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gainingfiction · 3 months
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I think it's me you're looking for, @gainerstories!
Hard to believe it’s been 3 and a half years since we told Bradley’s very big story! I agree, a follow-up sounds like a great idea...
Would you ever do a sequel to Lifeguard Off Duty. Even if it's just a one part story as a "Where are they now X years later"
Honestly, I really like that idea. Maybe @gainerfiction and I could put our heads together?
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gainingfiction · 3 months
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Who is the hottest guy you have seen out and about recently?
Great question! Unfortunately I live in a small, somewhat rural town, and the selection of hot guys is not ideal. So I’ve been sitting on this ask for a while.
Turns out, my patience was fated. I just saw the very first guy I ever had a crush on. Like, one of those major, embarrassing boyhood crushes. It’s a tale as old as time; the nerdy, closeted gay boy fawning over the straight, popular jock. Nothing ever came of it, of course, and I moved on. It’s been years since I’ve seen him and I haven’t given him much thought. But guess what—he’s gained weight. Ex-jock indeed.
I was doing some (very) last-minute Christmas shopping at the liquor store, when a familiar (but somewhat rounder) face caught my eye. He’d always had a cute, handsome face, but it looked even cuter now, softened as it was. I mean, he has dimples! He was dressed casually, and his wavy dark hair was a bit tousled and shaggy. He was wearing grey sweatpants (God is good) and a baggy purple hoodie, but it was the sort of baggy that accentuated rather than disguised his new, rotund belly. And from behind, his puffy winter coat did nothing to minimize his obvious love handles.
He played on our high school basketball team back in the day, and had always been athletic when I knew him, but I expect he fell into a trap that entangles many men in their mid-20s (i.e., getting a little chubby). I'm useless at guessing weights, but if you forced me to speculate, I'd say he's up about 40-50 pounds from his fighting weight. And he's not particularly tall. Considering his wardrobe, I can’t help but think of Mean Girls (2004): “sweatpants are all that fits me right now.” Wishful thinking, maybe.
I don’t know if he’s the hottest guy I’ve seen out and about recently, but you never forget your first crush… I hope he has a great Christmas, and gets plenty to eat while he’s home for the holidays.
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gainingfiction · 3 months
Text
Heavily Used
Summary: This is a bit experimental (or weird), and maybe a bit predictable, but I had fun writing it. This is a story about an important relationship in a fat guy’s life, and the risk of taking things for granted. It’s also a story about coping (or not coping) with change.
Hope you enjoy!
~
I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I can only handle so much. It’s one thing to be taken for granted, that’s something we all have to live with. It’s just the total lack of acknowledgment, or even awareness that I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. I swear, one of these days, I’m just gonna snap and call it quits.
A little bit about me: I’m stylish, polished, and pretty easy on the eyes, if I do say so myself. Born in Poland, but my background is Swedish—I’m European, at heart. The name is Anders, but no one actually calls me that. I’m not super high-maintenance, once you figure me out, but everyone needs a little attention from time to time. Some tending.
Especially living with Max.
I’ve known Max for a while, and he’s not a bad guy. He can be a little rough sometimes, and maybe a little careless, but it doesn’t come from a bad place. I think it’s just a lack of self-awareness. And let’s be honest, that’s a common problem among pretty-boy jocks.
The trouble with Max is that he’s not the pretty-boy I once knew. He’s changed… he’s grown. I mean, he’s literally grown. Grown by about a hundred pounds, if I had to guess, and counting. Over the course of our time together, I’ve gotten pretty familiar with his ass, and I’ll admit, it’s a great one. But, boy, he’s got a lot more ass for me to handle these days.
It’s not insurmountable, not yet at least. But I’m worried it’s getting there.
It started out simply enough, the innocent midnight snacks and occasional takeout treats. No problem, right? Twunks can afford to indulge a little, especially a hot commodity like Max. But then, you get comfortable. You settle into a routine, you let yourself go. That’s the thing about creatures of beauty: one minute you’re the hottest guy in town, trim and toned, with a golden tan and handsome face and perfect, silky hair. The sort of guy who only seems to exist in a Hollywood version of reality. But then, inevitably, something happens. Sometimes tastes change, or maybe you’re the one doing the changing.
I won’t deny, I’m not in the same shape I was when I entered Max’s life for the first time. Any long-term relationship comes with the normal wear-and-tear. Max, though, has taken it to a whole new level.
The little snacks become big snacks. The extra meals go from “occasional” to “frequent” to “everyday”. Gluttony takes over. A 32-inch waist becomes a 36-inch waist becomes a 40-inch waist; size-small shirts are discarded in the back of the closet, soon joined by ill-fitting mediums, and then by larges, stretched out of shape by a gut that won’t stop getting bigger. Max used to flit around the apartment like a bird; now he lumbers like an elephant, heavy footfalls and a slow, waddling gait. His own warning system—you can hear him coming.
On paper, I know I should be trying to help lighten the load. And it’s not like I’m totally unappreciated; there are days when he comes home from work, legs tired and arms loaded down with takeout, and I can tell he’s genuinely happy to have me. But it doesn’t last long. Once dinner’s over, I’m back to being ignored while he sits on the couch, gorging himself in front of the TV, until he comes around again to stuff his face at the next meal. Which, to be fair, is pretty often these days.
It sounds cruel, the way I talk about his escalating weight, his increasingly-indecent greed. I’m not trying to be mean. I just wish he’d consider how it might affect me. I have to live with him, and he’s starting to cramp my style. But it’s not like I can say anything. I just have to sit there in silence, while he eats and eats, grows and grows, piling on pound after excess pound. And the way he eats, moaning and licking and slurping… it’s downright pornographic.
250 starts to feel like a lowball as the months go by. He’s pushing me to my limits without even realizing it. I’ve never had to deal with a guy this fat before, a guy whose big, round bubble butt would hang over the side of even the most substantial chair. And I, personally, am not “substantial”. I’m pretty thin; it’s just how I was made. I thought Max was made that way, too.
I start trying to make my frustration known, but like I said, I can’t just come right out and say something. So I try a little subtlety; a small groan every now and then when he throws himself down at the dinner table for another round of hedonism. If he notices, he doesn’t care. He just keeps upping the ante.
And upping just about everything else: his pants size, his portion sizes, the size of his monster-truck ass and thunder thighs. They press together whenever he sits down, now, lard against blubber. Not like in the old days when his legs were lithe and lean. His moobs bulge against every tank top, his pudgy arms pack his sleeves, his love handles blossom over the top of every waistband like ripening tropical fruit.
In occasional moments of self-pity, I hazard a guess: how much does my man weigh now? 275 pounds? 300? Is he even trying to do something about it? Clearly not. He never works out anymore, unless you count working up a sweat over a third (or fourth, or fifth) slice of cheesecake. I honestly wonder if he’s doing it on purpose, just to spite me. Or test me. But I know that’s crazy—like I said, sometimes I truly doubt he even thinks about what it’s like for me.
But the problem is getting harder to ignore; he really throws his weight around these days. He heaves himself up off the couch. He rests a hand on the front of his bulging belly, barely restrained by some poor, threadbare top, back arching forward from the strain of it all (he’s not a tall guy, which makes his increasingly S-shaped silhouette even more pronounced). He trudges from the living room to the kitchen and drops himself in front of the table like an anvil. When he sits down, his ass, spilling out of some indecent pair of jean shorts, spreads out like lava blanketing some hapless Roman hamlet.
Some nights, I strain underneath him, feeling absolutely crushed by his sheer weight, boundless mass bearing down on me with the force of gravity. How big is he now? I wonder, as I listen to him moan and groan with pleasure. 325? 350? Could he really have gained over 200 pounds? How could he not realize what he’s doing to himself—what he’s doing to me?
He’s just so oblivious. I don’t even recognize him anymore. I’ve been starting to make noises about how uncomfortable I am, how much I’m struggling with his extra weight. But, as always, it falls on deaf ears. His tight little butt has become a pair of vast, ponderous globes, his abs and lats and obliques are encased in a spare tire that belongs on an 18-wheeler, his tits bulge out and dangle towards his armpits. And he just. Keeps. Going. 
Keeps eating. Keeps gaining. Keeps expanding.
Things reach a boiling point before dinner one night. I can see him piling up the table, unboxing some outrageous quantity of food for his secret nightly mukbang. Well, secret except for the consequences, which anyone with eyes could notice. “There’s a man who likes his food” would be such a trite, vapid observation that it doesn’t even need saying. He doesn’t just “like” his food, he lives for his food. Food is practically a part of Max’s identity at this point.
He’s starting to lower his colossal ass to sit, and I can tell this is it. Tonight’s the night. Fuck it, I’m done. He’s well past 350 pounds, and that’s too much weight for me to handle.
Maybe he’ll appreciate me more when I’m not around. Hejdå, Max, it was nice knowing you! At least, it used to be.
~
Max sat on the floor, rolls of fat still wobbling from the jarring motion of his fall. His chair had been complaining for a while now—squeaking and groaning every time he sat down—but he hadn’t expected it to actually break. What a load of bullshit! He wasn’t even that fat!
He looked around at the splintered wood, soreness radiating across his ass—and not in a fun, post-fucking kind of way. At least his buttocks were nicely-padded. When he was bony, a slip on the ice hurt like all hell.
He was glad he was alone, or this would have been super embarrassing. At least no one was around to see him smash that chair like a pro-wrestler in a grudge match. He knew he’d been overdoing it, but this wasn’t his fault. How could it be, surely he wasn’t that big? Just a little out of shape, in need of a few good workouts to shed some winter weight. It was just the cheap IKEA furniture he bought.
With a grunt, he started the process of heaving his monumental form to a stand. As he started to gather his momentum, he glanced at the ruined seat and frowned. He actually liked that chair. It was pretty comfortable.
At least, it used to be.
(Author’s Note: don’t forget to rotate your dining chairs!)
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gainingfiction · 4 months
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Hey! Your blog has inspired me to start posting my own stories online (of a similar type). I wanted to ask how did you start writing stuff like this, and any tips for anyone starting out?
This ask makes me very happy! I love to see the community of wg writers growing (that pun was unintended but I'm keeping it.) To answer your questions:
Gaining Fiction: The Origins
The story of how I got into this is really not super exciting. It was basically youthful horniness. There were certain things I wanted to read, but they just didn't exist. So you roll up your sleeves, lock the bedroom door, and crank it out yourself.
Eventually, I wrote a chapter for a multi-author community story, and it was pretty well received. I figured, hey, maybe people might want more of this, so I started my own blog.
It took me a while to work up the confidence to start posting, and I still struggle with a lot of doubt, but as long as you're having fun and writing the stories that satisfy you, you can't lose!
Just the Tips
Write what you love. This one is a cliché for a reason, and it's always my first piece of advice. If you have fun writing it, the odds are good that someone will have fun reading it.
Ask: what do I like reading? This ties into the first tip. Figure out what types of stories you're drawn to, and more importantly, think about why. Then, draw inspiration from your favourites. What do you like to see, and wish there was more of? Mutual gains? Contrast? Tits & ass? Sci-fi/magical gains? Romance and realism? Multiple kinks? Ex-twinks, oblivious himbos, lazy office workers, lifelong chubs getting fatter, submissive gainers, accidental gainers, encouragers-turned-gainers? The permutations are limitless, and no one reinvents the wheel.
Read. Get to know the genre. Learn the patterns, study the tropes, understand the rules—then break them.
Details matter. When you read, pay attention to the details. Remember phrases that excite you, and think of how to put your own spin on them. Consider the features and traits you find most attractive, and don't be afraid to embarrass yourself with your own debauched writing. Pour your heart into it. Freak yourself out. Especially in a first draft. You can always edit it out later... or not.
Plot and character matter, too. Everyone loves good, descriptive prose, but a riveting plot and interesting characters turn a good story into an unforgettable one. The best stories are the ones where you fall a little bit in love with the main character. You feel like you know him. You want to have a burger with him. You root for him to get the guy, or whatever else he's been chasing. Because the thrill of that chase, and spending time with an interesting character, is often worth way more than the number on the scale.
Practice, practice, practice. Also a cliché, but also for a reason. Natural talent can only get you so far; it's the dedication that brings home the gold.
Remember why you're writing. If it stops being fun, take a break. Don't put too much pressure on yourself to achieve an imaginary standard. Don't compare your stories to other writers'. First and foremost, your stories are for you.
Readers often send me amazing story ideas. I'd love it if everyone who enjoys reading gaining fic tried their hand at writing it. They might be surprised at how much fun it is...
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gainingfiction · 5 months
Text
Heavily Used
Summary: This is a bit experimental (or weird), and maybe a bit predictable, but I had fun writing it. This is a story about an important relationship in a fat guy’s life, and the risk of taking things for granted. It’s also a story about coping (or not coping) with change.
Hope you enjoy!
~
I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I can only handle so much. It’s one thing to be taken for granted, that’s something we all have to live with. It’s just the total lack of acknowledgment, or even awareness that I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. I swear, one of these days, I’m just gonna snap and call it quits.
A little bit about me: I’m stylish, polished, and pretty easy on the eyes, if I do say so myself. Born in Poland, but my background is Swedish—I’m European, at heart. The name is Anders, but no one actually calls me that. I’m not super high-maintenance, once you figure me out, but everyone needs a little attention from time to time. Some tending.
Especially living with Max.
I’ve known Max for a while, and he’s not a bad guy. He can be a little rough sometimes, and maybe a little careless, but it doesn’t come from a bad place. I think it’s just a lack of self-awareness. And let’s be honest, that’s a common problem among pretty-boy jocks.
The trouble with Max is that he’s not the pretty-boy I once knew. He’s changed… he’s grown. I mean, he’s literally grown. Grown by about a hundred pounds, if I had to guess, and counting. Over the course of our time together, I’ve gotten pretty familiar with his ass, and I’ll admit, it’s a great one. But, boy, he’s got a lot more ass for me to handle these days.
It’s not insurmountable, not yet at least. But I’m worried it’s getting there.
It started out simply enough, the innocent midnight snacks and occasional takeout treats. No problem, right? Twunks can afford to indulge a little, especially a hot commodity like Max. But then, you get comfortable. You settle into a routine, you let yourself go. That’s the thing about creatures of beauty: one minute you’re the hottest guy in town, trim and toned, with a golden tan and handsome face and perfect, silky hair. The sort of guy who only seems to exist in a Hollywood version of reality. But then, inevitably, something happens. Sometimes tastes change, or maybe you’re the one doing the changing.
I won’t deny, I’m not in the same shape I was when I entered Max’s life for the first time. Any long-term relationship comes with the normal wear-and-tear. Max, though, has taken it to a whole new level.
The little snacks become big snacks. The extra meals go from “occasional” to “frequent” to “everyday”. Gluttony takes over. A 32-inch waist becomes a 36-inch waist becomes a 40-inch waist; size-small shirts are discarded in the back of the closet, soon joined by ill-fitting mediums, and then by larges, stretched out of shape by a gut that won’t stop getting bigger. Max used to flit around the apartment like a bird; now he lumbers like an elephant, heavy footfalls and a slow, waddling gait. His own warning system—you can hear him coming.
On paper, I know I should be trying to help lighten the load. And it’s not like I’m totally unappreciated; there are days when he comes home from work, legs tired and arms loaded down with takeout, and I can tell he’s genuinely happy to have me. But it doesn’t last long. Once dinner’s over, I’m back to being ignored while he sits on the couch, gorging himself in front of the TV, until he comes around again to stuff his face at the next meal. Which, to be fair, is pretty often these days.
It sounds cruel, the way I talk about his escalating weight, his increasingly-indecent greed. I’m not trying to be mean. I just wish he’d consider how it might affect me. I have to live with him, and he’s starting to cramp my style. But it’s not like I can say anything. I just have to sit there in silence, while he eats and eats, grows and grows, piling on pound after excess pound. And the way he eats, moaning and licking and slurping… it’s downright pornographic.
250 starts to feel like a lowball as the months go by. He’s pushing me to my limits without even realizing it. I’ve never had to deal with a guy this fat before, a guy whose big, round bubble butt would hang over the side of even the most substantial chair. And I, personally, am not “substantial”. I’m pretty thin; it’s just how I was made. I thought Max was made that way, too.
I start trying to make my frustration known, but like I said, I can’t just come right out and say something. So I try a little subtlety; a small groan every now and then when he throws himself down at the dinner table for another round of hedonism. If he notices, he doesn’t care. He just keeps upping the ante.
And upping just about everything else: his pants size, his portion sizes, the size of his monster-truck ass and thunder thighs. They press together whenever he sits down, now, lard against blubber. Not like in the old days when his legs were lithe and lean. His moobs bulge against every tank top, his pudgy arms pack his sleeves, his love handles blossom over the top of every waistband like ripening tropical fruit.
In occasional moments of self-pity, I hazard a guess: how much does my man weigh now? 275 pounds? 300? Is he even trying to do something about it? Clearly not. He never works out anymore, unless you count working up a sweat over a third (or fourth, or fifth) slice of cheesecake. I honestly wonder if he’s doing it on purpose, just to spite me. Or test me. But I know that’s crazy—like I said, sometimes I truly doubt he even thinks about what it’s like for me.
But the problem is getting harder to ignore; he really throws his weight around these days. He heaves himself up off the couch. He rests a hand on the front of his bulging belly, barely restrained by some poor, threadbare top, back arching forward from the strain of it all (he’s not a tall guy, which makes his increasingly S-shaped silhouette even more pronounced). He trudges from the living room to the kitchen and drops himself in front of the table like an anvil. When he sits down, his ass, spilling out of some indecent pair of jean shorts, spreads out like lava blanketing some hapless Roman hamlet.
Some nights, I strain underneath him, feeling absolutely crushed by his sheer weight, boundless mass bearing down on me with the force of gravity. How big is he now? I wonder, as I listen to him moan and groan with pleasure. 325? 350? Could he really have gained over 200 pounds? How could he not realize what he’s doing to himself—what he’s doing to me?
He’s just so oblivious. I don’t even recognize him anymore. I’ve been starting to make noises about how uncomfortable I am, how much I’m struggling with his extra weight. But, as always, it falls on deaf ears. His tight little butt has become a pair of vast, ponderous globes, his abs and lats and obliques are encased in a spare tire that belongs on an 18-wheeler, his tits bulge out and dangle towards his armpits. And he just. Keeps. Going. 
Keeps eating. Keeps gaining. Keeps expanding.
Things reach a boiling point before dinner one night. I can see him piling up the table, unboxing some outrageous quantity of food for his secret nightly mukbang. Well, secret except for the consequences, which anyone with eyes could notice. “There’s a man who likes his food” would be such a trite, vapid observation that it doesn’t even need saying. He doesn’t just “like” his food, he lives for his food. Food is practically a part of Max’s identity at this point.
He’s starting to lower his colossal ass to sit, and I can tell this is it. Tonight’s the night. Fuck it, I’m done. He’s well past 350 pounds, and that’s too much weight for me to handle.
Maybe he’ll appreciate me more when I’m not around. Hejdå, Max, it was nice knowing you! At least, it used to be.
~
Max sat on the floor, rolls of fat still wobbling from the jarring motion of his fall. His chair had been complaining for a while now—squeaking and groaning every time he sat down—but he hadn’t expected it to actually break. What a load of bullshit! He wasn’t even that fat!
He looked around at the splintered wood, soreness radiating across his ass—and not in a fun, post-fucking kind of way. At least his buttocks were nicely-padded. When he was bony, a slip on the ice hurt like all hell.
He was glad he was alone, or this would have been super embarrassing. At least no one was around to see him smash that chair like a pro-wrestler in a grudge match. He knew he’d been overdoing it, but this wasn’t his fault. How could it be, surely he wasn’t that big? Just a little out of shape, in need of a few good workouts to shed some winter weight. It was just the cheap IKEA furniture he bought.
With a grunt, he started the process of heaving his monumental form to a stand. As he started to gather his momentum, he glanced at the ruined seat and frowned. He actually liked that chair. It was pretty comfortable.
At least, it used to be.
(Author’s Note: don’t forget to rotate your dining chairs!)
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gainingfiction · 1 year
Text
Gain for Pay: Table of Contents
Synopsis: Jamie and Kyle's OnlyFans is plodding along slowly, when Jamie has an idea - maybe it's not just their business that could grow...
This multi-part collaboration with @thegainingdesk​ was a pleasure to write! All the chapters are linked below:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
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gainingfiction · 1 year
Text
Surprise! Enjoy one last taste of Kyle and Jamie’s big adventure—a little holiday treat for our dear readers!
Gain for Pay: Epilogue
Read chapter 7 (by @gainingfiction) here.
The several cubic meters of foam padding that had come with the Santa suit, intended to make the wearer look exaggeratedly, comically rotund, lay discarded just off camera. The suit itself could barely cover Kyle's girth.
"Ho ho ho!" Kyle cried. He'd rubbed talcum powder into his hair and beard, and he thought it was quite effective in making him look older. "It looks like someone's left out some milk and cookies for me!" He strained to bend down, and heard a faint rip as the trousers reached their limit. He ignored it, knowing it would either go unseen, or would drive the viewers crazy. He drained the large glass of whole milk in one and reached for the plate of cookies, piled high.
Jamie appeared from around the Christmas tree with a gasp, wearing only some flannel pajama bottoms, showing off his cut abs. "Santa!" he cried. "Everyone told me that twenty-seven was too old to believe in you, but I always knew you'd come!"
Kyle chortled, making sure his broad gut shook as much as possible - it didn't take much effort, these days. "Yes Timmy, that's right!" Kyle replied. "And you've been such a good boy that I have a special present just for you!" He strained to reach down into his sack, wheezing as he stood up to reveal a present, clearly wrapped to show the butt plug inside. "My eleves have told me that you'll enjoy this alot!"
"Oh Santa, thank you!" Jamie cried. "But I'm much more interested in a present from your other sack." He pushed Kyle down onto the bed, and Kyle could see his boyfriend watching the fat on his body jiggling like a rather large bowl full of jelly. Despite all the furniture in the room they'd set aside for filming being bought specifically to cope with Kyle's mammoth weight, Kyle was still always a little nervous when a scene called for him to crash down onto them - everything had its limit, and he wasn't exactly capable of a controlled landing these days.
"Whatever could you mean Jimmy?" Kyle cried.
"Timmy," Jamie whispered at the side of his mouth.
"I mean Timmy!" Kyle corrected himself.
"Well," Jamie said huskily as he perched awkwardly on the small amount of Kyle's lap not taken over by gut. "I was hoping that you'd let me make a small addition to my list."
"I'm afraid you'd have to fill out a T39b1 form for that," Kyle said sternly. "And the admin office at the North pole is closed." Kyle grinned as he saw Jamie bite his lip to stop himself from laughing.
"Don't worry Santa, this present won't need to be cleared with anyone from finance." With that, he took one finger and dragged it down the front of Kyle's suit. The buttons, barely hanging on to the cheap fabric as it was, scattered across the floor. Jamie picked up the plate of cookies and put one in Kyle's mouth, who dutifully started chewing.
As Jamie picked up another cookie, Kyle quickly leaned in and kissed Jamie. It might not have fit into the scene, but Kyle couldn't resist the small sparkle in his boyfriend's eyes whenever he'd catch him unawares like this. While Jamie was distracted, Kyle picked up a cookie of his own and shoved it in Jamie's own mouth, at the exact same time that one was placed into his own.
Jamie froze, his eyes wide and the cookie hanging half out of his mouth. Kyle grinned and exaggerated chewing, as if teaching Jamie how to eat. Jamie hesitantly bit into his own and swallowed.
"Father Christmas," Jamie said, his voice high and strained. "What are you doing? These cookies are all meant for you!"
"Well Jimmy," Kyle started.
"Timmy," Jamie interrupted.
"Timmy," Kyle continued, picking up another cookie and putting it in his mouth. "A growing body like you needs all the food he can get." He grinned at the confusion on Jamie's face. "And besides, you're going to have to get me a lot of milk to go with all these cookies."
Jamie gave a small smile, clearly happy the scene was back on track, and leant down next to the chair to lift a heavy jug of whole milk, with a tall glass. He poured Jamie a glass and handed it to him.
Kyle pushed another cookie into Jamie's confused mouth and passed him the glass, picking the jug up for himself. "You'll need some milk as well Jimmy, to go with all of your cookies." Jamie didn't bother correcting him, just chewing and swallowing, staring at Kyle wide-eyed.
Five minutes later, the plate and jug were empty, cleared mostly by Kyle, but he'd managed to coax five of the large, soft treats into Jamie, along with two glasses of milk. Jamie looked a little dazed, and his abs seemed to bloat out by just half an inch or so.
Kyle slid Jamie off of his lap and onto the bed. "Now that I've been fed Jimmy, it's time for your present," he said. He grinned at Jamie's small, strained correction of "Timmy". Kyle could remember how difficult he'd found gorging himself in those early days of gaining - had it really only been a little under two years? He was starting to forget what it had been like to have been fit, to have walked into any shop and found clothes that fit him, and to have been able to see his muscles, his feet, his cock.
"Thank you Santa!" Jamie said, positioning himself on the bed. Kyle didn't often top these days - much of his dick had been swallowed by his fat pad, and besides, it was so much easier to let Jamie do the difficult work while Kyle ate. But occasionally, the two would decide to switch things up, both in their videos, and in their bedroom.
In the time it took for Jamie to move the camera to a better position, clear the table, take his clothes off, arrange some snacks for Kyle to eat during the rest of the scene, undress, apply some lube and take his position on the edge of the bed, Kyle had stood up. "Now, this is a very special present just for you," Kyle said. He shuffled forward, lifting his gut up and letting it rest on Jamie's back. He could feel Jamie shuffle uncomfortably under its weight. Yeah, try lugging this thing around all day, Kyle thought to himself. It took him a while to get himself lined up correctly, having to do so blind and with much of his once impressive equipment swallowed into a fat pad as large as Jamie's ass.
Finally, Kyle's cock found its target, and he slid himself in. He was gratified at Jamie's small gasp - his length might be diminished, but his girth was as admirable as ever. As Kyle thrusted, he grabbed a handful of gingerbread and ate greedily. He attempted, for a moment, to push some into Jamie's mouth, but in his position his size made it impossible. Besides, there'd be plenty of opportunities to feed Jamie in other scenes.
Kyle groaned as he gave one final thrust. He made sure to flop down to the side, careful not to flatten his boyfriend. He panted as he lay on the bed, his fat quivering.
Jamie stood, his erection still rock-hard. "I'm afraid I didn't finish Santa," he said. "Maybe you can suck my candy cane?"
Kyle smiled and waved Jamie over. "Come sit on Santa's face, Timmy."
"It's Tim- oh. You got it right that time." Jamie straddled Kyle's chest, his slender thighs as wide as they could go, and slid his cock into Kyle's mouth. It was quickly becoming a favorite position for both of them - while Jamie was receiving, Kyle had to expend minimal energy, and when Jamie was underneath, he loved the feeling of Kyle's weight crushing down on him. It didn't take long for Jamie to reach his climax. At the last moment, he pulled out. "Looks like it's going to be a white Christmas Santa!" he cried, as pulses of cum covered Kyle's face.
"I liked the white Christmas line," Kyle said half an hour later, toweling himself dry after his shower. "It was gross, but I liked it."
"FaceSquirter78 gave us $500 as a Christmas present, so I thought I'd do something special for him," Jamie explained.
"Aww, FaceSquirter78 is so sweet," Kyle said.
Jamie was quiet for a while, focussing on packing his and Kyle's suitcases while Kyle dried off. Eventually he spoke. "What was the feeding thing?" he asked.
Kyle laughed. "That's the point of the channel Jay," he said as if speaking to a child. "Feeding, eating, getting fat."
"No," Jamie insisted. "The point of the channel is you getting fat. What was the you feeding me thing?"
Kyle smirked. "Father Christmas is all about being generous. I thought Jimmy could use some fattening up," he explained.
Jamie sighed. "And the name of the character was Timmy!"
Kyle shrugged. "I know. But I think Jimmy should get fattened up," he said.
Jamie's eyes went wide. "You mean you want…"
"Well, I'm not thinking of slowing down anytime soon, but I'm already over 400 pounds, the weight's hardly piling on anymore," Kyle explained. "The whole point of the channel was to see a hot jock get fat." He picked up his gut and let it fall back down. "Mission accomplished I'd say. Onto the next hot jock."
Jamie swallowed. "No-one ever calls me Jimmy," he said, not knowing what else to say.
"Well, I thought I'd try and be a little subtle," Kyle said, leaning back and grinning. "So, what do you think? I know you're not averse to the larger gentleman."
"But you wouldn't be the star anymore," Jamie said, confused.
Kyle shrugged. "Don't worry about me, you're not going to outshine me anytime soon." He shuffled along the bed to hold Jamie's hand. "And besides, I think there's probably space for two stars on our Christmas tree."
Jamie was silent for a while. "How would you fit two stars on the tre-"
"It's a metaphor," Kyle interrupted. "I'm saying we can both be the star, I'm doing a thing, I'm trying to be sweet."
Jamie gave a small laugh. "I mean… yeah. Okay. Maybe. I'll… I'll think about it I guess." He slid a hand over Kyle's gut, following its wide expanse. His other hand traced his abs. "You really want me to get fat? With you?"
"You'll still always be skinny compared to me, don't get me wrong," Kyle said. "But yeah, sure. If you wanted to. We could use Christmas as sort of a trial period, see if you want to keep some winter weight."
Jamie smiled. "I'll think about it, yeah?"
-
Kyle had already eaten one of his burgers by the time Jamie had pulled rejoined the road. A festive jumper held the globe of his gut, and his fat spilled over his seat, pressing into the door and occasionally getting in Jamie's way.
"I'm just saying," Jamie said. "It's fine to be nervous!"
"And I'm just saying," Kyle replied as he started on his second burger. "That I'm not nervous. I meet people all the time! People love me!"
"You don't meet your boyfriend's family for the first time all the time though," Jamie retorted. "There's a certain weight to it."
"I'm used to a certain weight," Kyle said, slapping his gut. He picked up some fries between bites of his burger. "I think you need to admit that you're the nervous one."
"Why would I be nervous?" Jamie asked nervously.
"Because you haven't mentioned to your family that your boyfriend weighs over four hundred pounds," Kyle retorted.
"I've told them! I've specifically said that… well I mean… I've said you like eating!" Jamie blustered  "And I told mom that she might want to exchange the present she got you for the size up!"
"And what size would be the size up again?" Kyle asked.
"Well, she'd originally bought an extra-large, but you could wear a 2XL!" Jamie said.
"Yeah, for one of our scenes maybe, I could wear it as a bra," Kyle said sarcastically. He finished his second burger and started on his box of chicken nuggets. "I suppose it's not too bad though, it'll fit you soon enough."
"I told you that I'm going to think-" Kyle shut Jamie up by pushing a chicken nugget into his mouth.
"Just think of it like this, you bringing home your whale of a boyfriend for Christmas will make it less of a shock when you start fattening up," Kyle said. Jamie opened his mouth to respond and Kyle pushed another chicken nugget in. Kyle frowned, upset to be giving away so much of his food. "I know, I know, you're thinking about it. But you did agree that you'll eat more over the holidays and see how that feels. So eat."
By the time Jamie pulled his car into his parents' driveway, Kyle had managed to convince Jamie to eat a significant enough portion of his food that Jamie had had to pull back into a drive-thru to stop the fat man from getting grumpy over the food he'd willingly given up. Kyle stuffed the pile of wrappers into the glove compartment, aware that Jamie wouldn't want his family to see. Jamie stepped out of the car as a woman - presumably Jamie's mom - rushed towards him.
By the time Kyle had gotten out of the car, Jamie was starting to carry their bags into his parents home. Kyle turned to see Jamie's mom staring at him, her mouth hanging open. "You must be Jamie's mom!" he said, going in for a hug. His body enveloped hers. "It's so great to meet you."
Jamie's mom opened and closed her mouth a few times before she collected herself. "Kyle, it's so lovely to finally meet you," she said, a thin smile on her face. "Jamie's told me so much about you." She turned to look at her son as he passed with the last of the bags. "He left some things out of course," she said, a hint of ice in her voice. She turned back to Kyle, her initial shock getting replaced with genuine warmth. "You must be hungry after such a long drive!" she said, her motherly instincts to feed finding a willing subject. "Let me get you some dinner."
"Dinner would be great Mrs Frisk," Kyle said, following her inside. "You can show me baby pictures of Jamie while I eat maybe?" He flashed his boyfriend a grin.
-
A week later, Jamie and Kyle re-entered their apartment, exhausted. Kyle, as it turns out, was right not to be nervous. He'd managed to charm the socks off of Jamie's parents - his ballooning weight had done nothing to dampen his natural charm and charisma.
"Shall I order some pizzas in?" Jamie asked, flopping down on their sofa. His t-shirt clung to the ever-so-slight, squint-to-see-it, curve of his bloated belly. While Kyle had astonished Jamie's parents with the amount he ate each day, Jamie could eat far more than he ever usually would, without comment - his own gluttony looked positively restrained next to his boyfriend.
Kyle lowered himself down next to Jamie, into the crater his ass had formed in the sofa over many months. "I don't know," he said, poking Jamie's baby belly. "Sounds pretty unhealthy. You might start getting fat."
Jamie bit his lip for a moment before replying. "Guess so," he said, simply.
Kyle grinned. "Guess so," he repeated.
"Anyway," Jamie continued. "Maybe it does make sense, you know? I think we missed a load of opportunities while you were growing. I was thinking we could film some videos over a really long time, you know, edit them together once I'm bigger, so that I grow over the course of the video. There's a whole part of the gaining scene who would go crazy for something like that. Magic weight gain pills or something."
"Well then," Kyle said, slinging an arm around Jamie's shoulder. "We don't want to be missing out on any potential market share, do we?"
Jamie nodded, and clicked a button to add yet another pizza to their order.
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gainingfiction · 1 year
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What's your favorite story that you've written so far? Why is it among your favorites?
Great question! I’d have to give that one to “Room Service”. I loved exploring the character of Enrique, so much so that I came back to him in “Amenities”.
Role reversal is probably my favourite trope, and I had a lot of fun playing it out. I liked taking the suave, muscular admirer and making him grow and submit, it was a fun twist on the more straightforward gainer-encourager dynamic that I usually write.
I’ve had a few suggestions that I should go back to Enrique’s story again, and maybe see what Rob has been doing since their steamy night together. That idea is definitely on my radar…
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gainingfiction · 1 year
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Gain for Pay: Chapter 7
Find all chapters here
Opening the door, Jamie was startled to see Kyle—or the bloated figure that now occupied Kyle’s body—darkening his doorway. 
Jamie was a little embarrassed at first. He’d been ready for bed, and he barely had time to pull on a t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts as he made his way to the door. He’d taken out his contacts as well, and square glasses adorned his angular face. He hadn’t even removed his mouthguard. Kyle had never seen him like this before, so casual, so real. It was jarringly intimate, to be seen as he really was.
His embarrassment faded as he drank in the unruly appearance of the fat man in front of him. By comparison, Jamie was overdressed. Kyle was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants, his blubbery thighs pulling the fabric so taut that they resembled the legs of an elephant. 
And his shirt was at least two sizes too small. It gripped his belly in a vise, badly stretched but pathetically incapable of containing the sheer volume of fat Kyle attempted to cram into it. The lower extent of his gut flooded out of the bottom, dangling over his waistband and revealing a fuzzy treasure trail and incandescent stretch marks. Rolls of fat hung out at the sides, naked under the fluorescent lights of the apartment’s hallway. One would be forgiven for thinking his sweatpants had no waistband at all, lost as it was amid so much blubber.
“Kyle,” Jamie said, reaching across his chest to rub his shoulder. He glanced at his feet, avoiding Kyle’s focused gaze. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.” There was a pause, as Jamie waited for him to continue. “Are you just gonna keep me standing out here, digesting, or can I come in?”
Jamie stepped out of the way, gesturing wordlessly into his shoebox apartment. Kyle didn’t exactly live in a palace, but Jamie was embarrassed by how cramped his own place was; there was barely room to breathe. Hefty Kyle dominated the combined kitchen/living area, making it feel even smaller. As he walked, his wide hips bumped one of Jamie’s rickety dining chairs out of the way. Kyle might have used the money from the channel to upgrade his furniture, but Jamie had mostly been paying down debt.
Without prompting, Kyle lumbered across the small room and collapsed onto Jamie’s futon, which responded with frantic groaning. The fat around his abdomen wobbled from the shockwaves created by his heavy descent, pushing his shirt up even further, nearly to his belly button, to reveal even more creamy skin and brown body hair. His eyes flicked around Jamie’s apartment.
“What do you want, Kyle?” Jamie asked, thoroughly humiliated. Kyle had told him in no uncertain terms to fuck off, and yet here he was, seeing a side of Jamie’s life that he made a point of hiding.
Kyle sighed, the gears turning behind his eyes as he composed his reply. “I… I feel bad. About taking the money for the channel.”
Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose, hand resting on his hip. “It’s your money. You put the work in. You don’t need me, you’ve made that very clear, and I don’t need your pity.”
“It’s not pity,” Kyle said, quietly. He frowned slightly. With his head downcast, Jamie noticed how much thicker his neck had grown, the onslaught of fat around his face that had given him a prominent double chin. His five o’clock shadow did nothing to hide the softening of his once-chiselled jawline. “I just… I don’t care about the money.”
Jamie’s nostrils flared. This guy had some nerve, showing up in the middle of the night, uninvited and unannounced to flaunt his financial stability, ham-fists doling out charity. Hadn’t Kyle embarrassed him enough for one day? Was it not enough that he’d wrapped Jamie around his chubby finger, burrowed his way into Jamie’s mind, seemingly ruined all other men for him? “Yeah, well, I don’t know what you want from me. Send me my half if you want. But I think you should go.”
Kyle didn’t move. He shifted in his seat, a distant look in his eyes, brows furrowing. He opened his mouth and closed it. Finally, the words started to flow, a cascading stream-of-consciousness that caught Jamie off guard. “When I was a senior in high school, I was the star of the wrestling team, and everyone thought I was going to bring home the gold at the state championships. I was so good, I—I worked out so much—”
Jamie blinked at him. The fuck is he talking about? He started to cut him off, but Kyle held up his hand.
“Hear me out,” he said. He caught his breath, and then sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I choked. Everyone said I was the best, but when I got in the ring, I… I fucked up. I… wanted everyone to love me, praise me. I wanted everyone to cheer for me, and the school would put my trophy in a case, and everyone would always know I was the best. But I fucking froze. The match was over in seconds. People laughed at me, Jay.”
“Wow, being a jock sounds hard,” Jamie said, rolling his eyes.
“But…” Kyle stared at some unknown point on Jamie’s floor, eyes flitting back and forth. He bit his lower lip and leaned forward, stomach spilling out further onto his lap. “I think I lost on purpose. When I was actually there, all I could think was… ‘Is this all I’m good for?’ I wanted them to love me, not the trophy. I was scared that if I won… then, I’d just be the champion. The guy wearing the medal wouldn’t matter anymore.”
A flicker of understanding started to unfurl itself in Jamie’s mind. Kyle was vain and arrogant, but he was also self-destructive, maybe even subconsciously masochistic. He wanted to be praised, and loved, and mocked, and humiliated, and worshipped as a god. He contained multitudes.
“When I was with you…” Kyle exhaled, resting a hand on his thick belly. He started to rub it, play with it. Jamie watched, transfixed. “I felt like myself. Even more than that. I started to feel like—like maybe this is the real me.” He gave his belly an emphatic tap.
Jamie could only stare. Kyle was bearing his soul, but watching his fingers manhandling his bulbous paunch, prodding and massaging slabs of fat, Jamie could feel his focus slipping. As if sensing Jamie’s distraction, or perhaps put-off by his silence, Kyle brought his fingers to a rest atop the shelf of his belly and kept on. “And… I was afraid. Scared that if I let you keep going, if you actually started to see me….” He trailed off. He still wouldn’t meet Jamie’s gaze.
Jamie’s heart pounded. He didn’t know what to say. This gushing display of vulnerability was startling. He realized how much of his image of Kyle had been a perfectly-constructed facade. He had bought into the story he was selling to the fans, the idea of the perfect jock-turned-perfect gainer. Jamie’s vision of Kyle as a vacuous, pliant himbo was collapsing before his eyes.
Jamie felt like he should respond, but Kyle hadn’t finished. “Plus… I didn’t know if any of it was real. I know you found it hot. But it felt like it was all pretend for you. Like, these costumes and scenarios and shit. You went home after and you were Jamie, but I don’t get to take this off.” He gripped a roll of fat around his lower belly and gave it a shake, and Jamie watched his body gyrate.
Jamie swallowed. He’d never really thought about it like that. He’d tell himself that Kyle was “transforming”, that he was “burying” his old jock body, but those were just words in Jamie’s head that got him hard. He’d never considered what that must actually feel like, to watch your body changing shape in real life, in front of your eyes, week after week, when you’re the only one looking. No wonder Kyle cared so much about what the fans thought.
“I’m sorry,” Jamie said, after a long pause. Kyle finally looked him in the eyes again. “I feel like I got caught up in the fantasy. It must be weird for you, to be almost 300 pounds.”
Kyle hesitated, and then shrugged. “Honestly? Like I said, the weirdest part is that I kind of like it. Don’t get me wrong, I feel huge, but… not as huge as I thought I’d feel.”
Jamie was silent. He didn’t know what to say. “So… you don’t resent me?” he said. He bit the inside of his cheek.
Kyle gave a small smile. “Resent you? Jamie, I don’t care about the money because… I—” he exhaled. He was looking at Jamie so intensely that he seemed to stare right through him. “I care about you.”
Jamie blinked, adrenaline coursing through his body. He was afraid his heart would burst out of his chest. He thought he and Kyle could be just business, but hearing those words forced him to confront the cold, hard truth: after years of casual sex, and months of devoted feeding, Jamie was starting to fall in love.
“I care about you, too,” Jamie said, his breath catching. He wrapped his arms across his body like a shield, hugging himself tight.
“And I want to be with you. Properly. When we turn off the camera. I want to get to know you, the real you.” Kyle hefted himself to a stand, belly and breasts quivering as he closed the distance between them. “No bullshit. Not FriskyFeeder and HungryHunk. Just Jamie and Kyle.”
Jamie could feel emotion swelling in his chest. His hands trembled as Kyle approached. The whole time, they were avoiding the same thing: losing the armour that digital life provided; the intimacy of letting someone see the boring, ugly parts of your life.
But as Kyle slipped his big hands around Jamie’s waist, laid one palm at his side and the other on the small of Jamie’s back, cradling him in a pair of beefy, muscular arms, enfolding Jamie’s slender torso in his bulging keg, Jamie could feel that fear starting to dissipate. Kyle had seen Jamie out of denim and leather, in the low light of his crappy apartment. And he held him more tenderly than Jamie thought he was capable of.
Jamie looked up into Kyle’s eyes. He rested one hand on Kyle’s thick hip, the other spreading across Kyle’s stomach—malleable, but slightly taut; he must have just eaten—and Kyle exhaled, relaxing.
Kyle leaned in and kissed him. They had kissed before, but not like this. It had been perfunctory at first, and then exhibitionist. This one was all theirs. And it was the best kiss of Jamie’s life, sweet and laden with mutual desire. He could still taste salt and grease from Kyle’s latest bout of self-indulgence.
“I want you to tell me I’m the best,” Kyle said, when their lips parted. There was no dominance in his voice, only craving. “And I want you to tell me what a pig I am. I want to hear it in your voice again.”
“You are the best,” Jamie said, matter-of-factly. “And you are a fucking pig.”
“Oh, God.” Kyle breathed.
Jamie smiled. He could tell by the way Kyle’s dick chubbed up against the front of his sweatpants, poking Jamie’s thigh, that he still knew how to press Kyle’s buttons.
“Now. How about you spit out that mouthguard and we make it official,” Kyle said, his grin lopsided.
Jamie flushed. He’d forgotten he was wearing one. “Should I get my laptop?” he asked.
Kyle shook his head. “This one’s just for us.”
~
“Gosh, Professor, I think this serum is working a little too well,” Kyle said, raking his fingers across his naked stomach, fat bulging through them. He was naked but for a jockstrap, just big enough to contain his erection, although much of the slinky garment was hidden in a sea of belly, thigh, and side fat. “I’m supposed to bulk up, but Coach is gonna kill me!”
Jamie adjusted his glasses. It was his first time wearing them in a video, but they suited the character of the Professor. He tried not to smile; Kyle seemed genuinely into this, and his acting reflected his enthusiasm. In the three months since they started dating, their videos had been sexual tours de force.
“This is quite a significant development,” Jamie said, doing his best approximation of a scientist. He tugged at the lapels of the cheap labcoat he’d purchased from a surplus store. The fabric was scratchy against his bare chest. He started stringing together scientific-sounding words: “The reionization of the molecules in your adipose tissue is prompting a biochemical reaction.”
“Huh?” Kyle said. His tone was that of an awed jock, but the look he gave Jamie was a melange of exasperation and bemusement. “Dial it back,” he mumbled, low enough to avoid the microphone.
“Uh, yes, well, let’s check your progress,” Jamie said. He extended a hand, arm muscles flexing as he helped Kyle to his feet.
Kyle plodded to the scale, revealing his dimpled dumptruck to Jamie and soon the world. It was as thick and round as a pair of melons, separated by a long stretch of crack, soft and blubbery enough to jiggle hypnotically with every ponderous step. Small, white stretch marks had even begun to appear at the tops of his thighs, below a crease of ass-fat. “Dear God, it just keeps getting bigger,” Jamie muttered, hoping the microphone hadn’t caught him.
Kyle was playing it coy, but Jamie could sense his excitement as he mounted the scales. They waited, suspense growing.
Kyle leaned forward, partially to aim his bare, bulging backside more squarely at the camera, but also, Jamie suspected, to see the numbers over his all-eclipsing gut.
“334 pounds,” Jamie said, barely managing to disguise his surprise. He almost looked straight into the camera, fearing the number might strain belief, but anyone with eyes would believe that the vastly overfed chub on the scales wore every pound.
“That can’t be right,” Kyle said. Jamie could tell he wasn’t acting. Genuine disbelief tinged his voice, the innate skepticism of an ex-jock who couldn’t comprehend the magnitude of his own gluttony, how wholly he’d surrendered to the primal urge to eat and grow fat. “I was 329 last week.”
“The numbers don’t lie,” Jamie said, patting Kyle’s big butt, savouring its give and the gelatinous quavering that ensued. “Let’s take your measurements.”
“But I’m hungry,” Kyle said, as he stepped off the scale. He shot Jamie an insistent look, making clear that his hunger was also not for show.
“A common side-effect.” Jamie waved him off, reaching for the measuring tape on the table.
Kyle gave Jamie an almost imperceptible dirty look as he spread his legs, obedient.
“Let’s start with your thighs,” Jamie said, as he wrapped the measuring tape around the fattest part of Kyle’s porky haunches. He read the number aloud. “Just as I thought. Larger than my waist!”
That was true. Kyle’s erection twitched. 
“This is truly exceptional. You’ve surpassed all my other test subjects, you’re the best of them all.”
Kyle shifted in place, his arousal clearly flustering him. Even in a competition against the fictional subjects of a made-up clinical trial for a non-existent weight gain drug, Kyle got off on being the best. Jamie tried not to smile at his absurd vanity.
“And my gut?” Kyle asked, slapping a hand against the side of his pork barrel for emphasis. His eyes glowed with pride and lust.
Jamie adjusted the tape. It was getting harder and harder to reach around Kyle’s belly, and he wondered if the day might come when his girth made it impossible. Jamie read off the number, an eye-watering figure. It was hard to believe there had been a time not so long ago when Kyle’s body fat percentage had been in the single-digits, and his waist had been narrow and tapered.
Jamie proceeded with the measurements: hips, chest, biceps. Jamie was pulsating with arousal as he riddled off number after outrageous number.
“You’ve made incredible progress,” Jamie said. He looked Kyle in the eyes, letting him know that he really meant every word. Kyle’s gains were nothing short of astonishing.
A flicker of a smirk crossed Kyle’s lips, before he slipped back into character. “But, Professor, there’s a side-effect I think I should tell you about,” he said, cupping his package in the palm of one of his hands. “I’ve been so horny lately.”
Jamie nodded, ticking something off on the blank piece of paper attached to a clipboard Kyle had snagged from his office. He set it down on the table, and lifted up a pitcher of gainer shake. It was weighty from its viscous contents. He plucked a funnel attached to a length of plastic tubing from next to the clipboard, and approached Kyle. “That’s common,” he said.
Kyle dropped his body heavily onto the foot of the bed. “Is there anything you can do to help me?”
“There’s only one treatment for excessive horniness,” Jamie said, his expression serious. “After this week’s dosage, I’ll see what I can do to relieve your symptoms.”
“Real scientific,” Kyle murmured, with a shit-eating grin. Jamie silenced him with the spout of the funnel, and began to pour in the shake.
Chugging these shakes was becoming second nature to Kyle. He seemed to struggle for a second, his cheeks bulging, but quickly found his footing: breathe through the nose, gulp down shake, repeat. Jamie didn’t know how people managed it; it seemed enough to drown him.
Once three thousand calories of brownie mix, heavy cream and melted ice cream had made their way into Kyle’s stomach, he released the tube, and then a lengthy belch. He gave the side of his stomach a little push, and belched again, even louder this time.
“You pig,” Jamie whispered, and Kyle turned away from the camera to grin lazily at him.
“Now, let’s see what we can do about this,” Jamie said. In the old days, he needed only to have motioned in Kyle’s direction to clarify that he was talking about his cock. Now, with his belly having firmly seized focus, Jamie had to lean down and gesture more pointedly to the bulge below his gut. He patted the bed. “Hop up.”
Kyle glanced at him, knowing where this was going, but did as he was told, clambering heavily onto the mattress. Every movement sent his various rolls and bulges of fat jiggling in different, seemingly unrelated directions.
Jamie stripped off his lab coat and stood shirtless, savouring the disparity between his skinny hips and Kyle’s giant butt. He undid the button of his jeans and slipped them off, followed shortly by his underwear. The length of his cock now far surpassed Kyle’s, a development that Jamie couldn’t help but enjoy. He took off his glasses and tossed them aside.
“What are you doing, Professor?” Kyle asked with affected innocence.
“Don’t worry,” Jamie said, as he reached for a bottle of lube from the dresser. He squeezed a dollop onto his hands and massaged it onto his cock, before reaching out to place a slick palm at the centre of one of Kyle’s spherical buttocks, pressing further and further until he finally found some evidence of the gluteal muscle buried beneath. Fat spilled out around his hand. He started to spread Kyle’s cheeks. “I’ll take care of everything.”
Jamie squeezed some lube around Kyle’s asshole, and gently began to finger, making Kyle groan as Jamie prepped him. Kyle’s breath was quick, and Jamie wondered with amusement if this big boy really was a bottom at heart.
And then, Jamie entered him, progressing slowly and carefully, feeling the pressure of Kyle’s titanic ass cheeks and his tight ass. He was rock hard. Both men moaned in harmony, and Jamie placed his free hand on Kyle’s other buttock. He spread his fat ass further, like Moses parting the Red Sea, and plunged in deeper, hip bones grinding against lard as he made his way to the G-spot.
“You’ve gotten huge,” Jamie said, his voice gruff with desire. There was that forcefulness again, the dominance that only Kyle seemed able to coax out of him. He remembered his “mad scientist” character, and went on. “What have I done to you? I’ve created a monster.”
“Oh, fuck,” Kyle groaned, as Jamie hit his mark. He started to thrust, slow and tender at first, but gradually more forceful, reaching around to squeeze Kyle’s perky breasts and tease his nipples, or cup rolls of belly flab. Kyle burped again, as the pounding he was receiving jostled the heavy contents of his stomach.
Jamie wondered what the hunky version of Kyle would make of this scene. What would he think of the bloated, belching bottom he had become? Jamie had utterly tamed him.
The two men grunted, moaned, thrusted, and bucked, Kyle’s fat jouncing to and fro as Jamie built up his rhythm, slapping and squeezing different portions of Kyle’s twin hillocks. He stared at the hair that had started to grow on Kyle’s back, months out from his last waxing, at the stretchmarks on his love handles and thighs, the cellulite on his behind, the way his lowermost backroll started to fold down the elastic of his jockstrap.
“I’m turning into such a pig, Professor,” Kyle said, unprompted, between heavy breaths.
“And it’s not over, yet.” Jamie ran his hands along the curves of Kyle’s sides. “I won’t stop until you’ve won me the Nobel Prize in Pig Fucking.”
From the half-moan, half-roar that escaped Kyle’s mouth, Jamie knew that Kyle was spending himself, slathering the inside of his jockstrap. The timing was surprising; Jamie’s mind was so scrambled with desire that he was amazed he’d managed to say something coherent, let alone that his word salad had taken Kyle over the edge. It only took a few more powerful thrusts before Jamie came, too, losing himself in the moment and spanking Kyle’s ass so forcefully that he cried out.
Both men panted—Kyle moreso than Jamie—as Jamie extricated himself. “FriskyFeeder and HungryHunk will be back for seconds next week,” he said to the camera, and then shut his laptop. He turned to Kyle. “Fuck, you’re amazing.”
Kyle flopped onto his side, belly spilling out onto the bed in front of him, hiding his crotch. He beamed, his apple cheeks dimpling. “What can I say?”
Jamie climbed onto the bed, slinking over to Kyle to get a better look at him. Jamie had discovered something quite unexpected about himself since he and Kyle became an item: a taste for lying together after sex. He slipped a hand under Kyle’s heavy arm, resting his fingers against the part of his tits that swelled out on the side. They kissed, Jamie’s free hand reaching up to cup Kyle’s round face.
“So, tell me again how that video was different from the whole ‘soldier serum’ schtick?” Kyle asked, as he brushed his thick fingers along Jamie’s slender torso.
“I thought this wasn’t HBO.” Jamie smirked. “The difference is, you’re Sarge’s favourite soldier in one, but the Professor’s hottest jock in the other.”
Jamie could feel Kyle’s dick already stiffening again as he lapped up the praise. Without getting up, he started to shimmy his way out of his cum-soaked jockstrap, his blubber crashing against Jamie as he struggled to free himself. Finally, he was fully and perfectly naked, the elastic of his abused underwear leaving a red imprint in his blubber as a parting shot.
“I can’t believe you’re 334 pounds,” Jamie said, sinking his fingers into Kyle’s dough. “Did you ever think you’d get this big? You’re probably thinking of slowing down.”
Kyle seemed to consider this. There was silence for a moment, before he replied: “I never thought I’d get past 230, honestly. But I feel like my appetite has a momentum of its own. I warned you I love to eat, that I’d blimp out. At this point, I don’t know if I could slow down, even if I wanted to.”
Jamie smiled as he drew Kyle into another kiss. Kyle was hooked; he hadn’t even mentioned an upper limit to how big he was willing to get. “And I know you’d hate to disappoint the fans,” Jamie said, as he caressed the blubbery side of Kyle’s chest.
“Or my sexy professor,” Kyle said. Much like Jamie’s newfound addiction to cuddling, Kyle had surprised them both with a penchant for almost sickly-sweet flirtation. We’re quite a pair, Jamie thought, as he reflected on their baggage. Years of nothing but casual sex had left each of them starved for affection, and now they gorged themselves on all manner of it.
“You’d never, big man,” Jamie said, reassuringly. “Now, we should probably see about dinner. I’m-a thinking lasagna, mio caro bambino,” he added, after a few moments of bliss, affecting his disastrous Italian accent. 
Kyle rolled his eyes. “I’m still not doing that video, Jay.”
Jamie chuckled as he rose to a stand to start cooking. Kyle was quite a mouth to feed, but keeping him fat and happy was shaping up to be the best job Jamie ever had.
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gainingfiction · 1 year
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Gain For Pay: Chapter 6
Read chapter 5 (by @thegainingdesk) here
Jamie hunched forward, bathed in the blue light of his computer screen, tugging at his cock. He stared at the video on his monitor, transfixed by Kyle’s latest binge. The boy had gotten positively massive.
Keep reading
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gainingfiction · 1 year
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King Size
I had a great time working on this project with @bee-wg​! Working with such a talented artist was a phenomenal experience. It was amazing to see this story come to life! Make sure to check out their great art and give them a follow. Hope you enjoy!
(Note: colouring may appear a little off when viewing on mobile, clicking the image should correct)
Summary: Prince Leo grows into his new role as king.
Once upon a time, in a far away kingdom, there lived a handsome prince. With loose waves of chestnut-coloured hair and a jaw like carved stone, maids and knights alike swooned at every twinkle of his blue eyes. None could deny that Prince Leopold was the fairest in all the land.
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Leo’s skills as an athlete were the stuff of legend. He was as able with a sword as he was on horseback, and though he was slender and lithe, his deadly aim made him the envy of even the finest archers. On each hunt he loosed arrow after piercing arrow, returning to the castle with braces of pheasant, quail, and grouse.
After the death of Leo’s father the king, the whole realm mourned, and none grieved more than Leo himself. His carefree life as prince was at an end, and now the weight of the crown sat heavy on his head. His idle days of sparring with knights, long rides through the forest, and week-long hunts were over. The burdens of his new role were many, and he knew that hard work lay ahead of him.
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With little time to spend on his favourite pastimes, Leo soon discovered a new outlet for his energies: feasting. As prince, he often dreaded his father’s banquets, wishing he could be riding or hunting instead. Soon after taking the throne, Leo realized what his father had known all along, that the business of government is easier on a full belly.
Before long, Leo feasted often and enthusiastically. His brothers returned from their frequent hunts with game and fowl, and the kitchens bustled with activity. The cooks had never been busier, preparing dish after dish for their hungry new king.
And Leo ate. Plates of venison and lamb, roasted chicken and suckling pig, mince pies and rashers of bacon, Leo devoured it all, washed down with wine, ale, and mead. He feasted from dawn until dusk. By the end of the night, he had gorged himself into a stupor, his stomach stuffed and protesting by the time he made his way to bed.
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It didn’t take long before the new king began to grow plump. As he filled his stomach relentlessly, pushing himself to the edges of his capacity and then beyond, his appetite grew. The roundness his midsection acquired after bouts of gluttony began to stick, until his stomach, once flat, swelled and softened into a fleshy orb. As the months passed, he was left with a fat belly and a pair of meaty love handles. Even his face changed, and he began to grow out his beard to cover his softening jawline.
Leo’s ass and hips grew, as well. Fat began to build around his slender thighs, and his buttocks bulged and ripened, struggling against the cloth of his breeches. Leo’s servants realized the problem before their king. Each morning they dressed Leo, and his clothes seemed to grow tighter by the day. Leo could see them exchanging meaningful glances as they tried to squeeze his added bulk into undersized clothes, afraid to tell him just how hard it was becoming to fit him into his garments.
Leo eventually capitulated. He spoke to the royal tailor, who soon became almost as busy as the cooks, constantly measuring the ever-expanding monarch for new shirts and pants to contain his ballooning poundage.
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And so, Leo ate, and drank, and slept, and governed, and grew. The lords and ladies of court seemed shocked at just how fast their new overlord was gaining weight, at how unable he was to control his appetite.
None dared to question the king’s love of food. His wife, the queen, seemed unimpressed, but she had done her duty and given him a pair of twin boys. The realm had its heir. Now, the king ignored her, preferring the attention of handsome servants and dashing knights. This didn’t bother the queen, preoccupied as she was with her lady-in-waiting.
His belly swelled further, growing softer and heavier. By the anniversary of his coronation, it hung out in front of him, soft and round, drooping far over the waist of his pants. He often went shirtless, leaving his fattened torso exposed beneath a fine ermine cloak. That cloak had belonged to his father; it was too large when Leo took the throne, but now it fit him comfortably, and would soon become tight.
He was fatter all over, the small muscles of his chest now hidden under hearty slabs of fat. Below his breasts, his globular belly clung to his torso, flanked at the sides by thick handfuls of fat that projected over the top of his pants. His thighs were broad and hefty, and his rump had expanded to truly king-sized proportions.
A few years into his reign, the finest artist in the realm came to court. He had painted Leo before, and he stared in shock at the bearded, fat-bellied man Leo had become. In his fine cloak and glimmering crown, wearing a good-natured smile, Leo cut an image of a powerful but generous ruler.
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He hardly resembled the strapping young knight he had so recently been. The painter looked back and forth between the old Leo and the new, his recent portrait of a slender prince and the overfed monarch now posed in front of him, seeming not to believe his eyes. The poor artist pleaded with his king to stay still, but Leo refused to stop eating and drinking, stretching his pendulous stomach to an ever-greater size. The buttons of his tunic were struggling by the end of the sitting, and hours on his feet had left him exhausted and sore-legged.
Over the years of King Leo’s reign, his girth only increased. His dimpled, rosy cheeks swelled rounder and plumper, and beneath his impressive beard, his jowls sagged and his double chin expanded. His chin grew so thick that it seemed to merge into his body, replacing his neck, and his shoulders broadened with soft fat. His chest billowed out atop his colossal stomach, a rack of teats to rival the bustiest milkmaid, and his stomach exploded in size, leading the way ahead of him and hanging low in front. He was a great bear of a man, as wide as a barge, large enough to intimidate anyone who crossed his path.
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On his 26th birthday, after five years as king, he realized with annoyance that he had grown too fat for the throne, unable to squeeze his rear-end between its arms. It was an uncomfortable old chair, anyway, and Leo had no time for discomfort. So he commissioned a new one, and thereafter sat his humongous behind on a throne as wide as a bench, built of heavy, gold-painted wood but still seeming to sag at the middle beneath his towering weight.
Some say that Leo was the greatest king of all. What his ancestors had settled at war, Leo handled with diplomacy: nobles were brought together at the feasting table, where petty feuds were put to rest over food and drink. They knew that food, not scheming, was the way to secure the king’s trust. Any request was usually accompanied by generous gifts, and whenever the king held court, platters streamed from the kitchens and filled the great hall. According to legend, the people flocked to Leo with offerings of food, just to marvel at his enormous belly and its seemingly limitless capacity.
Few would recognize the bearded mammoth as the slender, fresh-faced prince he once was, but all would agree that Jolly King Leopold’s steady rule had brought prosperity to the realm. His subjects lived happily ever after in peace and plenty—with none more plentiful than their king.
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gainingfiction · 1 year
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Gain for Pay: Chapter 6
Find all chapters here
Jamie hunched forward, bathed in the blue light of his computer screen, tugging at his cock. He stared at the video on his monitor, transfixed by Kyle’s latest binge. The boy had gotten positively massive.
He was clad in the same wrestling singlet from the coach video, but his body stretched it beyond all limits, pulling the spandex to the razor’s edge of even the most forgiving fabric’s maximum. He ran his hands up and down the sides of his gut, squeezing his excess fat, lifting it up, pushing it forward. His middle had grown so much from those first, tentative pounds. It held its near-spherical shape, a testament to his rapid expansion and his obscene bloat, but from the way it yielded beneath Kyle’s fingers, especially at the sides, it had clearly gotten much softer.
Jamie had fretted over the channel for two months, watching with dismay as their more devoted followers cried out in vain for new content, and others left altogether. Ever since Kyle had thrown him out, they’d gotten nothing. The channel had been silent. Jamie had begun to fear it might stay dormant forever.
And then, out of nowhere, Kyle resurfaced. Jamie’s heart raced when he read the email confirming that Kyle’s latest video had been posted to their channel, still linked to Jamie’s own email address. He’d rushed to his computer and opened it up, not knowing what to expect.
The video bore a simple title: “Eating and talking”. Ibsen Kyle was not. Jamie always struggled to find the perfect names for their clips, some punny callback to an old classic of the gainerverse, but clearly such niceties didn’t interest Kyle. He’d let the content speak for itself.
And it spoke volumes. Jamie half expected to see a slightly-deflated Kyle picking at a sleeve of Oreos. This was not that video. Instead, a supermarket cheesecake spread out before an overgrown butterball, flanked by a heaping pitcher of gainer shake, Kyle bearing down on them as he burdened his kitchen chair. He didn’t seem to have lost a pound. In fact, he’d evidently gained a few. More than a few, an almost startling amount of weight in two months. 
Kyle attacked the cheesecake like it had wronged him. Between mouthfuls, he gave Jamie an insight into his life. “I’ve gotta confess, I tried to lose some weight when I went offline.”
“Tried” being the operative word, Jamie thought, as he admired Kyle’s distended abdomen. Evidently, no weight had been shed. Other than 165 pounds of Jamie.
“Fuck, guys, it was hard,” he continued, as he plucked another donut. “I went back to my old diet, I hit the gym, and you know what happened? In two miserable weeks, I lost four goddamned pounds.”
He took a huge bite of cheesecake, followed by a swig of shake, his cheeks swelling like a chipmunk’s as he rubbed and massaged his globular belly.
Losing two pounds a week was nothing to sneeze at. But Kyle was not a patient man, in Jamie’s experience. His drive for instant gratification and immediate results was part of what made him such an astonishing gainer. That sort of attitude was hardly a recipe for successful weight loss. And Jamie found it hard to believe that Kyle had faithfully adhered to his old diet.
"I weighed myself earlier," Kyle said. "I'm 284 pounds now." True to form, Kyle showed off his belly, the most powerful weapon in his arsenal of obesity. "Not far until, uhh… Not long until I'm over 300. Joining the real big boys."
Jamie’s eyes widened, cock twitching at that statement. Kyle’s banter had come so far, as different from his earlier tummy-talk as the man who uttered it. Jamie’s heartbeat quickened; he felt like the Henry Higgins of encouragers, and Kyle his gainer Eliza. My Fair Gainer, he thought, with a smirk. Even if Kyle had kicked him to the curb, Jamie had done his community a great service.
Jamie knew that Kyle wasn’t just showboating, either. His claim to 284 pounds was the real deal. Jamie could see his thighs, parted to emphasize Kyle’s crotch, overhanging the sides of his kitchen chair, the fat now abundant enough to sag slightly. And his perky moobs bulged out from the straps of his singlet, his nipples visibly larger, a show of cleavage that would have gotten a woman banned from more mainstream sites.
"I've been getting so horny whenever I eat you guys," Kyle said, as he started the process of removing his pathetically, gloriously tight wrestling singlet. I think he’s got it, Jamie thought, as he gripped and worked his member. This was real gainer talk, the priapic ramblings of an enthusiastic fatboy. By George he’s got it!
Jamie took in the sight of Kyle’s gut as they both jerked off, separated by their computer screens and so much emotional distance. Jamie knew that belly well, he’d explored every inch of it, over and over again for months. When he closed his eyes, he could practically count Kyle’s stretch marks. It seemed they’d made some new friends.
Kyle pleasured himself with one hand, releasing his gut and letting it bounce free, and it slapped against his diminished cock. He reached for a donut, shovelling it into his face with ravenous desperation. He chewed, swallowed, and started all over again. 
Jamie’s cock ached, and he kept jerking. Kyle was so into this. His desperate erection, weighed down by his bulging gut, said as much. There was no other excuse for that level of sexual excitement: Kyle was all alone, with nothing but a fat belly and a massive feast for company. His arousal was driven by his own slide into obesity, his insatiable hunger for more.
The transformation was a sight to behold. 
“I’m getting so fat for you,” Kyle said, amid rapid breaths and vigorous chewing. His fingers wrapped around his shaft, his thumb playing with the head as he pleasured himself for the pleasure of his fans. Kyle gazed languidly at the camera, his angelic—now, cherubic—face awash in lazy lust. Jamie didn’t want to read too much into that line; knowing Kyle, it was for the benefit of his horny congregation. But Jamie couldn’t help but wonder: is he talking about me?
Jamie could tell from Kyle’s face that he was close to orgasm, mere moments away from the almighty cumshot.
“J-unhhh,” Kyle moaned, through a mouthful of donut, as he blasted his thick load, coating his fingers and paunch and probably his floor. He still came like a goddamn fire hose. Jamie came, too, pushed over the edge by Kyle’s body jiggling in time with his final, torpid tugs.
When his head cleared and he’d reached for a few tissues, Jamie hit pause. Wait, what did he say? He dragged his cursor over the video’s progress bar and went back a few seconds.
“J-unhhh.”
Pause. Replay.
Jamie knew he was being crazy. He was acting like a stalker, the type of unhinged ex-lover that belonged in the worst sort of B-movie. Kyle’s mid-orgasm moan was incoherent, unintelligible. There was nothing to it; it was only the frenzied keening of a man in the throes of climax. But…
“J-unhhh.”
Where did the “J” come from? Of all the sounds he could have made, why that one?
Was he going to say my name?
Jamie exhaled. Rationally, he knew Kyle wasn’t thinking about him. He probably hadn’t thought about him in months. Jamie had been doing his best to move on, to write Kyle off as a fun memory to remain forever in his mid-20s. He’d thrown himself into work to make ends meet, and spent time with friends (with and without benefits). But seeing Kyle again, like this… all those old feelings came flooding back.
The next morning, Jamie opened up the page again, driven more by curiosity than libido. What were Kyle’s fans saying about his miraculous resurrection from cyber-oblivion?
The usual suspects gushed their praise, while others zeroed in on their favourite features: Kyle’s fat ass, his chubby boy-tits, and of course, the temple to gluttony he had built atop his abs and which melded into prominent, porky side-fat.
And then, there were the comments about Jamie. 
Bring back FriskyFeeder to rim and fuck that fat ass, suggested one eloquent user. He read on. 
Where is twink boy! Did you guys break up? I miss watching him tease and boss you around. 
Jamie wanted to scream. The comments were flattering, but the fans had no idea how delicate the situation was, how much harder it had become to manage Kyle the way he needed to be managed.
The last “Jamie” comment was by far the most upsetting: did friskyfeeder leave because u got too fat for him? if so, fuck him.
Jamie slammed his computer shut. It was bad enough that Kyle wanted nothing to do with him; now, he could actually turn into a pariah. To at least one of Kyle’s fans, Jamie might come to embody the worst things an encourager could be: shallow, vain, a tease. Among the sort of dedicated fatties Jamie wanted to woo, that reputation would be a death sentence.
He tried to put Kyle and all other kinky thoughts out of his mind as he dressed for work. By the time he made it to the mall, he was preoccupied with other things. Namely, whether he had enough in the bank to make rent this month.
As he folded clothes in the fast fashion outlet that employed him, Jamie bemoaned his fate. Most of his colleagues were teenage girls, picking up the odd shift whenever school and cheerleading practice allowed. Jamie had taken on the job to supplement his work at the call centre. Putting my English degree to great use, he thought, as he shelved a collection of t-shirts. The temptation to give up his current jobs—retail, telemarketing, selling occasional feet pics—and become a high school teacher had never been stronger.
He groaned as a legion of soccer moms descended on the store, ready to plunge his finely-tuned display into chaos. He braced himself for a thousand questions about what a teenage boy might like to wear on a special occasion.
He felt his phone vibrate, and pulled it out of his pocket.
His own mother had sent him a photo of a charming cable-knit sweater, the sort of thing Jamie might have worn when he was still a good boy, before tank tops and holey tees and leather jackets had overtaken his wardrobe.
Do you think Kyle would wear something like this?
Jamie studied the photo; the sweater couldn’t have been bigger than a medium. It might have fit the old Kyle, but now, the poor garment didn’t have a prayer of covering his voluminous middle. No matter how forgiving the knit, a hefty wedge of his gut would hang out of the bottom obscenely, possibly up to the navel, mushrooming out beneath the tight hem.
The message made him want to bang his head against a wall. For the past few months, he’d tried time and again to downplay the extent of his involvement with Kyle, clarify that they were only a couple in the loosest sense of the term. What could he even say? “Sorry, Mom, I can’t even keep a pretend boyfriend”?
Not sure, probably not his style, he replied.
“Jamie!” his boss barked at him. “No phones on the floor! We’re not paying you to trawl Grindr.”
Jamie clenched his jaw but held his tongue, tucking his phone into his pocket. Benji, the manager, was a loud-and-proud friend of Dorothy, so his comment wasn’t overtly homophobic. Just inappropriate in the general sense. Fuck this place, Jamie thought, as he picked up a newly-rumpled crew-neck. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up.
After work, Jamie opened his phone, eyes widening at the influx of cash that had just hit his account. It was the first of the month. Money from his—from Kyle’s—OnlyFans. He sighed. Kyle had a good, steady job; it had never been about the money for him. When it came to incentivizing Kyle, cash paled in comparison to attention.
But Jamie had no claim to the channel anymore. Kyle was the one monetizing his gains. Jamie was little more than a vestigial limb. He knew what he had to do as he opened up a banking app.
With the money sent, Jamie typed out a message to Kyle, his first since their rift. I sent you all the money for this month, you’ve been running the channel by yourself so it wouldn’t be fair of me to take a cut.
He tossed his phone into the passenger seat and started home, cash-strapped and exhausted.
Over the next few weeks, Jamie waited with bated breath for another video from Kyle. But none was forthcoming. However much the ex-jock enjoyed his gains, something was clearly holding him back. Perhaps it was the absence of Jamie’s incisive directorial eye. Finally, another video appeared. It was nine minutes long. Kyle weighed himself—290 pounds—ate fried chicken, and whacked off. The fans ate it up, but Jamie was disappointed. Kyle had so much potential—he could do better. They could do better, together.
It dawned on Jamie that it had been three weeks since his last hookup. He opened a certain well-known gainer network and started scrolling.
Jamie noticed an update from Tyson, his erstwhile feedee. HungryChub51 changed their weight to 288 lbs, a gain of 3 lbs.
Tyson’s new relationship clearly hadn’t catalyzed his gains the way he’d hoped. He was in the throes of a plateau. He would push past it eventually, but the update got Jamie thinking. He’d started feeding Kyle to fill a 285-pound hole in his heart, and only managed to replace that hole with an even bigger one.
Feeling defiant, Jamie navigated to his messages, opening one from a 450-pound chub known as GeorgeGorge. Hey there, stud, love the videos. Feel like getting frisky?
Jamie smirked at the reference to his screen name. He did feel like getting frisky, or at least trying to get back out there and move on with his life. After some back-and-forth flirtation, the date was set. Jamie would show up at George’s house that evening at 8, bearing cake.
Dressed in his studliest jacket and a pair of comfortable black jeans, he felt good about himself. It was time to be the hunk again, the athletic admirer that haunted big boy fantasies. And he had a meetup with a very attractive guy: George was mature, almost 35, a bearded vision in lard-laden flannel. Standing on the doorstep of his well-maintained bungalow, Jamie couldn’t wait to meet him.
He wasn’t disappointed. The sound of George’s heavy footfalls announced his arrival, even through the front door. He was even bigger in person than his photos let on, a goliath of a man. Some time must have passed since his last weigh-in, since 450 seemed to understate his towering girth. And his face was handsome, youthful from his rosy, buoyant cheeks, with a well-groomed beard, more pepper than salt at this stage. In the right light, he almost looked like a future version of Kyle: handsome, hairy, and huge.
And he took his cake like a battle-hardened veteran, gradually unbuttoning more and more of his shirt to reveal a vast landscape of fur-lined fat. As he laid waste to his dessert, Jamie felt like a cheerleader on the sidelines, watching as the football team delivered an absolutely crushing, humiliating defeat to their rivals. Entirely superfluous in the face of total domination, no prompting or encouragement required. When George was nearly finished with the cake, he looked in Jamie’s grocery bag, before shooting him a look that indicated he had violated some unspoken feeder taboo by failing to bring more than he’d been asked for.
When only one thick piece remained, George gestured towards a door. “How about we finish this in there?” he asked.
George didn’t need to ask twice. Jamie rose, lifting the lightened cake pan and following along as George lumbered to the bedroom. He had a great ass, but two thoughts ran through Jamie’s mind as he admired it: how round Kyle’s ass was, and how good it would look at George’s size.
Jamie slipped off his t-shirt, feeling a surge of validation as George smiled lopsidedly with approval. The contrast between them was astronomical, like a cellphone tower placed unthinkingly next to the stone walls of an unassailable castle. George discarded his shirt, already unbuttoned, and Jamie went straight for his gut, sinking his hands into the dough, feeling it envelop his fingers.
Soon they were fully undressed, and Jamie appreciated the way George’s fatpad had robbed him of so much length.
Jamie jacked off as he watched George eating. The cake disappeared swiftly, and he licked his fingers clean, no doubt scoffing at Jamie’s amateurish challenge to his capacity. He was seated on the edge of the bed, and he lifted his gut to access his manhood, leaning back to ease the path. Seated next to him, his narrow hips taking up a small fraction of the mattress, Jamie placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back further, until he was lying on his back, and with some difficulty, he slid up to rest his head on the pillows.
Jamie moved to straddle him, feeling the burn in his hip abductors as he spread his legs wide to handle the mountainous man, and settled for straddling just one of his thighs, larger than the waist of even a chubby guy.
They both went about their business, Jamie making a point of probing George’s soft middle with his boner. He picked up his pace, his breath quickening.
“Oh, Kyle,” he groaned, and immediately caught himself. He froze, realizing his mistake, and stared down at the big man beneath him, who looked similarly jarred.
“What’d you call me?” George said.
“I—I said pile. Like, uh, this pile of lard,” Jamie said, gesturing weakly at the thick belly that spread out in front of him like a small landmass.
“Uh, no, you called me Kyle,” George said. “Who is ‘Kyle’?”
Jamie shook his head. “He’s nobody! Seriously. Let’s keep going, you’re so fucking hot, big boy.”
George was clearly put-off, and Jamie cursed himself. What was that! Jamie covered his face; how could he have lost control like that, like some helpless juvenile?!
Jamie could read a room, and he knew he’d killed the mood. He maneuvered his slender body off of George’s colossal one, flopping onto the bed, and the big man reached for a pack of cigarettes from his bedside table.
“I’m gonna go,” Jamie said, leaping to a stand. “I—I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to—uh, I hope I didn’t—I’m sorry.”
George seemed more amused than offended as he took a drag on his cigarette. “It’s fine, man. You really don’t have to rush off.”
Jamie shook his head. He’d ruined the mood. Sure, they could try to get back into it, but Jamie’s image as a suave hunk was shattered, and both of them now knew that George wasn’t the man Jamie really wanted to be with tonight. “I’ll get out of your hair. You’re really a great guy, though, it’s not you, it’s—” Jamie stopped himself before he could finish his stomach-churning cliche.
“It’s Kyle,” George said, with a smirk, finishing Jamie’s thought. “Well, whoever he is, I hope you guys figure it out. You must really have feelings for him.”
As he left the room, he thought he heard George mumble something to the effect of: “Never meet your heroes, huh?”
Jamie’s stomach was in knots as he shut the door to George’s house. 
Back home in his bed, hiding from the embarrassment he’d inflicted on himself, Jamie opened his messages. His last message from Kyle was one word, sent just after Jamie had forwarded him his money: “Thanks”.
I miss you, Jamie typed, and immediately cringed at how needy that sounded. Delete, delete, delete. I want to see you again, he tried. Still too much. He erased the message.
There was nothing more to say. The ball was in Kyle’s court. He was about to put his phone in sleep mode for the night when he heard an insistent knock on his front door.
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gainingfiction · 1 year
Text
Gain for Pay: Chapter 5
Read chapter 4, here.
Kyle leant back and gave a satisfied belch, his hand going under his t-shirt to rub his gut. A woman sat a couple of tables away shot him a disgusted look, making his dick even harder. He shot her a smile, and despite being stuffed, stood up to collect more food, determined to put on a show.
He returned minutes later, his plate piled high with an assortment of meats, sauces, dumplings, egg rolls, noodles and even a vegetable or two. Kyle smirked at his dedication to healthy eating. He dumped his plate down and popped the top button on his jeans before sitting down and digging in. Not too long ago, the heaping pile of food in front of him would have left him stuffed and bloated all day; now, it simply topped off an already astonishing display of gluttony.
It had been two months since he'd last seen Jamie, and despite telling Jamie and himself that he'd be returning to his old jock body, he'd only grown further. Bereft of the constant stream of flattery on their videos, and regular fuck sessions with Jamie, Kyle had come to admit to himself the thing that got him off most of all - attention. It didn't matter how he got it, all that mattered was that people were looking at him. Being fat got more people looking at Kyle than ever before, so he found that trips to nearby buffets and food courts in too tight clothes were fast becoming part of his daily routine.
"Excuse me." Kyle looked up, snapped out of his eating reverie. A tall, toned man with dark, wavy hair stood in front of him, around his age, looking very much like Jamie. His t-shirt clung to toned biceps and hung loosely over what Kyle assumed would be washboard abs. "Sorry, I don't mean to intrude, I can see you're busy," the man continued. Kyle looked back down at his plate, now half-demolished. He supposed he was busy. "It's just… you're HungryHunk, aren't you?"
Kyle swallowed his mouthful of food and looked around to see if anyone was listening in. "I uh-" A burp caught him by surprise, interrupting himself. "Look, I don't really know that this is the place-"
"Don't worry!" the man said, lowering his voice a little and moving around the table closer to Kyle. "I won't say anything, I just wanted to, you know - you're amazing. Your videos are just, wow."
Kyle felt his penis start to lengthen down his pant-leg. "Oh, well, thanks. Great to meet a fan." He speared a particularly large piece of pork and put it into his mouth, whole.
"It's, uhh, Chase," the man said, offering his hand. Kyle took it, picking up an egg roll and pushing it into his face as he did so. He grinned around his faceful of food at the effect he saw it had on Chase. "Well, anyway, it was great to meet you HungryHunk." Chase looked Kyle up and down. "It's great to see you're still getting bigger," he added quietly, before he turned to leave.
"Call me Kyle," Kyle said, around the food still in his mouth. He swallowed hard. "Mr HungryHunk is my father." He leant back, allowing his t-shirt to ride up his belly and made a show of lazily scratching his exposed treasure trail. "Why don't you stay a while Chase? I'm always happy for some company while I eat."
Chase looked around nervously. "I, uhh, well I told my friends I was only going to be a minute, just saying hi to an old college friend, I don't know if…"
Kyle burped and picked up a slice of prawn toast. "Well maybe you want to catch up with your old college friend? Maybe go somewhere with them after?" he said with a shit-eating grin.
Chase swallowed hard, and nodded, not taking his eyes off Kyle's gut. "I can go tell them that, yeah," he said quietly. "I could go get you some more food as well?" he asked.
Kyle breathed heavily, and placed a hand on top of his gut, as rock hard as it would ever get these days. He was almost at his limit, but seeing the way Chase was looking hungrily at him, he knew he'd have to try. "Dessert, maybe?" he said.
Chase nodded and practically raced across the restaurant to a group people, speaking briefly before collecting a tray and several bowls. Kyle exhaled deeply and stretched his back, trying to make as much space as possible in his gut, any space really. He patted his gut, closed his eyes, and tried to distract himself from the rising pain in his stomach as he cleared the food still on his plate.
By the time Kyle was finished, panting and straining, Chase placed a tray full of desserts in front of him and sat down in the chair opposite. "I remembered that video where the sheriff made you eat chocolate cake and poured chocolate sauce into your mouth until you confessed to robbing that bakery, so I thought that I'd get everything chocolate that they had," he explained eagerly, gesturing at the array of rich, sickly desserts.
"So, you like my videos?" Kyle asked, trying to buy some time to let him digest before he ate the pile of sweet treats in front of him.
Chase nodded, his grin growing. "Oh man, yeah! You're an absolute legend!" he said. Kyle grinned. "When you disappeared the discord went crazy trying to figure out what was happening. Some people thought you'd lost all the weight, but I knew you were just building up anticipation before you came back bigger and better than ever before."
"Well, I guess I'm certainly bigger and better!" Kyle said, rubbing his belly.
"So you're coming back?" Chase asked, almost jumping from his seat in excitement. "You and FriskyFeeder?"
Kyle's grin faded, and he took a mouthful of chocolate ice cream. "Me and FriskyFeeder have gone our separate ways," Kyle said, sulkily.
"Oh, right," said Chase, his excitement diminishing. "I sort of assumed… right. So you've broken up?"
Kyle didn't answer for a while, electing instead to focus on finishibg a slice of chocolate cake, drizzled in double cream. "We were never a couple," he said finally, shrugging, his erection wilting.
"Oh!" Chase said, his mouth forming a small "O" that Kyle suddenly very much wanted to fill with his cock, if only to stop the conversation. "I always… it's just… your chemistry was… I mean you were both hot but it was your chemistry that made you great."
Kyle shrugged, his mood darkening with each word. He slid a brownie towards himself. "I never really needed him," he sulked.
"No! No, of course not!" Chase agreed, clearly hoping to get the conversation back on track. "I'm just saying you worked well together."
"I guess, yeah." He spooned some ice-cream onto his brownie. "But I was always the star."
"Of course!" Chase said, nodding. "You're so much hotter! Just look at you!"
Kyle started to smile again. "Yeah, just look at me!" he said with a small laugh, his dick once again hardening now the conversation had turned back to complimenting him.
They sat in silence for a while, Chase watching Kyle eat, entirely enraptured. Kyle played up to the attention, groaning and rubbing his gut in between burps and large mouthfuls. Finally, his gut aching, his t-shirt riding up to his belly button, his breath laboured, Kyle let his spoon fall, clattering into the last empty bowl.
"Wow!" Chase said, peering around, before leaning over and patting Kyle's gut a few times. "That thing is rock solid. You're, I mean, you're a god!" Kyle smiled and leant back with his eyes closed. "Seriously, I don't think I've ever seen something so hot, you're amazing, I- I'm going to go say bye to my friends, okay? I'll tell them, we're going to a bar or something."
Kyle nodded, not bothering to open his eyes. He needed time for his stomach to settle and digest all the food he'd just eaten. Far too soon, Chase was back, this time wearing a jacket. "Just, ahh, give me a minute, yeah?" Kyle said. He started the slow process of pushing his chair back, well clear of the table and slowly, slowly, standing. Once upright, he leant back so that his gut stuck out even further, giving his stomach muscles room to relax.
"I bet you're glad you didn't choose a booth, hey?" Chase asked giddily. "You'd be stuck in there!"
Kyle gave Chase a confused look. Despite giving into his urges to get bigger, he still didn't understand a lot of what his admirers wanted. "Uh, sure, yeah. That's a thing, I guess." He began to slowly make his way over to the cash register. He tried to slide a hand into his back pocket to grab his wallet, but found very little room to maneuver.
"I'll get this," Chase said with a smile, pulling out some cash and handing it over. "For the show," he told Kyle with a wink. Kyle was grateful. His and Jamie's subscribers were dwindling with the lack of videos, and it was getting harder and harder to pay for his newly voracious appetite.
The two made their way slowly to Kyle's apartment building, the short walk taking much longer than usual due to Kyle's overly-stuffed state. As the elevator doors closed, Chase began to rub Kyle's belly, letting his hands travel under his shirt and up the globe that had taken over Kyle's body. Kyle leant forward and caught the smaller man's lips with his own, the two pressing against each other for the short ride.
The door chimed, and slid open, and Kyle pulled Chase through the hallway to his apartment. Key in the door, he strode in, dragged his armchair to the center of the room, and sat down with his legs wide, his gut only just starting to sag enough to hang in the space between.
Chase gave a nervous laugh from the doorway. "What's going on?"
Kyle nodded, down towards his gut, and beyond it, unseen to Kyle, his dick. "You've seen the videos," he said, his voice low. "You tell me what happens now." He moved his hand underneath his gut. Realising he'd not rebuttoned his jeans from earlier, he slid the zipper down.
Chase moved forward slightly, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. "You want me to suck you off," he said. Kyle could see his own dick tenting the front of his pants.
Kyle grinned slyly. "You'll be sucking me off, don't worry." He spread his legs a little wider. "But what happens now?"
Chase gave a small smile, unsure of himself. He reached towards Kyle's t-shirt and started sliding it up his body. "I'm going to undress you?"
Kyle grabbed Chase's hands and drew him closer. "You're going to worship me," he whispered. "You're going to worship me like you do while you watch my videos." He finished taking his shirt off himself, and threw it to the ground, where it landed amongst dirty plates and old takeout containers. "Get to it boy."
Chase inhaled and exhaled slowly and deeply, and then nodded. "Yes," he said. "Sir," he added.
Kyle nodded in approval. "I like that," he said, as Chase knelt down in front of him.
Kyle leant his head back as Chase took his dick into his mouth, and grinned as he heard him gag on his big prick. The younger man was clearly eager to please - his hands roamed Kyle's gut, his thighs, played with Kyle's balls. He varied his rhythm, played with the tip, attempted to take the whole length, licked every inch of Kyle's balls. In short, he was pulling out all the stops. Kyle sighed at the feeling of a warm mouth around his rod.
But there was something missing. Oh, Kyle enjoyed it alright, but he couldn't get into it nearly as much as he thought he would. Chase was sexy, and was clearly willing and able to do anything he could to please Kyle but… but he wasn't Jamie. Kyle was loathe to admit it, but he missed his old scene partner. They had a chemistry and a connection that was undeniable. Jamie knew how to hit all of Kyle's buttons, could respond to the slightest suggestion, knew what Kyle wanted even before Kyle did himself.
Kyle willed himself to not think of Jamie. To think of the sexy hunk between his thighs, and the way he was treating his dick. Kyle placed a hand on the back of Chase's head, pushing it down into his crotch. When he came, it was as good an orgasm as he'd had in the recent weeks and months, but lacking that special something that Jamie could bring out of him.
Chase sat back, panting a little and with a small grimace on his face. "Wow," he said. "You're amazing." Kyle could hear a trace of insincerity in his voice. "Did you want to do me now?"
Kyle looked him up and down. "I'm good, thanks. You were great though, champ. A real stellar performance." He picked up his phone, and started to browse Twitter, having lost interest fast now that he'd been satisfied.
Chase didn't react for a moment. "Right. Okay then. Right. I guess that I'll, umm." He looked around. "Shall I stay? Or…"
Kyle shrugged. "If you want," he said, growing a little irritated with the man. Couldn't he tell that they were done?
Chase shifted his weight from foot to foot awkwardly, looking around the room. "So do you think you'll do anymore videos?" he asked after a while, clearly trying to break the silence.
Kyle stopped scrolling, and looked up. "I, uhh, look, that's not really. I'm not sure that… when Jam- I mean, when FriskyFeed- Look, that's not a thing that I-" He found himself flustered and confused. Why hadn't he carried on with the videos? He was the star after all. He didn't really need Jamie. "I think you should probably go," he told Chase. "Thanks for the head."
Chase shook his head. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Never meet your heroes I guess," he muttered. "I guess I'll see if my friends are still around," he told Kyle.
Kyle raised a hand to bid him goodbye, and slumped back in his chair as the door slammed.
Three hours later, he pressed record.
"So I guess it's been a while," he said into the camera, his face filling the screen. "Sorry I've been away guys, I was just, well," he started to back up, revealing the top of his strained wrestling singlet. "I was on something of a personal growth journey, you could say." He took one final step back to reveal his body in all its glory.
The last time he'd worn his wrestling singlet it had been overly tight - now, he positively overflowed it. The shoulder straps were at their limit, the neck hole which once tantalizing revealed a sliver of his nipples now stretched down to his cavernous belly button. Kyle's thighs made the fabric look like an inflated balloon - bulbous and almost shiny with how taut it was. His gut had expanded, the fat wrapping around to his back in two thick love handles. Between his bulging thighs and heaving gut, Kyle's cock was completely, achingly hard, it's outline clear in the tight spandex.
Kyle slapped his gut and shook it. "I wanted to come back bigger and better for you all," Kyle said, thinking back to Chase's words earlier. "And I wanted to thank you all for your loyalty these past couple of months while we- while I haven't uploaded any videos, and give you all a bit of a show."
He picked up the cheesecake he'd just bought and the large jug of gainer shake he'd whipped up. "I'm still kind of full from lunch," he told the camera. "But I guess you can tell that that's never stopped me before." He rubbed the underside of his gut, feeling the coarse hair he'd let grow there. "You guys know better than anyone how good of an appetite I have."
He picked up the fork and started eating. He kept on looking to the camera and shifting for a better angle. While he thought the view of him bent over, his gut hanging between his thick thighs, was effective, he missed Jamie's help. Having the handsome man feed him and take charge of the angles meant that all Kyle had previously had to worry about was remembering his lines, eating, and staying hard - never a problem for the growing man.
Between bites he looked at the camera, aware that he'd been silent for a while. He tried to think what Jamie would have said. “I’ve gotta confess, I tried to lose some weight when I went offline," he admitted. He thought back to that period, how miserable he'd been, how humiliating it was to go back to the gym and have people laugh at him behind his back, just another fat guy trying and failing to get fit. “Fuck, guys, it was hard,” he continued. He reached past the cheesecake and picked up a donut. “I went back to my old diet, I hit the gym, and you know what happened? In two miserable weeks, I lost four goddamned pounds.” This wasn't quite true. He'd not made any real attempt to stick to his old diet, couldn't even really remember it to be truthful, and he was sure he lost a little weight, but four pounds was plucked out of thin air.
"I weighed myself earlier," he told the camera. "I'm 284 pounds now." He leant back a little to show off his gut and slapped the tortured spandex covering it. "Not far until, uhh." Fuck, was he really about to say this? Was he really considering this? "Not long until I'm over 300. Joining the real big boys." He felt his dick throb, trapped in too tight spandex.
Twenty minutes later, he sat in front of an empty plate and jug. He leant his head back and groaned. "I've been getting so horny whenever I eat you guys," he said between labored breaths, and started to slide the straps of his wrestling singlet down to his waist. Once he'd managed to slide it over his stuffed gut, his dick sprang out and slapped the underside, leaving a sticky smear of precum.
Kyle grabbed his hard cock, and started to slowly slide his hand up and down his length, noting how much had been taken over by the fat at his crotch. He pushed it up, into his gut, using his hand to rub it into the soft fat. His grunts filled his apartment, and the motion shook the fat covering his body. He could feel himself get close.
As he pumped his cock, he grabbed a donut from the table in front of him and began to to stuff them into his mouth. "I'm getting so fat for you," he sighed around the dense dough. He could feel himself getting close, the donuts adding to the feeling of fullness, and increasing the way his gut pressed down onto his cock.
He felt himself get close. He swallowed his last donut, and opened his mouth. "J-unhhh." He surprised himself with the utterance as he came. Thick jets of cum coated the bottom of his gut and flowed down his hand and he felt his fat shake with the intensity of the orgasm.
A short while later, he swallowed and stood. "Thanks for watching guys, hopefully I'll be uploading a little more regularly."
The next night, he read through the comments on his video, one hand holding a beer, the other slowly massaging his crotch. People complimented his weight gain, the way his body hair had grown thicker, how he'd stuffed himself, and how he couldn't finish without something in his mouth. Kyle grinned, thrilled at his triumphant return.
He tried to ignore the other comments. The ones asking after FriskyFeeder, asking why he was alone, asking if they'd broken up, when would FriskyFeeder come back as well? Kyle couldn't help but agree. He'd enjoyed himself, yes, but Jamie had made it special. Without him, it was just some fat guy getting off for some chubby chasers.
Kyle drained his beer, and went to grab another one, picking up his phone on the way to order pizza.
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gainingfiction · 1 year
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What do you enjoy most about writing? When did you start taking up the pen?
Great questions! I think I've always enjoyed storytelling, even as a kid. I've "written" stories since before I can remember, dictating them to family members to transcribe—I honestly think some of them might even have involved a fat guy and his adventures. Some things never change, I guess!
Since those early days, I've been writing on and off more or less since middle school. So, it’s been quite a while! Even before I started this blog (over 5 years ago!) I wrote gainer fic, but I wrote (and still write) other stuff as well.
I love the freedom of writing. The creativity of being able to play out different situations, and trying to build realism into stories that are entirely contrived, is so fun and rewarding. Not to mention knowing that there are people who enjoy the same things you do! Readers make it way more fun.
Plus, you know, bellies and butts are awesome and I could talk about chubby gay boys forever.
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gainingfiction · 1 year
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Gain for Pay: Chapter 4
Read chapter 3 (by @gainingfiction) here
"265 pounds?" Jamie barked. "That's not good enough, recruit! I need you fighting fit!"
"Sir yes sir!" Kyle tried to stop himself shivering. He looked down at his body, clad only in a jock strap that should have been retired 30 pounds ago, and his socks. All the recent weight had pushed him from "chubby" to "fat" in a way that Kyle didn't know how to feel about. On one hand, he'd lost his beautiful body that so many men had adored, on the other, he couldn't deny how much more attention the channel, and he, was receiving.
His gut had swollen up from a dome shape to a full blown globe of fat where his abs once lay perfectly flat, and recently his pecs had rounded out into pert little packages of fat - Kyle found himself grabbing them idly throughout the day, beginning to understand what straight men's obsession with tits was all about. At Jamie's suggestion, he'd started to let his previously perfectly manicured body hair grow out. The point of all that preening was to show off his toned, glistening muscles, and now they were hidden beneath slabs of chub, it seemed silly. Jamie had suggested he go for more of a bear look, which Kyle had initially balked at, but looking at himself now, he had to admit the label was becoming more fitting by the day.
Kyle was snapped out of his contemplation by Jamie slapping his butt. "Get off those scales you fat slob, and give me twenty sit-ups!"
Kyle stepped back and lie down on the floor, wincing at the feel of the cold floor on his ass. He bent his legs up, tensed his core, and did the first sit-up. Didn't these used to be easy? His old muscles were still there, he told himself, although he'd not been doing much to maintain them of late, and now he had to fight against so much fat and flab, which resisted each motion. Every single sit-up resulted in his gut bunching itself up uncomfortably, causing it to become even more pronounced and stopping Kyle from completing the motion.
"Twelve! Thirteen!" Jamie barked above him. By this point Kyle was shaking, great drops of sweat dripping down his forehead and his chest. "Fourteen! Fifteen!" Kyle collapsed down. They'd planned for him not to complete all twenty push-ups, but Kyle legitimately wasn't sure how many more he could have done anyway. "I didn't tell you to stop, recruit!"
Kyle swallowed in great gulps of air. "I… I can't sir." He struggled out.
"What was that maggot!"
Kyle took a deep breath. He wondered if Jamie could tell this was real, or if he just thought Kyle's acting ability had improved recently. "Sir! I said I can't do anymore sir!" he said louder.
"And why not recruit!" Jamie barked.
"Sir! Because I'm too fat sir!" Kyle replied. He gathered enough strength to pull himself into a sitting position and began to stand shakily.
"You're pathetic recruit! Get back into your uniform!"
Kyle eyed the halloween soldier uniform weerily. More of a "sexy park ranger" outfit that had been repurposed and dyed a darker green, it would have been skimpy if it had fit, and the "one size fits all" label was certainly not intended to extend to men of Kyle's new stature. It had been a struggle to get it on and buttoned for the start of the scene, and no easier to peel off of his newly thickened thighs and back once they'd gotten going. "I'm not sure I can sir, I'm too fat for it," he told Jamie through gritted teeth, hoping he'd pick up on the hint and move on.
Jamie grinned devilishly, breaking character for a moment. "I told you to put it on, recruit," he purred. "Or am I going to have to write you up for disobeying your superior officer?"
Kyle sighed. "Sir, no sir." He picked up the shirt first, stretching it over his back and squeezing his thick arms through. He was proud of how his arms had expanded recently, but some part of him knew that it was pure fat. He didn't attempt to do the buttons up, and Jamie didn't push it, they both knew it would make the video far too long. The shorts were next. They slid past his calves easily enough, but got stuck around thighs like Thanksgiving turkeys. Slowly, he managed to slide them up, until the top of them hit his watermelon-like ass.
"You'll have to help me sir," Kyle told Jamie, avoiding his eyes, but with his dick hardening all the same. Jamie smirked, and came behind him, looping his fingers through the belt loops and tugging up. Between them, they managed to get the shorts up and over his butt, and Jamie buttoned the top button for Kyle as he sucked his gut in.
Kyle felt humiliated, fat, in pain, and horny. He caught a sight of himself on the monitor, squeezed into an outfit several sizes too small, fat pouring out everywhere, a round, hairy gut hanging out the front.
"Now recruit, to ensure you're fighting fit, I'm going to give you your nightly rations of this specially formulated super-soldier formula," Jamie said, pulling out a funnel and a jug of thick weight gain shake. "It's designed to turn even the laziest slob into the perfect soldier."
"I don't think it's working sir," Kyle said, rubbing his gut. "I've just been getting fatter and fatter ever since you started feeding me it." He sat down in the armchair angled towards the camera.
"It is not your job to think, maggot!" Jamie snapped. "It is your job to do what I tell you to, and I am telling you to chug this formula!"
"Sir, yes-" Kyle was cut off by Jamie placing the tube of the funnel deep into his mouth, making his eyes water. Jamie started pouring the mix straight away, and Kyle focussed on building up a rhythm. Breathe, swallow, breathe, swallow, breath, swallow. He'd become a seasoned pro at this, even coming to enjoy the feeling of an overly tight gut at the end of it all. He felt his cock growing - it had come to learn that food meant sex.
"What a good recruit," Jamie said once he'd poured the entire jug into the funnel. He let go, allowing Kyle to support it as he drained it. "Why don't you let sarge help you out there?"
Jamie sank to his knees, unbuttoning Kyle's shorts. Kyle's gut surged forward and he moaned in relief. The moan only increased in volume as Jamie took his entire dick into his mouth, sliding the full length in expertly. Kyle had to remind himself to keep up his rhythm of breathing and swallowing, chugging in time with the bobbing of Jamie's head, as his hands explored Kyle's belly.
Kyle hefted the funnel a couple of times, trying to judge how much shake was left, and how much longer he needed to hold out for. It was difficult - Jamie was skilled and eager to please, and Kyle had to distract himself to keep from climaxing.
Finally, Kyle sucked the last of the weight gain shake from the tube, and discarded it to one side. He tilted his head back and placed his hands on top of Jamie's on top of his gut, and joined in with his kneading. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna-"
He began to cum into Jamie's mouth, and felt the smaller man come away from his dick. Kyle came long and hard, and he could tell he was putting on quite the show.
Eventually, Jamie stood up, thick ropes of cum covering his face. "Right, umm, recruit, that was, uhh, well, that was very good. Thank you very, I mean, yes, that was as, as expected from the uhh, soldier serum, and you can, uhh, go, go back to your bunk now."
In response, Kyle let out a deep, slow burp. He smirked at the erection he could see trapped in Jamie's much more flattering soldier's outfit.
"Right," Jamie said, composing himself a little and stopping the recording. "I'm going to go and," he gestured at his face, dripping with Kyle's seed. "You know." He stood awkwardly for a moment. "That was really fucking hot by the way, you're getting great at waiting until you're full to cum, it'll be so good for the video."
Kyle shrugged. "Starting to come naturally I guess."
Jamie gave a short laugh. "I guess. Anyway." He moved to the bathroom, where Kyle could hear him turn the shower on.
While Jamie showered, Kyle tried to tug the uniform off. Without Jamie's help, and now full of gainer shake, he quickly gave up, and just tore through the flimsy fabric instead, collapsing down on the armchair once again in just his jock strap.
"You know," Jamie said once he was done with his shower. "I still don't really think the sergeant would have sucked off the recruit, it's not the right character dynamic."
Kyle rolled his eyes. "Look, it's not fucking HBO, we're making porn for guys who love fatties, okay? They don't care about the characters, they want to see me eating and chugging and getting sucked off."
"Yeah, yeah, I know big guy," Jamie tried to soothe him. "You're the star, I know that, I was just saying-"
"And why do I keep on sucking you off, you know?" Kyle continued, clearly not listening. "This is supposed to be all about me getting worshiped, and I'm the one giving blowjobs? What's that about?"
Jamie came over and starting rubbing Kyle's gut. "You are getting worshiped, buddy okay? All these subscribers all the fans, all of them are here to come and worship this big, fat gut, yeah?"
Kyle started to smile a little. "Yeah, yeah, I guess. They're really starting to get into it, aren't they?" Jamie nodded. "I just, you know, I'm thinking about the fans, you know, they'll want to see me getting serviced and shit. Since I'm the fat guy."
Jamie nodded, rubbing Kyle's gut in large, slow circles. "Exactly! You're the big guy! The star!" he said. "This is on me, I'm sorry, I should have thought about the fans and the best way to present you to them in all your glory." He put the emphasis on the last word.
Kyle nodded, feeling his cock growing hard, despite only cumming quarter of an hour before. Jamie clearly noticed because he looked over at the camera. "There's a pizza in the fridge," Jamie said. "If you wanted to go again?"
Kyle smiled. "I think I've got room, yeah."
-
Kyle finished his fries, throwing the carton alongside the three burger wrappers. He wiped his greasy fingers on his sweatpants absentmindedly while he sucked on his milkshake, and opened up Grindr. He'd grown used to sex after stuffing himself, and was starting to find himself restless on the days when he and Jamie weren't filming.
He flicked through the usual slew of blank profiles and faceless torsos, ignoring the messages from men who were so beneath his league it was laughable - too old, too hairy, too fat. Didn't they know he was a sex god? That men paid a premium just to look at his body?
Finally, he found someone who took his fancy, and sent a few short messages, blunt, to the point and effective. I can be round in half an hour sexy. the reply came.
Kyle looked round his small apartment. Generally, filming with Jamie forced him to keep the space clean, but he'd gone on a binge these past couple of days, and now fast food wrappers littered the floor. He stood, straining a little, small burps escaping every so often, and picked up the various boxes, wrappers and styrofoam cups. The smell of grease and salt made him crave more, even as his stomach ached from all he'd already eaten. He opened some windows in an attempt to disperse some of the smell.
Apartment made somewhat more presentable, he looked down at himself. The sweatpants would have to do, as stained as they were, since they were all that fit anymore. He looked down at his bloated hairy gut. He probably needed to cover that at least. Once upon a time, he'd have answered the door to a hook-up practically naked, but now he wasn't so sure. He found a clean t-shirt that he'd bought just last month and pulled it on. It covered his gut, but barely, clinging to his pecs and gut, and riding up at the slightest movement to reveal a sliver of skin. He flexed his arms, pleased with how the sleeves hugged his biceps.
His intercom buzzed. "Hey, it's Matt."
"Hey Matt, come up, the doors open, it's number 8," Kyle replied, buzzing him in.
Kyle sat down and turned on his TV, keen to seem nonchalant. A minute later, he heard the door open and turned to see Matt stand with his mouth open. "What the fuck?"
"Hey," Kyle said, standing up. "Looking good man."
"I'm looking for Kyle?" Matt said, disbelief in his eyes. He was younger than Kyle, 21 or so, with thin, toned limbs and a non-existent waist.
"Yeah, that's me," Kyle said slowly.
Matt came closer, examining him. "Christ dude, how long ago did you take those pictures?"
Kyle picked up his phone, confused, and opened his profile to look. "Like six months ago," he replied.
"What happened to you?" Matt asked, taking a step back, as if it might be contagious.
Kyle felt his chest tighten and tried to pull down his t-shirt self-consciously. "Well I've got this OnlyFans, and people like to see me-"
"You've got an OnlyFans?" Matt interrupted. "As in, one that people pay for?" he looked Kyle up and down, disgusted.
"Hey, fuck you!" Kyle said, his voice rising along with his cock. "Lots of people fucking pay to see me actually. I get fucking worshipped okay? Fucking worshipped!" He didn't know why getting humiliated like this was such a turn on for him, or why he was getting so angry. If it had been the other way around, he knew he would have done exactly the same thing. "People love to see me stuff this tum- this gut, okay? Yeah, I don't look like every other twink in this city, but there's plenty of people who are fucking obsessed with me."
"God, okay, sure, your a sex machine, whatever," Matt said, failing to hide a mocking smile from his face. "But maybe you want to update your profile pictures? Or find another app? There must be one for fatties - Blubbr or something?" He slapped Kyle's gut.
"Fuck you," Kyle said, although he had to admit Matt had a point - he really didn't look like his photos anymore.
Matt made his way out. "Look, no hard feelings or whatever, but if you've got this humiliation kink thing going on, maybe figure out some way to get people's consent first?" he said at the door.
"I don't have a humiliation kink," Kyle said.
"Dude, your cock is rock hard. You're getting off on this." He eyed Kyle's dick appraisingly. "At least your photos weren't wrong about that at least." He pulled out his phone. "Whatever, I need to go find someone to rim me." And with that he was gone.
Kyle moved to the fridge, rubbing his gut and sliding a hand into his sweat pants. He began to pull out snacks that Jamie had filled his fridge with a couple of days before.
-
Kyle sat at the table in a white vest that was far too small for his expanding gut, tomato sauce smeared around his face, which was fixed in a pained expression. He belched, and grimaced at the greasy smell. The scene they were filming was more extreme in both believability and the quantity Jamie was making Kyle eat than they'd ever done before.
Jamie walked into shot, wearing only a short apron. His pert bubble butt stuck out the back, and his erection tented the front, removing what little modesty the dainty bit of fabric afforded him. A fake mustache was pinned under his nose. "Oh mama mia!" he cried. "My growing bambino! You've already eaten all your food, I'm such a terrible host! I should have known to make more meatballs!"
"I'm sorry," Kyle replied flatly, hands cradling the furthest extent of his gut. "It just all tasted so good, and I'm a growing Italian boy with a big appetite."
"Oh, dio santo!" Jamie's hands whirled around in a wild dance of expressions with each word. "I will make you my famous carbonara - no one ever leaves my ristorante hungry!"
Kyle sighed as Jamie brought out a heavy pan full of spaghetti in a rich, creamy sauce. "This isn't working," he told Jamie, breaking character.
Jamie stopped putting on the thick accent. "It's offensive, isn't it? I knew this was a bad idea."
"No, I mean- well, I mean, yeah, this is terrible, but no, I mean this," Kyle said, gesturing down at his new fleshy body. "The gaining thing. I'm huge, I'm gross, I'm…" He sighed. "I just think I need to lose it all and get hot again."
Jamie hurriedly put down the large pot of carbonara. "But you are hot," he insisted. "This" he reached out and squeezed the soft flab of Kyle's lovehandle, "is what all those people are paying the big bucks for! You don't want to be some generic twink like me, they barely even notice-"
"Some of them notice you," Kyle interrupted. "Some of them subscribe for you," he spat. He could feel the resentment bubbling up inside him. "Loads of the comments are about you. Your abs. Your tiny fucking ass." He squeezed his tits and let go, watching as they jiggled. "This was supposed to be about me, and I've given up looking like a Greek fucking god, all because you were jealous of how hot they all thought I was."
"What? Kyle, you know that's not true," Jamie pleaded. "All our followers, all of them, are from since you've started gaining. No one cared about us when we looked like everyone else, what we- what you've done has completely changed the channel- our lives!" He gestured around Kyle's apartment, with its assortment of recently bought furniture. "Okay, some of them comment about me, but if they want some skinny white guy, there's a thousand other channels. They only care about me because they want desperately to be the one feeding you."
Kyle huffed. He could understand the logic. Wanted to understand. And the way Jamie described how important Kyle was made his dick chub up in his skimpy shorts.
"Why did you suggest getting fat?" Kyle asked after some time.
"What? Kyle, we've talked about this, we needed to stand out, we nee-" Jamie began.
"No, we've talked about how we needed to find a niche," Kyle said bluntly. "We could have shown our feet off, or our armpits, or we could have wrestled, or tickled each other, or whatever."
"Do you know how many channels there are for foot fetishes? All of that stuff?" Jamie tried to plead.
"But you jumped straight to fat. Straight away. No umm-ing or ahh-ing or what-ifs. You decided immediately that I needed to chug weight gain shakes and eat pizzas and," he shook his gut, "do this to myself."
"I just did my research Kyle. I wanted to follow the best possible-"
"You get off on this, don't you?" Kyle asked. "It's not just the freaks that subscribe, is it? You're one of them. You love how big I've gotten. How skinny it makes you look. That's why you knew so much. You've been planning this for years."
"It's not like that!" Jamie pleaded. "Yes, I think you're hotter now, but I didn't plan it! And you've been enjoying it just as much, I know it. I've seen how you react everytime."
"Can you fuck off please?" Kyle said.
"Kyle, please, come on. Don't you love it? Think of the money. Think of the fans!"
"Just get your clothes and go, alright? I need to think."
"Yeah, yeah, sure," Jamie said. "But seriously, think about it, okay? We're onto a good thing. The money if nothing else. If we need to maybe pivot to something else, maybe more of a muscle bear-"
"I asked you to leave," Kyle said simply.
Jamie nodded, quickly put on his clothes and left. Kyle sighed, rubbed his gut, and pulled the pot of carbonara towards him, picking up the fork.
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gainingfiction · 1 year
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Gain for Pay: Chapter 3
Find all chapters here
Jamie ambled into frame, carrying a large pizza box and trying to embody the “hot delivery boy” character. It was weird seeing himself on the laptop screen, playing one of the greatest roles in the history of erotic film. With a baseball cap covering his wavy hair and his polo shirt tucked into a pair of skimpy khaki shorts, he actually looked the part. “Another pizza? That’s the fourth time this week.”
“Yeah, I just love eating so much,” Kyle said. His fingers dragged across his stomach in loose circles. “I can’t stop myself!”
As usual, Jamie had to try not to cringe at Kyle’s off-brand imitation of gainer banter. It was still a little stilted, but at least he was starting to get a better sense of what worked and what didn’t.
Jamie hard-on swelled against the front of his shorts as he drank in Kyle’s beefy physique. Kyle slumped in his seat, his ample thighs splayed out; the intention may have been to guide the eye to his package, but in his undersized clothes, it was his starter gut that stole the show.
He was getting to be a big boy, now. A little over six weeks had passed since their wrestling video, and his weight had continued rocketing upwards. He’d been a solid and sturdy 242 pounds at the latest weigh-in, and his body was expanding all over. His gut was coming in with a vengeance; even empty, it now bowed out in front of him, overhanging his waistband by a few inches. And when he was full, it was an even greater sight to behold. Seated, leaning forward, Jamie was dazzled to see it had begun its conquest of Kyle’s lap.
But it wasn’t just his gut. Jamie eyed up Kyle’s plump pecs, which had gathered so much mass that the question arose as to whether they could truly be called “pecs” at all, anymore—any day now, they’d start to droop, and his nipples would grow softer and pointier, and they’d be an undeniable pair of juicy, squeezable man-boobs.
His fattened trunk took up every stitch of his shirt and then some, the thin cotton hopelessly divorced from the top of his waistband, a crescent-moon of tan belly fat bursting out of the bottom. Jamie had seen him in that shirt before—his FitnessUniverse shirt—but it had covered a much leaner, tighter body then.
“That’ll be twenty dollars,” Jamie said.
“I’m all out of money.” Kyle wasn’t winning any Oscars for this performance.
Jamie offered up his most smouldering grin. “Well, maybe we can… work something out?” He reached down and made a meal out of adjusting his erection.
Kyle nodded, his large butt shifting against the chair. “I’d do anything to fill my tum—my gut,” he said.
Jamie stepped forward, opening the pizza box. “I can help with that.”
They were hardly the Brontë sisters, but Jamie knew what the fans came for, and it wasn’t prose. Getting straight down to business, Kyle started to peel off his t-shirt. It was so tight that the added flesh around his stomach rose with it, before bouncing free from captivity and settling just shy of his lap. His pecs were next; those had gotten irresistibly doughy, and Jamie licked his lips at the sight of their slight jiggle as Kyle’s shirt was fully removed. An overfed ex-jock now sat, half-naked, in front of him.
Jamie started to unbutton his shorts, but Kyle interrupted him. “I’m so hungry,” he said.
Jamie had hoped to free his cock from the uncomfortable costume, but the star clearly had other plans. Stifling a sigh, Jamie reached into the box and pulled out the first slice, heavily laden with cheese and toppings. He made a show of the cheese pull before lowering the pizza to Kyle’s lips.
He ate it quickly, tearing off thick bites and moaning as he chewed. Jamie wondered what he was imagining to make himself so hard, since his girthy dick twitched against the front of his skintight underwear. Kyle’s thighs, already thick with muscle and now padded with fat, strained the elastic around the leg holes.
The first slice gone, Jamie set down the pizza box and pulled off his own shirt, revealing his taut middle. Kyle eyed him with a mix of lust and thinly-veiled envy, no doubt aware of the growing disparity between Jamie’s slender middle and his own burgeoning tank. Jamie’s body tapered into a tight little waist, while Kyle’s v-shape had given way to a broad, monolithic torso with a growing set of love handles at the sides.
“I’m gonna watch you finish this entire pizza,” Jamie said. “And then, you’re gonna pay up.”
Kyle gave a lazy nod, eyelashes fluttering as he looked up at Jamie from his chair. He was so beautiful. His excess weight had begun to soften his sharp jawline, but it hadn’t changed his charming features.
“Get naked for me,” Jamie ordered. The authority in his voice startled him. He didn’t usually take charge like this, so… forcefully. But this latest round of videos with Kyle was bringing something out of him, turning him into a caveman. Kyle the jock had called the shots, but now Jamie was the jock, and Kyle was his obedient piggy.
Kyle seemed to falter at the order, but he did as instructed, slipping out of his stretched-out Calvins and leaving himself fully exposed. His cock sprung free, glistening with precum. But its size didn’t impress Jamie the way it used to. Now, between the thick slabs of his thighs, below a slight but distinct pooch of belly fat, it seemed diminished by comparison. Jamie heard it said that a man loses an inch for every thirty pounds gained—probably best not to tell Kyle about that, he thought.
Quickly at first, but then more deliberately, Jamie shoveled the remainder of the pizza into a stark-naked Kyle’s enlarged stomach. He took it like a champ, even as Jamie recognized the telltale squirming and rapid breaths that betrayed a man reaching the limits of his capacity. 
“I’m so full,” he whined. “I must’ve gained a hund—”
Jamie silenced him by stuffing more pizza into his mouth. He’d already explained that no one wanted to hear him pull made-up numbers out of his big ass; they wanted to see results.
His gut was round and severely bloated by the time they got to the last slice, bulging out further than Jamie had ever seen it and bumping against Kyle’s dripping cock. Occasionally Jamie would slap his own dick against Kyle’s cheek as he chewed, a reminder of the “dessert” awaiting Kyle’s gluttonous online alter-ego.
When the last bite was gone, Jamie held up the box, showing off its emptiness, hoisting it like a Roman conqueror whose legions had just laid waste to an enemy horde. He knew he was getting a little carried away as he tossed the empty cardboard onto the floor, but his arousal was through the roof.
“Now for the bill,” he said. He finished the job of stripping off his shorts, aware of how much thinner his thighs looked than Kyle’s. He hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs and started to pull, just a little bit, revealing the beginnings of his perfectly-manscaped bush, and then stepped out of them altogether. It took a little doing in his pearly white sneakers, but a very generous fan had specifically requested he keep those on. Jamie didn’t judge.
His erection was at Kyle’s eye-level, and the look of longing on the big man’s face was pretty convincing. Jamie clenched his fist to keep from yelping manlessly as Kyle’s practiced lips wrapped around his shaft.
“Mm, this is almost as good as eating food,” Kyle said, between mouthfuls of Jamie’s dick.
Jamie bit his tongue, catching himself mid-eyeroll and playing it off as his eyes rolling back in his head. If Kyle wasn’t so damn good at giving head, his one-liners would have killed the mood. The gears in Jamie’s head spun as he tried for the hundredth time to salvage Kyle’s credibility: “Yeah, and I can tell a big man like you likes to eat.”
“I do.” Kyle breathed. His sucking was so fervent, his touch so insistent, that Jamie almost wondered if his words were… sincere? Jamie noticed with satisfaction that he was pleasuring himself as he sucked, tugging feverishly at his own member. Oh how the tables have turned, he thought, admiring the way the motion pushed Kyle’s pecs out even further.
Jamie didn’t last much longer, pressing his fingers against Kyle’s middle to feel soft flesh coating a firm, stuffed belly, and savouring the give of his swollen chest as he brushed his thumb across Kyle’s hard nipple. Kyle’s tongue sent jitters down Jamie’s spine. He gave a theatrical groan as he blew his load, pumping hot seed into Kyle’s mouth. Kyle swallowed, sighed, and licked his lips, manhood still clasped in his large hands.
The wheels were down, the runway closing in. It was time for the finale. Jamie knew exactly how to push Kyle to his limits. He grinned wickedly. “I wish all my customers were as hot as you.”
And there was Kyle’s awe-inspiring money shot: with one last tug, spurts of cum shot across his big, soft torso, glazing the underside of his bloated gut. The two men breathed for a moment, before Jamie shut his laptop.
Camera safely off, he threw himself onto Kyle’s bed, ignoring the squeal of the springs. “Another job well done,” he said, awash in the afterglow.
“Yeah,” Kyle said, surveying the mess he had made of himself. “You’re so good at knowing what these guys are into. They’ll like that one, right?” He rose from his chair, and as he stood, Jamie got a good look at his body. God, the size of his ass! The thing was an absolute spectacle, big and round and fat and naked. Jamie couldn’t wait to mount him again, to feel it jiggle with every thrust. The wrestling video had been a little over a month ago, but Kyle already looked bigger, softer, heavier. Jamie was eager to get him back in that singlet and imagine him throwing all that weight around on the wrestling court.
He had to pull his eyes away to answer the question. He still hadn’t figured out how to tell Kyle he was one of “those guys”; he assumed it was obvious. “Oh, they will for sure,” Jamie said, reaching for his phone. He was starting to read some of his accumulated messages when he saw that Kyle was still looking at him. “Guys would pay to watch you talk about the water cycle if you did it naked,” he added.
That seemed to placate him a little. He paused. “When am I gonna get to fuck you again?”
And they say romance is dead.
The way Kyle folded his arms across his chest reminded Jamie of how big his biceps still were. “For the last month, I’ve been doing the sucking and you’ve been doing the fucking. This whole rebranding thing was supposed to be about what a stud I am.”
Jamie sat up. He navigated to a folder of screenshots that he’d saved on his phone for this very situation. “Kyle, you are the stud. Listen to this guy. ‘FriskyFeeder is so lucky, I’m insanely jealous of him getting to make these videos with HungryHunk.’”
Kyle perked up. “I didn’t see that one.” 
“They’re all like that,” Jamie said. That was a bit of an exaggeration—there were more than a few horny comments praising Jamie’s good looks, or encouraging him to start gaining—but as predicted, Kyle was the main attraction, just like he wanted. “So don’t worry about it. Just focus on filling that tummy, okay?” he winked, patting Kyle on his gut as he stood to dress.
Kyle smiled at him. “Yeah, okay, I see what you mean about that word.” He started to pull on his shirt, but paused. He pinched the lower part of his belly. “Hey, do you know what this is? I see them on some of the other guys who post these videos.”
Jamie tried not to laugh. “That’s a stretch mark. Have you seriously never seen one before?” A few of the little pink lines had started to spring up on Kyle’s belly and at his sides.
Kyle looked horror-struck. “Are there gonna be more of these?”
Jamie hesitated. “At the rate you’re going? Probably.” He reached out and laid a hand on Kyle’s gut. Without the webcam blinking back at them, it was an unusually intimate gesture. “Think of them as your battle scars. You could always stop shaving, if you want to add something else to look at.”
He dressed and left Kyle’s apartment, making his way to the grocery store. In order to get Kyle on board, Jamie had agreed to foot some of his grocery bill. Which meant that he was making a lot more shopping trips than usual. He was grateful that the channel was starting to gain some traction, or this whole endeavour would actually end up costing him money.
But to be honest, Jamie enjoyed the act of buying food for Kyle. It had been totally calculated, at first—scouring aisle after aisle for the cheapest, most fattening foods to maximize Kyle’s intake and spur on his gains. He had been telling the truth, his appetite was impressive from the start. And as he pushed his limits day after day, it began to grow. He would dutifully devour everything Jamie brought him and ask for more. He was a bottomless pit that Jamie was determined to fill.
It was a little inconvenient, but Jamie had warmed to the whole process. There was something about it, the domesticity interwoven with kink, that gave him an unfamiliar fuzzy feeling inside. Rationally, he knew he was being stupid, that Kyle was just using him to keep his food budget in check. Lately, though, Jamie had started putting more thought into his selections, gauging Kyle’s reactions to different items, and buying more of whatever he liked best.
He was trying to choose between Dorito flavours when his phone rang. It was his mother. He cursed under his breath; he’d been putting her off for too long. She worried about him more than he thought she should, having convinced herself (quite correctly) that life in a big city would corrupt her darling baby boy.
At least if he answered it now, he could use his errands as an excuse to keep things brief. He accepted the call, and settled on Cool Ranch as they made it through the pleasantries. He managed to make it to the frozen foods section before the conversation took its inevitable turn for the personal.
“When are you going to bring home a nice boy for us to meet? You know, my friend, Lynn, has a stepson, Brendan. He’s an occupational therapist and he has the sweetest golden retriever. He’s closer to your sister’s age but we won’t hold that against him—”
Jamie had to cut in. “I’m actually seeing someone already,” he lied, if only to interrupt this Brendan train of thought before it derailed completely and he wound up comparison shopping for doggy daycares in some abysmal suburb.
He should have known better than to think his lie would put an end to the conversation. Instead, he had opened up a can of worms, and invited a cascade of questions he had no answer for. Including the first: “What’s his name?”
“Kyle.”
Jamie cringed. It was the first name that had come to mind. They’d been seeing a lot of each other, but their relationship was just sex and business. He was the exact wrong person to tell his mother about.
“He’s, uh, he’s really sweet.” Another lie. “I like to cook, he likes to eat. And he plays guitar.” Jamie had no idea if that was true, but Kyle at least owned a guitar. And he looked like the type of guy who could fumble his way through “Wonderwall” on request. He definitely liked to eat; that much was real.
His mother gushed, and continued her interrogation as Jamie approached the checkout. Faced with so many personal questions, he was forced to reflect on how little he actually knew about his… business partner? Sex friend? Cash cow? Feedism protege? The fact that he couldn’t even put his finger on the true nature of their relationship was a problem in itself.
Mercifully, the cashier began to scan his items, giving Jamie an excuse to say goodbye to his mother and her good-natured prying. Of course, he knew Kyle was already on her Christmas shopping list. But that would be a problem for another day.
The cashier gave Jamie a curious look as he rang up item after fattening item. The obvious question of why a conventional gay hardbody was buying multiple cartons of whipping cream hung in the air.
“Doing some baking?“ the guy asked, as he swiped a bottle of chocolate syrup over the scanner.
“Uh, yeah,” Jamie said. He would be doing some baking, but that wasn’t what the chocolate syrup was for. If cashier-boy wanted to discover its true purpose, it would cost him $14.95 a month.
Settling into his car, a week’s worth of gainer fuel tucked away in the trunk, Jamie opened his messages. There were two from Kyle, and he smiled as he read them over. Photos, one showing a full blender of viscous liquid, and the second a selfie, with Kyle smiling as he held up the now-empty blender, his belly looking round and swollen. Proud of me coach?
Jamie paused. You know you’re coach’s favourite boy, he wrote, without much thought. He felt a little odd busting out the roleplay off camera, but if it helped Kyle get his gainer shakes down, he wasn’t complaining. Jamie hadn’t actually expected him to drink those. He’d been half-joking when he suggested it. But Kyle had been gulping them down on a regular basis. It was kind of impressive.
Gonna be 250 in no time.
Jamie read over Kyle’s reply, his heartbeat quickening. Kyle was going harder at this than he had expected. He’d already packed on a lot of weight, very quickly. He was right: he’d soon be up 50 pounds. As hot as it was, Jamie worried a little. Kyle loved attention, but he wasn’t a real gainer. A jock’s heart still beat in his chest. Blowing up like that was bound to delight the fans, but could he sustain it? Not just physically, but could his ego handle it?
That’s why you’re my star, Jamie replied. And then he started his car.
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gainingfiction · 1 year
Text
Gain for Pay: Chapter 2
Chapter 1, by @gainingfiction can be found here.
"Oh Coach!" Kyle moaned with practiced exaggerated pain. "I'm not sure I can eat any more! My tummy hurts so much, coach."
Kyle saw Jamie roll his eyes. "You'll stop eating when I say you stop, boy," Jamie said in a forced gruff voice.
Kyle's eyes flicked to the screen, where the camera's view was displayed. They made for quite the scene. Kyle's weight gain was starting to become apparent, especially so in the red lycra of his old college wrestling uniform, and as he leaned back in an armchair, the new, shallow dome of his gut was displayed above the heavy bulge of his erect cock. The straps of Kyle's singlet cut in at his shoulders uncomfortably and it bulged obscenely at his crotch. A few years before it had fit perfectly, but between his consistent muscle growth through the years, in his mission for the perfect body for other men to worship, and his recent weight gain, it had grown uncomfortably tight.
Jamie stood above him in some short shorts and a faded workout shirt, dangling a piece of pizza above Kyle's mouth. Kyle watched on the screen as a long line of cheese fell from the pizza, and land next to his mouth before landing on the heavy shelf of his pecs. Jamie lowered the pizza down into Kyle's mouth and he moaned as he chewed.
"Mmm, it tastes so good coach," Kyle said, the words muffled by thick, cold grease. He rubbed the curve of his starter belly, his hand occasionally skimmed past the thick outline of his cock.
"I can see how much you're enjoying it," Jamie said, as he reached down and gripped Kyle's dick through the lycra. Kyle gasped, making sure it was loud enough for the camera, and leaned up, taking the rest of the slice of pizza into his mouth.
"Won't I get too fat, coach?" Kyle asked in his best impression of a dumb jock voice. "My tummy's getting real big. Won't it make me too slow for wrestling?"
Kyle saw Jamie roll his eyes. "You let me worry about that, boy. You just worry about eating." Jamie was holding the final pizza slice for Kyle to eat, which he began to, dutifully. "I need you big enough to flatten everyone else on that court."
Kyle rolled his eyes this time. He tried to get Jamie up to speed with some basic wrestling knowledge, but it had clearly gone in one ear and out the other. Kyle forced himself to eat the pizza slice as quickly as he was able to, despite the pain in his tight gut. "Sure thing, coach!" he said. "Anything for you!"
"Speaking of which," Jamie said. "Let's see how big you are now, why don't you hop on that scale over there?"
"Yes sir!" Kyle said, sluggishly pulling himself up. He rearranged his crotch, wincing at the way his round thighs chafed.
As he stepped towards the scale, he could feel Jamie's eyes on his butt. He grinned smugly, he'd always had a perfect ass. "Jesus Christ it's gotten so big already…" Kyle heard Jamie mutter under his breath. Jamie cleared his throat and spoke again, loud enough for the camera to hear this time. "That's a mighty big ass you're getting there boy," he said. "Mighty big." Kyle furrowed his brow. Was Jamie doing a southern accent earlier in the scene?
Kyle stood on the scale and whistled for dramatic effect. "Wow coach! 250 pounds! I sure did eat a lot!"
"Well I don't think you're quite that big yet," Jamie said. Kyle could hear the frustration in his voice. "You must be reading it wrong, a big dumb jock like you." Kyle felt him come up behind him and lean against his back to peer over his shoulder. "See, it says 215 pounds!" he said. "That's a much more believable number," he growled into Kyle's ear, but still loud enough for the camera to pick up.
"Do I get a reward coach?" Kyle asked, turning around so that his and Jamie's noses were less than an inch apart.
"Not quite yet," Jamie replied, rubbing a hand down Kyle's gut. "We need to fill you up just a little more."
Kyle winced. Jamie had been making him drink thick gainer shakes since they'd agreed on their plan, and announced the change in direction of their channel, and he didn't think he could fit one in on top of the pizza. "Are you sure coach?" he asked. "I just ate a whole pizza, my tummy's so stuffed and heavy." He tried his best to make the last part sound as sexy as possible.
"What I say goes, boy," Jamie replied. Kyle sighed and flopped down in the chair in front of the camera, grimacing as the contents as his stomach jostled with the sudden movement. "But," Jamie continued, hooking a finger into one of the straps of Kyle's singlet and slowly pulling it down the hunk's body. "Maybe I can help you along." As the singlet was brought down, his dick sprang up and slapped the smooth curve of his gut, leaving a faint smear of precum in the thin trail of neatly trimmed hair leading down from his belly button.
As Jamie began to pour the thick gainer shake slowly into Kyle's throat, he gripped Kyle's cock and began to pump it, while Kyle focused on breathing steadily through his nose. "You're getting big boy!" Jamie said. "Real big. You're going to be my star player." Kyle moaned involuntarily through the gainer shake in his mouth. "I'm going to feed you up so big that everyone's going to stare at you." Another involuntary moan. Kyle bucked his hips. "I won't be able to find a singlet to fit you but I won't stop because you'll be my special project, giving you all my attention and making sure-"
Jamie stopped talking as Kyle moaned and thick ropes of cum shot up his gut, arcing over his pecs, which were getting puffier by the week, and landing on his square chin. Kyle was just as caught off guard. This wasn't the plan. Jamie was going to edge him while feeding him, and then Kyle was supposed to fuck Jamie.
Jamie poured the rest of the shake into Kyle's mouth. "That's right piggy!" He shot Kyle a confused look, away from the camera. "You love how fat you're getting!" He hoisted Kyle up and pushed him towards the table. "But now it's my turn!"
"I'm always the top," Kyle whispered, hoping the microphone wouldn't pick it up.
"And now you're not, are you?" Jamie hissed back. He pushed Kyle down, so that he was holding his weight up on his forearms. Kyle glanced at the camera and repositioned himself for a better angle.
"Fuck me, please!" Kyle said, much louder now. "I'm so fat and jiggly and my tummy is getting so round!"
"Yeah, okay, don't push it," Jamie whispered. "Mmm, your ass is so big and juicy now!" he called out. "Perfect for my cock!"
Kyle gasped as he felt Jamie enter him from behind. Having not done anything to prep himself, he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth a little against the sensation, but relaxed as Jamie got into a rhythm.
"Yes!" Kyle gasped. "It's because of all the food I eat now!"
"Oh, shut up and let me enjoy this," Jamie muttered. "Yes! You're coach's fat jock and coach will do whatever he wants with you!" he cried.
Kyle felt Jamie pick up speed, and despite the intensity of his orgasm just moments before, he felt himself growing hard once again. He moaned, and heard Jamie do the same above him, as Jamie gave two hard, slow, final thrusts as he spent himself.
Kyle felt Jamie slide out of him, before collapsing down on the bed. Kyle struggled up, his fingers gingerly prodding his taut gut, and moved towards the camera. "Another video from HungryHunk and FriskyFeeder will be out next week," he said, winking at the camera before turning it off.
"Fuck that was hot," Jamie sighed.
"Yeah, I guess," he said. He tried to wipe up the drying cum on his torso with his singlet. "The plan was for me to top though. You've never topped me in these videos before, it's not really my image."
"That's hardly my fault, is it?" Jamie protested. "You're the one that blew your load early, I was just doing damage control." He peered over at Kyle. "What was that all about anyway? It's never been a problem before."
Kyle shrugged. "Just the coach stuff I guess. The teasing and shit."
"And getting told you're coach's special boy?" Jamie asked, his voice smug and teasing.
Kyle felt his cock jump. "Shut up," he said lamely.
"Anyway," Jamie continued. "We need to work on your chat, it's trash. What was that bullshit about being 250 pounds?"
"What?" Kyle asked. "That's what these guys are into, great big tummies and shit."
"No," Jamie replied. "What they want is for you to be 250 pounds. Not for you to barely look 220 and claim to be heavier than you are. These guys live for this stuff, they can guess your weight as soon as look at you. And stop saying tummy!"
Kyle laughed. "I know we're not into it, but these guys all love talking about their tummies."
Jamie shivered. "But the word. Call it a gut or belly or whatever. Keg. Dad bod. Not tummy."
Kyle shrugged. "Whatever you say." He sat down on the sofa and closed his eyes, breathing slowly while he rubbed his full gut.
Jamie sat down next to him. "How are you finding it all?" he asked.
Kyle sighed. "I don't know man, I just feel, I don't know." He opened his eyes and looked at Jamie. "I worked so hard for my bod, and now I'm just fucking ruining it. Maybe this was a bad idea."
Jamie gave a small intake of breath and was silent for a moment. "We've got so many more followers now though, just like we hoped for." He laid a hand on Kyle's belly and helped him gently rub. "And they're all watching for you. The star."
Kyle sighed, and felt his dick stiffen slightly. Jamie always knew how to push his buttons, and knew the videos were more about the attention than the money for Kyle.
"Surely there's another way though?" Kyle asked. "Some other fetish? We could do foot stuff or whatever?"
Jamie shrugged. "The foot market is very saturated these days." Kyle could feel Jamie watching him closely. "I mean, if you really wanted to stop, then I guess…" He trailed off.
"What?" Kyle asked. "Go on, say it."
"Well, I mean I could gain weight instead," Jamie said. "You know, be the star." Kyle felt a pit in his stomach, despite how full he was. "You could be my feeder, take on the helper role instead. I'm sure all your fans wouldn't min-"
"No!" Kyle snapped. "No, it's fine. You're right. It's what the fans - my fans - want. I'm the face of the channel."
Jamie gave a smile which Kyle couldn't quite read. "If you say so. Anyway, do you mind if I have a shower?"
"Yeah, sure whatever," Kyle said. He opened up Grindr as he heard the shower start up.
-
Just weighed myself. 225 pounds now. We could film another video this week? Maybe we could get a soccer uniform or something?
Kyle threw down his phone and attempted to tug his pants closed. Even if he could get the waist to close around his thickening waist, he knew his round ass would stretch the fabric to its limit. He gave up with a sigh and pulled up his and Jamie's shared account, checking to see whether they'd gained any new subscribers since last night and to look back over some recent comments and suggestions.
Kyle felt huge, but it wasn't enough for their new and growing fanbase. Fat had grown on his pecs and caused them to swell and round out, his nipples pointing down at the swell of his gut. He was happy he wasn't getting the soft, flabby body he saw on so many of their competitors, but it was little consolation when his gut was swelling out of control. He wondered how much more he'd need to put on before they'd all be happy - 30 pounds? 50? So many of the guys he saw on the other gainer channels were even more than that, coming in at 300 pounds or more! Surely that was too much, even for these freaks, he thought, but he couldn't deny how much more popular they were than him and Jamie.
He opened up a folder of screenshots of comments he'd saved. He slid his hand down into his tight boxers and gripped his cock.
HungryHunk is so sexy!
Kyle's cock stiffened in his hand.
Can't believe how fat he's gotten already! So hot!
His fingers gently squeezed his balls, pinned in between thick muscular thighs.
Used to think HungryHunk was hot before, but now I'm obsessed! Wow!
Kyle's dick was achingly hard now, and precum started to ooze at the tip.
Can't wait to see him get bigger! He has the potential to be one of the sexiest gainers I've ever seen!
Kyle repeated these words back to himself. They loved him. All of them. Watching him, touching themselves over him, paying him to do this to himself, him, always him. He moaned as he flicked through the screenshots, so close, so close.
I wish FriskyFeeder would gain too! HungryHunk's great but FriskyFeeder's the one for me!
Kyle's erection deflated in his hand. He must have saved that one by mistake. He hurriedly deleted it and tried to continue, but the magic was gone. He sighed and shoved his dick unceremoniously back into his pants.
He stood, looking in the mirror. If his fans wanted him bigger, he'd give it to them. He'd already come so far, what would another 50 pounds be? He'd make them forget Jamie. After all, Jamie was just an accessory to his new body, he was the main attraction, not Jamie, Jamie was just his feeder, he didn't matter. Kyle. Kyle was why people watched, why they paid, why they were flocking to their page.
Kyle turned away from the mirror and sucked in his belly, forcing the button on his pants closed and exhaling, ignoring the pinch of the waistband on his flesh.
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