be presenting to Marco later today after my run. One of the other guys chimed in who have been rejected by Marco “I remember when you were the type of guy they could have whatever you wanted, but it turns out the only thing you wanted more of was food. That’s why you ended up getting fatter than everyone else and you probably can’t even fit on most of the machines at the gym. Is it true that you got fired from your job at the restaurant because you got too fat? Oh my God, that’s your uniform isn’t it? You only got fired a few weeks ago and your belly is spilling out of the uniform? Damn, you’re never gonna lose weight if you don’t treat that as a wake up call.”

Marco, spiteful, stopped eating long enough to spit out a few words “I don’t need to stop eating. I can eat whatever fuck I want to and I hope you know that even though I’ve eaten myself so fat I can’t even pack up my own shit to move out of my house, I’m gonna stuff my face the entire fucking time you’re here so you can know that your words are motivating me to get even fatter.” He pulled up his shirt and grab the newly forming roll below his flabby sagging man breasts and said “do you see this roll right here? I’m gonna stuff my face until it ends up developing even more creases and folds in my flesh. And the entire time I’m doing it I’m gonna be thinking about you. So that you know you made me even fatter and heavier.” The rejected guy, who was a little bit of a dom, was disgusted, but I couldn’t help but notice that he needed to readjust his crotch immediately after. I’d catch Sean occasionally stealing glances at Marco gorging himself after that. Even all these months later, he’d try to play it cool and ask me ‘what is that gross pig of a brother looking like now’ and ask for a pic. There was a hungry look in his eyes that I was definitely going to take advantage of when Marco had totally given up.

I had gone around a mile and a half at this point and I was just about to turn and go through the homestretch. I tried to do about a 5K before I left for work, but sometimes I didn’t have time, and I had to turn it around early. That day he ended up stuffing himself to the point that he started begging and demanding that I order pizza to come to the house, so we could continue stuffing himself with more food as they move the last of the stuff out of his room. To the guys, I acted appalled that my fat ass stepbrother would want even more food but then, when I had a moment alone, I called the delivery place and ordered three pizzas to be delivered to our parents house under his name, as if while we were outside, he was just phoned to order more food. Happily, Marco was in on the bed and fessed up for it saying that three pizzas was not even going to be enough to fill his belly and then he probably would end up ordering a few more. That he needed to get himself nice and fat for them. That was the moment where I was absolutely sure that he was a man who ran exclusively on spite. I could use that.

As it turned out, I thought, as I finished the last third of the run. Marco had overestimated his appetite. He had eaten himself into a stupor, sure. But as he rested on his bed in the new place, surrounded by boxes, he still had one and a half pizzas left over, but those would be gone within 24 hours. After that, he was vocal about asking for as much food as he wanted. It was his thing, he had decided. He would not accept less than he wanted. The weight started to climb really quickly and I decided that I wanted to make sure that he didn’t need to leave the house to get anything so when I saw his clothes were starting to get tight I replaced them with larger sizes that I would buy on the Internet and have shipped to the house. That way he never really needed to worry about whether he could find clothes. Once I knew what brands he liked, it was very easy to pick him up a new T-shirt or sweatshirt that had sizes up to 10X or the gigantic pairs of sweatpants that he would throw on.

I even created a strap, like on a messenger bag, that he could use to pull up his pants if he needed to get them up and down. Hell, sometime between 450 and 500, I managed to convince him to start doing enemas which I needed to help him with. He was already used to the concept because he needed them before when he hooked up with guys, but the fact that he couldn’t actually reach back there well enough to insert it was new. I just needed to do about 2 to 3 enemas per week and he was good to go. I had started to turn onto the block where I lived and knew I would be heading home soon and then it was rushing to work and business as usual.

The funny thing is at one point about six months after he moved into this place. It’s almost like he just gave up. He started to look at old photos of himself like it was another person. Occasionally, he would watch episodes of My 600 Pound Life and complain because those people didn’t look that fat. Six-hundred pounds didn’t look that big to him. What were they complaining about?

That was a day where he couldn’t get the momentum to hoist his fat ass up off of the couch and needed me to help pull him up and he didn’t even have the self-awareness to see that he was a morbidly obese, 23-year-old who was too fat to wipe his ass, too fat to get up sometimes, and he was stuffing himself heading for 600 pounds.

Fortunately, one of the things that he loved back when he was fit, was showing himself off on Instagram. Fortunately, for me, he’s not very internet savvy. I walked in, and he was groggily digesting the meal working his way through a pot of coffee that was sitting next to him. The table he ate at was right next to an outlet, so I just brewed the coffee there, so he could just get coffee, as well as what turned out to be weight gain shakes that filled a small mini fridge that sat on the table. That way if he ran out of food and was desperate, he had something to eat, ignoring the fact that it was basically boost in a one-gallon pitcher.

“Hey bro” I asked the blob. “Have you thought about that Mukbang thing that I was telling you about?”

“Yeah. I’m definitely going to do it. In fact, I already set up the channel and created one or two videos already. They don’t have a lot of views, but it’s early yet. It’s not hard for me just to set up a video camera here and just videotape me eating and just talking about whatever. It’s nice to actually talk about, you know, my opinions on sports and culture and whatever and that Patreon thing that allows people to give me money? That’s amazing. People are really generous with that stuff. Especially when I showed what I looked like before I started eating? The money just started pouring in. I’m getting a lot of people that’ll just pay me money to eat random stuff. If I keep this up, I might be able to make enough money to actually pay rent around here! Imagine that, being able to earn more money stuffing my face than I could serving other people! That way, any time someone dropped off some food, I can just turn that into a video. Nate even said that he would agree to doing this kind of video where one person feeds me on camera? Apparently, that’s some thing that a lot of the guys have been requesting and it would be kinda hot to be able to do a video with my boyfriend. Thanks for the idea!” I saw that he was about to try to hoist himself up to head to the couch, but his belly bumped up against the bottom of the table and knocked him back down. He glanced up at the pull rope, and then just sighed ever so slightly. He settled back down and then reached over to grab a pitcher of the weight gain shake from the fridge. He waved me away to get dressed in my bedroom, and he pressed play on the video camera to start his next Mukbang.

“Hey, everybody. Mark of the Beast here. Or MarcObese as you’ve suggested I call myself. I’m thinking about the new name. I like it. It’s better than the cheesy metal name that I thought of. Anyway, I’ve got this pitcher of really fattening protein shake that my awesome stepbrother made. He’s the one that cooks a lot of the food you see on this channel. He’s a chef at this awesome restaurant in our town. He doesn’t want me to mention the name but it’s amazing. I’m just gonna go and rant about judgmental people at the gym while I finish this shake. Buckle up guys, I have a lot to say. Now it’s probably been a while since I’ve been at the gym. I didn’t really go back after that bullshit with moving day. Fuck those guys. I’ve just been focused on eating what I want, and living my best life. I’m glad that you guys are coming along for the ride. Although I doubt that if I did go back to the gym, it would be the same one I used to go to, the ones with all those judgy bitches that were there last time. So anyway, I struggled a little bit pulling open the door to the gym because it was uphill and I was just getting a little out of breath. OK? Not a big deal. And then this judgy twig of a woman goes ‘maybe you should pick up the barbells instead of the bars of chocolate tubbo!’ And I go ‘Fuck you! I’m gonna have twice as much junk food as I was going to today, that’ll show you!’ So anyway…”

I heard Marco trailer off after I cast one glance into the living room as I saw that he had already finished about a quarter of the pitcher when I went into the bathroom, closing the door and turned on the water to take my shower. My plan was going perfectly. Once he got to about 550 pounds, it was gonna be time to move on to phase 3. I just wanted to give it a little bit more time for his Mukbang channel to become his “career”.

Once some helpful person had pointed his channel out to the gainer and encourager scene, guys from all over the world started coming out of the woodwork and being so nice to him. Giving him money just to eat food he wanted to eat anyway. To Marco, it was a dream come true. But my dreams for Marco were just getting started. The days when I couldn’t bring people home because he was taking up all the space in the living room recording his videos? That time was coming to a close, I had a feeling. The water rushed over my svelte, naked body, and I thought of how much fun I could have in that living room when Marco finally figured out why he got the big bedroom, in the place I was paying for.

///

Some time later, after Jared had quietly left, Marco shut the camera off. It was an OK video. Like a lot of his videos, he did it as a livestream where he made most of the money, release it as a video a while later, and then film a little bonus video at the same time where he would eat a little treat, based on the audience’s suggestion, and that bonus video would only be available on the Patreon. Overall, he would do about one pair of videos every day or two and between the money he made during the videos (and the money he made on the Patreon broken up per week), he ended up making about $100-$200 a week. It wasn’t much, but his channel was growing pretty quickly.

It had been a few hours since he had plunked himself down on his bench to have breakfast, and he had about a half an hour or so until people started to arrive with food for lunch. Then Jared was going to be coming back to drop off some food after the lunch rush around 2:30 or so so he had only a little bit of time before he would inevitably be woken up by someone, so he decided the best thing he could do was just put on one of the music channels on the TV and take a nap on the couch. He looked up at the rope, reached up and used all his upper body strength to pull himself up. His body felt so bloated and weighed down after eating so much, he thought to himself.

He wasn’t aware that since he overate at every single meal that heavy feeling wasn’t being bloated from his last meal, but the fact that he was growing ever closer to 600 pounds. He could feel his body shake as he waddled the short distance to the couch, and then thought better of it, and waddled back to his bedroom to go take a piss before he stretched out on the couch.

He waddled over to the toilet and grabbed the rope that was tied to a hook on the wall, and he looped it around underneath his belly, and held the loose end in his other hand, and that’s what he used to pull his belly up and out of the way, so that he could piss without pissing all over the bottom part of his belly, which sometimes was in the way now. It was another one of his stepbrother’s ingenious tricks. He was so grateful for Jared. Not having to worry about going out to buy food to fill his belly, not having to worry about cooking everything, not having to worry about rent and paying the bills. Keeping his parents off of his back? Jared ran interference about everything, so Marco could just worry about growing his channel, starting up his Mukbang business, and enjoying his life.

That done, he glanced at himself in the vanity mirror, backing up, so he could feel the tile against the soft fat behind his shoulder blades, and his large buttocks pressed against the tile. It was the only way he could take in his whole body as he saw his wide, flabby body, staring back at him. He looked at it, and smiled. Sure, he had accepted that he might be way fatter than Jared had ever been, but when Jared was fat, he looked like a flabby loser, Makos still felt like he was doing Jared a favor by making fun of him. Especially given how hot and in-control Jared had turned out. It was the push Jared needed to get the kind of life that he had now. Sure, Marco had been trying to get Jared to break his diet, but as it turned out, all of that, stuffing his face in front of Jared had given Jared the motivation to keep at it. It looked like Marco wasn’t the only one that was motivated by spite. He saw all the fat rolls and cellulite piling on top of his neck, making it so that he couldn’t really check behind him anymore because there was just too much fat on the way. He couldn’t really bend over and touch his toes anymore. When he needed to put on shoes for some reason, like, if Nate wanted to take him out for a date at a buffet, they had to be slip-ons, and he almost never wore socks. It was just too hard. He looked at his obese form in the mirror, and felt like he looked like a man was imposing and took up space. He didn’t look like the flabby loser that Jared had been, even though he was approaching twice old Jared’s size. The truth was, all of the little inconveniences didn’t really bother him because it was always only slightly more inconvenient than it had been a few weeks ago.

Maybe the extra food was catching up to him though.

He felt his leg muscles and knees protest at keeping him standing for only the few minutes it had been. He turned to the side and looked at his giant belly hanging down. His tits hanging on top of his belly like half deflated beach balls and he loved that size. He loved how much space he took up and how much his body pissed off so many people who just gave him dirty looks and words of fake concern. All of those haters on his channel were only fueling his drive. None of them were really taking care of him and thinking about what he wants, except for Jared. He was a good one. Marco shook his belly as much as he could reach. He glanced at the clock in the bathroom and noticed that he only had about 20 minutes or so before people might start knocking on the door So he waddled back to the living room, piled all of the junk food and leftovers on the table in front of and beside him on the sofa, and he went back to watching the TV, hoping that he might get lucky and open the door for a delivery driver. Before he sat down, he need to remember to grab both remotes, because it was getting harder and harder to hoist himself back up again. It was a really low sofa, he told himself. It was even tough for Jared to get off of, after he came home drunk from the bars.