#fat fic

Right where you should be

TW for reverse medical fatphobia? (generic fatphobia from a patient to a doctor) and internalized fatphobia; tbh this really is more of a chubby!Frank character study than a kink piece but the troubles (a cold) persist and so do I (girl) (I wrote this and forgot you said lunch so just!! Bear with me!!)

"Unff…" Hitori squeaked, looking up the flight with a dour expression as she wondered how she was going to ascend them — at her size, no less. She'd just about managed it down, bouncing a little against either wall as she bumbled down the thoroughly abused staircase. Her belly had barely fit between the handrails, squeezed torturously with every little millimeter she managed. Going up, though, would be all but impossible. "Manager-san," she began, turning to face Nijika Seika with more apologies than any single girl ought to be capable of. "Do you have an elevator?"

Seika's eyes angled back at her, so sharp that they might've just burst the balloon of Bocchi's belly if they glared any harder. "Huh?" With a sigh, the woman sat back and tried to vent her poor misgivings. "No. No elevator. You see one?"

Bocchi moped for a moment. Without an elevator, how was she supposed to heave her fat ass up the stairs? "But…"

"You can check the toilets if you want, but I don't think you'll find one." Seika chuckled to herself, letting herself wonder if Bocchi's girthy body would manage to fit through the WC's rather slim doorway.

Bocchi gulped, shying away from Seika and forcing herself to at least look once more upon the stairs. If her luck was to be trusted, even if there was an elevator, she'd probably end up breaking it. Two-hundred or more kilos of sweaty, smelly tracksuited guitarist. She'd break it, or render it too disgusting to ever be used again.

It looked like Bocchi was about to speak, but Seika gladly took the chance first. "You want an energy drink?" She teased, offering Bocchi nought but a little huff of schadenfreude from her nostrils.

"I-I can manage it!" Bocchi puffed out all at once, steeled by little more than the little jabs Seika was jostling at her waistline. Maybe, though, that energy drink could come in handy. "Just one at a time." Swallowing, Bocchi approached the staircase.

Seika simply remained sat, praying that Bocchi swollen body wasn't about to break some part of her venue. Would the stairs trip her up, and send down a boulder-shaped girl to destroy just about everything? Bocchi was so big that she could easily turn the drinks counter to rubble, at the very least.

"One at a time, Hitori-chan!" Another voice entered the conversation, at that. Cheery, and jingling with a distinctly angelic cadence. Kita Ikuyo seemed to slip out from the shadows, appearing behind Bocchi's boxy buttcheeks with her ever-sparkling eyes on full glow. "Do you want to me to hold you hand?"

Bocchi yelped. She would've jumped, if she wasn't already too tired to do much more than stand there and wheeze. "K-Kita-chan?" She squeaked, her head turning about in the meat of her triple-chin to look at her far slimmer friend.

"Mhm!" Kita glimmered, sliding in close against Bocchi's back. "I can help you up the steps!" She smiled, trying to wrap her arms as far around the girl's girth as she could possibly manage. She didn't get especially far.

Biting her lip as Kita embraced her, Bocchi's mind catastrophised to a whole new level — what if she collapsed on the stairs, and turned Kita to jam beneath her fat body? "N-No!" She peeped, turning to face Kita's glowing aura with her own pudgy, pallid cheeks. "You should go first…" Kita had to survive, at the very least, and tell the world of Bocchi's struggle.

Kita gasped, her aura depreciating by a fraction as she tried to get inside of Bocchi's morbidly obese mind. "No way! Of course I want to help!" She insisted, shoving herself now against her friend's truly massive body. Bocchi's blobby chest and barrel-like belly buffeted against Kita's flatness, nearly engulfing Kita's work-apron with her own apron — of fat. "I wouldn't mind getting squashed!" Kita giggled nonetheless, patting the flanks of Bocchi's juge gut.

Bocchi paled, as if she could lose any more of her already-scoured complexion. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I squashed you, Kita-chan…" Forcing herself to come clean, Bocchi pictured herself as the sole defendant in the case of Kita's murder — her murder, and subsequent paste-ification. She'd be defending herself against a jar of red-coloured jam.

Kita just laughed, as if she'd seen the image conjured in the back of the fatty's mind. "Well," with a wink, she slowly let her hands roam down, to the pad of meat hanging out of the bottom of Bocchi's XXXL tracksuit — the biggest size she could find. "It's ki-iinda my fault that you're this fat, isn't it?" She teased, rubbing the naked flesh she found there. "So if you squashed me, it'd be self-defense, or something!" She laughed, patting Bocchi's belly like she was proud of that huge, squidgy mass.

"Self-defense?" Bocchi squeaked out, looking down to her fat body. Looking down, at least, to the meat of her F-cup breasts. She couldn't see much beyond those horrendous, debauched boobs. "Mh…" With nothing but a little meep to keep up with Kita's pace, Bocchi moped at the horrendous size of her stomach. She couldn't see it, but she could certainly feel the thing — throbbing with heat, as Kita's finely manicured fingernails roamed across it.

GamerAmI did the first true meta-fiction of the fat-kink Internet literature and it is truly grandiose. I can't recommend you to go read it. Later, for the 10th anniversary of his account, he did a sequel where almost all of the protagonists of his various weight gain stories met in the same meta-universe as from "Decadence Denied", you can read it here:

FantasyFeeder: link

P@treon: link

Summary: After a lunch service gone terribly wrong, Connie realizes she must step up her game and truly step up into her assumed role as "Constance Caprisky", eccentric and haughty sister of a tech billionaire, for Kurt's protection. Meanwhile, Moira makes a friend in fellow cater-waiter Bernard, who, while apologistic towards the feeders on the island on the surface and envious on a deeper level, definitely has pure intentions when it comes to her, right?

A bit of what to look forward to: appetite stimulants, mind-control themes, brainwashing, and promises of lots of weight gain to come!

EXCERPT

"Good," said Bernard as soundlessly, Moira pulled the cork from the bottle of wine he had just walked her through opening. The dining room was silent this time of night, illuminated only by moonlight streaming through the windows. "Now sell it to me." 

"Here we have the Luisa 1995 Piedmont pinot noir, wonderful year for wine, by the way," said Moira, talking out her ass. "Now, this is going to be a light and inoffensive red wine–"

"Deeper," instructed Bernard. "More sensory." 

"Okay…um…a softly structured and fruity–"

"Make me want it, Moira. Make my mouth water for it." 

"Thisisgonnabe a REFRESHING and VIVACIOUS red, BURSTING with the TEMPTATIONS of an ORCHARD OF SUCCULENT FRUIT WITH A FINISH OF ROSE PETALS AND TRUFFLED HONEY, AND IF YOU'RE STILL UNDECIDED ON YOUR ENTREE, THIS WOULD PAIR ELEGANTLY WITH OUR LEMONY AND JUICY FALL-OFF-THE-BONE PORK CHOP PICCATA!" spewed Moira, improvising at a million miles a minute as within her, her nerves fried. She finished panting, as if she had just run a hundred meter dash. She could have fallen from the effort of that demanding spiel, but her palms caught her as they landed against the table cloth. In the semidarkness, Bernard applauded, pacing a circle around her. 

"Excellent! Brava! Now, you're going to set the cork down on the table in front of the diner who ordered the bottle," he explained. "They're going to run their thumb over the wet part. This is how they can tell the wine isn't corked–'corked' meaning the cork has been exposed to fungal contamination. If it feels spongy and moist, then the bottle is good. If it crumbles at their touch, they'll send it back. You get out of here, you go work for any regular restaurant and get a customer who picks up the cork and sniffs it, you know you've got an idiot on your hands who doesn't know his wine." This was the latest of the trade secrets he had shared with her over the course of her table-service education regarding how to discern a true gourmand of class from a common phony. It felt delightfully mischievous, to revel in all he had to teach her as he tattled on society. Dare she say, it made her feel special? Too bad he wasn't her type. 

"Now, you're going to pour a sample for the person who ordered, and as you finish, twist up, so you don't spill, like so," he continued his lesson with a demonstration, pouring a ruby-red sip of wine into a glass preset on a nearby table. "By the by, if you'll indulge my curiosity," he said, swirling the wine in the glass, "why seek out this job at Abundance, why come to the CorpQuest retreat, if the thought of weight gain leaves such a bad taste in your mouth?" 

"Well, like I said, it's only when it's on purpose," clarified Moira. 

"And if it's an accident?" 

"Look, I get it," she said. "Sometimes you start a new medication, or you get a desk job, or you get injured and have to be off your feet for a while. And sometimes, being heavy-set is just in your genetic code. And to be honest, I do like the look and feel of a big dude. They're soft…their hugs feel so warm and sweet…but if you're pushing yourself to overeat, then it's your fault if something happens to you, is my reasoning." 

"I see. So you're here because…" 

She sighed. "I followed a guy here. We dated for a while, but when I found out he was deliberately making himself fatter, I begged him not to throw his life away…" She sighed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "He refused to listen to me, and so, we broke up. Now he's here with our boss…well, she's not really our boss, but she's the founder of our–you know what? It's complicated," she said. "But I saw him at breakfast this morning and he looked like he was having a terrible time, so who knows? He might yet come to his senses. Sorry, no offense. I know you like this stuff."

He sighed. "I'll compromise with you here: a lot of the feeders we get at this event employ practices that are simply indefensible." 

"Then why do you defend them?" 

"Because when you meet one that truly has a good soul," he said, "it makes it all worth it. You can feel the nourishment secondhand, watching them do what they do. Take, for example, Leonard Caprisky's little sister, the first-timer. I don't know if you've met her, but let me tell you: that haughty act of hers? It's nothing but a defense mechanism. Why, she even called me a 'pathetic lackey' at the desk today, and I didn't even mind, because I can see right through her, and I know she's only trying to protect that young man she brought with her from anything that might stand in the way of him achieving his wildest dreams, and, well…I'll endure the bad, if it means I get to walk among the good. Just don't let it get to you." 

“Wait, Leo Caprisky? CEO of Mybrid, THAT Leo Caprisky?” asked Moira, shocked. “I didn’t even know he had a sister! And how could he be a feeder? I know him! He plays golf with my dad.” 

"I'm sorry you're having to encounter some of the bad eggs when it comes to feeders in this place," said Bernard, "but many of us are not so different from ordinary people, and without you ever knowing it, or it ever even affecting you, we might be your brothers, cousins, or colleagues. Now…" He pulled another wine glass from the table and poured a heavy measure. "You've done well tonight, but now we have a conundrum. We're technically not supposed to open any wine off the clock. To assuage your conscience, I'll shoulder the guilt in full…" He held the glass out to her. "If you assist me in getting rid of the evidence." 

She took the glass by the stem and sipped from it. Flavor notes of rich red fruit, cherry and plum and something else she couldn't identify, tickled her tongue, and as the liquid slipped down her throat, the most wonderful buzz sparked in her brain, seeming to trickle down her hairline and into her cheeks as her lips spread into a smile. 

Thank you thank you thank you!

Ch.1

Pairing: Austin (oc) x Kell (oc)

Summary:

Austin has been mysteriously gaining worrying amounts of weight since entering college. After hitting 300 pounds, he tries to go to class.

---

Austin rubbed his belly as he walked into the dorm washroom, already bothered by the chafing of his thighs.

Austin stood on the scale for a moment, stepping off when he heard a beep, he looked down. 300. 300 pounds.

How was that possible?

Austin had been a tall, fit and lean 140 pounds when he first came to college. It had only been about a year, and now, at 20 years old, Austin is 300 pounds. He had no idea how it happened! He hadn't been eating differently, he still walked to class everyday (even though that was getting more and more difficult), and before he hit 260 about a month ago he had been going to the gym as regularly as he had since he turned 16.

His roommate, Kell, told him I was probably just because of the college life, it was draining, they didn't have alot of money for healthy foods and alot of it was probably just stress weight. Austin thought the weight was supposed to go away once the stress left, but apparently not. It stuck to him like glue. Dripping off of him in large rolls that only continued to get larger.

He had a double chin now, it was just beginning to show, but I was constantly there now. His cheeks were always a bright pink, he was exhausted from hauling around his blubber all day. This much weight this fast was not normal.

His arms bulged out, forced away from him by his quickly growing tits. His stomach bulged past his chest, soft as ever. You'd never even know Austin had ever had any muscle to him with the way his softness swayed and slapped against itself.

His lower half was his least favourite. It had taken the brunt of the weight, far exceeding his other body parts, feminizing him on a humiliating way. His ass was larger than any chair the college had, he had no choice but to sit in the ones with no arms, but that caused his ass to droop over the edges. His thighs tenderly touched in the middle, constantly rubbing and quickly splitting the seams of every pair of jeans he bought. He soon gave up, buying sweatpants 3 sizes bigger than needed every time he shopped, knowing he'd fill them out sooner or later.

It seemed today was that day.

He pulled them over his knees, only to be met with resistance half way up his thighs. His thigh rolls had gotten thicker, ass flabbier. Already out of breath, Austin began to wiggle his body slowly inside of the pants, and finally, after 2 minutes of his belly swaying like a pendulum, he got them up.

He sat down, or rather flopped, on the bed beside him. He was winded. He would definitely be late for class I'd he didn't get a move on. He placed a thick hand onto his chest, trying to slow his heartbeat.

The biggest shirt he had was still tight, and today it was even worse. The shirt clung to ever roll he had, accentuating his belly button, the rest of his apron couldn't be contained, however, falling over his waistband in a delicious muffin top shape.

The sleeves felt like they were cutting off his circulation, but, trying his best to ignore it, Austin threw a sweater on top, only to find it didn't really come close to zipping. Great. He battled with his shoes for another 5 minutes before finally beginning the trek to class.

----

Kell walked slightly ahead, trying his best to keep pace with Austin. But he was so slow now it was getting difficult to do so, Austin could tell. He hid his face in his warm, camo green scarf, not only trying to get a little warmer, but also to hide his heavy breathing.

"Anyway, that's what Jason said, so, you're invited too, obviously," Kell continued on talking, but, try as he might, Austin just couldn't pay attention. His shirt was unbearably tight, rubbing across his nipples just right, the combination of the cold and the chafing made them both hard as pebbles.

He felt it in his thighs too, while he was mostly chilly in the autumn air, his thighs were on fire. Burning from the long walk and from the much too tight sweatpants. He tried his best to cover it up, but he was very flushed and bothered. He was sure he'd be standing at full attention if his belly werent in the way.

Arriving to class, (only slightly late, lucky for them) Austin began to make his way to the back, where he always sat, away from the prying eyes of his classmates. It rarely ever worked. The girls in the class gawked at him every time. They couldn't believe he was still getting bigger. I mean, he has to realize he huge, right? He should just put the food down, right? He was so hot when he first got here! Long, curly blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes. Cheekbones and a wonderful jawline. His features had been covered in multiple layers of pudge now. He wasn't just fat at this point, and it would be concerning if it wasn't so funny to watch him struggle into class every week.

"Watch it, lardass," A boy beside him said sternly as Austin's ass almost knocked his books off the table. "Sorry," Austin muttered quietly, shuffling to his desk a bit faster.

He approached his chair, and today, it looked startlingly small. He braced himself against the edge of his desk, trying his best to lower himself slowly and carefully onto the shitty plastic. When he felt his cheeks touch the chair, he eased up, slowly leaning back, and.

Nope.

This couldn't be happening.

First, he heard a creak, then a crack, then he felt unstable, and then the entire class went quiet as his blubbery ass hit the floor.

For a second, there was silence. Then a chuckle, then raucous laughter. Austin's fat cheeks heated up, burning red hot as he was laughed at. He didn't dare move. He made eye contact with Kell. He gave Austin a look of pity

I watched him eat. He was pretty fast, even when he was trying to be slow. He had about three sandwiches and was already on his second. His belly pushed up against the table and I wondered how long it would be until he couldnt sit with me anymore. The seats weren't adjustable. He'd have to bring his own. Embarrassing.

His arms shook when he brought the food up to his face, huge cheeks looking like they could overtake his face if he stuffed them any further, they already seemed to obscure his vision.

People stared as he walked around afterwards. Belly hanging out and slapping his thighs. He didnt even seem to notice. He was coming over to my place after work, and I wondered how we'd get up the stairs to my apartment. There weren't many, but I could hear his heavy breathing now.

His legs wobbled and he was practically waddling down the hall, I had to take small steps so he could keep up. His second chin swayed and so did his arms. Sticking out just slightly from his sides, almost so he could keep his balance on flat terrain.

I thought of how much bigger he could get. He already couldnt see his scale, he told me that last week as he stuffed a burger into his fat mouth.

Maybe he'd reach 500 by next month. Stumbling into work with a donut in his hand as usual. He'd finally have to take the bus. His car was already small. I couldnt imagine him driving with that mass in front on him.

Maybe he'd get to 600. His fingers spread apart from the fat invading them. His rolls finally covering his knees. He'd need special pants, and he wouldnt be able to reach his cock, constantly hidden underneath a swollen fat pad.

Maybe 700. We already had coworkers with smaller tits than him, I couldnt imagine them then. They'd be colossal. Falling down onto his stomach. Oh god, his stomach. He'd need a scooter, and a special spot at our conference table. He'd be a blimp.