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thegainingdesk · 13 days

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Sugar Daddy

University was really fucking expensive, Noah had quickly realised. Between paying for his halls, food and all the surprising little costs of living away from home, his student grant was rapidly dwindling, and he was starting to worry about making it last until reading week, nevermind the next payment after Christmas - he'd gotten a bar job, but even with that it was hard to make ends meet. Parents, teachers, older friends had all warned him not to spend all of his money going out, but chance would be a fine thing.

"Daddy told me that he's literally not going to give me any more money!" Noah's flatmate Cissy wailed at Becca and Will, two of his somewhat more financially fortunate new living mates. "He said that three hundred a week should be enough, but I told him that he just doesn't understand what it's like to budget!" Noah bit his tongue and focussed on buttering his toast while keeping an eye on his pan of baked beans.

Becca nodded sympathetically. "They just absolutely do not understand what it's like to be working class students like us," she told Cissy sagely.

"Does this mean you can't buy us coke tonight?" Will asked, the concern clear in his voice.

This only made Cissy cry harder. "I'm not thinking about fucking coke right now Will!" she cried. "I don't even know if I can afford brunch tomorrow!"

"I could probably try and get some ket?" Will suggested.

"You know I can't have ketamine Will!!" Cissy yelled. "I'm a fucking aquarius! Obviously I don't react well to ket!" She buried her face in her hands and wept. Noah poured his beans onto his toast and gathered his cutlery. He considered topping his meal with some cheese, but decided it was too much of a luxury right now.

"Besides," Becca said as Noah began to take his meager dinner to his room. "Ketamine reminds me too much of my horse Diana, so I'll be far too sad to do any."

The door closed as Cissy comforted Becca about the dear departed Diana. Noah let out a sigh. He wished he had a "daddy" who would "only" give him £300 a week. He laughed as he sat down at his desk and looked for a show to watch on his laptop. He'd remembered earlier that week when some of his mates were saying they'd have to look for sugar mummies and daddies to make it through the term. He'd joined in laughing at the time, but the prospect was starting to look less and less absurd as the term went on and his finances dwindled.

He paused, wondering. He knew sugar daddies existed of course, but he couldn't quite convince himself that there really were older men out there just waiting to give someone money.

After a while, his curiosity got the better of him and he pulled out his phone. How to get a sugar daddy he typed in. He was surprised how many websites and apps there were. Surely the idea wasn't really this popular? He clicked on a couple of links; they all seemed to cater for older men looking for young women. He tapped his search bar again and added gay to his search. The first result was an app called The Sugar Bowl, advertising itself as the UK's premier gay sugar dating app. He downloaded it. He had to entertain himself somehow, he supposed, while all his flatmates were out getting drunk and high - a luxury he just couldn't afford.

The app was asking him to make a profile. He quickly tapped in all his details, chose a username and clicked next, giving short, vague answers for any that needed more than basic information. Photos next; he scrolled through his phone looking for some good recent photos. He appraised himself as he scrolled - he was a bit of a catch, if he did say so himself. Just over six feet with naturally broad shoulders, with a handsome face and a strong, square jaw. The vivid ginger hair on his head was mirrored on his chest and trailing down his stomach, a shock of orange against his pale, freckled skin.

He finished his profile and was immediately shown a man who was at least eighty. A bubble of text at the bottom of his screen informed him he could "Ask for a taste" or "Carry on looking at the menu", and only the men he selected would be able to message him. Noah rolled his eyes and tapped the cross. The man's profile whisked itself away and was replaced with another.

Now this was more like it - mid-40s maybe, salt and pepper hair, bit of a gut but Noah didn't mind that necessarily. His fingers moved to tap the tick before he noticed the short blurb of text below the photos: Discrete! Married with children, but would love to add you to the family. Noah cringed and rejected him.

The next one wasn't too bad. Bald, a nice square face, pictures showing him dressed in sharp suits in what looked like various cities across the world, and, to Noah's surprise, a screenshot of what looked like a banking app, all of the details removed apart from the dizzyingly large balance. Noah tapped, accepting him. Nothing happened - presumably he'd have to wait for a match or for the man to be notified before he'd get a response.

He spent a couple of hours idly swiping through profiles. It was almost like a game, really. He was surprised to find how handsome he found some of the men; he'd never really considered himself attracted to older guys before but there was something about some of them. He particularly appreciated some of the dad bods on show - always something he'd liked before on guys his own age, and there were plenty on offer here.

He snapped out of his app-induced reverie as he heard his flat mates leave for the night, stampeding towards the door. He closed the app and decided to watch a movie for the night as he heard Cissy loudly proclaim to everyone "You know what? Fuck it. I'm buying coke. Daddy can fuck off. I have to be true to myself and I know that I am not a ketamine queen!" This was met with one of the poshest cheers Noah had ever heard.

The app left Noah's mind entirely as he watched his film and then fell asleep. He woke up to a notification.

SilverFoxDom: Hello handsome. You know, my hair used to be that exact same shade, before succumbing to the ravages of time.

He looked at the name and sighed. He must not have looked very close last night.

RedFox: Nice. Listen, I'm sorry, I must not have really read your name last night. I'm not really into the whole sub/dom thing.

He closed the app and checked the news, reading through a few stories. Within a few minutes, another notification popped up.

SilverFoxDom: Neither am I. My actual name's Dominic, or Dom. I didn't really consider the implications until I'd made the profile, and now I can't figure out how to change it.

Noah smiled a little. At least this guy seemed sweet, and hadn't immediately asked for nudes - an improvement on more conventional dating apps, in fact. He went back to the app to check his profile. The guy was okay-looking, Noah thought; probably mid-50s, with a head of receding white hair and a beard to match, and warm, crinkled eyes surrounded by laughter-lines on a rugged, square face. Noah could see faded freckles across his nose and cheeks, the only remaining evidence of the ginger hair in his youth that he'd mentioned. A bit of a dad-bod, with a thickness evident beneath the expensive looking suits he wore in each photo, but Noah had met up with bigger guys before.

RedFox: Sorry to hear that, not-a-dom Dom. I bet that's led to a few sticky situations.

SilverFoxDom: Oh no, no sticky business over here! I'm very content to offer what aid I can to fellow foxes in need without it going any further. I've got to say little fox, you're looking more underfed than most. A particularly cruel winter, perhaps?

RedFox: Yeah, I've always found it pretty difficult to put on weight, especially living on beans on toast at uni, haha.

SilverFoxDom: Something I can help with, perhaps? Well then, young fox, what brings you to this rather niche corner of the internet?

Noah decided to be honest. This guy seemed genuinely nice.

RedFox: Some mates were joking about needing a sugar daddy to get through the term. I thought it'd be a bit of a laugh, but I was sort of curious what it's all about.

SilverFoxDom: Well I heard it's only cats that need to be wary of curiosity; us foxes should be fine.

How about you let me take you out for a meal a little more elaborate beans on toast? At least then you'll have gotten something out of this whole experience.

RedFox: That's very kind. Honestly though, I really did just make an account out of curiosity. I don't think I'm into this whole sugar daddy/baby thing.

SilverFoxDom: And I am also being honest when I say there is no obligation or hint towards anything other than a good meal and some company for an hour or two. I can guarantee a finer meal than anything else you'll rustle up during your time at university.

Noah's stomach grumbled. It would be good to have a proper meal, and really, it was no more dangerous than meeting someone off grindr or tinder.

RedFox: Sounds great then, thank you. When were you thinking?

They arranged to meet that evening at half past six, a little early Noah thought, but he wasn't about to argue. He put on his nicest shirt and his cleanest jeans, and walked into the center of town to a restaurant he'd never heard of.

Noah walked up the stairs to the large entrance, with a small sign next to it with the name of the restaurant - Pastures Green - and was met by a thick-set man in a three-piece suit. "Hi," Noah said as he approached. "I'm meeting someone - Dominic?"

"Of course sir, welcome," the man said. "I've been told to ask you for your favourite animal."

Noah was taken aback, feeling like he was back in primary school and being asked about his favourite shape (hexagon) or dinosaur (triceratops). "My favourite animal? What the- Oh! Right, no, I see. A fox. My favourite animal's a fox."

The man smiled and his eyes flicked to Noah's hair for a moment. "It suits you. This way then." He turned on his heel and walked through a thick wooden door. Noah followed into a large, expensive looking room. The room seemed underfilled, with only ten or so tables, and plenty of space between them all. Noah was led between them all, to a table at the back, wth Dominic sat in one seat.

Dominic stood up as Noah approached. In person, he had a warm energy that seemed to enhance all his features, and made him look quite handsome, if you could get over the age thing. He looked a couple of inches shorter than Noah, maybe at about 6 foot, and a few pounds lighter than in his photos, though still with a broad frame and a slight gut rounding out his waistcoat. Noah didn't know much about suits, but he could tell the one Dominic wore was expensive - light grey with barely-there pinstripes, and seemingly tailored to perfectly highlight or hide different parts of his body.

Dominic moved towards Noah and stuck his hand out for Noah to shake. "Gosh, but you really are handsome aren't you, little fox?" he said with a twinkle in his eye. He gestured for Noah to sit. "Now, this is very foolish of me, but I don't actually know your name."

"Noah," Noah answered as he took his seat.

"Noah!" Dominic almost bellowed. "A good strong name." He sat down opposite and handed a menu to Noah. "But you didn't come to introduce yourself to old men Noah. I believe you were promised a slap-up meal."

Noah opened the menu and noted that there weren't any prices. A note at the top assured customers that all the food was grown and produced locally. "A, uhh, a steak maybe," he said, deciding it wasn't too far removed from his usual safety option of burger and chips.

"Good choice," Dominic said with a smile. "But we'll get to that in good time. What about something to start?" he asked. "Or I could choose a few things I think you should taste?"

Noah put the menu down and gave a small smile. "Sounds great."

"Excellent!" Dominic said, as a waiter seemed to appear out of thin air. "Now Michael," he said to the waiter. "We'll start with some drinks,-" he turned to Noah. "A beer?" Noah nodded. "Two beers, I'll try something new. Something Belgian maybe? Now my friend here," he gestured towards Noah, "has never had the pleasure, so I really think he should sample as much of your fare as is reasonable, don't you? We'll start with a few small-plates - those lamb ribs you did last time, definitely, that pork belly with the fennel, do you remember? Yes, yes, those. Some of those crispy twelve-hour potatoes, that wonderful asparagus you do. I think I remember some artichoke concoction a few weeks ago? Perfect. And what fish do you have today? Yes, a small serving of that." His eyes flicked back to Noah and seemed to appraise him for a moment. "Perhaps that'll be it for starters this time Michael. And then my young friend here wanted the twenty-ounce rib-eye, and I'll have, hmmm…" For the first time he actually opened the menu himself and looked, although only for a second or two. "A salad, I think. Whatever chef thinks will work." He patted his slight belly and looked over at Noah briefly. "Doctor's orders," he said with a wink. "I'm afraid I can't overindulge like I once could."

Noah swallowed hard - it definitely sounded like he'd be overindulging, even if Dominic wasn't.

"The steak, sir?" the waiter - Michael - asked Noah.

"Oh, uh, yeah. That's great," Noah replied.

Michael smiled thinly. "How would you like the steak cooked?" he elaborated.

"Oh! Right, yeah, well." Noah stammered for a moment. He'd never had a proper, high-quality steak before, what did he know about how.it should be cooked. "Medium-rare?" He said it as a question as much as an answer.

"Excellent," Michael said. "Your drinks will be out presently." He turned on his heel and walked away.

Dominic turned to Noah and beamed. "So, little fox, why don't you tell me about yourself," he said. "You mentioned you were at university?"

Noah nodded. "First year, studying engineering," he replied, as Michael reappeared with two glasses.

"Thank you Michael," Dominic said. "First year, eh? Very exciting, first time away from home, discovering independence for the first time. Exhilarating really." He took a small sip of his beer and closed his eyes. "Mhm, perfect. Do take a taste." Noah did as instructed. The beer was odd - it was almost thick, and tasted strongly like wheat, with just a hint of sweetness. He smiled and nodded, wordlessly answering Dominic's inquisitive look. "I'm glad you like it," Dominic continued. "And engineering? Very impressive. I was never one for science and maths and all that myself. It was PPE at Oxford for me." Noah just smiled and took another swig of beer - the taste was starting to grow on him. "Not much of a talker, eh?" Dominic prompted.

Noah swallowed yet another swig of beer. "Sorry, no, it's not that I - it's just -" He decided it was best to play coy a little, play up to the guy offering a slap up dinner and who knows what else. "Just nervous, I guess."

"Oh fox, no need to be nervous," Dominic said with a growing smile. "In fact, I remember when I was your age and met up with a man, who, ah, shall we say, had a little more life-experience than me…"

Noah realised that what Dominic really wanted was someone to talk at, rather than any real expectation for Noah to contribute outside of an occasional reply. He was fine with that, happy to sit and drink his beer and give a nod or encouraging "hmm" when prompted. By the time the starters arrived, his beer was nearly empty and he was already beginning to feel the effects, having not been able to afford to drink for a while, and having not eaten much that day.

Noah's eyes went wide as the starters got put down. When Dominic had ordered, he'd expected morsel-sized portions, and while the servings weren't enormous, the six dishes added up to a lot more than Noah would usually eat in any given meal, and this was just the starter!

Dominic must have seen Noah's reaction. "Don't worry too much about finishing it all, little fox. I might take a sliver to taste, and I suppose the kitchen can dispose of any leftovers," he said.

"No, no, I can, I mean, it's fine," Noah said. "I can finish it, it's not too much." Not only could Noah not stand to waste food, particularly nowadays when he was living within such meager means, but he got the sense that Dominic was testing him somehow, seeing how willing he was to play along.

"Another beer sir?" the waiter asked, gesturing towards Noah's glass.

"Oh, uh, yeah, cheers, umm, Michael," Noah replied, picking up his fork to start.

"Certainly," Michael replied simply and walked away.

As Dominic looked on eagerly, Noah took his first bite, starting with the lamb ribs. As the meat reached his tongue he actually moaned - he couldn't stop himself. It was almost certainly the best food he'd ever had, and it made him realise suddenly just how hungry he was.

"Good?" Dominic asked simply, his eyebrows raising in a smug expression.

Noah could only give a short "hmm", as the second mouthful of lamb was already in his mouth. It was perfectly cooked - tender and juicy and seemed to be roasted with rosemary and something Noah couldn't identify. He cut off some pork belly, even as he was still chewing, and brought it up to his mouth the second he swallowed his lamb. It was just as good, and Noah closed his eyes as he chewed, trying his best to slow down to savour the taste.

Dominic let out a small chuckle. "Very good," he said. "I do hate to see a young man without a healthy appetite. Yes, very nice indeed." He paused for a moment, watching as Noah chased a mouthful of potato with some beer. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the thing people don't understand about John Major you see…"

Noah did his best to pay attention, but Dominic’s tales of Tories past weren't exactly Noah's bag, and they had to vie for his attention with the exquisite flavours in front of him. He built up a rhythm, alternating dishes with each bite, dipping the potatoes in all of the various sauces and juices from the other plates. He did his best to eat slowly but he just couldn't help himself. He was almost surprised when he looked down to see all of the plates were empty.

“... Which is why, of course, Thatcher's right-to-buy scheme was so beneficial,” Dominic finished. His smile grew as he saw Noah lean back in his seat, his breathing slow. “Oh, well done. Yes, very good indeed. You know, a lesser man would have given up on that, but not you, no.” Noah rubbed his stomach in wide slow circles. “Now, time for mains perhaps?”

Noah belched, the sound erupting out of him without warning. “Oh god,” he said. “I'm sorry I-”

“No apology needed! None at all, no, no, it's the sign of a good meal well-enjoyed,” Dominic said as his smile grew. “You know, when I was part of the trade delegation to China, I was told that burping was a sign of respect! Now, the steak?”

Noah nodded blearily. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I'll give it a go.” He downed the rest of his beer, hoping the liquid might help soothe his stomach.

“That's all that any of us can do, isn't it?” Dominic proclaimed wisely. He waved down the waiter. “We’re ready now. And my guest here will have another beer.”

The steak arrived all too soon, looking even bigger than it had sounded earlier. Noah steeled himself, knowing that this was the best meal he'd had in a long time, and might have for a while yet. Dominic spoke constantly, picking at his own salad while

After Noah had finished the selection of desserts Dominic had ordered, he was drunk, stuffed and tired. Dominic helped him to his feet and guided him to a waiting car, which took Noah directly to his uni halls. Noah unbuckled his too tight trousers and collapsed straight into bed.

He awoke the next morning to Cissy knocking on his door and passing over a large hamper that had been left for him. He looked inside to find a selection of expensive cheese, crackers, desserts and several ales. Looking closer he found a note.

Little Fox,

I so enjoyed our evening last night. I've included some small treats that I think you might enjoy until the next time we meet.

Your Silver Fox

This went on for a while. Two or three times a week, Dominic would invite Noah to some restaurant he'd never be able to afford to go to by himself, order an inordinate amount of food, plus a salad for himself, then watch as Noah stuffed himself silly. The next morning, a hamper would get delivered to Noah's flat, each time with something different in it - expensive cheeses, cured meats, selections from Dominic's current favourite bakery or deli, each delivery coming with several bottles of stout or ale that Dominic thought would pair with the food - Noah's room rapidly filled with more wicker baskets than he could handle. One time, Noah had off-handedly mentioned how much he liked ice-cream, and the next morning a delivery man handed over a miniature freezer for his room, stocked full of Ben and Jerry's. Each time, he considered sharing with his flat mates, but each time he'd sample one of the exquisite treats and immediately change his mind. Dominic, for his part, never suggested anything more - he really did seem to just genuinely want to help out a struggling uni student. Noah knew he'd have some ulterior motive, but as sexual deviances went, this one felt fairly benign and Noah wasn't about to turn down a few free meals a week.

As the end of the semester rolled around, Noah pulled a Christmas jumper out of one of the hampers that he'd repurposed as a clothes basket, and noted with a wince a developing tightness as he put it on. The jumper still fit, thankfully, but he worried about Dominic losing interest - Noah was quickly losing his thin figure that first attracted the older man.

Noah looked in the mirror and assessed himself. He wasn't fat, per se, not even chubby really. A bit more solid looking, that's all. He looked better, if anything; not quite so rail thin, or like a strong wind would blow him over.

Noah sighed. Tonight was the first time Dominic had invited him around to his own house, and he was a little nervous. Noah felt he knew Dominic well enough by now to trust that nothing untoward would happen, but it felt like a big step up in their strange friendship.

Noah smoothed down his jumper, laying his hands flat against his midsection. He was being silly - Dominic probably wouldn't even be able to notice anything.

"I've noticed you've been putting on some weight," Dominic said that evening, taking a sip of wine and smiling across the table.

Noah took a moment to swallow the mashed potatoes he'd just put in his mouth - perfectly creamy, and with a hint of rosemary and garlic - and looked down at himself. As stuffed as he was, his shirt had begun to get noticeably tighter. "I uh…," he started, trying to form words. "I suppose I've put on a little weight, yeah. I was pretty skinny before though - too skinny, some people think." He'd started talking faster, trying to convince Dominic it wasn't so bad. He hit upon the idea to appeal to Dominic's ego. "And uh, it's all this great food - I'm so grateful, you've been so generous."

Dominic's smile widened a touch and he laughed softly. "You've no need to worry, my little fox. Merely a comment." He drank some more wine and seemed to look Noah up and down. "It looks good on you, you know. You really were too thin when I met you - quite ghastly really, like a wraith. No, you look much healthier now." He set his wine glass down and leant back in his chair, one eyebrow raised. Noah got the distinct impression that he was trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. "I don't suppose you know how, ah, much weight exactly you've put on?"

Noah shrugged. "Not too much, my clothes all still fit, just about. And I've not got a scale at my flat."

Dominic stood up suddenly. "Well then we'll have to find out, won't we?"

"Will we?" Noah asked around a mouthful of turkey and gravy.

"Aren't you curious?" Dominic asked, moving around the table to usher Noah out of his seat. "We're having this little tete-a-tete about these rather charming, wonderful little changes to your body, and you don't want to know?" For the first time since Noah had met him, Dominic seemed to have a strange nervous energy about him, as if he'd rehearsed this moment. Dominic gave a short laugh. "And you the engineer! I thought your head would be full of numbers and precise measurements."

Noah decided to play along - whatever was happening, it wasn't worth losing out on his meal ticket. He pulled himself heavily out of his chair, his full stomach making him sluggish. Dominic left the room and Noah followed.

After climbing several flights of stairs and walking down a couple of corridors, Dominic stopped outside a door. "Sorry for the hike," he said with a smile. "This is the only bathroom with scales in." Noah wondered if Dominic had put the scales in there (or more likely had someone put them in there for him), so that he could show off the house to Noah - he remembered some quiet comment Dominic had made about this being "just the city house".

Dominic opened the door and ushered Noah in, flourishing an arm towards a set of scales. "Do you, ah, know what you weighed when you first arrived at university?" he asked.

Noah shrugged. "Probably about twelve stone, I think," he answered. That sounded about right, anyway.

Dominic tutted. "See? Far too thin. Shall we, ah, call that 170 pounds then, do you think?"

"Sure," Noah said. "Call it what you like I suppose."

"Call it what you- oh yes, very dry, very dry indeed little fox," Dominic chuckled. "Yes, well, ah, would you, that is to say, if you'd care to, ah…"

Noah was surprised to see Dominic so ill-at-ease. He always seemed so unflappable, and now he was a stammering mess about asking Noah to step on some scales. Noah did the honours, and looked down at the numbers on the scale. They rapidly climbed for a moment before stopping at 193.

"Oh my," Dominic said. "Well I suppose if we take off your- that is, if we account for your clothes, and what you've eaten tonight of course." He reached out and touched Noah's slightly distended stomach through his jumper. Noah felt a jolt - it was the first time Dominic had touched him at all, aside from shaking hands, and it felt like there'd just been some significant change in their relationship from that brief touch. "Shall we say one-ninety?"

"If you like, sure," Noah said, stepping back off the scale. He was starting to doubt whether these free meals were really worth it.

Dominic took out his phone and started tapping it. "Twenty pounds in, what, two months?" he muttered, seemingly to himself more than to Noah. "Very impressive, very impressive indeed."

Noah's own phone buzzed as Dominic put his away. Noah looked confused and reached into his pocket to pull it out. His eyes widened. A notification from his bank informed him that £2000 had just been added to his account by D. Berkeley. Noah looked up at Dominic, dumbfounded. "What?" Noah asked. "Why?"

Dominic smiled coolly, all of his nervous energy suddenly dissipated. "One hundred pounds for each pound you've put on," he said calmly. He seemed back to his usual self, like he'd just taken back control of the conversation. "Something of a mea culpa, if you'd like. After all, this," he once again reached out a poked Noah's slightly softer middle, "is rather my fault."

"Well, I mean, you don't need to-" Noah began.

"And I do actually rather like it, if I'm being honest, little fox," Dominic interrupted. "Which is to say, I rather think that young men such as yourself do look rather more handsome with some weight about their person."

"Right," Noah said. "Okay then, well, thank you, I guess. I'll, umm, put it towards a gym membership."

"Oh, well if you'd like to lose it, I do of course understand,” Dominic said. “I could even pay for a private trainer if you’d like? As it is my fault.” He paused for a moment and seemed to be analysing Noah's body, looking it up and down. Noah felt like some sort of prey animal. “But then again, I really do think it suits you, you know. I could even, if you were amenable, continue these little apologies? Same rate of course, one thousand sterling for every ten pounds - best exchange rate you’ll get while the current government is in power.” He laughed at his own joke before looking expectantly at Noah waiting for his answer.

Noah stood still for a while, the only sound in the room that of the other shoe finally dropping. He'd known, of course, that there was no such thing as a free lunch, but he'd rather hoped his payment would have been keeping an agreeable older man company during those lunches. Clearly, Dominic was taking payment by pound of flesh.

Was the money worth it? Noah was in the prime of his life - he should be taking advantage of his young, fit body, not wasting it for a few measly quid. But then, a thousand pounds wasn't something to scoff at, and he could make a fair amount more, not to mention all the food he didn't have to worry about buying. Maybe he should just get back on the app and find some other old rich guy who just wanted something simpler, like a blow job or feet pics. But then, did Noah really care? He'd been attracted to plenty of other big guys, he'd just not ever thought of himself that way. He wasn't even really a big guy himself yet, he could easily ring this guy for another few grand and bounce before it was really noticeavle, and then he could lose any excess weight easily enough.

Dominic cleared his throat, snapping Noah out of his rambling train of thought. “I'll, uhh, think about it,” Noah said. “Over Christmas.”

“Of course!” Dominic boomed, clapping a hand around Noah's shoulders and guiding him back out into the corridor. “You think about it while you're back home, and message me with your thoughts on my offer. For now though, I hope you have some space for dessert and the cheese board.”

A few hours later Noah swayed towards the front door, Dominic's hand on his back guiding him. The sheer amount of food and drink Noah had consumed was making him bleary-eyed, and he'd had to undo his belt sometime during the cheese course.

“Noah, one final thing,” Dominic said, as Noah stumbled his way outside towards the waiting car. He held out an envelope towards Noah. “It's a card.”

“I forgot to get you a Christmas card,” Noah said around burps.

Dominic laughed. “No, no, a credit card,” he explained. He pushed it into Noah's hand. “I’ll pay it off each month, of course, but it is yours.” Noah burped in response, which Dominic seemed to take as understanding. “I'd appreciate it if you only used it for food and drink - I don't mind how much you spend, you understand, but I would appreciate it nonetheless. Respect, more than anything, you see.”

Noah looked at the envelope for a while before looking up at Dominic and smiling. “Merry Christmas,” he mumbled before he belched and collapsed through the open car door.

It was the card that tipped it, for Noah. He decided he could live without the free extravagant dinners, even the offered grand for each ten pounds didn't seem that worth it in the cold light of day, but that credit card seemed to fix all of his money worries overnight. Trips to the supermarket weren't spent agonising over how much he had left or whether he could afford the tin of tomatoes that cost 15p more, he could treat himself, go out with mates on nights out. He still couldn't get over the look on his mum's face when he offered to pay for everything for Christmas dinner, or when she opened the present he'd bought her with some of the two grand Dominic had given him. So he was probably going to put on a bit of weight, who cared? He got back in contact with Dominic once he was back in halls, and their dinners recommenced, Noah's personal discomfort with the situation ebbing away all the time, even while the physical discomfort of his clothes mounted.

"Why aren't you eating more?" Dominic asked.

Noah swallowed his mouthful on noodles and looked down at the plates in front of him. He'd almost finished his bowl of donburi, and there was a small stack of small plates next to it which until recently had held a selection of dumplings and sushi.

“Well, uh, I thought maybe we'd have dessert, I guess,” he said, placing a hand gingerly on his bloated belly. “Or, I mean, if you wanted me to order some more sides?” He'd gotten used to pushing himself past his limits recently, focussing on the money he knew Dominic would be happy to part with, but that didn't make it any easier.

“Not tonight,” Dominic said, smiling. “No, you've rather impressed me tonight. The card I gave you, I mean. I'd expected a young man like you, away from home and enjoying all the pleasures of university life had to offer to be living off of take-aways and beers.”

Noah furrowed his brow. “I mean, I've been using it, you know, for shops and stuff,” he explained. “I didn't want to take the piss I guess.”

“You've no need to worry my dear little fox!” Dominic said. “It would take quite a lot of eating indeed to make me regret my decision. No, no, you've no need to be concerned about your impact on my finances. You should be enjoying yourself - dinners out, big lunches, deliveroos.” He said this last word as if it was an unfamiliar foreign term he was impressed with himself for learning while on holiday.

“Right, yeah, I'll keep that in mind I guess,” Noah said, before bringing the bowl up to his mouth to drain the last of the broth. “Thanks again,” he said. He placed both hands on his stomach and began to massage it, as much to soothe it as much as to put in a bit of a show for Dominic.

Dominic licked his lips. “You know, I had rather noticed that your, ah, wardrobe perhaps needed an update,” he said. “Perhaps it wouldn't go amiss if you were to use the card for clothes as well, when needed. I'd only ask that you let me know ahead of time, when you, ah, well, when you outgrow your clothes, I suppose.”

Noah nodded and ran a hand along the hem of his t-shirt to feel the strip of skin that had started showing beneath it in the last week or so. “Thanks, that’ll be helpful. These jeans are killing me.” He made a show of unbuttoning them and sighing with relief. “Sorry, hope you don't mind.” Dominic shook his head while making some posh clucking noises.

“Why don't you weigh yourself tonight?” Dominic asked. “With that scale I sent. You could send me a picture and I could send some money, if needed.”

“Sounds great,” Noah said, leaning back. “Don't suppose you could get the waiter's attention could you? See if they could bring over the dessert menu?”

That night, Noah sent Dominic a picture of the scale reading 202, and smiled as a notification appeared in his banking app less than a minute later.

Fancy going interrailing this summer? Just me and you? Mum’s given me some money for “self betterment and actualisation”, thought I'd go get pissed in Prague.

Noah's heart sank as he read the message. Just last week he'd spent most of the money he'd saved up from Dominic on a used car. He loved it, but now wished he'd held off a little longer. Him and his mate Stuart from school had talked about going interrailing for years; Noah had always thought of it as little more than a pipe dream, but suddenly it felt like it was all too attainable, if only Stu had text a week earlier.

Noah was about to text back, telling Stu he was skint, when he paused. No reason he couldn't save up a bit more money - he'd have until the summer to put on some more weight, and get as much money as he could from Dominic. Okay, so 220 pounds was bigger than he ever imagined getting, and having a genuine belly bloating out the front of large t-shirts, even when he'd not eaten, was something of a surprise, but he was hardly that big yet, he could afford to put on another twenty pounds before it was that bad, couldn't he? Besides, Stu was always the “fat friend” at school; he'd hardly judge Noah, and might even get a kick out of seeing him the same size as him.

I'd have to sort a bit of money, but count me in! August will be better than July maybe - gives me a bit of time to bank some extra pounds.

Noah chuckled at his own small joke as he grabbed the iPad Dominic had sent him a few weeks before, ready for some research. He started off simple, typing How much does it cost to go interrailing into Google and searching through some sites. He started to worry a little about how much it might cost and increased his imagine future body by another ten pounds or so. Would 30 pounds put him bigger than Stu? It was a strange prospect, but he found himself getting hard. As much as they'd all taken the piss out of Stu, he'd always commanded a bit of respect because of his size - he was the big one, the one who always got mistaken for being a bit older, the one who could eat the most and would probably win in most fights. The idea that Noah could usurp Stu in that way excited him.

How to gain weight fast he typed into the search bar. If he wanted to enjoy himself, he'd need to earn as much money as he could before summer.

A couple of mornings later, Noah pulled a carton out of one of the crates he’d ordered. He cracked it open and took a sip. This Boost stuff wasn't too bad, he thought. It was sweet and creamy, but not as thick as he thought, and he was surprised by how small it was considering the number of calories in it. He downed the rest of it in a few large gulps.

He’d read that some people had gotten incredible results from just one or two a day, so he thought one after every meal would do the trick nicely. Then, he'd finish the day with a pint or two of ice cream from the freezer that Dominic made sure to keep stocked. All of that, on top of his newly formed habit of getting every meal delivered - McDonald’s breakfast in the morning, a burger or burrito for lunch, and then a different take away each night for dinner - would surely help him make the money he needed for Europe.

While he was researching all of this, he'd been surprised to discover the communities of men who seemed to get off on this kind of stuff. He’d thought Dominic was some kind of one-off, the result of whatever crazy repression results from being gay and posh, but it seemed like these gainer guys were fairly common. He took some perverse pleasure in realising he was already bigger than some of the men who'd been trying to put on weight. He did his best to ignore men around 250 pounds, knowing he'd be that size soon enough, if everything went to plan - surely he'd not look that big? Obviously these guys would try and make themselves look as big as possible in their photos. No, he'd be fine, he told himself, just a little more weight would be barely noticeable.

“Do you think we could stop off somewhere and get something to eat?” Noah asked, his stomach rumbling. It was the first time Dominic had taken Noah for a weekend away, and he was regretting not remembering to bring some cartons of Boost.

“Well, we have dinner reservations in a couple of hours. Did the restaurant not look to your liking?” Dominic asked.

“No, it's fine, I'm not saying instead of dinner, I just mean, I haven't eaten since lunch, I'm not used to starving myself like this,” Noah replied. He was starting to get a little grouchy.

“Starving your- ah, yes well, perhaps we could find somewhere nearby, a cafe or bistro perhaps.” Dominic began to look around the row of shops along the beachfront.

“It's fine,” Noah said, crossing the road already. “I'll just grab something and eat while we walk. There's a place there look, I'll just grab a couple of burritos.”

Noah ate his first burrito in silence, only occasionally pausing to nod or give an approving grunt to one of Dominic's long stories. It was only when he started pulling the foil off the second burrito that Dominic asked for more of Noah's attention.

“You know, I do rather like this beard you've grown, little fox,” he started. “But I do wonder if it’s purpose might be to hide a certain developing feature? A certain roundness of the jawline perhaps.”

Noah felt his cheeks flush red. He had indeed grown the beard to distract from the double chin that had developed recently. The last twenty pounds seemed to take him from “slightly chubby” to “fat” in a way he wasn't expecting. With each step his round gut shook inside his XL shirt, which hugged a pair of budding moobs. He even realised that weekend with some shock that he was quite a bit bigger than Dominic now, so while he knew that the beard wasn't doing much to hide his weight gain, he'd hoped it wouldn't be too obvious why he'd grown it.

“Umm, yeah, I mean, some other guys in halls have grown a beard too, you know, and I thought I'd give it a go too, but, well, yeah, I guess it's to kind of cover the chin as well,” he admitted.

Dominic clapped a hand on Noah's shoulder. “While I really do think it's handsome, I always think it's such a shame when handsome growing men such as yourself try to hide the fullness of their face,” he said. “You should be proud of it! Have you not worked hard for your changing face? Earned it? Perhaps you'll shave it for me tonight? Show me what's underneath?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, I guess I can, I mean, it's just, I didn't pack a razor or anything,” Noah said, hoping Dominic would drop the matter.

“That's no concern! We can buy one for you, no matter at all. Look, there's a pharmacy there, I'll go in while you finish your little snack,” Dominic instructed.

Noah sighed and took a big bite of his burrito as he leant against the window of the pharmacy. He patted his gut and felt it jiggle. Just a little more weight and he'd have enough to go to Europe with Stu, and then he could block Dominic's number and lose all this weight.

That night, Noah's beardless face showed off just how round his cheeks were getting as he stuffed food into them. At Dominic's suggestion, Noah left himself with a moustache, which he was finding quite sexy. Dominic had ordered the entire starter list for Noah, followed by a roast dinner and a burger for mains, and a selection of desserts, while he ate a small serving of monkfish. Noah wiped his moustache with his napkin and leant back, resting a hand on his gut. “I don't suppose anywhere will be open, do you think?” he asked Dominic. “I usually like to have some ice cream before bed.”

Dominic clinked his wine glass with Noah’s. “Here's to a grand tour around Europe, and to two-hundred and seventy pounds,” he said.

Noah smiled and continued eating his fifth dessert of the night, thinking idly that he shouldn't have let the waiter take away the dessert menu just yet. While he'd overshot his target weight a little, the five thousand pounds he'd accrued would make sure that he wouldn't have to worry about scrimping and saving while interrailing, and he'd hopefully have some money left over afterwards for a gym membership, hell, maybe even a personal trainer. If nothing else, Noah thought ruefully as he adjusted his belt, he'd need to buy yet another new wardrobe, if he gained anymore weight.

“I've been thinking,” Dominic said. “I know that gallivanting about like this can be rather tough on the old purse strings, especially when one is young and wants to experience as much as possible of all these wonderful places you'll be going.”

Noah nodded, his cheeks full of tiramisu. “Yeah, you know, you've been a massive help with money and stuff, I definitely think I'll have a great time,” he said, truthfully. While he still found their arrangement a little creepy, Dominic seemed like a genuinely sweet guy, Tory proclivities and fetish for fattening up men aside, and Noah knew he'd have had a much worse year without him.

“Of course, of course, no need to thank me, anyone else would have done the same, faced with a young person in need such as yourself” Dominic said. Noah's eyebrows flew up; this situation fell very firmly under the category of things most people would not do, but he knew better than to protest. “Well, I was rather thinking, as this is such a marvelous opportunity for experiencing new places, meeting new people, learning languages, and of course, trying new food,” he waggled his eyebrows at this last point. “Well, I thought, as your patron, as it were, it would be remiss to not fund the trip.”

“Sorry, I'm not sure I follow,” Noah said, as he started on a rich sticky toffee pudding. “You are funding it - I wouldn't be able to go without you.”

“But I want you to keep that money! No, I want to pay for your trip,” Dominic said. “All of it. You and your friend. You can put everything on the card I gave you, the food and drink of course, as per usual, but the hotels, the trains, the flights, all of it. Anything you've paid for already, send it over to my office, I'll have my man expense it for you.”

Noah's gawped. Here he was, approaching twenty stone, one hundred pounds heavier than when he’d first arrived at uni, and Dominic was telling him all that money he'd saved was for nothing?

“Well, that's very generous Dom,” Noah said slowly, ruefully spooning some custard into his mouth.

“Think nothing of it, little fox! You know, when we first met, I must admit, I had rather hoped you might put on a little weight,” he understated. “But I really have been so impressed with how you've taken to it! Yes, I'm more than happy to pay for a man such as yourself who’s so readily taken up my little challenge.”

There it was, of course. The other side of the coin. Noah the twelve stone twink would never have been offered an all expenses trip around Europe. A catch-22: Noah had only saved enough to afford to go interrailing because he'd gotten so fat, and because he'd gotten so fat, he needn't have saved any money at all.

“Fucking hell!” Stu said as Noah walked up to him in St Pancras station. Dominic had arranged for a car to take him right up to the front, so Noah wasn’t nearly as sweaty as he would have been if he'd had to drag his backpack through the tube. “Louis said you'd gotten fat when he saw you at Easter but he didn't say you had tits! And what's with the porn-stache?”

“Nice to see you too,” Noah said. “Why weren't you back for Easter, anyway?”

“Fuck off, don't try and change the fucking subject,” Stu insisted. “You’re bigger than me!”

Noah had to admit that. He was surprised how small Stu looked - he’d always been one of the biggest guys in the year at school, but now he just looked a bit husky and had a beer belly. “Yeah, but you've lost weight, haven't you?” Noah pointed out.

“I've put on weight mate!” Stu laughed. “But I've put on about a stone like everyone else at uni, not about ten.”

Noah was shocked, and found himself getting hard. Not only had he surpassed Stu like he thought he might, he'd absolutely eclipsed him. “Go on, how much do you weigh then, Mr Skinny?” Noah asked, wondering how much he outweighed him by.

“Like seventeen stone mate,” Stu replied. “You must be, what, twenty? More?”

“Like two-seventy pounds. Probably a bit more now,” he admitted, thinking that he'd not exactly slowed down his eating in the week since he'd last seen Dominic.

“What? What's that in stone?” Stu asked. “Who weighs themselves in pounds?”

“Oh, right, yeah, like, nineteen and a half, maybe,” Dominic said.

“Christ,” Stu said in a low voice reaching out and poking a finger into Noah's gut. “That's fucking huge mate. You were tiny at school.”

“Well, you know, I'm taller than you, so that's a bit of weight isn't it,” Noah pointed out.

Stu laughed. “And the rest! You’re like an inch taller than me, two at most. That hardly adds up to two extra stone, does it?”

“Fuck off,” Noah said, returning Stu’s gut poke with one of his own. “Is there anywhere to buy breakfast around here before we get on the train?”

“Yeah, but you've already eaten haven't you?” Stu said.

“What? What makes you think that?” Noah asked.

Stu laughed. “I saw you throw a McDonalds coffee cup in the bin when you came in, big guy. A bloke your size doesn't go to McDonalds for just a coffee, do you?”

“Oh, yeah, well you know, that wasn't really breakfast, that was just something to eat after I woke up,” Noah protested, thinking back to the two mcmuffins he'd eaten on the way.

“Also known as fucking breakfast,” Stu howled with laughter.

“I'm just thinking we’ll be on the train a while,” Noah said, his cheeks flushing red. “And then we’ve got to get to the hotel, we might not have lunch until late.”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm sure it's a very thoughtfully considered second fucking breakfast,” Stu said while shaking his head. “Come on, yeah, I could eat too. We don't want you dying of hunger, do we, you fat git.”

Sat on the train, Noah regretted not getting as much as he'd like, but Stu had started gawping at him as he'd ordered, and he thought it best to limit himself to a light breakfast today, while Stu got his head around Noah's enhanced size.

“So I've been meaning to say,” Noah started. “I've swapped some of our hostel reservations.”

“What? Why?” Stu asked.

“For nicer hotels,” Noah said. “Don't worry, it's all paid for.”

“What do you mean it's all paid for?” Stu asked. “How are you affording to pay extra for hotels? I thought we agreed the cheapest hostels we could find?”

“It's fine,” Noah reiterated. “It's sorted.”

“Yeah, but I'm asking how,” Stu said. “Go on, you can't just show up suddenly fat and rich and expect me not to ask anything. Did you win some kind of million pound eating contest or what?"

“Haha, very funny,” Noah said, rolling his eyes. “It's just, there's this, well there's this guy, alright, and he's said he's happy to pay for us both. Sees it as some enriching experience for us.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘some guy’?” Stu asked, eyes boggling. “I'd have been less confused if you had said it was the eating contest, to be honest.”

Noah tried to look as nonchalant as possible as he fidgeted in his seat. “It's just this guy I know who's happy to give me some money as, you know, charity or a patronage or whatever, for young people to, I don't know, enrich themselves or whatever.”

Stu narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean a charit- wait, patronage?” He leant forward. “Do you have a fucking sugar daddy?” he whispered harshly.

Noah looked around to see if anyone was listening. “Look, he's not a sugar daddy, alright? He's just this older guy who pays for some stuff for me,” he said, cringing at his own words as he said them.

“You mean like a sugar daddy?” Stu pointed out.

“No!” Noah insisted. “He's just this older guy who wants a bit of company sometimes.”

“Like a sugar daddy.”

“Shut up. We don't, you know, we've never fucked or anything,” Noah said. “He's not interested in any of that. It's just conversation.”

“Conversation he pays you for,” Stu said. “Go on then, where did you meet this not-at-all-a-sugar-daddy?”

Noah flushed red. “An app,” he mumbled after a while.

Stu laughed. “And what was this app called exactly?”

Noah sighed. “Okay, it was a fucking sugar daddy app, okay? I've got a sugar daddy.”

Stu cackled. “I fucking knew it!” he yelled, receiving glares in response. “It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?” He shook his head, laughing to himself.

“Yeah, well, you're getting a free holiday out of it, aren't you?” Noah said, slumping down in his seat and pulling some snacks out of his bag.

The two began to eat their way across Europe. Two nights in Paris first, with wine and cheese and bread and fine restaurants. Then Geneva - the original plan was to just spend a few hours there, being too expensive for two poor travelling students, but Dominic's card opened the city and it's restaurants up to them; they booked a hotel for a few of nights of luxury, before moving on to Interlaken.

Noah's gut shook as he pulled his t-shirt off at the side of the lake. Stu whistled and shook his head. Noah laughed and slapped his gut for show; after Stu’s initial shock, he'd gotten used to Noah's larger frame, and the two had settled into an easy rhythm of teasing.

Noah waded into the shallows of the lake and lay back so that he floated with his gut and moobs sticking out of the water in front of him. He closed his eyes, paddled for a moment or two into some clear water further from the shore and lay floating in the sun.

After a while, he heard some splashing and cracked an eye open to see Stu swimming over to him. He allowed himself to sink slightly so that he was treading water and Stu did the same. It was the first time Noah had been swimming since he'd started putting on weight, and he was astonished by how alien it felt. He was so much more buoyant than previously, his fat rising up around him. Each time he moved, he felt the same heaviness and resistance he'd gotten used to on land magnified, his heavier body moving slowly through the water. Noah was happy for the cover of the water and his overhanging gut; the sensations were causing him to get hard in his swimming shorts.

“I think it's time we really need to talk about this mate,” Stu said, gesturing at Noah.

Noah looked down, not seeing anything amiss. “Talk about what?” he asked.

Stu leant forward and poked Noah's gut under the water. “This! Bloody hell, talk about the elephant in the room.”

Noah shrugged. “We've talked about it,” he said.

“Yeah, we've joked about it” Stu agreed. “But we've hardly, I mean, we've not properly talked about it, have we?”

“What's there to talk about?” Noah asked, feigning ignorance. Obviously he knew that Stu would eventually want to ask questions about his shocking weight gain, but it was just so much easier to make jokes about it.

Stu sighed and allowed himself to fall back. Noah noticed that his own small beer belly rose out of the water like Noah's did, though not nearly to the same extent. Noah appreciated the lack of eye-contact the position granted. “Are you alright?” Stu asked. “Like, really alright? Nothing’s wrong?”

Noah floated on his back too, mirroring Stu's position. “Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Really. It's just, being at uni, beer weight and stuff.”

Stu laughed. “No mate. This” he slapped his gut for emphasis, “is beer weight.” He leant over and slapped Noah's much larger gut. “This is a fucking eating disorder.” He was quiet for a while. “It's not, is it? An eating disorder? Or you're not depressed or ill or something?”

“Definitely not depressed or ill,” Noah reassured Stu. He was quiet for a while though. Did he have an eating disorder? He didn't feel like he could control it anymore, that was for sure. “I don't think it's an eating disorder either,” he said after a while. “Like I know I'm not eating normal amounts but…” He paused, gathering courage. “I'm enjoying it, I guess? Eating whatever I like, not worrying about what it's doing to my waistline.”

Stu nodded. “Good,” he said after a while. “Good,” he repeated. The two floated quietly for a while. “Has it got something to do with your sugar daddy?” he asked after a few minutes.

“I don't have a-”

“Yeah, yeah, we've done this bit already,” Stu interrupted Noah. “Whatever, has it got something to do with your older gentleman friend who takes you out to nice restaurants and pays for you to go on holiday and gives you money and who you met on a sugar daddy website but who is not a sugar daddy, somehow?”

Noah huffed. “Why do you ask that?” he asked eventually.

“Because no offense,” Stu replied. “But you're hardly sugar baby material these days, are you?”

“Oi!”

“Look, I'm not saying I am either!” Stu protested. “I'm just saying that the Noah that went off to uni was a little more conventionally sugar baby material, and the one that I'm interrailing with is a bit more high-blood-sugar baby.”

“You've been saving that one up, haven't you?” Noah said.

“Thought of it the other day,” Stu said, the pride evident in his voice. “But it is, isn't it? Your sugar daddy likes you with a bit more padding.”

Noah sighed. No point denying it, really. “Yes,” he admitted. “We started going out for these massive dinners and he'd send me treats and pay for all my food shops and then after a while, Dom told me that-”

“Fuck off!” Stu yelled, twisted to tread water again and face Noah. “You do not call your sugar daddy ‘Dom’!”

“That's his actual name you twat,” Noah said, moving to tread water as well. “Anyway, Dom- Dominic eventually said that he liked that I'd put on some weight and…”

“And what?” Stu said, filling the gap Noah had left. “He started paying you to get fat?” Noah held his breath. “Oh my god, he's paying you to get fat, isn't he?”

Noah clenched his teeth. “It's not… It's not prostitution or anything,” he said. “He pays for food and takes me for dinner, I've put on some weight because I'm eating well, he likes me bigger. It’s- I mean it's separate things, you know? He's not giving me money to get fat, he's giving me money because I am fat.”

Stu laughed. “You can fucking say that again,” he said. “Alright, alright, you're not the heftiest whore in Halifax, fine, whatever you say.”

“I've never been to Halifax,” Noah pointed out.

“Alliteration, innit?” Stu said. “Go on then, how much does he pay you?” Stu asked quietly, moving toward Noah a little, seemingly forgetting how loud their conversation was just moments prior.

Noah shifted uncomfortably. “Hundred pounds for every pound, or well, we usually do a grand for ten,” he said.

Stu almost sank under the water in shock, and came back up coughing. “Fuck off! A grand for ten pounds?” He realised how loud he was being and looked around at the people swimming away from them towards the shore. “Go on then, how much have you earned?” he asked, much quieter.

Noah sighed. “Ten grand,” he said.

Stu’s eyes went wide. “Ten gra- that's, No, mate, I mean, that's a hundred pounds,” he whispered. “What's that in stone?”

Noah tilted his head back and winced. “Seven or so,” he said. He looked up at Stu. “I wanted to pay for the trip, you know, but I spent some of it on a car, and then a bit into savings, and then,” he floated back and sighed. “Fuck me, last time I saw him, he said he'd pay for everything. That he didn't want me spending the money I'd saved up.”

Stu almost sank beneath the surface again as he laughed. “So you've put on, and I'm going to slow down for this bit, you've put on one hundred actual pounds to earn ten grand to not spend around Europe?”

“Well, see,” Noah said, placing a hand thoughtfully on the ledge of his gut. “No. Well, yes. But no. If I hadn't put on a hundred pounds, he wouldn't have offered to pay. One way or another, I needed to get fat to go interrailing.”

Stu’s eyes went wide. “Fuck,” he said. “You're right, you know.” He reached his hands out and placed them on Noah's gut. Noah’s cock twitched beneath his gut at the touch, and he hoped Stu hadn't noticed. “I reckon you didn't actually need ten grand either way though.”

Noah sighed and closed his eyes. “I know, I know,” he agreed. “I can't control my appetite anymore. After I bought the car I kind of thought I could just do with two or three grand, but then…” He motioned down at himself.

“One hundred pounds later,” Stu finished for him. They were both quiet for a while, until Stu laughed to himself. “Here, I don't reckon he'd pay me to putting on weight as well, do you?”

“Fuck off,” Noah said, laughing. When Stu didn't respond, just carrying on looking questioningly, Noah continued. “You're not serious?” he asked. “You'd want to get fat for a few grand.”

Stu shrugged. “Why not? You've done it and you were a shrimp at school. I'd blow you out of the water.”

Noah laughed. “Oh you would, would you?”

Stu nodded. “Absolutely,” he said. “And yeah, why not? I could put on some weight. I can barely keep it off anyway, especially the way you've been making me fucking eat on this trip, might as well make some cash while I do it.”

“The way I've been making you eat? You were planning on doing weight watchers before, were you?” Noah asked. “Anyway, you're too skinny for him,” he said. “And you're not even gay anyway!”

Stu laughed. “Well not being gay doesn't matter if there's no funny business, right?” Noah grumbled at having gotten caught out. “Alright, alright big guy,” he said, raising his hands up. “I won't steal your sugar daddy.” He laughed again.

After Interlaken, the two of them went north to Germany, first to Munich, which they experienced by slowly wandering from beer hall to beer hall all day, taking in history and culture largely incidentally to the beer, sausages and bread they consumed. Then north again to Berlin, where Noah was disheartened to find Stu had actually planned non-eating based activities for the two of them.

“Fuck me, but it's good to get off my feet,” Noah said as he shuffled into a booth at a restaurant on their first evening. He was surprised at the way the table of the booth bumped into the crest of his gut. “I’m starved,” he told Stu, who shook his head.

“You've been eating all day,” Stu pointed out.

“Hardly!” Noah protested. “Okay, so we had lunch-”

“Two lunches,” Stu pointed out.

“Then we went to that currywurst stall, and that's it,” Noah said.

“We went to three currywurst stalls.”

“Whatever,” Noah said, finding himself growing irritable as his stomach growled at him. “That was hours ago. And besides, I've been on my feet all day!”

Stu laughed. “So have I!”

“Yeah well you're not…” Noah grumbled quietly.

“Go on,” Stu said as a grin spread across his face. “I'm not what?”

“Not as bloody fat as me, are you?” Noah said, blushing. The two hadn't talked again about Noah's weight since Interlaken, even to joke about it. Noah got the impression that Stu was waiting for him to bring it up.

Stu laughed. “He finally admits it!”

“Well I can hardly bloody hide it at this point, can I?” Noah snapped. Despite having talked about it, Noah still couldn't help feeling embarrassed about how far he'd let himself go. “Look, sorry, I'm just hangry,” he apologised. He passed a menu over to Stu. “Let’s order, yeah?”

“Don't worry about it mate,” Stu said. “I've been on the receiving end of fat jokes for years, it's nice that someone else can take over for once.” He looked at the menu for a while. “I'll probably just go for a burger. Fancy a starter?”

“Yeah, I'll probably do the same,” he said absentmindedly. “Couple of starters, couple of burgers, couple of sides.”

“Fucking hell mate,” Stu laughed.

“What?”

“I don't even think you know how much you're eating these days, do you?” Stu asked. “I said I might get a starter and a burger, you mentally double it and add extras. And I bet you'll want a döner on the way back."

Noah blushed. “Yeah, alright, I get it,” he mumbled. “I should start cutting back.”

“No, I don't mean…” Stu considered for a moment. “Maybe I could have a second burger too, you know? You're right, we have been walking about all day.”

Noah raised an eyebrow and smiled to himself. He'd noticed Stu doing this a lot - pushing himself beyond what he initially wanted to eat, trying to match Noah bite for bite. Each time Noah suggested they stop for street food, or grab a quick dessert or even extra meal, Stu would protest, and then quietly acquiesce. He never managed to keep up with Noah of course, but he made a valiant effort nonetheless. Noah was starting to wonder if Stu felt threatened - he'd been the big guy for years, and now previously skinny Noah was running rings around him. Metaphorically of course - Noah struggled to run anywhere these days.

“No, no,” Noah teased. “If you can't manage it, just order the one.”

Stu bristled. “I can manage two easy,” he insisted. “I think you're right about a couple of sides as well, those onion rings look good. If you want to just get one, you go ahead.”

Noah shrugged. “Maybe I should just order one,” he agreed. “After all, I'll end up having to eat your second one for you anyway.”

Stu’s mouth dropped open, before he hurriedly hailed a waiter and proceeded to order double what he wanted.

After Berlin, Prague and its cheap beer, roast meat and heavy dumplings. Noah discovered a love for a dessert of a tower of pastry filled with cream, which he would eat non-stop between beers and snacks.

Then east, on an overnight train to Warsaw, where the two men had to convince two Spaniards to allow them to sleep on the bottom bunk - Noah in particular was concerned that the berth might not take his girth. Poland brought more heavy food and more beer. South, after Warsaw, to Krakow for a few days, and then continuing on, through Slovakia to Hungary, and Budapest.

“You need bigger clothes mate,” Noah told Stu, poking the sliver of fat hanging out the bottom of his t-shirt as they left the train.

“Says you!” Stu retorted, grabbing Noah's much larger wedge of fat at the bottom of his t-shirt. “And you broke that button in Warsaw.”

“Yeah, well, this is the biggest I have right now,” Noah said. “You could at least start wearing my clothes.”

Stu patted his gut and sighed. “You think it's that bad?” he asked.

“Oh fuck off,” Noah said, elbowing Stu in his side.

“I'm serious!” Stu said. “I'm not the size you were when we left are you?”

Noah looked him up and down. “Probably not far off mate,” he told him. “Catching me up.”

Stu laughed and slapped Noah's gut. “I think I'm still a while off that, don't you worry. You've not exactly been losing weight either, have you.”

“I suppose you're right,” Noah said, caressing the soft fat spilling out the bottom of his t-shirt, and doing his best to ignore his hardening and confusing erection.

“I kind of get it, though,” Stu said, as the two crammed into the back seat of a taxi.

“Get what?” Noah said, his mouth full of a chocolate bar.

“I kind of get why you like it,” Stu clarified. “Being fat.”

“Fuck off,” Noah blustered. “I don't- what do you- I don't like being fat.”

“Okay, fine, whatever,” Stu appeased him. “I get why you like eating so much then, and not giving a shit about the consequences.” Neither said anything for a few moments. “It feels kind of manly though, doesn't it?”

Noah looked over and then quickly looked away again to pretend he hadn't seen Stu's hard-on in his too tight trousers. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “Really manly. And soft. To touch I mean. It feels good.”

“Yeah,” Stu said, growing quiet. “It’s nice. How soft it is.”

“Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, you know,” Noah said. “To gain-”

At that moment the taxi arrived at their hotel, and the driver thrust a card reader in their faces. Noah dutifully tapped Dominic's card and the two collected their suitcases.

Noah lay in his pants on the bed of their hotel room while Stu had a shower.

“They've got a scale,” Stu called through the bathroom door.

“A what?”

“A scale,” Stu repeated, sticking his head through the door. “You know, for weighing yourself.”

Noah clambered off the bed, doing his best not to show how excited he was. “Go on then,” he told Stu. “You first, what's the damage.”

Stu stood with a towel wrapped around his waist, water still dripping down his body hair, around the curve of his gut. He nudged the scale with a toe to turn it on then, swallowed nervously and then stepped on.

“It's in kilograms,” he said. “I don't really…”

“What does it say?” Noah asked, grabbing his phone.

“One hundred and twenty.”

Noah typed the number into Google and showed Stu the result. “Two hundred and sixty five pounds,” he told him. “A little under nineteen stone.”

“Fuck me,” Stu said. “That's almost two stone since we left.” Noah once again did his best to act like he didn't notice the growing bulge of Stu’s erection. “Go on,” he told Noah. “You next.”

Noah stood on the scales and sucked in his gut to see the numbers.

“What does it say?” Stu asked.

“Just give me a moment,” Noah said, typing the conversion into Google. “I'm just… oh fuck me.”

“What? How much is it?”

“Three hundred and thirteen,” Noah said. “I weigh three hundred and thirteen pounds.” He lifted his gut and let go, watching as it bounced and rippled. “I've put on forty pounds.” He did his best to stop his own growing hard-on.

Stu gave a low whistle. “No wonder none of your clothes are fitting.” He reached out and ran a hand over Noah's belly, before raising his hand to his chest and lightly lifting a moob. “And we've still got a while before we go back. It uh…” He swallowed hard. “It looks good on you though mate. Like we were saying in the taxi, you know. Manly.”

Noah nodded. “You too,” he said. He reached a hand out and placed it on Stu’s own gut.

Stu abruptly walked away, back into the room, and started hurriedly getting changed.

“You alright mate?” Noah asked, confused about the sudden change in demeanor.

“Yeah, why wouldn't I be?” Stu said, determinedly facing away from Noah. Noah saw him adjust crotch.

“No reason,” Noah said. He reached down to pin his own cock underneath his overhang, hiding it as best he could.

“Right then,” Stu said, pulling on some of Noah's trousers and a t-shirt. “Let's go buy you some new clothes then.”

Stu remained frosty for most of Budapest, but slowly thawed as they prepared to leave for Zagreb. Noah filled the awkward silences with eating. After a few days in Zagreb, by the end of which Stu was as cheery as ever and acting like the incident in the bathroom had never happened, they ventured further south, to their final stop in Split.

Noah laughed as he tried and failed to pull on his swimming shorts. They were skin tight on his thighs, and he could just about force them to cover his cock, but his arse hung out the back and his pubes and plush fat pad spilled out the top. “We forgot to buy me new trunks when I bought new clothes!” he called through the connecting door between his and Stu’s rooms. “Oh, I look fucking ridiculous, I don't give a shit, I'm coming to show you. Prepare for some not-quite full frontal!” The two had seen each other naked before, and had grown accustomed to each others growing bodies after sharing hotel rooms for weeks, particularly as they outgrew their clothes, so he knew Stu wouldn't mind. “Here, I bet you'll need to borrow mine will you?”

He waddled through the door, still laughing, but abruptly stopped when he saw Stu.

“Yeah, yeah, I reckon I will have to borrow yours,” Stu said, seemingly in a daze. Rather than squeezing himself into too his small trunks, he held them in one hand while he stood naked facing Noah. His cock stood proud beneath the fold of his gut.

“Stu, I… are you okay?” Noah asked

“Look what you've done to me mate,” Stu said, shaking his gut, making his cock follow suit.

“I'm not sure what you…”

“I know I used to be chubby,” Stu said. He squeezed his gut and massaged it. “I know I put on some weight at uni. But fuck me Noah. Why did we have to eat so much?”

“Why don't we get you a dressing gown mate, yeah?” Noah said, walking into the room tentatively.

“I'm not gay,” Stu said, stopping his groping of his gut.

“Yeah,” Noah said. “I know mate. I know you're not gay. Here's some shorts look, let's get them on, yeah?” He was starting to worry that Stu might be having some kind of breakdown.

Stu reached out and grabbed Noah's gut, slipping a thumb into his deep belly button. “It just feels so good doesn't it?” he said. “Manly. Like we said.”

“Stu, what are you-”

Stu leaned in and kissed Noah on the lips. Noah hesitated for moment before leaning into it. Stu hooked his fingers around the waistband of Noah's swim shorts and pulled them down.

“I'm not gay,” Stu whispered. “Just two blokes, appreciating what it feels like to be fat, yeah?”

“Stu, I don't think that-” Noah said.

“Oh, shut the fuck up fatty,” Stu said and pushed him down onto the bed, before climbing up onto his gut.

Twenty minutes later, the two lay panting and covered in cum.

“Its sweatier, when you're fat,” Stu panted.

“Like everything else you mean?” Noah replied.

“Noah mate,” Stu said.

“Yeah mate?”

“I think I might be a bit gay mate,” Stu said.

“You might be a bit gay mate, yeah,” Noah agreed.

Three weeks later, Noah stood in Dominic's bathroom on some weighing scales.

“Three hundred and twenty-two!” Dominic beamed. “Europe was kind to you, little fox. I'll get the five thousand sent over now.”

“Twenty-two…” Noah stuttered. “I was only three-thirteen in Budapest.” He looked down at the slope of his gut. No matter his and Stu’s newfound appreciate for their figures, this was all going a bit too far.

“Well, your gain is my loss, eh, little fox?” Dominic said. “You know, I was following your bank transactions while you were away. I saw how much you were spending on food, but I really never hoped that you might have grown quite so handsomely.” He clapped a hand on Noah's rounded shoulders and led him back to the dining room. “Fifty pounds since I last saw you! Tell me, how does it feel?”

Noah sat gingerly down in his seat. “It feels, well, you know. Heavy I guess.”

Dominic’s smile wavered. “And you are enjoying it, aren't you?”

Noah looked up. “I mean. It's all a lot. I’m like, what twenty three stone now? That's… that's a lot.”

“But you were saying,” Dominic said. “How manly it felt? How your friend also put on weight? How it brought you closer together?”

Noah nodded slowly. “I just think maybe it's all a bit much. I kind of thought I'd slow down after Europe. Stu has, I bet,” he said.

“Well, we can talk about that after dinner, can't we?” Dominic said nervously. “I've asked chef to make all of your favourites.”

Noah dutifully ate everything that was put in front of him, but he felt a pit growing in his stomach even as it filled to bursting. When he was with Stu, eating was fun, they joked, they laughed, they shared in the experience. This was… different. Dominic barely ate at all, just watched Noah as he pushed obscene amounts of food into his gut. Dominic spoke, but it was all one-way, like Noah was in a lecture or a particularly dry stand-up routine.

As Noah prepared to leave, stuffed beyond reason and his walk reduced to a waddle, he turned to Dominic.

“Thank you for tonight,” he said. “And for everything. I just…” He paused for a moment to belch and gather his thoughts. “I don't think I should carry on meeting you, for a little bit.”

Dominic’s face fell. “Is something the matter?” he said. “Did I say something wrong perhaps during dinner? Maybe if you could tell me I'll be able to explain, add some context.”

Noah shook his head. “It wasn't tonight,” he said. “It's everything. I really… I don't think I should put on any more weight. Thank you, but I think I've got enough money right now.”

“Oh, if that's all!” Dominic said, forcing a smile onto his face. “No need to put on any weight, eh? You can take a little break. No reason we can't keep on meeting, eh little fox? And if you happen to put on a little more weight, well then, I could send you some more money, eh? Maybe we could increase our rate a little?”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Noah said. He slid a hand into his tight pocket and pulled his wallet out. “Here,” he said, passing Dominic his card back. “You should have this.”

Dominic pushed the card back towards him. “By no means!” he said. His eyes were a little panicked. “You keep that, don't you worry. Its just a little thing, I really don’t notice it. Yes, you keep that and carry on using it.” He put the card back in Noah's wallet for him. “No need to still meet if you don't want to, but you keep the card. Don't you worry about a thing.”

Noah shrugged and slipped his wallet back into his pocket. “Fine,” he said. No use arguing. As he left he vowed not to put on any more weight.

“You've put on weight!” Stu said gleefully as he pulled Noah's shirt off and threw it on his bed. It was the first time Noah had managed to visit his boyfriend since the start of their second years of uni, and he'd dragged Noah up to his bedroom as soon as he'd arrived.

“That noticeable, is it?” he sighed.

“Oh absolutely,” he said, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking. He looked up after a while when he noticed Noah wasn't reciprocating his enthusiasm. “You're not still upset about it, are you? I told you how much I'm loving the new bigger Noah.”

Noah flopped down on the bed, wincing at the loud creaks and groans that issued forth. “It's just all a bit fast still,” he said. Stu sidled up the bed and lay next to Noah. “I just can't stop eating at all, you know? Like I've tried to cut back but I still just put on more and more weight.”

“Do you know how much you’re weighing at the moment?” Stu asked, trying to sound sympathetic but doing nothing to hide his excitement.

Noah shook his head. “My scales only go up to three hundred,” he explained. “I had to buy all new clothes last week though.”

“Did you put it all on Dom’s card?” Stu asked.

Noah nodded and sighed. “I should get rid of it, shouldn't I? As long as I've got it, I'm going to keep using it to buy stupid amounts of food.”

“Come on, don't be silly. It's free money Noah. Literal free money,” Stu reasoned. “Look, in a few months Dom will either get the message that you're not going to see him again and cancel the card, or if he's as rich as you reckon he is, he’ll never notice the money and just completely forget while he moves on to fattening up the next sexy young thing.”

“You think so?” Noah asked.

“I know so,” Stu said. “Come on, let's order an Indian and make your sugar daddy pay for it. I'm practically wasting away over here having to pay for my own food.” He slapped his own gut, still the same size as when the two came back from Europe.

Noah looked back at the message from Dominic again.

Merry Christmas. It would be good to see you again for a drink. I'd like to give you a present.

Noah knew he shouldn't, but he didn't like the thought of taking the old man for a ride. He was still using his card and his guilt was mounting. Maybe, Noah reasoned, if he saw Dominic this one last time, he could draw a line under this whole thing.

He entered the pub and looked around, finding Dominic quickly.

“Little fox!” Dominic cried as Noah lumbered up to his table. Noah could smell the whiskey on Dominic's breath as he pulled him in for a hug. Noah pulled away and sat down.

“Well well well little fox,” Dominic slurred. “Not so little anymore, eh?”

“Not been little for a while now Dom,” Noah said. His shirt, one of the biggest he owned, pulled tight around his gut, the buttons straining around his belly button.

“No, I don't suppose you have, have you?” Dominic smiled for a moment. “A drink! You'll be wanting a drink. I'll go and…” He left the sentence hanging in the air as he stumbled away from his table and towards the bar.

He returned ten minutes later with a pint of Guinness, a glass of whiskey and several packets of crisps. Noah put his phone away.

“I don't really drink Guinness Dom,” Noah said.

“Nonsense!” Dominic cried. “Big boy like you, must love a Guinness! I know that I-” He was interrupted by a loud hiccup that made him lose his train of thought.

Despite Dominic being drunk, Noah thought, it wasn't all too different from any other time they'd met up. Noah plowed his way through an endless train of packets of crisps and pints of Guinness while Dominic told him rambling stories about the glory days of the Tory party. The only difference was that Dominic’s stories were occasionally cut short by him losing his train of thought, and Noah didn't feel the need to pretend to be listening, instead spending much of the evening texting Stu.

Eventually, Noah decided that he'd put in his time, and he was fine to leave. He stood up, pulling his coat around him.

“Little fox!” Dominic cried, almost spilling his current glass of whiskey. “You're not leaving are you, my little fox?”

“It's been nice catching up Dom,” Noah said gruffly. “I should go.”

“I haven't given you your present yet though!” Dominic mumbled, rummaging through his jacket pockets until he pulled out a box.

Noah gritted his teeth. Did he really want one more thing to be in this man's debt over? Still, no use throwing away what was bound to be an expensive gift.

He took the box, opened it, and gasped. Inside lay a vintage Rolex.

“1974. Certified of course,” Dominic said with a lopsided smile. “I got them to add a couple of links to the chain for you, but other than that, all original and in pristine condition.”

Noah gawped for a few moments. He didn't know much about watches, but he knew enough to know the one in front of him would have cost tens of thousands of pounds.

“This is very generous Dom,” he said slowly. “I didn't get you anything I'm afraid.”

Dominic waved his whiskey glass. “No need! No need! I'm very happy to support a young man blossoming into adulthood.” He took a drink and leered over his glass. “How much are you weighing these days, little fox, eh? At least a little more than the last time I saw you.”

Noah's grip tightened on the box in his hand. “I'm not sure,” he said. “I haven't weighed myself since I last saw you.”

Dominic stood up unsteadily and began to pull on his coat. “Well my house isn't far, little fox. Why don't you come back and weigh yourself, hmm?”

“I'm not sure that's a good idea Dom,” Noah said. “I should get going.”

“Oh, what's the harm?” Dominic slurred. “You could make, what? Two, three thousand pounds? All you'd need to do is come back for five minutes and stand on some scales.” Dominic leant forward. “Why don't we increase our rate, eh? Ten thousand for ten pounds? I won't notice it little fox, you might as well take it from me.”

Noah hesitated before giving a small nod. He wasn't about to throw away tens of thousands of pounds over some pride.

Dominic's house wasn't far, but between Noah's slow, heavy gait and Dominic's drunken swaying, it was ten minutes before Noah was stood in Dominic's bathroom. His coat was still on, at his own insistence. He would come in, weigh himself, and then leave. Dom swept his arm towards the scales like a magician, and Noah stepped on. He leant forward, trying to see past his gut. Dom grinned, leant forward and then giggled.

“Three hundred and fifty-six pounds, little fox,” he told Noah. “Not too shabby, eh?”

Noah stepped back. Despite himself, he grew hard. He thought about how Stu would react when he told him.

“Right then,” Noah said gruffly. “What's that then? Thirty grand?”

“I am a man of my word,” Dominic said. He clumsily pressed a few buttons on his phone and Noah felt his own phone buzz. He didn't bother checking it.

“Right, I'll be off then,” Noah said. He tried to do up his coat, before remembering how far the buttons were from meeting.

“Not quite yet,” Dominic said. Noah sighed.

“What is it n-” Noah was cut off as Dominic leant forward and kissed him on the lips. Noah pulled away but Dominic followed him, stepping forward with him, gripping onto Noah's coat and trying to stick his tongue into Noah's mouth.

Noah pushed Dominic away as hard as he could, and he fell to the floor. Noah turned away and barrelled down the stairs as some servants appeared, rushing to Dominic. Noah didn't bother closing the door as he left.

I'd like to apologise for my behaviour before Christmas. the text read. I know I don't deserve it, but perhaps one final meeting? Somewhere public, with no alcohol involved.

Noah sat waiting in the cafe, a hot chocolate with cream and two slices of cake in front of him. He tapped his foot impatiently.

“Noah, I’m glad you came.”

Noah looked up to see Dominic. He didn't say anything, just nodded to the seat across from him.

“I only came to give you this back. I don't want it anymore,” Noah said, passing Dominic's card across the table. “You can have everything else back as well, if you like.”

“They're yours,” Dominic said. “All of them. Given without any intention other than as a gift.” Noah scoffed. Dominic looked at the bank card in front of him for a moment, as if considering refusing it. After a while he picked it up and slipped it into his pocket. “I owe you an explanation.”

“No explanation necessary,” Noah said, taking a large bite of cake. “You've got a fat fetish and too much money, and you found the one person stupid enough to go along with it.*

Dominic sighed. “I suppose that's true, in a way.” He took out his phone and showed Noah a photo. “This is me, when I was your age.”

The man in the photo looked eerily similar to Noah before he'd met Dominic. Tall, skinny, ginger, even the face shape looked the same. Noah looked up at Dominic, seeing the same nose, same mouth, same eyes as the photo in front of him.

“When I saw you on that app,” Dominic began. “It was like looking into a time capsule. I thought, well, I had to message you. And then we met, and it was like revisiting my youth and…” Dominic sighed wistfully. “Your appetite. Even then, it was astonishing. And, well I…”

He swiped on his phone to show another photo. This time it was more obviously the Dominic that Noah had come to know; he was in his forties, perhaps, with his hair not quite as receded and showing flashes of red mixed in with the grey. The main difference was that the Dominic in the photo was enormously fat - perhaps even fatter than Noah was now, he thought.

“That was me six years ago,” Dominic explained. “I had a heart attack a little after that photo. The doctors said I needed to lose weight or I'd have another and another until...” He sighed and leant back to show his body with its small beer belly. “So I lost all of it. Most of it, at least. All of that weight I'd put on, gone. You know how good it feels Noah, don't you?”

Noah paused, then nodded. “It does feel amazing.”

“Well, I thought I could live through you a little. Get you to put on some weight, incentivise it for you, help you along, gain vicariously through you,” Dom explained. “Well, you took to it better than I was expecting. I thought I could add a beer belly to your frame, relive my younger years. I really did never think you'd get so big. I'm sorry.”

“I… I don't mind it," Noah admitted. “Being big. So big. I like it even. And it wasn't all you. You weren't the one feeding me boosts and getting me McDonald's breakfasts every morning. And at some point, even I knew I could stop, and I just… didn't.”

“Regardless,” Dominic said. “You've now reached almost exactly the weight I was when I had my heart attack. And, oh my dear boy, at such a young age.” His eyes were sad. “I said a long time ago that I'd pay to help you lose weight, if you wanted it. That offer still stands. Nutritionists, personal trainers, anything.”

Noah shook his head. “I don't think my boyfriend would forgive me,” he joked.

Dominic smiled for a moment. “I'm always surprised by how common my strange little predilection for the larger gentleman really is.” He looked down at his hands. “I should apologise for my behaviour as well.”

Noah tensed. “You were drunk, it's…”

“No, not for… well yes, for that night certainly,” Dominic said. “But for all the other nights as well. I’m rather afraid I never really cared about you. Not really. I treated you like a toy. Something I could play with and pay for and control. I never listened to you, I never took an interest in your life. I just fed you and talked at you.”

Noah shrugged. “I mean, yeah.”

“I'm sorry,” Dominic said. “And, yes, for that night in December. I acted abominably. There's no excuse.” He stood up. “That's all I wanted to say.” He put his coat on. “I’ve been to the bank and asked them to transfer three point five million pounds into your account.”

Noah choked on a mouthful of cake. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Three point five million,” Dominic said. “One final payment. Ten thousand pounds for each pound of your body.”

“I don't understand,” Noah said slowly.

“Like I said, I pushed all of this too far. You're the size I was when I could go no further and… I wanted to give you an amount that is actually fitting for that accomplishment, not those piddling amounts I was giving before,” Dominic said. “I also wanted you to not rely on me anymore. I appreciate that you needed my money, and I don't want you or I in that position anymore. It's not fair.”

“But… millions,” Noah exclaimed. “That's too much, I can't.”

“I still don't think you understand how wealthy I am,” Dominic said. “I won't notice a few million pounds. At all. It's a drop in the ocean. Take it, it's yours.” He sighed. “This way, you'll never feel like you might need to meet up with me again, and I'll not feel like I can have power over you. Goodbye Noah.”

“Goodbye Dominic.”

Noah took some pride in the way that the restaurant’s floorboards creaked slightly and other patrons’ glasses shook as he passed, and he noticed that most people turned to look at him. He could hardly blame them of course; while he’d stopped weighing himself religiously, he knew he was somewhere north of 450 pounds a few months ago and as such was the largest person in the room - in most rooms, usually - by quite some margin.

“We have some tables over here,” the waiter paused to look Noah up and down. “That you might find more suitable.”

Noah grinned. Nowadays “suitable” was usually a more polite way of saying “less likely to be crushed into splinters underneath you, fatty”. Sure enough, the chairs the waiter pulled away from the table looked like a different design to the others around the restaurant.

Stu sank into the chair opposite him. “I came here with some clients the other day, I didn't get brought over to the fat boy chairs,” he grumbled.

Noah patted his gut and smiled. “Well, what are you weighing at these days? Three hundred and twenty?"

“Three hundred and thirty, actually,” Stu corrected him.

“There you are then!” Noah said. “Put on another hundred-something pounds and maybe people will start giving you some respect.”

“I'm not sure it's respect they're giving you,” Stu said with a wink. “And no thank you, I'm very content watching you blow up to gigantic proportions.”

“Oh I know you are,” Noah said smugly. He leant in and lowered his voice. “Maybe this evening I can give you a special viewing of-”

Stu cut him off with a cough as the waiter arrived.

“Are you ready to order gentlemen?”

“Some champagne to drink,” Noah replied. “The best you have.”

“Ah, celebrating, sirs?” the waiter asked.

Noah and Stu smiled at each other. Their company had just made its first ten million, and Noah thought it was fitting that they celebrated at the restaurant he'd first met Dominic at; while he'd not spoken to him since he'd received that lump sum that had allowed him to start his business, he was still grateful for everything that he'd made possible.

“You could say so,” Noah replied to the waiter. “I don't think we’re sure about mains yet, but to start we’ll, let's see…”

He opened the menu and started listing anything and everything that caught his eye. He ordered enough for a table of ten without even thinking twice.

“I see,” the waiter said once Noah had stopped listing food. “Would you like that all brought out at the same time?”

“Stagger it a bit, if you could,” Stu said. “Give us a chance to get through it.” He looked at the menu briefly. “And then for mains,” he paused to smile as the waiter’s eyebrows flew up, “I'll have the full rack of ribs.”

“Oh, that sounds good,” Noah said. “I'll have the same.”

“Very good sirs,” the waiter said.

As the third round of plates got taken away, a familiar voice called over.

“Noah? Is that you?”

Noah looked up to see Dominic and another man being sat at the next table. Dominic looked the same as ever; a few more wrinkles perhaps, a little slimmer. His dining partner was older than Noah would have expected, the same age as Dominic, maybe a little younger. Noah wasn't surprised by the man's size, which looked to be somewhere in between Stu and Noah.

“Dom!” Noah said, smiling. “What a coincidence!”

“Dom?” Stu whispered. “As in high-blood-sugar daddy Dom?” Despite Stu’s lowered tone, Dominic clearly heard as he frowned at him after.

“Ah, yes, well. Noah, this is my fiancé Eric,” he said, gesturing to his companion. “Eric, this is Noah. We used to… well. This is the young man I was telling you about that I used to have a, uhh, an arrangement with a few years ago.”

Stu stood and shook both of their hands. Noah, far less nimble, neglected to stand, and instead offered his hand from his seated position. “This is Stuart,” he told them. “My partner.”

“Is that life partner or business partner?” Dominic asked. “I've heard quite a bit on the grapevine about how well your ventures have been doing.”

“Both, as it happens,” Noah said. “We’re here celebrating actually. Big milestone.”

“Well I'm glad to hear it,” Dominic said, warmly. “Well, we won't disturb you, we can ask to be put somewhere else.”

“Don't be silly,” Noah said, waving towards the table next to them as he caught sight of the waiters panicked look over at Eric.

“Well, if you're sure,” Dominic said as he settled in at the table. “I see you've kept up quite the voracious appetite,” he told Noah.

Noah smiled widely and leant back to show off as much of his expanse as he could. “I've got you to thank for that,” he told Dominic. “I've got quite a fair bit to thank you for, really.” He meant it genuinely. For all the oddness in their past, he wouldn't be half the man if they hadn't met, in more ways than one.

Dominic smiled sadly. “Yes well, I… I should apologise really,” he said. “I took advantage of my wealth and power to put you into a position that I imagine you'd rather not have been in.”

Noah waved him off. “Turns out I rather enjoyed the effects,” he said.

“Still,” Dominic insisted. “I'd like to apologise.”

“Consider it accepted,” Noah said. “Maybe we could get back in touch?” he suggested. “As equals this time.”

Dominic smiled warmly. “Yes, I think I'd enjoy that.”

#weight gain #gaining fiction #gainer fiction #gainer story #weight gain story #male weight gain #wg story #weight gain fiction #sugar daddy

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thegainingdesk · 16 days

Text

Two Night Stand

Just as Howard had guessed, the young man was loitering in the changing rooms when he entered. He'd seen the slim man watching him his entire set, changing from treadmill to elliptical to standing bike to keep a clear eyeline to Howard at all times.

Howard wasn't surprised, exactly. He'd found that he attracted more than a fair few men as he'd put on weight these past few years, and the gym was the perfect place to show off his developing figure. He couldn't exactly boast a powerlifter build, per se, but he had enough muscle underneath all the fat that he could show off how much weight he could lift, and enough to keep most of his fat in a firm, round gut at his center with comparatively less flab elsewhere on his body. Coupled with a thick dark beard and a thick pelt of coarse body hair, he often had twinks lining up for the opportunity to call him ‘daddy’; not something he was thrilled about at the grand age of thirty-four, but also not something he was in a rush to correct anyone wanting to fuck him over.

Howard made a show of getting changed and faced out into the changing rooms towards the young man, giving him a clear view of the spectacle. He lifted his shirt up slowly, allowing the hem to drag itself up over the curve of his gut, revealing the dark swirls of hair covering the mound of fat and his deep belly button. Once the shirt slid off his gut and Howard pulled it over his head, he looked over to see the man looking directly at him. He winked and the man hurriedly looked away; Howard made sure to maintain eye-contact, making sure to catch him each time he gave another quick glance. Howard reached down and hefted his gut a few times before reaching down further and giving his package a squeeze; that caught the man's attention alright, and this time he held his gaze, staring intently at Howard's gut.

“Not getting changed yourself then?” Howard called across the changing room.

The young man swallowed hard, before lifting up his shirt to reveal a tight, thin torso, with the faint outline of a six pack and a fine dusting of hair. He was about Howard's height, just slightly shorter than average, but more wiry than Howard had ever been, with prominent ribs and collar bones, and a prominent Adam's apple. Despite his short height, he was so thin he almost looked lanky. He was handsome, Howard thought; dark blond hair, a crooked smile and a nose that looked like it had been broken and not set properly at some point. “Just catching my breath,” the man replied.

Howard smirked and bent to pull down his shorts. He tried to make it sexy, but honestly, these days it was a struggle just to bend down around his gut and his shorts caught on his thick thighs, making him shimmy them down unceremoniously. By the time he stood back up, panting softly, the young man’s long erection was tenting his own shorts obviously.

Howard reached down and adjusted his balls in his boxers, partly for show, partly genuinely for comfort. “Fancy joining me in the showers?” he said casually. “I’m finding I've been getting really sweaty recently.” He felt himself growing hard. He knew he'd lost a few inches to his expanding fat pad, and he'd not been able to see his own cock under his gut for years, but he knew he still boasted an impressive manhood.

“I uhh… okay.” The man's voice came out high-pitched and strained. He coughed and tried again, deeper this time. “Yes, I mean. I'd like that.”

“I'm Howard,” Howard introduced himself as he walked past the man and around the corner to the showers.

“Guy,” the man answered. Howard could hear him follow behind him obediently.

“Nice to meet you Guy,” Howard said, turning on one of the shower heads and pulling his pants off. He handed them to Guy, who held them, dumbstruck for a moment, before lifting them up to his face and sniffing deeply. “You like this gut, Guy?”

Guy nodded, not taking Howard's boxers away from his face. His eyes were trained downwards; Howard knew that from this angle, his gut covered his crotch almost entirely, so he must be staring at his fat.

Howard stepped back into the stream of water, and rivulets began to flow over his tits, round his gut, down his rounded thighs and calves. “Would you like to touch this gut, Guy?”

Guy hurried to throw down Howard's boxers and pull his own shorts and underwear down; he was so hard and the motion so fast that his dick slapped up and hit his abs with a soft thwack. He stepped forward and ran his hands across Howard's love handles, squeezing them and using his fingers to dapple the soft skin and the fat underneath. He slipped his fingers beneath, into the crease above Howard's hips, and leant down to place one of Howard's nipples in his mouth, sucking for a few moments.

He pulled away. “You're so…” he began. He leant back in, kissing Howard's neck, his shoulders, his chin. Each kiss was paired with a small poke from Guy's fingers; Howard realised he was searching for pockets of fat around his body.

“Big?” Howard whispered. “Heavy? Wide? Manly?”

“Fat,” Guy finished. “You're so fat.”

Howard chuckled. “And you like that, do you? You like how fat I am?” Guy nodded. “Why don't you show me how much you like it then?” Howard nodded past his gut, down towards his crotch. Guy looked around nervously. “Now you're nervous?” Howard asked. “Don’t worry, most people rush straight off after the gym at this time. Besides, everyone knows this is the gay hookup gym, no-one would bat an eyelash.”

Guy swallowed hard and Howard licked his lips at the sight of his large Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his wiry neck. He looked around once more, nodded nervously, and sunk to his knees. Howard grew even harder as he felt Guy push his fat pad back to reveal more of his length, something he’d only realised men had started doing since he’d hit twenty stone or so. He shuddered slightly as he felt Guy’s warm mouth envelop his hardness for a few seconds, before pulling back and pushing Howard’s soft underbelly away and readjusting his position, trying to find a way to suck Howard off around all of the fat in the way.

Howard leant his head back and moaned. While Guy seemed to be taken by surprise with the practicalities of sucking off a fat man, he clearly had a few tricks up his sleeve, and enough enthusiasm to make up for it. Within a few minutes he was near climax and began to thrust himself into Guy’s mouth, who made some satisfying grunts of discomfort in response.

Just as Howard began to cum, pumping his load down Guy’s pretty throat, someone walked into the shower and the younger man jumped back so that the rest of Howard's cum sprayed across his chest and dribbled down his chin. Guy flushed red and turned away towards the wall, frantically wiping away the splatters of semen.

“Don't mind me,” Charlton, one of the gym's regulars, said as he stepped under the shower head on the other side of Howard. “I'd join you, but my husband says I've got to stop fucking people at the gym.” He leant around Howard's mass to peer at Guy’s arse. “How do you get all the cute ones Howie?”

Howard moved over to Guy and cupped his arse, bending down to his knees himself. “How about it?” he asked. “Fancy an audience?”

Guy gave a small shake of his head and continued to scrub at himself. Howard stood back up, bracing against his knees and straining as he did so. He stepped away from Guy and began to wash himself, taking the signal that the younger man had lost interest, for now.

“Maybe we could go somewhere?” Guy said quietly after a while. Howard looked over and grinned as Charlton laughed.

“Just like me to ruin the fun!” Charlton said. He waved his dick over at the two of them. “Howie, you've got my number, let me know if you'd like a third later.”

Howard grabbed Guy’s wrist and led him out the shower. He nudged the small pile of their wet shorts and underwear with his toe. “Grab those,” he told Guy. “We can go to my flat, it's not far.”

Guy struggled to keep his hands off Howard on the short drive and in the lift up to Howard's floor. As he unlocked the door, Guy was already pulling Howard’s t-shirt up and undoing his belt for him, kissing his neck as he did so. Howard pulled him through to the bedroom and pushed him towards the bed, and Guy dutifully began stripping.

Howard kicked his trousers off and pulled a condom out of the drawer by his bedside table. “You're going to have to put it on me,” he told Guy. “Awkward with this thing in the way.” He thumped his gut a few times to illustrate his point. “Unless you want to top?”

Guys tongue practically fell out of his mouth at this, and he hurriedly pulled the condom out of the packet. “No, I'm happy to, you know, or whatever.” He sunk down to his knees and stared up at Howard over the crest of his gut. “It's so hot that you can't put this on yourself.”

“I mean I can,” Howard grumbled. “It's just easier to get someone else to do it.” He felt Guy roll the condom over his shaft and smooth out some air bubbles.

“How do you want me?” Guy asked. He turned towards Howard and stood waiting, his hard-on pulsing slightly.

Howard nodded towards the bed. “On the edge. However’s most comfortable for you.”

Guy climbed onto the bed, stretching his thighs wide to present his hole to Howard. Howard squirted some lube onto his fingers and ran them over Guy’s crack, before slipping a couple of fingers in and massaging for a moment or two. Guy arched his back and sighed.

Howard lined himself up with Guy as best he could, and pushed himself forward. His cock missed the mark and instead bounced painfully off of one of his cheeks. Howard winced. “Sorry,” he said. “Difficult to aim with this thing in the way.” He patted his gut.

“God that's hot,” Guy sighed.

“Glad someone thinks so,” Howard grumbled to himself. Maybe he did need to lose a little weight.

“We could try a different position?” Guy suggested. “Cowboy style, maybe, or it might help if we both lie on our sides?”

“No!” Howard snapped. “No, I can, I can do it,” he said, more calmly. He'd be damned if he’d gotten too fat to top someone properly. He fished under his gut and grabbed his equipment, using his hands to guide himself in. He found his mark and slid in slowly, as Guy moaned softly and pushed back against Howard's crotch.

The two men began to rock in sync, building up a rhythm. Howard's gut slapped into Guy's back, the claps ringing like a metronome. The two began to pick up pace, as Guy arched his back and Howard tried to reach around to grab the smaller man's cock; with his gut in the way, he just couldn't reach. Instead, he gripped Guy’s slender shoulders and put his effort into pumping. He could feel the fat on his arse, his tits, his gut shaking and vibrating and his heart fluttered in his chest as he breathed heavily. He pumped harder and gripped his own fat with one hand, inserting one finger deep into his own bellybutton. He thought about how fat he'd gotten, how much fatter he was sure to get, he thought about the man below him and how much smaller he was than him. His breath caught as he came, and he felt the condom fill up around his pole. Shaking, he rolled off of Guy and onto the bed.

“Did you..?” Howard asked.

Guy shook his head. “It's fine,” he said, panting and smiling. He placed a hand on Howard's gut and shook it. “Plenty of time for that later.”

“What does it feel like?” Guy asked afterwards, with his angular torso pressed into Howard’s broad, soft back and one arm draped across him, a hand slowly caressing his gut.

Howard laughed. “Topping? You never done it before?”

Howard felt Guy shake his head from behind. “No, I've- I mean not very often, but I have, you know- No, I mean, you know,” his hand gripped Howard's gut and shook it a little. “What does this feel like? Being fat?”

Howard laughed again. “You like that, do you?” He slapped his gut a few times, enjoying the feeling of his body rippling. “It's a bloody nuisance, I'll tell you that much.”

“Yeah?” Guy prompted. “How?”

“Oh yeah. I mean, you saw earlier, it's getting difficult to fuck guys in some positions without it getting in the way, difficult to put on condoms easily. You even struggled a bit when you were giving me a blowjob, right?” Guy nodded enthusiastically. “It's even getting difficult to piss standing up.” Howard could feel Guy’s cock hardening against his back.

“Really? Because you can't reach it you mean?” Excitement mounted in Guy’s voice.

“Reaching it's easy enough, it's being able to see that's an issue. Can't aim,” Howard explained.

“What else?” Guy urged Howard on.

“Fuck me, loads. Having to fight against my own body to tie my shoes, getting winded climbing the stairs, clothes not fitting right, not being able to join my mates when they play footy, getting the piss taken out of me by everyone who thinks they're a bloody comedian,” Howard said. By this point, Guy was grinding his hard dick against Howard's leg.

“But you love it?” Guy asked, his voice catching.

“Fuck yes,” Howard replied. “There's something about being big, you know?” Guy gave a small whimper in reply. “In basically any situation, at work, with mates, at the gym, I'm always the biggest one there. Sure, a lot of it's fat, but men always respect the big guy, you know? Like it's primal.”

“How much do you weigh?” Guy asked. He moved to straddle Howard, his hand stroking his cock.

“A little over three hundred pounds,” Howard lied. He was close, but had never actually broken the big three-oh-oh. He'd met enough of these chaser types to know that 300 was the magical number though, and was happy to fudge the numbers to make a twink’s fantasy come true.

“Christ,” Guy gasped. “You're over double my weight.” Within thirty seconds, he tensed up and yelled out as thick hot cum sprayed over Howard's gut, pooling in his belly button and dribbling down its curve onto the sheets.

Guy fell down onto Howard and kissed him, hard jawline bumping into soft. “You're incredible,” he panted. “I could order some pizzas maybe?”

A couple of hours later, three boxes sat on Howard's coffee table, while Howard stretched out on his sofa with one hand down his boxers and one hand cradling his stretched gut. He'd done his best to show off for Guy, and had eaten almost two whole pizzas in quick succession. “Go on,” he told Guy. “Eat up.”

Guy groaned, clutching his flat stomach. He'd just finished a whole pizza by himself - clearly not a feat he was used to. “They're your slices,” he said feebly, nudging the two final slices of Howard's second pizza back to the larger man.

“I want you to have them,” Howard said, pushing them back. “And I think you want to have them too.” Guy shook his head. “You're telling me,” Howard grabbed Guy’s hand and placed it on his gut. “That you don't want one of these of your own?” Guy moaned a little. “That you just want to fuck fat guys? No. You want this for yourself. Eat.”

Guy closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled slowly and deeply, and sat forward, grabbing both slices and stacking them together before taking a large bite out of both. “That's it,” Howard whispered. “Good boy. Eat them quick, before your body has a chance to register. Good boy, there we go.”

It took fifteen minutes, and by the end Guy was clearly uncomfortable, rubbing his stomach and suppressing sickly hiccups, but eventually the slices disappeared. He sat quietly, moaning and cradling the invisible curve of his stomach. Once it became clear that he wasn't in a position for conversation, Howard put the TV on and left him to it.

“I should go,” Guy said quietly after two episodes of Doctor Who. He stood and began to pull his t-shirt back on.

“You don't have to,” Howard said, making no move to stop him. “You could stay the night, if you wanted.”

“No, it's late,” Guy said. “I was supposed to meet up with some friends.” He winced as he buttoned his jeans. “Maybe we could do this again sometime though?”

Howard sighed. He never really did ‘again’. “Maybe,” he said. “I uh, I'm only in Portsmouth for a few months for a work thing, I probably won't be uhh…”

“No, it's fine, I get it,” Guy said with a thin smile. “It's fine if this is just a one-time thing. Thanks for umm,” he looked over Howard's body, still laid out across the sofa, his gut overlapping his too-tight pants. “You've helped me figure some stuff out. Thank you.”

Howard heaved himself to his feet and stuck his hand out. “Always happy to figure some stuff out with someone,” he said. Guy took Howard's offered hand and shook it. “All the best Guy.”

“You too.”

The door closed and Howard collapsed back down onto the sofa.

Howard groaned as he lowered himself into the seat, grateful for the easing of the pressure on his feet. He closed his eyes and just sat for a moment, breathing just a little too heavily for his liking. Ever since he'd crossed the 300 pound mark almost a decade ago, he'd been eagerly eyeing up 350, but he was starting to worry that it might have been just a little too much weight for him. He was just so big these days, and at more than a little ways past forty, he was starting to think that the big leagues, weight-wise, were a young man's game.

He opened his eyes slowly and reached towards the menu. No need to go hungry, anyway, whether or not he wanted to get much bigger, especially with his company footing the bill. A couple of starters, he thought, a big main, maybe one of those steaks, and then some big heavy dessert. That should just about hit the spot. He squeezed his overhang just a touch and sighed. Sitting down, with the dull ache in his feet fading away and his breathing going back to its usual light wheeze, rather than a heavy pant, he started to forget his earlier apprehension, just a few moments before. Being big felt fucking great, didn't it? What difference would another ten or fifteen pounds make, really?

His thoughts were interrupted by a shadow falling across his menu, and he looked up, expecting to see the waiter. What he saw instead was a wall of flesh - a man stood in front of him, outweighing Howard by, god, who knew how much? At least a hundred pounds, maybe even one-fifty. The man's soft gut hung down, almost touching the table, and his arms sat awkwardly at his sides, visibly pushed away from the man's huge, soft torso by gut and tit and roll. He looked like something out of one of Howard's fantasies, a scale he'd fervently imagined himself at, but never really aspired to.

"Howard?" the man asked. "It is Howard isn't it?"

Howard was stumped. He'd remember this man if they'd met, surely? Fantasised about him for weeks afterwards presumably, wistfully thinking back to that human barge he'd met in some business meeting or other?

"I'm so sorry," he said after a while. "I'm really trying to remember…"

"It's Guy," the man - Guy - said. "We met about eleven or twelve years ago." When Howard's face didn't lose its confused stupor he added - "In Portsmouth? I, uhh, look a little different I suppose." He punctuated this last bit by laying his hand on top of his gut.

Howard thought back, he'd not spent long in Portsmouth after all, six months maybe. Had he met a Guy? He looked up at the round face in front of him, subtracted ten years, a couple of chins, tried to imagine cheek bones beneath those jowls, noticed the bent nose that looked like it had been set badly, years before…

"Jesus fuck, Guy, " Howard said softly, his eyes widening. "Twink Guy?" he asked, his voice high. This whale in front of him couldn't have ever been that small fry, could he?

Guy laughed. "Twink Guy, I like that!" he said. "Can't say there's been much call for a nickname like that for a while now though." He smiled at Howard. "Are you waiting for someone? Maybe I could join you?"

Howard made a blustering noise that could be interpreted as a positive, and gestured at the seat opposite him. Guy pulled the chair back, far away from the table edge, and slowly, carefully, deliberately lowered himself down into it. Howard marveled at the practiced routine of it all - how far back the chair needed to go, the care with which the sturdy oak chair needed handling, the way that every movement was slow and deliberate and carefully considered to avoid bumping into anything, everything, around him. Most of all he marveled at how Guy barely seemed to register that any of this was out of the ordinary.

"God, it's good to get off your feet, isn't it," Guy sighed.

Howard studied Guy, trying to remember the rail thin twenty-something year old underneath the blubber. His face was huge, round cheeks bulging over sagging jowls around squinting eyes. His body was enormously broad - tits sloped down a mountainous gut down into his elbows. Even his fingers were fat - stubby little sausages attached to pillow palms.

Guy reached over his belly and picked up the menu, resting it on the shelf of his gut. “Shall we just get one of each of the starters and sides and share?” he asked after a while.

Howard’s eyebrows rose. He looked back at the menu - there was at least ten starters and the same amount of sides. How much was this man planning on eating?

“I'll foot the bill, don't worry” Guy said, misinterpreting Howard's reaction. “The least I can do.” He slapped the top of his gut, setting it swaying. “After all, I've got you to thank for this.”

Howard’s mouth closed and opened a few times. “Sorry, I'm not sure I… You've got me to thank?”

“Oh absolutely!” Guy said, nodding. His double chin shook with the motion.

At that point the waiter arrived, interrupting Guy. They both ordered a pint of ale, Guy ordered all the starters and sides, as he'd said, and Howard ordered the steak.

“God, that sounds good actually. Two of those. Medium-rare, yeah. And we’ll want the dessert menu after. Perfect, yeah, thanks.” Guy turned back to Howard. “Where were we? Yes! Thanking you, that was it.” He leant back, and Howard could see his shirt pulling out of his waistband to reveal a slab of pale flesh hanging out even while sitting. “After we, you know, after that night anyway, I just sort of knew I guess.”

“Knew what?” Howard asked.

“That I wanted to be fat!” Guy said loudly. Howard sank down in his seat as people at other tables looked over. “I mean, I knew before then, I guess, but it was all, I don't know, wanking over YouTube videos and those stupid stories about people getting paid to fatten themselves up or something. I never, god, I never imagined I could really do something like that.”

Their drinks arrived and the two were quiet for a while as they took their first large gulps. “And then you met me,” Howard offered.

“And then I met you!” Guy repeated. “God, the number of fat guys I must have stared at before you.” He laughed. “I thought I was being so subtle, but clearly you noticed pretty quick.”

Howard laughed as well. “Yeah, subtle didn't really come to mind,” he said. “I thought you were cruising, honestly. You were actually doing that to any fat guy you saw? Just, down the street?”

“Christ yes,” Guy laughed. “They must have all thought I was a creep.”

At that point, the first of the starters arrived. Guy fell quiet as he focussed on eating. Howard could see how he's gotten so large - eating was clearly serious business to this man. Each bite was relished, with time taken to enjoy the flavours, but no time was wasted - as soon as one bite was swallowed, more food would immediately be brought to his lips.

After the starters and while they waited for their mains, Guy spoke. “You know, I always imagined how much weight you were putting on,” he told Howard. “And I always sort of, I don't know, compared myself to the image of you I had in my head. Especially once I reached three hundred pounds, and I was so much softer than I remember you being, and then when I hit three-hundred and fifty, four hundred, and I thought, god, when did he hit these weights? How much bigger did he get? And I started to imagine, you know, we'd meet at some point and I'd have managed to get, I don't know, ten, twenty pounds bigger. And it'd be, god this is so stupid saying it out loud, like you'd passed the torch on or something. Honestly, it's a big reason I've been pushing myself to still get bigger and bigger.”

“Sorry to be a disappointment,” Howard said, rubbing his gut. He'd done his best to eat half of the food on the table, and while not full, he could feel himself slowing down; in comparison, Guy seemed to be impatiently waiting for more food. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so small.

“God, no!” Guy said. “I don’t mean, no, I'm not disappointed or anything. I do know, you know, that I've kind of taken this whole gaining thing further than most people are into. I never really, honestly I mean, thought I'd meet you again or whatever. It was always just something knocking around in the back of my head. I didn't even really know that you were a gainer, you might have lost it all for all I- fuck, sorry, I don't even- are you even a gainer? I just assumed.”

Howard waved his hand. “Don't worry, yeah, I… well. I mean, fifty pounds in ten years, it's hardly the kind of weight you've been putting on. But yeah, I'm on all the sites and stuff.”

“Hey, anyone else would be pulling their hair out over fifty pounds,” Guy said. “Us guys just have a skewed perspective about this stuff.”

Howard shrugged. “I guess. Sometimes I feel like I'm not making progress and sometimes I really look at myself and see just how big I am.”

“How big are you, if you don't mind me asking?” Guy asked.

“Three-sixty-something these days,” Howard said. “Probably a little more - lots of business trips. And you?”

“Just hit five hundred a couple of weeks ago,” Guy replied proudly. “Hit a bit of a plateau since, but it's great finally getting there, you know?”

Howard gave a low whistle. “That's a big boy number right there.” Guy laughed. “You're going for those kinds of weights then? Five-hundred plus?”

Guy grinned and nodded his head enthusiastically. “It's all I think about,” he said. “The more weight I put on, the more I want to put on. It's like, okay, when we first met that time, right? I got all excited and I decided I could put on, I don't know, twenty pounds, see how that felt. And it was nothing. So I thought, okay, fifty pounds, and then I'd put on fifty pounds and I was starting to feel chubby but…”

“It wasn't as big as you'd thought it would be?” Howard asked.

“God, not nearly anything like it,” Guy agreed. “Like, fifty pounds you know? That's a lot of weight! And it just didn't look like it. So I went up to two-hundred and fifty, and that wasn't enough, then three hundred, and I thought, surely, surely three hundred’s where you start to feel big. And that's how big you were! I fucked other big guys, don't get me wrong, but you were the first - I built you up into a bit of myth in my head I think.”

“I'm flattered,” Howard said.

“Well, I got to three-hundred pounds, as big as Howard, and it still wasn't big enough,” Guy continued. “So I added another fifty, and that wasn't enough, and another, and four-hundred still didn't feel big enough.” He sighed. “You never feel like that?”

Howard spread his hands on the table and studied them for a while. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “Not often. I do feel big, most of the time. Big enough. But every so often I catch a glimpse of myself and I just think… is this really twenty-five stone? Surely I should be huge by now? When I was younger I couldn't imagine how big that must be and now…”

“Now it's just the size you are,” Guy finished. “It's normal.”

Howard nodded as their mains got brought over. Howard tried to hide his nervousness at the size of the portion; chips were piled high next to a steak as big as his face and over an inch thick. Guy licked his lips and started eating immediately, stopping only when the sides got brought over.

It took nearly two hours for Howard to get through his steak, sides and the selection of desserts Guy had ordered. Guy watched him, having finished long before, occasionally offering words of encouragement, but generally just filling Howard in on his life; the company he'd started, the relationships with increasingly larger men who were just never big enough, the years and years of gluttony and sloth that had built him into the man Howard saw before him.

Howard leant back and drummed his fingers on his gut. It has been a while since he'd felt it so taut, and the sensation left him rock hard. He opened one eye and watched Guy for a while.

“I've got a room upstairs,” Howard said after a while. “If you wanted to…?”

Guy smiled. “I thought you said you were married now.”

“We’re open,” Howard reassured him. “I spend a lot of time away with work and we both know that we’ll be better off if we get to relieve some tension every so often.”

“Well then,” Guy said with raised eyebrows. “Shall we?”

They both stood, Howard feeling particularly spritely for the first time in a while; he found himself waiting for Guy to haul himself to his feet. The two made their way slowly to the elevator, which sunk noticeably as the two men entered.

As the doors closed, Guy reached over and put a hand on Howard's love handle and squeezed. “Just like I remember,” he said with a smile.

“Hopefully a little bigger?” Howard said.

“Don't worry,” Guy said. “I can see all the progress you've made. But it's that same solid ball gut I've been having wet dreams about for the past decade.” He slapped it a few times, resulting in a dull thump. He slid a finger through a gap between the buttons in Howard’s shirt and stroked the furry skin around his belly button.

The elevator door opened, and the two made their way to Howard's hotel room. Howard let them in and Guy made his slow way over to the bed and gingerly sat down. Howard stood in front of him and let his gut bump into Guy's face, who reached up and began to unbutton Howard's shirt for him.

“Oh yes,” Guy said. “I've missed this a lot.” He ran his fingers through the hair on Howard's gut and up onto his soft chest as Howard pulled off his jacket and shirt and threw them to the side. Guy leant forward and nuzzled his nose into Howard's belly button, before replacing it with his tongue as he worked his fingers under Howard's overhang to undo his belt and pull his trousers down.

Guy lifted Howard's gut slightly, and deftly pushed the fat back slightly to reveal more of his hardening cock. “This is bigger than I remember,” he said.

“My cock?” Howard asked. “Really?”

Guy laughed. “Sorry, no. I meant your fat pad.”

“Ah,” Howard said. “Suppose that would be a bit too much to ask for.”

“I personally have come to enjoy the effects of fat on a man's cock,” Guy said.

“Not one I'm particularly thrilled with myself,” Howard grumbled.

“Well maybe I can make it up to you,” Guy said, before slipping his mouth over Howard's dick.

Howard's breath caught. The key to giving a good blowjob, Howard had learnt over the years, is to really, truly, genuinely want that dick in your mouth, and Guy was clearly hungry for it. No opportunity was missed to taste or lick or suck on any and all exposed skin. His balls, his shaft, his head, his taint, all of it was lovingly cared for in turn. It wasn't long before Howard was shooting down Guy's throat.

Guy sat back and smiled as he swallowed. Howard thought back to how prominent his Adam’s apple used to be - it was now barely visible in his lardy neck.

Howard sank down to his knees, and lifted Guy’s gut to gain access to his belt buckle. As he undid his trousers, Guy pulled his shirt up and over his head, revealing soft, undulating flesh. Together, the two slowly managed to peel Guy’s clothes off of his body until he was sat in only his socks.

Howard once more lifted Guy’s gut and pushed back at the soft fat filling his crotch, unveiling the nub of his cock. He leant forward to lick the exposed head, but quickly had to pull back as his face became enveloped with fat from above.

“You don't have to,” Guy said. “I know that it's not easy to-”

“Lean back,” Howard said, pushing back on Guy’s torso. “And hold your belly.”

Guy obeyed, laying down on the bed so that his flab cascaded back towards his face. Howard pushed down on his fat pad, revealing another inch or so of cock. As Howard took it into his mouth, licking its meager length and the small scrotum, he thought back to the long cock Guy had the last time they'd met, now swallowed on thick fat.

Howard inhaled deeply, taking in the sour musk of Guy’s crotch and continued to lap at the small length available to him. He began to pump the fat surrounding his cock, using it to jerk the length he couldn't see. The wall of fat above him began to shake and quiver, until sticky cum spurted out. Howard noted how sweet it tasted, and wondered if his own cum had gotten sweeter as he'd gotten fatter.

“That was great,” Guy said.

“Glad to be of service,” Howard replied.

Guy shuffled his weight back up the bed, setting the frame creaking and groaning. He patted the bed next to him. “I think I was big spoon last time.”

“I think you might have been,” Howard said. From this angle, Guy looked almost impossibly wide. His gut spilled out, pulled down and to the sides by gravity, so that he resembled a large pillow. Howard settled down next to him, teetering on the edge of the bed, and curled up to the large mass. “I don't think these beds are really built for men our size.”

“Not two of us, anyway,” Guy said. “I can go, if that's easier?”

Howard shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “We can stay a while.”

The two lay quietly for a while. Their heavy breathing filled the room.

“It's been a while,” Guy said after a while.

“What has?” Howard asked.

“Since I've been with anyone,” Guy clarified. “Once you reach a certain size, the mechanics all get a bit awkward.”

“How so?” Howard asked.

Guy sighed. “I can barely even reach my cock these days,” he admitted. “Bit of a faff for someone else to reach it, too. Generally guys just feed me these days, then deal with themselves.”

“You okay with that?” Howard asked.

“Oh yeah,” Guy insisted. “Don't worry about me. Not much difference these days between eating and sex for me. But this was… this was nice.”

“You still like it then?” Howard asked. “Being big? Getting bigger?”

“God yes,” Guy beamed. “There's nothing like it. I can't imagine stopping. How about you? Happy to stop where you are?”

“You know, I might well be open to packing a little more on,” Howard said.

“You let me know if you're ever up to getting fed then, eh?” Guy said. “I saw you struggling with those kiddy portions. You’re going to need pushing if you want to get really big.”

“Is that so?” Howard asked, laughing.

Guy struggled to sit up. “Absolutely,” he said. “I distinctly remember you pushing me to eat two extra slices of pizza beyond what I thought I could. That lesson stuck with me. It's time you learnt it too.” He hauled himself to the side of the bed and panted for a moment or two. “I'll leave you be. Can't have you hanging off the bed all night.”

“Leave your number?” Howard said.

Guy smiled. “Definitely,” he said. He looked down at the clothes strewn about on the floor. “I uh… don't suppose you'd pick up my clothes for me? Bending down’s a bit of an ordeal these days.”

Howard chuckled and helped Guy collect his clothes and put them on. “Let's make sure it's not another decade, eh?”

Guy smiled. “Of course,” he said and patted Howard's gut. “We've got to make sure to put some meat on these bones.”

The door closed and Howard collapsed back down onto the bed.

#weight gain #gaining fiction #gainer fiction #gainer story #weight gain story #male weight gain #wg story #weight gain fiction #two night stand #was going to call this 'before and after'#which is probably a better title #but i also thought it would probably be a good title for a future story #i've accepted by now that my titles are generally awful

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thegainingdesk · 4 months

Text

Regret

Vidhur couldn't pull his eyes away from his reflection in the mirror. The face he saw was familiar, for the most part - the same floppy hair stylishly quaffed, the same dark, playful eyes, framed by long, almost girlish eyelashes, the same long, thin nose, the same perfect, straight, white teeth. He'd even gotten used to the small gut that had recently become a permanent fixture on his previously athletic frame. But he couldn't take his eyes off of his jawline.

Vid knew, logically, he'd get a double chin sooner or later, that his face would change as he put on weight. Seeing it though, in the bright, unforgiving lights of the Weatherspoons loos, was quite another matter.

He should, he knew, be excited. Another external sign of the weight he was putting on, another gainer milestone ticked off, another change to his growing body to wank to later. But god, didn't he used to be so handsome? His sharp jawline, his cheekbones - he didn't expect them to get buried so quickly. He told himself it was the bad lighting, puffiness from the alcohol, he'd had a salty lunch. But he knew, this was his face now. He’d seen it coming for a while, ignored the changes in favour of focussing on the soft curve forming at his middle.

“What you doing then?”

Vid was snapped out of his reverie as his mate Trent walked in. He shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing. Sorry, just thinking.”

“Fuuuck mate,” Trent groaned. “Can't be doing that. That's what the beer’s for. Here, you need to go get yourself another one if you're starting to do shit like thinking.”

Vid laughed and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I suppose you want one as well do you? Here, you fancy ordering some food?”

“Fuck!” Vidhur snapped, as he let go of the two sides of his waistband, and let his gut once again push them apart. He'd been struggling with them for five minutes now, sucked in his belly as far as it would go, tried to do them up lying down, tried yanking them suddenly, coaxing them slowly, but nothing would convince the two sides of the fabric to meet.

Vid looked down at the jeans lying crumpled on the floor. His boss would bollock him, he knew, if he turned up looking so casual. Maybe if he wore a jacket with them? No, his office was notorious for keeping up appearances, and besides, he didn't want to look like Jeremy Clarkson. He could stop off and buy some smart trousers before work? At that point, it was a choice between turning up on time wearing jeans or arriving properly dressed but late. Neither option seemed viable. He could hold his trousers together with a safety pin, maybe, and hide it with a belt? Not that he owned any safety pins, or realistically believed that worked outside of weight gain stories.

He sat down on his bed and sighed into his hands. He’d only bought a whole new wardrobe of 38-inch trousers and extra large shirts just over a month ago, and despite them becoming increasingly tight and pinching in the past couple of weeks, he’d managed to convince himself that they'd last him a little while at least. Unfortunately, he'd found his most recent growth particularly thrilling, and it had spurred him into some rather spectacular feats of gluttony, leading him into a rather vicious cycle of growth inspiring ever faster growth. Last Thursday he'd spent the whole day at work frantically itching his fleshy sides, only to see bright red lines there when he got undressed at home later that night. The revelation had pushed him into a weekend of unbridled gluttony, his uncomfortably swollen gut only adding to his sexual fervour and willing him on to stuff himself even more.

Vid didn't know whether to be thrilled with the effects of the weekend’s feasting, or horrified. He couldn't really need the next size of trousers up already, could he? But the evidence was right in front of him, straining around his waist, thighs and arse. This was getting out of control. Yes, he found fat guys hot, yes, he wanted to experience it for himself, but his little experiment was supposed to be twenty, maybe thirty pounds at most. Now here he was, 255 pounds, checking to see if Next had any 40-inch trousers in stock, and a couple of 42-inch just to be safe, wondering how long it would be until he needed new shirts as well. Was he even attracted to guys this big? He was bigger than even his university boyfriend Hamish had gotten all those years ago. No, he'd look at gym memberships this afternoon, this had all gone far enough.

Still though, he might as well get some McDonald’s breakfast while he was out. He didn't have to lose all the weight.

Vid picked up his phone. “Ellis? Yeah, hi, I'm really sorry, I'm going to have to work from home today. Yeah, a burst pipe, sorry.”

“Did you see his shirt today?” Vid heard Harriet-from-finance ask in a hushed tone.

“Stop!” came Liam-from-reception’s laughing reply. “I thought it was about the burst off of him!”

Vidhur stopped outside the break room and looked down at his shirt, which was notably straining around his gut. He had, he knew, outgrown 2XLs a while ago, but work had been so hectic that he'd not had time, or at least that's what he told himself. At weekends he was so preoccupied with stuffing himself, with pushing himself to beat personal challenges and records, and left in such a stupor afterwards, that he forgot everything else he needed to do. He had, at least, hoped that it wasn't quite so noticeable, and had thrown on a tie and cardigan in an effort to hide some of the worst of it.

He also, quietly, hoped that maybe this was as big as he'd ever get. That 2XL would be the biggest he'd ever see on a clothes tag. He knew that it made no sense, that his constant gorging guaranteed his continued growth, that he was already in dire need of some 3XLs, that every attempt he'd made to curb his growth had resulted in abject failure. Still though, he really hadn't wanted to get this big, honest.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Liam’s voice asked.

“You may in fact tell me nothing else,” Harriet’s voice replied.

“I actually used to fancy him,” Liam whispered.

Vid heard Harriet scream. “You did not! No, I'm sorry, you absolutely did not. Him? Seriously? He's so fat!”

“He genuinely used to be fit, before you started” Liam replied. “Like, properly fit. But then like a year ago he just suddenly got fat out of nowhere.”

Vid's stomach lurched. He knew that his weight gain was obvious, that everyone could see it, but he'd told himself that people still saw him as ‘chubby’, or ‘husky’, or ‘large’. To hear people call him fat, that some people were surprised he’d ever been anything else… Time, maybe, for him to stick to a diet. He took a deep breath in, sucked in his gut and walked into the break room.

“Oh hey guys, how are you?” he asked.

The pairs’ eyes widened and they both plastered on wide, fake smiles.

“Hey Viddy,” Liam drawled. “Oh, we’re good. We were just saying that Terry looks like he's put on some weight recently, weren't we Harriet?”

Harriet choked on her coffee and Vid saw her mouth “Stop it!” across the table at Liam.

“I don't know,” Vid replied. “He looks the same as ever to me.”

“Maybe,” Liam said, smiling. “I suppose, the thing is, I'm quite health conscious, so I notice these kinds of things.”

Vid saw Harriet slap Liam’s thigh and bite her lip. “Maybe,” Vid replied, seething. “Do you know if these donuts are for everyone?” he asked. “I've got a real sugar craving.”

“I think so,” Liam replied, before turning to Harriet and mouthing “Oh my god!” The two shook with silent laughter.

“Great,” Vid smiled. He took three.

“Oh my god, Terry! You look amazing!”

Vid looked up to see his co-worker Terry walk into the office after his holiday, with a broad smile on his face, an almost radioactive looking tan, and, most importantly, a significantly deflated gut. Terry held his arms out, showing off his baggy shirt and laughed. The office came to a standstill while everyone went over to congratulate him on his near-miraculous weight loss.

Vidhur declined to join the throng of people, instead looking down at the large gut filling his lap, and the small patch of sausage grease on his shirt from the first of that morning’s breakfast sandwiches. For a while now, he'd taken comfort in the fact that no matter how big he was getting, no matter how much weight he put on, as long as he stayed smaller than Terry, as long as he wasn't the fattest guy in the office, at least he was still in the realm of normality - a level of fat that an average member of the public could reach, without intentionally gorging themselves like Vid was doing. Okay, yes, Terry was thirty years older than Vidhur, and he'd put on his excess blubber over many years of sedentary desk work, happy marriage and living the good life, rather than Vid’s explosive weight gain of almost two hundred pounds over the last couple of years, but it remained a convenient and happy lie he could tell himself.

While Vid knew he’d been close to catching up with Terry anyway, he'd assumed that the effect of six weeks of all-you-can-eat buffets on Terry’s 58-year old metabolism would easily match the fifteen pounds Vid had put on while the older man was away. He felt ashamed. Sick. He'd blown himself up like a freak and now he was the fattest person he knew. Had he really ever meant to get this big? He'd just wanted to get a beer belly, hadn't he? Not this sack of lard he'd become.

“How did you do it Terry?” Sarah asked. Vid looked over. Maybe Terry was ill - some intestinal parasite caught in some distant country. Maybe, now he'd recovered, Terry was about to blow right back up, fatter than he'd ever been before, ready to take his heavyweight crown back from Vidhur.

“Well, I'd been thinking of dieting for a little while now,” Terry explained cheerfully. “I'd uh, well. I'd realised what I looked like. Just how fat I was.” Vid saw Terry look over at him, then look away again, a look of embarrassment on his face. Vid’s heart sank. Of course he was the huge monster that convinced Terry, the perpetually happy, lifelong fatty, just how disgusting his weight was.

“Well,” Terry continued, his face awkwardly turned away from where Vid was sat. “I thought the cruise would be awful for it, you know, all those buffets. But actually, they had these places you could go and they'd make me up these new salads every day, and I asked what was in them so I could make them at home - I've got them all written down. And the ship had this gym, and people there to help me. Three stone, I’ve lost so far.” The crowd around him gasped, ahh-ed and ooh-ed in astonishment at his feat. Terry waved them off. “Most of it was water weight, I lost most of it in the first couple of weeks.” Still, the admiration continued, and through the day Vid would cringe at each comment of congratulations. He noticed that a lot of people seemed to be avoiding him today - his size having been amplified by Terry’s sudden relative slimness.

“I hope you don't mind me saying Vid,” Terry said quietly later that day. “It's just, I know it's not easy, being so… well, you know.” Vid gave a short, uneasy smile in recognition that he did, in fact, know. “Well, I always thought I'd never be able to lose it. Told myself I was big boned, or that I had a slow metabolism, or that I just had too much of an appetite. But you know what Vid?” Vid could hear the pride in Terry's voice. “I just needed to decide to do it. It was easy in the end. Here, if I can do it, a young thing like you definitely can, eh?”

Vid smiled. He was terribly aware of the way he could feel the small action make his double chin crease even more. “Yeah, cheers Terry, I…” He paused and thought. “Maybe I have let it get too far.”

“If you ever need any healthy recipes or anyone to talk to, you know where I am, eh?” Terry smiled. “Here, can you believe I was almost twenty-four stone before my cruise? That was a wake-up call, I'll tell you that much.”

Vid whistled and raised his eyebrows. “Wow, yeah. That sure is… that sure is quite the number,” he said, giving a small chuckle. He turned back to his computer, knowing that he'd weighed in at over twenty-five stone that weekend. He had to lose some fucking weight.

Vid felt his whole body shake as he crashed to the floor. He wasn't sure if the crack of the chair breaking or the thwap of his soft body hitting the floor was louder, but he knew the combination was enough to bring the entire office crowding around his desk in a circle.

He lay on his side for a moment, dazed and winded as his co-workers murmured and pointed. He struggled into a crawling position, and did his best to ignore the roaring pain in his left hip and knee where he'd landed on them. In this position, his gut hung down far enough that it almost touched the ground. Vid's arms shook with the strain of holding up his weight, his heart pounded, and his breath was shallow and ragged.

“Come on, come on, help the man up,” Vid heard Terry's voice somewhere above him. “Here you go, easy now.” Vid felt a pair of hands grip his large flabby upper arms and strain to help him up. He did his best to not put too much weight onto the much smaller man as he staggered to his feet, but even so, he could see Terry struggle to stay upright. “You're okay, you're okay, there you are.”

If Vid had enough breath, he'd have wanted to tell Terry that he wasn't a shell shock victim or a startled horse, and didn't need treating like one. Instead, he gasped out a breathless “thank you.”

“Come on, come on, someone get him a chair,” Terry barked at the gawping onlookers.

“Terry,” Sarah said out of the corner of her mouth. “Isn't the problem, you know, that the chairs don't support him?”

Vid wanted the ground to swallow him up. If he put on much more weight, perhaps it would. “I'll just go to the break room,” he said, refusing to meet anyone's eye.

“That's a good idea,” Terry said, still holding Vid’s arm and beginning to guide him. The crowd parted to allow Vid’s elephantine figure past, people pressing themselves into the desks on either side. “Let's get you sat on a nice comfy settee. Here, just let me…” He began pulling on Vid’s shirt, who looked down to see that it had ridden up so that most of Vid's soft, hanging gut was on show, with pale stretch marks almost glaring against his brown skin.

Behind Vid, he heard a creak and turned around to see Sarah probing the floor with her foot. “Yeah, I think the floorboard’s broken,” she sighed. Vid hastily helped Terry pull his shirt down, his pulse racing with shame.

Vid sat eating a plate of biscuits and a mug of “overly-sweet” tea (Terry's words; just the thing after a shock apparently. Vid didn't bother to tell him that it had less sugar than he usually put in it himself). He looked up as the door opened and his manager Ellis walked in, three years younger than Vid, and half his weight.

“HR says we’ve got to buy you a reinforced chair,” Ellis snapped. “Reasonable adjustments or some shit. If you ask me, the reasonable adjustment would be for you to lose some of that fucking blubber. Fucking hell man, I'm surprised the chair went before your heart did.”

The settlement made Vid very comfortable indeed.

Dr Wiltshire tutted as she looked at the charts in front of her. “If I'm being honest, you're lucky your blood pressure isn't even higher, considering your weight,” she said, not bothering to look up. She began to type something on her computer.

“Yeah, I get that I’ve-” Vid began.

“I can't believe it's taken you this long to come in,” the doctor interrupted. “Your records say that you last came in-,” she tapped at the screen and inhaled sharply, “four years ago. You've put on almost three-hundred pounds in that time, did you know that?”

“I guess I-”

She grabbed his forearm and pulled it towards herself. “I'm going to have to take some blood for a diabetes test,” she snapped. “If I can find a vein,” she added in a murmur.

Despite knowing his gut more than covered his crotch, Vid struggled against the erection he could feel forming. He'd stayed away from the doctors for years, knowing that he'd be judged for his explosive weight gain, and now he'd left it so long that it was so much worse than he could possibly imagine.

“We'll put you on some medication to lower your blood pressure, at a minimum,” Dr Wiltshire said once she'd taken some blood. “Its very likely that you’ll need to be on insulin as well, but we’ll talk about managing your diabetes at another appointment.”

“Well I thought we still had to test-”

“Yes, yes, we’ll need confirmation before we put you on ozempic. We can talk about that once we sort out your insulin,” she said.

“Well, I'm not sure I'd want to go on ozempic,” Vid said. “I've heard some bad things about it.”

Dr Wiltshire sighed. “Well, have you also heard some rather bad things about morbid obesity as well?”

Vid sat in silence the rest of the appointment, vowing to take on all of her advice, to make the changes to his diet she suggested, to start exercising more. He really had let all this get too far. He couldn't believe how badly he'd jeopardised his health for a fetish. Once he left, he realised he'd never even told her about the knee pain he'd made the appointment for.

“Go on,” Lee said, standing on the bed over Vid, stroking his thick erection. “Say it.”

“Please,” Vid said, as he strained towards his crotch.

“Please what?” Lee said. He raised a foot and pressed it lightly down on Vid's gut.

“Please let me cum,” Vid pleaded.

Lee’s face feigned bemusement. His hand continued pumping his cock. “You're allowed to cum,” he said. “You remember. We agreed that you needed to finish all-” he gestured towards the pile of fast food wrappers spilling over the side of the bed and onto the floor with his free hand “-of that food if you wanted to cum. And you did! Well done you.”

“But I can't…” Vid said.

“Sorry,” Lee said, bending slightly. At no point did his stroking slow. “What was that?” His free hand pressed his ear forward.

“I can't make myself cum,” Vid said, his face flushing. “I can't reach my cock.”

Lee's hand sped up slightly. “Oh my!” he said, his face and voice in mock surprise. “Why wouldn't you be able to do that then?”

Vid was equal parts horny and genuinely embarrassed. “Because I'm too fat,” he said, collapsing back onto his pillows. “Because I can't reach around my fat gut, and even if I could, my dick is too small because it's been swallowed up by all my fat.”

Lee’s hand let go of his cock, and he let it hang, heavy and pulsing between his muscular thighs. “Why didn't you say?” he said, a smile spreading on his face. “Well then, you'll need me to do it for you I suppose then, won't you?” Vid nodded. “Sorry, what was that?” Lee asked. “I can’t see your gestures because they get swallowed by all the fucking fat.”

“Yes,” Vidhur said. He bit his lip.

“Well then. Eating all that food was the requirement for you being allowed to cum, not for me to do it for you,” Lee explained. “You'll have to have dessert if you want me to do that for you.” He shuffled forwards on the mattress, the motion made difficult by having to navigate around Vid’s sheer width. He lowered himself down until he was sat on Vid’s chest, the tip of his cock so close to Vid's lips that Vid could feel its warmth. “Do you want dessert?” Lee asked.

Vid answered by leaning forward and taking Lee's length into his mouth. He sucked hungrily, and Lee began to rock back and forth. Vid focussed on his technique, eager to please, gently stroking Lee’s balls and gripping his firm thighs. Lee moaned and gave a couple of shaking thrusts, jamming his cock into the back of Vid's throat, before Vid felt thick jizz pour down his throat. Lee pulled back and sighed contentedly while Vid coughed.

“Please,” Vid said as Lee climbed off of him. “Me now.”

Lee tutted and smiled. “Silly fatty!” he said. “That wasn't dessert. That was my cock.” He leant down and pulled a cake from below the bags he'd stashed beneath the bed. “No, this is dessert.”

Vid shook his head. “I'm too full. Please, I can't.”

Lee smiled. “I think you can. Big boy like you. And all that exercise you were doing trying to reach your little nub of a cock must have worked up quite an appetite.”

Vid closed his eyes and breathed heavily. His cock ached below the heavy pressure of his gut. “Give me the cake,” he said.

“I thought so,” Lee said. He didn't bother cutting the cake, just brought the whole thing to Vid's lips. Vid took huge bites, trying to eat it quick enough to trick his body into not noticing the huge amount of calories and sugar being forced into it. It didn't work. His stomach was straining and painful by the time he finished, and his head was spinning.

He was so dazed from the sugar that he could barely remember his aching cock, and was almost surprised when Lee's thick arm slid underneath his gut and began to work the exposed tip of his once impressive cock. Within thirty seconds, Vid yelled out and shook as he felt his crotch fill with semen.

“Same time next week?” Lee asked, wearing a thin pair of sweatpants and pulling on a muscle-tee, while Vid waddled back from the shower.

“Yeah. Money's on the bedside table,” Vid said.

Lee nodded. “Yeah, I got it, thanks.” He stayed sitting, unusual for him. “That was new, wasn't it?” he asked after a moment.

“What was?” Vid asked.

“Not being able to reach yourself,” Lee said. “You've done it before, but always pretending, part of play. That was different, wasn't it? You really couldn't?”

Vid shrugged. “For a while now. Too much in the way,” he explained.

“Right, right,” Lee said quietly. “You okay with that? I mean, I know this is your thing and everything. Shit, it's my thing too. But, you know, it's okay to not be okay with parts of it. To take a step back? I know how this can sort of run away with you. I used to think I didn't like guys over three-hundred, now that's my entire client-base.”

Vid nodded. “I'm okay with it. I've… well, I've definitely not been okay with it sometimes. But I've always kept going. Gotten okay with it, in the end.”

Lee nodded. “Okay. Good. Well, you’ve got my number if you need to talk, yeah? I won't even charge if I've got my clothes on,” he joked. “Or I could put you in touch with some other big guys? One of my exes is even bigger than you, might be good to talk to?”

“Yeah, that would be good thanks,” Vid said with a smile. “But, genuinely, I'm fine. I've got a good community going, I've come to terms with all the shit that comes along with this.”

Lee stood up. “Okay then,” he said. “No regrets?” he asked.

Vid shook his head. “No regrets.”

#weight gain #gaining fiction #gainer fiction #gainer story #weight gain story #male weight gain #wg story #weight gain fiction #regret #do i end another story with someone smiling and saying 'no regrets'? maybe but im not going to read through and check #can you spot the characters from my other stories?#desk cinematic universe tbh #i have another really long story i've been wanting to finish since about christmas so obviously i wrote this instead

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thegainingdesk · 4 months

Note

Do you take request for future stories

Short answer: No. Writing (weight gain or otherwise) is my hobby, and I don't want to turn it into an obligation to someone else. I also have a pile of ideas of my own I'd like to turn into full stories one day - I don't need it adding to.

Long answer: If you've just got a cool idea you think I might be interested in writing - Message me! If I'm interested and find it hot, I'll happily talk about it and add it to my own ever growing pile of story ideas. I won't commit to anything, but I love talking about writing and developing ideas, and if it's the kind of thing I'd write anyway then why not.

However, if you've already got a full plot in your head that you'd like to be turned into a fully written piece - you've done half the work! Why not complete it yourself? I guarantee you'll enjoy the process more than reading what someone else has written. I'd even be happy to talk to you about your idea and offer writing advice.

Writing is such an accessible creative hobby, and really fun. I spent ages thinking I was "uncreative" until I realised that creative people don't have some different magical property that makes them creative, they just go out and make stuff. The end result doesn't even have to be good! Creating something just feels great!

Again, shorter but much cheekier answer: I mean, if you're offering a significant amount of money and it's within my wheelhouse; let's get talking.

#it ultimately comes down to if i care about the idea myself #if you've got some vore or inflation or whatever fantasy that ive never written about then try someone else #if youre like 'more stories about fat dads!' then lets get going

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thegainingdesk · 4 months

Text

The Spider to the Fly

Statement of Oliver Barrett, dated 22/05/2023

The rent should have been the first red flag, I know that, but fuck me, have you seen the rents in Dublin these days? Worst than fucking London, if you can believe it. And there's this guy, right, four-story townhouse, twenty minute walk from my new job, says he just wants a tenant to make this place feel less empty, all for a grand a month, bills included. In this market! Too fucking right I didn't question it.

Well, I say a grand a month. One thousand euro and one cent, to be exact. The cent didn't bother me at the time, why the fuck would it? The man wants to add a cent to the rent, I'll give him a cent. Maybe it was to get over some threshold for something, or some tax dodge, or whatever, I didn't know and I didn't care. It was still €999.99 less than I'd be paying anywhere else in Dublin for some damn sight nicer digs. Now though, knowing what I know, after everything that… well, anyway, it bothers me more now. It feels significant. Like those old penny rents you hear about, or something. Something symbolic, and old.

But anyway, there was a cheap room going, in a good location, a good house, it was bloody better than anywhere else I've come across, and I was only in Dublin for a weekend before I properly moved to get everything sorted, so I didn't ask too many questions. So I go to this house, and it was gorgeous. We're talking Edwardian or Georgian or, I don't know, fancy. Some Upstairs Downstairs shit, like there were servants quarters and a coal cellar and whatever a scullery is. I didn't really think about it at the time - again, I'm not really in a position to ask questions - but you usually see houses like that in a row, right? Like terraced? This one was just there. On its own. On a nice street, don't get me wrong, but it was taller than any of the other houses, set back a little, and the style's all wrong. Maybe I thought the rest of the street had gotten destroyed in the Blitz or whatever they had in Dublin, it's not like I know anything about history outside of naming a couple of Henry the eighth's wives.

So I walked up to this great big, not quite right house, and I pulled this rope by the door and it fucking clanged. This wasn't some little ding dong electric doorbell, this was some fucking machinery. It felt like the house was vibrating from it. And while I'm reeling, this Victorian era sonic torture device still going off in my ears, the door swung open, too fast really, faster than you'd expect someone to get to the door, even if they were by it.

I don't know who I was expecting but this guy was hot. Like, something else. I'm talking movie star hot. Fuck, maybe he was a movie star, there's so many movies these days, right? He could have an Oscar for all I know, maybe that's how he could afford the house. I'm looking up at him, checking him out, and I don't have to look up at many people but this guy is real fucking tall, six-six maybe? And rail thin, but in a way that he makes work, he wasn't gaunt or anything just… angular. He had this jet black hair and his eyes were somehow even darker - at the time I probably would have said they were like ink or the night sky or something sappy, but looking back all I can think of is how shark's eyes look. I don't know, maybe that's just me projecting stuff after… well you know, after what happened. And he's just stood there, completely still, but, fuck, I really don't know if I can explain how fucking still this guy was. And that's not me looking back after the fact, at the time I was a bit creeped out. It was like looking at an optical illusion or something, like my eyes couldn't put together this guy that I'd just seen open a door in double-speed with how fucking still he was now. It was like someone had pasted a photo into the middle of my vision. And even though he was so fucking still, there was this, I don't know, this tension to him, like I could just see some energy there, ready to… fuck, I don't know, pounce. Like a tiger or… well, like a… but that's for later I guess.

Anyway, I'm checking this guy out, because he was sort of giving me the creeps, sure, but he was also fucking hot, and suddenly he wasn't so still anymore, and he’s looking me up and down and he's smiling and I'm starting to feel like this guy's checking me out right back. I don't know if you're gay, but there's this look, right, every gay guy knows it, this discrete little up and down, maybe with a little smirk and it just says, you know, "I'm gay, you're gay, let's fuck sometime". Now, I've had my share of guys in the past, I'm not about to be humble about it, I know that I'm hot myself, or, well I guess, you know, back then… but you know, I really was a great looking guy. Square fucking jaw, little dimple right in the middle of my chin, real broad shoulders, you know, I've always played rugby, and you could tell, because I had some decent fucking muscle on me, still do, probably, somewhere under all this fucking… whatever. The point is that I've had guys lining up for a chance to bounce on my dick, so I wasn't exactly shocked when guys checked me out but this guy, I mean, he was out of my league, you know? Out of everyone's league. It's insane to think guys that look like that would check anyone out.

So I was feeling sort of cocky, like maybe I could get more than a room out of this deal. And I know, don't shit where you eat, and definitely don't fuck your landlord, but fuck me this guy was hot, right? I couldn't pass up on this. And everyone in the fucking city's probably going for the room, it's not like I was likely to get it anyway, not with an advert that attractive. Sorry, what's that? Where did I see the advert? No, sorry, I can't quite… No, no, I don't think it was on a website, maybe a… Listen, I don't fucking remember, okay?

Anyway, so this guy smiled and he stepped back, and with his long legs he was all of a sudden right back in the shadows, and he let me in and the door closed behind me and all of a sudden it's just so dark. And I sort of stumbled around and I hear his voice, somewhere off down the corridor, and he said, and I remember this, because it's the first time I heard his voice, all soft and whispery, like I'm imagining it more than I'm hearing it, and there's this light, coming down the corridor from some door, but it's not like the hallway gets any brighter, it's just this beam of light for me to walk to. And he said, right, he says "Why don't you come into the parlour?" I remember that, exactly, because who the fuck says parlour, but it's in my head too, like it echoes in there. Anyway, so I walk towards this light, but it feels, I don't know, like I'm pushing through something, like- fuck, sorry, can we stop for a minute, I just need-

[Archivist's note: the recording was paused here at the subject's request. The subject was provided with a cup of tea and a member of the museum staff brought some food. After around five minutes, the subject was happy to continue the interview.]

Sorry, it's just, that's sort of where it feels like it all started. Walking through that hallway towards that voice and that light and that… that parlour. I'm not sure I really even remember what happened next. We spoke, for a while, the house rules and stuff I guess, when rent was due. I don't even remember agreeing to taking the room, it was just assumed. He certainly didn't give me a tour. He didn't even tell me his name, I don't think, not then anyway.

The next thing I knew I was back blinking in bright daylight, disorientated to be out of the dark and out of the warm, heady air of my new home. I flew back to London the next day, and spent the next few weeks preparing for my move. I received a contract in the post and found out my landlord's name - Damhán Alla. The contract was short, and was lacking a lot of the details I was expecting - nothing about a deposit, no bank details to transfer money to, none of the usual stuff. And what was there was odd - the contract was for one year and one day, no naked flames, the basement was out of bounds, I wasn't allowed to use certain spices or cleaning products, and I specifically wasn't allowed to do the hoovering myself. But like I said, if he wanted to run a tax dodge or whatever it was by renting me a cheap room, and if he was a little particular about his cleaning, or he's got some allergies, I was happy to help him out.

I turned up with all my worldly possessions in a few bulky bags - I'd either sold a lot of my stuff or sent it to my parents for storage, there was no realistic way I could haul much of anything to Ireland. My new landlord opened the door and was once again eye-achingly still for a moment or two, and then suddenly he's all charm, welcoming me in, taking my bags from me once I'm over the threshold, asking me how the journey was, if I wanted something to eat or drink.

I stuck my hand out. "It's Damhán, right?" I said. "I don't think we actually exchanged names last time." Thinking back, I don't even know how he knew my name and address to send me the contract.

His laugh was soft, but with a cruelty hiding somewhere deep in it. There was another sound there too, coming from his throat; a clicking maybe, or bubbling, and a hissing behind that. "Damhán," he corrected my pronunciation. "Not 'Damn-ham'."

"Down," I tried again. He shook his head and repeated it, slowly. "Dow-un," I said, doing my best to replicate him. He shrugged and gave a small nod - it would do, obviously.

I had the attic room - a whole floor really. In contrast to the rest of the house it was light and airy, with large windows and modern furniture. It had an en suite, a little kitchenette, even my own sitting area. I never needed to use the rest of the house if I didn't want to, but Damhán assured me from the shadows of the stairwell that I had the run of it, reminding me once again about the contract's stipulation not to go into the basement.

I got the full tour. The house was huge - I mean huge, you know. Bigger than it looked from the street, it must have just gone back and back. Loads of empty rooms, which makes sense, I guess; what are you supposed to fill that much space with? I remember at the time asking where his bedroom was, you know, just so I'm not stepping on his toes, and him avoiding the question. Thinking back I don't think I ever did figure that out. And the whole house was dark, curtains drawn in every room, hardly any lights. And cobwebs absolutely everywhere. And these cobwebs weren't dainty little strands, you know, they were thick. I'd occasionally walk through one and actually get stuck for a second or two. I remember thinking that if I had enough money to afford a house like that I'd hire a cleaner to come in a couple of times a week, but rich people are weird, right?

We made our way through the dark to the kitchen - me stumbling, my new landlord silent - where he started pulling out pots and pans to cook me lunch. I can't remember if I'd mentioned being hungry, but I suppose I must have been, anyway, after so long traveling.

Once he was set up, he led me through to the parlour where we spoke that first time, and told me to sit down. He left and I could hear him cooking in the kitchen.

He came back in after a while and placed a plate filled with bacon sandwiches in front of me. The bread was thickly sliced and freshly baked, the fat on the bacon was still sizzling slightly, and I could smell the butter before it was even close. There must have been three or four of them on the plate, each one piled with bacon and far too much for me to eat in one sitting usually. I remember salivating and licking my lips. Damhán licked his lips as well, and watched me tuck in.

Damhán wasn't much of a talker, I quickly learned, but he liked my company at meal times. Whenever I did try talking to him, he'd always end up laughing - with that hissing, bubbling, clicking sound beneath it. I learnt after a while to not make him laugh. He'd not eat with me, he'd just… watch me. Each breakfast and dinner time, and lunch on weekends, he'd call me into the parlour, place a pile of food in front of me and watch me eat it all. Always huge portions, always rich and fatty, always fucking incredible. Some of the best food I'd ever eaten, honestly. Every time I'd think, I'm never finishing that, y’know, always a proper pile of food, and then I'd take that first bite and… Look, it did taste amazing, it did, and I'm sure that was a part of it, but really… I don't know. I just ate. Like I entered a trance, or I was sleepwalking, or… I don't know, okay? All I know is he'd put food in front of me and watch me eat and then it was like, I don't know, like I knew I was eating but I didn't feel it. Like someone else was eating and I was watching them as well.

I started snacking at work as well. I've never been much of a snacker, got to watch my figure you know. Ha! And you can see for yourself how that turned out. But all of a sudden I'm just hungry all the time, I'm stashing chocolate and biscuits in my desk and in my coat, and all day I'm just mindlessly eating and- no, no, not like when he was watching, not that kind of mindless, just, you know, I didn’t ever think about it, it was just, I don't know, habit or instinct or automatic or whatever.

I didn't notice at first. The weight gain, I mean. God, I mean I must have noticed it, but I didn't notice it, you know? Like I could see it happening, I could see myself getting doughy and could see my gut puffing up and how my clothes weren't fitting right, but it's not like. I don't know. I thought with the move and the new job and living in a new country, it was just stress. Like, my weight goes up and down sometimes, this was just an up, there was nothing to notice.

But it kept on going up. And up. And at some point I'm bigger than I've ever been and my clothes aren't just fitting weird or too small, they're tight. Like, couple of sizes, bursting out, buttons not closing tight. I don't know what everyone at work thought. God, I must have been obscene. Actually, I think I, yeah, give me a moment, I've got a picture from around then, some work drinks thing… ah, yeah, here you go.

[Archivist’s note: the subject here showed a picture of himself in a small crowd, at a bar or similar. The subject looks to be around 250 lbs and wearing clothes several sizes too small, with skin showing where his shirt has ridden up, and shirt and trousers showing clear signs of the fabric straining. This picture, along with several others the subject has provided of themselves during their time in Ireland, can be found in the supplemental materials attached to this statement.]

I still didn't see it though. Like, you can see what I looked like, and, I mean, god those trousers! They must have killed, you know? And I can remember how painful they were to wear, remember noticing my body getting bigger, but my brain, I don’t know, just didn’t make the connection that I was actually getting fatter.

It was fast. Really fast. There was this woman in the office, Sarah, right, and she was maybe six months pregnant when I started. Well, obviously, couple of months later she's going on maternity and I looked over at her and I think its the first time I clocked how big I was getting because I realised my belly was bigger than hers. Even accounting for, you know, different heights and builds and stuff, my gut still looked bigger on my frame. One day just before she was due, she mentioned she's put on over two stone, and I remember people saying how much that is. I get home and I weighed myself for the first time since London. I was eighteen and a half stone. I'd put on about five stone since moving. I literally put on more than twice as much as a pregnant woman, and I did it in only a few months. That's mad, right? After that I tried to pay a bit more attention to my weight, step on some scales occasionally, but like I say, it was difficult. My brain just couldn't focus on the idea.

At some point in all of this, some point before I realised I put on more than Sarah I mean, Damhán one day just appeared in the parlour while I was eating some, I don't know, mound of potatoes and meat, and he just put this pile of clothes next to me. Didn't say a word, no mention of how it's because I'm bursting out of my own clothes or where they've come from, just puts them next to me then stands back to watch me eat.

I tried them on later and they fit perfectly. Well, I mean. They fit, anyway. I think I was so used to my clothes cutting in everywhere by that point that anything that was actually reasonably my size felt like it was tailor-made. They must have been expensive though. Real wool suits, tweed trousers. Not really my style, you know, bit old fashioned, but I couldn't deny they looked good, and by that point I was just happy I had something where I could get all the buttons to close.

I remember one time, not too long after, I think I was a bit over twenty stone at that point. I’d come back from the pub - I started drinking a lot, during it all. I think on some level I recognised how fucked up it all was and was just trying to… I dont know. Numb myself. Get out of the house. Whatever. I came back, took off my coat and shoes and whatever, get upstairs and collapsed. The next morning I had this hangover from hell, but at least I knew Damhán’s going to have sorted a slap up breakfast to help me through it. So I went downstairs and… god, sorry, it's just… right, no, I'm fine, I'm fine, I just need…

[Archivist's note: The recording was once again paused here, and the subject was given some cake and biscuits while he became settled.]

Sorry, where was I? Right. I went downstairs and he’s standing in the hallway with his palm outstretched. Completely still, like he's been there hours, just waiting for me to come down. He had a lighter in his hand - I must have nabbed it off someone in the smoking area, you know how it is on a night out, you just sort of pick these things up, don’t you? Anyway he’s stood there with this fucking lighter in his hand, just staring and staring at me as I come down the stairs, and he said “Your contract said no lighters”. That's it. No “good morning” or “how's the head” or whatever. “Your contract said no lighters.”

And I said, you know, sorry, won't happen again, few too many last night, as you do. And he doesn't move. Just stood there with his lighter and he just repeated himself, louder: “No lighters, no naked flames.” And I realise, this guy’s angry. Really, properly, fucking livid. He was almost shaking with it, you could hear it in his voice. His face wasn't really showing it, not really, a little bit around his mouth maybe, but his eyes were… fuck they were blank. This guy was furious about this lighter, probably waited for hours for me to wake up, and his eyes were just blank.

So I'm there realising just how badly I've fucked up, that he must have some phobia or something. I’d seen all the hobs and whatever were induction whatsits, but I'd not really thought about it until then, just thought, I don't know, fuck, that they were just induction hobs, didn't think to care. I started to apologise again, told him I understood. I don't know if he heard me. He just went on and on about lighters and fire, getting louder and louder all the time, until suddenly he just stops and turns around and walks away down the hall.

For a second he stopped outside the door to the basement and put his hand on the knob and turned to look at me. It was like he was sizing me up, looking me up and down. Clearly he decided against whatever he was planning because he carried on to the kitchen and just snapped at me to go sit in the parlour. I remember that moment really clearly. And to say it now, it's nothing, right? He went to open a door. Decided against it. But… fuck me, it felt important at the time. Like my whole life depended on whether or not he opened that door. Maybe it did.

Fifteen minutes later he walked in and just put two big frying pans down in front of me, one piled up with bacon, one filled with eggs and sausages. He walks away and comes back with a loaf of bread and a couple of packs of butter and throws those at me and says “eat”.

And there was a part of me that, you know, obviously wanted to ask about the deconstructed breakfast sandwich I've just been served, and a part of me that was just absolutely boggling at how much food there was, but then there was… I mean the biggest part of me, the bit that wins out, just says to eat.

So I ate. I reached out and I grabbed some bacon with my bare hands out of the frying pan and I just shoveled it in my mouth, and just carried on until it was all gone, all the while with Damhán stood watching. Then the eggs and sausages, just with my hands, you know, with the yolk just, fuck, just dribbling down my arms. When that was all gone I started taking bites out of the bread. Didn't slice it, didn't butter it, just ate until it was gone. Then Damhán just carried on watching me and I… I got that feeling. Like I was in a trance and the only thing I knew is that I had to eat. So I bit into the butter. Just took a great big bite out of it. And another, and another. Fuck me, I ate it like it was chocolate. And I was screaming at myself to stop, right? Obviously I didn't want to be eating butter by the block. But he didn't force me, or threaten me, or whatever, didn't even tell me to. I ate it. I did that. Me. And he just watched.

Once I was done he walked out and left me alone. I won't lie, I cried. Pretty fucking hard. My stomach hurt, I was covered in butter and grease and egg. I felt huge - I was huge. And I just felt so ashamed.

After that it all picked up pace. He never mentioned that day again, but meals got bigger. A lot bigger. Each one could have fed a rugby team. Occasionally he'd just put a block of butter on the side, like it was a fucking dessert or something. I always ate it. He never told me to. I just knew what I was supposed to do.

And I started swelling up. I was gaining fast beforehand, but this was, fuck me, I reckon it must have been over a pound a day, maybe two. Must have been, honestly, considering how fast it all was and how big I am now. Clothes just seemed constantly uncomfortable; even straight after he'd given me bigger ones, they'd not quite fit right. My back hurt all the time from hefting around this gut, my feet hurt, I got these stretch marks fucking everywhere. It was just a lot, all the time, and my body never got a chance to adjust.

It was around Christmas, I must have been, maybe twenty-six, twenty-seven stone - who knows honestly, it all went by so fast. I went to my work’s Christmas do. Fuck knows what they must have all thought of me - can you imagine? They hire me at thirteen, fourteen stone, and not even a year later I'm pushing double that and not showing any signs of stopping?

Anyway, the Christmas do. I'm wearing the biggest Christmas jumper that I could find in M&S, and even that's, you know, riding up on me, fits me like a sausage casing. People are being friendly, nicer than I'd be if I was watching someone inflate in front of me in real time, if I'm being honest. No jokes or anything; not to my face anyway. And someone asks if I'm going home for Christmas, and I say no, I'm staying in Dublin. They ask, you know, very reasonable questions; am I not seeing family, my friends back in London? And I couldn't answer them. I had no clue why I wasn't going back home.

Eventually someone asks will I be doing anything with my housemates. I said it's just me and the landlord, so they get to asking about him, you know, what's he like, is he alright, do I get on with him. And at some point I mention his name and a couple of people give me funny looks, one woman laughs at me. I assume I've just said it funny, you know how Irish names are. And someone tells me that Damhán Alla means spider in Irish. I sort of laugh and say I must be saying it wrong, I spell it out on a napkin and someone says, no, that’s definitely just ‘spider’. And they keep on asking questions; is it his first name, full name, do I know if it's a nickname, just finding it absolutely mad that the new fat English bloke at work is claiming his landlord’s full name is Spider.

It makes me feel weird. I think they eventually just accept it as a weird name, like celebrity parents calling their kids Apple or Moonbase, but it really stuck with me. And I didn't really talk the rest of the evening, I just sat thinking about the cobwebs, and how dark the house is, and how dark and empty his eyes were.

At some point I followed someone to the smoking area and made a point of nicking a lighter. I didn't know what it was supposed to do, what I'd use it for, but fuck it, if Damhán didn't want me to have a lighter then I'd make sure to have a lighter. I tucked it into my pocket, and from that point on I always had it hidden somewhere, slept with it under my pillow, even kept it in sight when I was having a shower.

Nothing changed for a while, not really. I had my lighter, and I was thinking about Damhán differently, but honestly, it's not like I'd trusted him for a good while anyway. I was still eating the insane piles of food he put in front of me, still getting fatter and fatter. This goes on for a few months, and remember, I reckon I'm putting on over a pound a day at this point - a few months is a good long time to be putting on that much weight. But, as I got bigger, I felt like Damhán started to act differently towards me. I could see him eyeing me up sometimes, like, I was some fruit he was waiting on to get ripe enough. He even asked me, a couple of times, how much I weighed. I'd always tell him, between my bites of butter. One time I said I wasn't sure and he followed me up to the bathroom and watched me weigh myself. I remember him laughing when I read off the weight - bubbling and clicking and hissing again, making my stomach turn - and telling me I was doing a good job.

One Sunday in March, breakfast was huge. I mean, I was pretty used to eating a lot of food by that point, but this was just a crazy amount of food. He just kept bringing out plates and plates of it, didn't even watch me like he usually did, just kept on going back into the kitchen to whip up more. Eventually the sausages and eggs turn into roast vegetables and chicken and gravy, and there's some steaks in there, a load of it was just ready meals still in the plastic, and it all just keeps coming and coming and I just keep eating and eating. Eventually it got dark and the food stopped coming. He never says what the fuck just happened or that it was over, he just stops coming in with trays of food. Anyway, at some point a bit after that I heard him go through the basement door, which, I mean, I should have realised then that something was about to happen. Because I've never been down there, obviously, but I also don't think I've ever seen him go down there either.

Anyway, I sit there burping and farting and digesting until I feel human enough to pull myself up, and fuck me I was used to putting on weight by that point, but I could literally feel all that sudden extra weight. And I stagger up the stairs, probably travelling about a foot a minute, really fucking sluggish, until I collapse into bed, in the same too small pyjamas I had on that morning, my gut fucking looming over me, not even enough strength to pull the covers over me, fuck knows if I’d even be able to reach over my gut to grab them in the first place, and I’m asleep within a few minutes.

At some point I woke up. I didn't think too much about it at first, because I'd started snoring pretty bad somewhere in the first hundred pounds or so, bad enough that I woke myself up with it sometimes. But eventually, I started to see a shape somewhere above me. Like, the room was pitch black, but there was a section above me that was even darker. And I felt something drop onto my face, like something wet and slimy. I reach over to turn my light on and there's Damhán leaning over me, with his mouth wide open, long lines of saliva falling down onto me.

And his teeth were, fuck, I don't know if I'd ever seen his teeth before. Like, maybe he never opened his mouth when he spoke? Or maybe it was the same as how I didn't think about how much I ate or how big I was getting and he just made me not notice them, but they were… fuck me. His mouth was full of these huge, sharp, black fangs.

And even though he had his mouth wide open, wider than I've ever seen any human ever open their mouth, it sort of felt like he was smiling. Like this sadistic, shit-eating smile.

I backed away, as best as I could, what with my being the size of a small hatchback and the fact that he was close enough that even a normal sized person wouldn't be able to really put that much space between him and them, never mind me with my gut almost touching him. I realised that I was covered in cobwebs, thick ones, so that I had to pull them off as I went. And he laughed. His mouth didn't move, but he laughed, and it was so much worse than any other time I'd heard. It was that same gurgling, hissing, clicking sound, but it was like he wasn't bothering to cover it up anymore. I felt like throwing up.

I reached under my pillow and I grabbed my lighter and held it up to him, lit. It seems mad really, how he reacted to it. A tiny little flame like that, and that fucking monster cowered from it like I was holding a gun up to his head. I’m not particularly maneuverable, these days, so it was a struggle, but I made sure as fuck to keep that little flame between him and me at all times as I heaved myself out of bed.

I backed towards the door, and I think he panicked that I was going to get away because he lunged at me and… fuck. He went up like he was covered in petrol. The flame barely touched him. And he started going around the room, bumping into things, and they went up as well.

I couldn't exactly run, but I turned around and I lumbered out of there as quickly as I could. At one point I turned round and the whole landing had gone up behind me. I couldn't believe how fast it was all burning. I think it was all the cobwebs.

I got downstairs, with my heart pounding, and I turned around one last time to see the basement door open. I heard this clicking and gurgling, like when Damhán laughed, and these legs came out round the door, like spiders’ legs but huge. Six, eight feet long maybe. I didn't wait to see whatever they were attached to. I barrelled the door down, and I think it came off its hinges - this much weight will do that.

A neighbour must have rung 999, because the emergency services got there pretty sharpish. The paramedics put one of those foil blanket things awkwardly over my shoulders, like it was supposed to cover me up, and I got given a cup of tea and sat in an ambulance for a bit, then got taken to the police station for some questioning. I lied, obviously. Just told them I woke up when I heard the fire alarm and that's all I knew. I mean, what was I supposed to tell them? I set fire to my surprisingly flammable landlord because he was fattening me up to feed to a spider god he kept in the basement? Is that… I mean, do you think that's what it was? No, no, I suppose you don't know any more than me.

Someone at the station must have picked something up about why I wasn't giving any details, or they had additional information about the house or something, because someone mentioned I should give you guys a call. That you've smoothed over cases before where some of the details have been, I don't know, weird.

And I guess I thought you might be able to give me some answers. If you've seen anything similar, I mean. Like why did he have to make me so fat? Okay, you've got a spider-thing in your basement and you want to make sure its meals are nice and big and nutritious, but then why take so long? Just feed it a normal-sized person a week, not, fuck, not the fattest person you’ve ever seen after a year.

No. No, I suppose you haven't. Sorry, I just. Yeah.

I've been to a doctor about the weight. They didn't even have any scales that could weigh me, they had to refer me to a specialist who had some bariatric scale things. Fucking four-hundred and eighty something pounds. Thirty-five stone, or near enough. Have you ever even seen someone that big? Ha, I suppose you have now, yeah. Anyway, yeah, they've got me on some special weight loss regime, you know, restricted calories, physical therapy which is basically just walking for ten minutes until I'm knackered. I need to lose a load of weight before they can even talk about surgery.

That's it, I guess. Will you- yeah, no sorry, you've got your own procedures and stuff. Yeah, I can see myself back to reception. I don't suppose you have any more of those biscuits, do you?

[Statement ends.

Final archivist's notes, dated 05/11/23: The details of Mr Barrett’s statement have been verified as far as possible. There is a record of his move to and employment in Dublin, and while there is not a record of his renting with Mr Alla, there is a record of the existence of a building matching Mr Barrett’s description at the address provided and of the fire Mr Barrett described [see supplemental materials].

There are 17 reports of missing persons logged in Dublin where the missing person had gained a significant amount of weight prior to their disappearance, going back to 1909.

The name Damhán Alla appears in four previous statements, dating back to 1907. We have added the name as a searchable tag to these statements, although none seem to deal directly with him.

In recent follow up interviews with Mr Barrett's family, friends and doctors, it would seem that his weight loss plan has been unsuccessful, and he has gained somewhat more weight since moving back to London. His family and friends have noted that he seems in good spirits, despite his rather unique trauma and ongoing circumstances. His father made a mention of a new hobby - a newfound interest in spiders.]

#weight gain #gaining fiction #gainer fiction #gainer story #weight gain story #male weight gain #wg story #weight gain fiction #the spider to the fly #ive had lots of people mention that whst they like about my stories is how sweet they are #lol anyway here's this #horror fiction

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thegainingdesk · 4 months

Text

The Grommr Profile of Dorian Grey

Dorian finished the last chicken wing, delicately wiping his hands with a napkin, before dabbing at the sides of his mouth. “And one hundred!” He beamed at the camera, and rubbed his middle, not-so-subtly lifting his t-shirt to reveal taut, flat six-pack abs. “Guess that will sort me until dinner,” he said with a wink to his audience.

He looked at the comments on his livestream. Most were in awe, as usual, at how much he could eat while maintaining his stick-thin figure and classically handsome good looks. Others, frustratingly, accused him of being a fake - of using some contraption or camera trickery to make the food disappear, of editing in CGI food, of bullimia. He'd done live shows, week-long streams, streams in nothing but his boxers, but nothing would ever convince some of his viewers.

One in particular caught his attention: lol, why are you all commenting like he'll respond? everyone knows he films these over like a week and then edits it together after

Dorian gritted his teeth. “Actually, user WelcomeToMyFistedMind, comment at fifteen thirty-two and eighteen seconds, this is very much live. And actually, I don't think I am done quite yet.” He stood and walked to the kitchen, coming back with a box of two dozen donuts he'd bought for tomorrow's stream. He sat back down and pushed the first one into his mouth, grinning around the custard that oozed out.

Forty-five minutes and twenty-four donuts later, Dorian flashed one last smug grin at the camera and closed twitch. He leant back, lifted up his t-shirt and ran his fingers lazily up and down his treasure-trail, following the center line between his abdominals. Despite the literal pounds of food he'd eaten in the last couple of hours, his stomach was as flat as ever, his twinkish frame showing none of the effects of the food he ate day in, day out.

His channel, MukbangBangYoureDead, had exploded in viewers ever since he started it a few years ago, until he was now one of the most famous mukbangers on the internet. He could not only eat more than all of his competitors, he made it look easy, and all without gaining a pound.

Of course, he had something that they didn't - the deal. He'd been hesitant at first, didn't believe the strange visitor that had come to him one night could or would deliver on its promises. But here he was, years later, making tens of thousands of pounds a month, all without consequence.

Thinking about the deal, he opened Grommr on his phone and brought up his profile. He whistled as he saw the updated weight - 576 pounds. He'd been flirting with 570 for a while now, and was pleased to see how far he'd stepped over that threshold. Time, he thought, for an update for his loyal fans on that platform too.

He pulled his trousers off and threw them to the side, leaving his t-shirt on. He walked to the mirror and admired his toned, pencil-like legs, his lightly muscled arms, the way his t-shirt draped from broad shoulders and tight pecs over his narrow waist, and his large bulge constrained by a designer jock-strap in bright yellow. He raised his phone up and took a picture, and proceeded to take his shirt off. He raised one hand to a lightly-haired pec and gave it a squeeze as he took a second picture. Finally, he lay down on his bed, snaked some long-slender fingers into his waistband, and raised his phone to take another photo from above.

He uploaded the pictures to Grommr without even looking at them - he knew there'd be no point, that they'd look completely different in just a moment or two. They appeared one by one as they uploaded.

Each showed a behemoth of a man. In the first the man stood in a mirror, wearing a t-shirt that cut into fat hanging from his sides and strained to cover large, pendulous breasts. His gut hung out and down, covering his genitals - a small pop of yellow beneath his love handles was the only hint that he was wearing any underwear. The man's face was huge and round, his features almost amorphous. Small, piggy eyes sat above bulbous cheeks, which merged into a ring of fat around his head, his chin a mere dimple in the fat around his neck. Even in the still image, it was clear that the man's arm was straining against its own weight to hold the phone up.

The next photo was much the same. The same morbidly obese figure stood in the same mirror. This time, the pitifully small t-shirt had been discarded to reveal cascading flesh hanging to the side, lying on the mountainous belly. One hand grasped one of the tits, bloated fingers digging into the soft flesh.

In the next, the figure was laid prone. Gravity had pulled down on the soft flesh and caused it to drop down and pool around the figure. The moobs lifted up towards the man's non-existant neck and chin, his gut spread out, his face expanded in all directions. New rolls and folds had formed - where arm met shoulder, where joints bent, or where his gut bunched up against itself. In the brighter lighting, painfully red stretch marks bloomed across the man's skin, circling his thighs, his love handles like loaves, across his dropping breasts. The man's left hand struggled to reach around his gut to grasp at the waistband of a straining jock strap, within which a small bump suggested some long-forgotten nub of a cock, sunk deep within the fat that spilled out around the underwear’s pouch. The man’s face was red, and seemed to strain as he struggled to maneuver his own flesh.

Dorian watched on in boredom as the first few comments rolled in. The usual adoring fans, begging to know the secrets to his titanic weight, proclaiming they’d soon look the same, asking to meet up. He would wait until a few of his regulars sent their customary tips, then go on with the rest of his day. In the meantime, a couple of the comments caused a smile to spread across his angular face.

MayContainDonuts: MealWithTheDevil looking great as ever! I don't know what it is, but he always looks so much like that one mukbang guy? Obviously fatter, but just the eyes and nose and stuff? I wonder if they're related?

BloatGoat: Do you mean MukbangBangYoureDead? If you can find some of his old photos the resemblance is uncanny. People used to think they were the same person but obviously not. Definitely could be related!

Dorian smirked and went to close the app, stopping only to check a small notification that popped up at the top of his screen. There would be routine server maintenance the next day, and the site would be down for around eight hours, starting mid-morning for the UK.

Dorian sighed. He hated server shutdowns, and this would be the longest he'd experienced yet. Still, he had a while to prepare. He'd have to cancel some lunch plans, but he could make up some lie about being ill. He got dressed, stood up and left to go buy enough food for tomorrow.

Dorian paced around his flat nervously the next morning. He checked his watch - 10:01. He quickly tried to bring up Grommr - sure enough, he was met with an error message about the server being down. It would start soon enough.

The first sign of it was his t-shirt. Previously loose, after about five minutes he found he was having to fuss with it to get it to sit right. another five minutes and it had begun riding up around puffy lovehandles and a firm paunch, while his sweatpants were starting to slip down an expanding rear. Another ten minutes and he took the t-shirt off, freeing a large beer gut that bounced when he walked. His sweatpants had grown almost skin tight around hefty thighs and would soon be too tight for comfort. He knew that this was only the start.

The hunger started then; sickly, stabbing pains in his newly expanded gut. He put two pizzas in the oven and sat with a donuts while he waited, knowing that soon his body, and his appetite along with it, would soon be able to accommodate all the food.

Just under thirty minutes in, Dorian's gut started to rest on his lap when he sat. He leant back, the swollen sack of fat at his middle dragging along his lap as he did so, and his cock began to harden. He reached a hand up to scratch the pink stretch marks beginning to form below his budding moobs.

While stuffed to the point of breathlessness just five minutes before, his stomach was still expanding, and he could feel the gnawing hunger begin to creep back in. He belched and stood, tottering slightly at the near-total shift in center of gravity since he’d sat down. He peeled off his sweatpants, struggling past his wide arse and flabby thighs, then gathered as much food as he could in his arms, using the top of his gut as a shelf and cautiously made his way back to his sofa, where he collapsed down, put on a trashy movie, and continued to eat.

Dorian continued to grow as his pile of junk food diminished. He savoured the feeling of soft, supple skin sliding past skin as he swelled - his growing tits pouring out onto his behemoth gut, his underbelly coursing forwards across rotund thighs dimpled with cellulite, his fat pad oozing around his perpetually hard dick. He knew to wait though; the bigger he was, the hotter his eventual orgasm would be.

Dorian looked down and surveyed himself. His body was beginning to be defined by rolls upons rolls. He estimated himself to be around the size he reached last time there was some server downtime; his profile had put on at least a hundred pounds since then. He lifted a heavy arm and used a hand to probe his plush flesh, sighing at the way his newly chubby fingers sank into the fat.

Still, the hunger increased. Dorian tried to lean forward to grab his phone, but found his own sheer bulk resisted him, pushing him back. He spread his legs and allowed his gut to fall down between them, the shift pulling his body forward in his seat and causing a dull ache in his lower back. He picked up his phone and with clumsy sausage-like fingers brought up a delivery app. He allowed instinct and hunger to take over - spring rolls, beef, chilli beef, sweet and sour chicken, duck pancakes, chilli chips, everything he saw he was ravenous for. He'd not been this big before and the hunger was deep. He pressed order, only briefly worrying about how he'd answer the door when he had no clothes that could hope to fit him.

Dorian’s body continued to expand. There was an alienness to his new size; his thighs had to splay around his hanging gut, his arms sat uncomfortably on top of thick pillows of fat at his sides, each joint filled with lard, and most of all was the awareness of gravity, how it pulled at his body and how his body answered in kind by dropping down and down.

Half an hour of nagging hunger later, his doorbell rang. He threw himself forward, but fell back to the sofa. Even that unsuccessful effort left him winded. He rolled to the side, fat cascading over fat as he did so, and staggered to stand sideways, his arms shaking as he heaved with all his might against the sofa. He grabbed a blanket and draped it over him; it barely covered his torso, but it was the best he could do.

How had he never realised how easy walking was before? Now, every step needed to be purposeful and required a conscious effort to propel his weight forwards. He had to wheel each thigh out and around past the other, each one a lead weight to be lifted. Dorian reached the door panting and sweaty, his hips burning with the beginnings of pain. The delivery driver looked on in shock, and then in slow horror. Dorian didn't care, he just grabbed his bags and slammed the door, before making his slow way back to his seat.

As he fell back, the sofa made a loud crunching sound and he felt himself sink deep into the cushions. He shuffled over the other side as best he could, each movement sending shockwaves across his body. He piled his bags into the crater left on the other side of the sofa and ate directly out of them, the table now wholly unreachable.

Dorian suspected he stopped growing around the time that he'd finished his food. If nothing else, the hunger had stopped. His torso had become a series of rolls, each one wrapped around his entire body and piled on top of the next. His limbs had become huge sacks of flesh, spreading out beneath him, the only evidence of his joints small, soft dimples in the thick casing of his body.

Dorian knew he'd waited long enough now. He pushed a stubby paw into the deep fold underneath his gut, reaching for the hard nub of his cock not yet swallowed by his fat pad. It was no use however, the heavy weight of his belly pressing down and closing off his own groin from himself. He leant to the side and spread his thighs, freeing up access and shifting his weight off from his lap, but still his fingers had to squirm past sweaty flesh into the small crevice left of his crotch. He grasped at the hard head of his cock, finding it in a shallow depression of flab nestled in dense pubes. With two fingers he did his best to jerk himself off, but to no avail - there was simply not enough cock left and not enough space to handle it in. Desperate for release he began to thrust, rocking his pelvis back and forth, so that the thick shaft of his penis slid within his own blubber, fucking his own body. He closed his eyes and ignored the tortured groans of the sofa below him as his pleasure grew. It only took a few minutes for him to cum, semen coating his fat pad and thighs as he yelled out.

Dorian slumped back, gasping for air, and exhausted, drifted off into a sleep.

When he woke up, it was dark. He could still feel the weight of his body pulling down. This wasn't right. As slow as it took for the weight to pile on, usually it melted away in seconds once the servers were back online, which should have happened hours ago. He checked the time - 23:24. Had something gone wrong?

He checked Grommr - the site was back up. He tried to log in - nothing. App - no. Browser - no. He tried to type his password in again, fat fingers mashing against the keyboard so that he had to try again slowly, deliberately. Nothing worked. He felt his heart pounding somewhere beneath his bosom.

Finally, he noticed an email in his inbox.

Grommr admin team - lost profile

During our recent scheduled server update, a small number of user profiles were unfortunately lost. We are sorry to tell you that your profile was one of those that we have not been able to recover. We are doing everything we can to recover lost profiles, but we are sadly not…

Dorian stopped reading. He looked down at the acres of flesh that were now his body. He lifted an arm up and let it fall, watching it shake and wobble in the dim light. What would he tell his family? His friends? His fans? This couldn't be happening.

Through his panicked breathing and heavy heartbeat, another feeling began to grow - Dorian Grey was beginning to feel hungry.

#weight gain #gainer story #gainer fiction #male weight gain #gaining fiction #weight gain fiction #weight gain story #wg story #im very proud of the grommr usernames #the grommr profile of dorian grey #the title came to me out of no where and i knew i needed to write it #no offence intended to any grommr admins #im sure you dont regularly need to shut down the servers for 8 hours at a time or randomly lose profiles

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thegainingdesk · 6 months

Text

I've been hovering between 36" and 38" trousers for a little while. I've noticed this past week that my trousers were getting uncomfortable every time I wore them, but for the life of me I couldn't find any of my 38s. A couple of pairs were definitely in the wash, but I knew for a fact there's at least one clean pair somewhere. Whatever, they're pinching but I'll live in these 36s for a while and just be glad that I've officially, unequivocally made the transition up a size.

I actually bothered checking the label today. These are my 38s. My 36s won't just be "pinching", they're completely out of the question. And I don't want to say "I wear 40" waist trousers" if I've not actually tried them on, but... I mean, I'd better buy a couple of pairs, right? Should I pick up a pair of 42s? For that inevitable moment?

There's something so utterly visceral about outgrowing clothes. The increasing tightness against your growing body, contrasting with the blessed relief, the comfortable looseness once you size-up - and knowing, knowing, that soon you'll fill up all that extra space too, that soon these clothes will be the ones that are too tight, too restricting, too small, ready for the process to repeat.

Maybe, to some extent it's because it's so much easier to compare clothing sizes - weights are tricky. I see someone the same weight as me and I think how much bigger they look, or how my gut is rounder, or my thighs are softer, or their moobs bigger . Clothes sizes are official - we wear the same size, we fill the same volume. You're still in 36s? Ah, shame, I've just bought a pair of 40s.

Over the summer I went on a short holiday with friends. At one point, me and one of my closest friends were just lounging about on the sofa in our pyjamas, half-asleep, Wimbledon on in the background while everyone was out. We both sort-of woke up at about the same point, and he made a little comment about my shirt riding up. I tried to tug my shirt down and he just laughed because clearly it wasn't working. Now, this friend is straight, but we're close, he's made some jokes about my weight gain, he's at least semi-aware that I at least don't mind the added weight (a story for a different time), so he doesn't particularly mind my gut sticking out a touch, but he says I should probably put on something a bit more covering before everyone else is back.

And as I'm changing I realise that I was wearing a large t-shirt. Now, at the time I was sort of between L and XL - both worked, I could tell L's were getting a little restrictive, and I had a desired trajectory towards adding some X's, so my wardrobe was a bit of a mix of the two, but up until that point, large shirts had definitely fit. All of a sudden, they're not just a little tight, or I can feel the difference or whatever, they're indecently small - literally, someone had just told me to change to make myself decent. And that's a large; it's in the name, right? It's not huge but it's large. Larger than average. Larger than most people.

And this friend is a lot smaller than me - he wears small and medium shirts. All of a sudden I'm realising that this shirt, the shirt I'd just outgrown, that I'll never fit into again, would be way too big for him. I'm not just bigger than him, I'm bigger than people who are bigger than him. If he asks me to borrow a shirt, I have to apologise for how my old, too-tight shirt from the back of my wardrobe will be too big for him, but it'll work in a pinch. I ask him if I can borrow a shirt and I'll burst out of it like a scene from one of my stories.

Better buy some 2XL's ready for the next time he has to make a comment like that. Some 42s as well. Hopefully I'll be in them before Wimbledon rolls round again.

#weight gain #personal ramblings #personal #not a story #gaining

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thegainingdesk · 7 months

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The Shirt

Ollie had to admit it to himself - he kind of looked sexy. His new shirt looked and felt great and he didn't know the last time he'd felt so confident. He usually didn't go for patterns, but there was something about the cute little dancing bear motif that really charmed him.

He'd held out on buying any size large shirts, convincing himself it was a boundary he wouldn't cross, that he'd lose the small amount of chub he'd accumulated, that he wasn't nearly as big as that yet. Wearing it now, he realised how silly he'd been. Not being constrained from all angles, not having to suck in his middle all the time, not having to worry about bending down or twisting the wrong way - it was like a weight was lifted.

Looking in the mirror now, finally wearing clothes that fit, it was obvious that most of the size was in his head. What's a large, really? Nothing. Okay, he wasn't skinny, but he wasn't fat either - he'd always been naturally broad, hadn't he? He was never going to fit into mediums like his mates. He just didn't look like a kid anymore.

"Looking good man!" Geoff said, sticking his head through the door. "New shirt? We're heading off in a bit, you joining?"

"Yeah, yeah, just give me a minute," Ollie said, smoothing the front of the shirt down and taking one last look at himself. Time to upgrade the rest of his wardrobe if it's all going to look this good, he thought to himself.

"You okay?" Ollie's date Malik asked, one eyebrow raised. "You look a little uncomfortable."

"No, it's fine," Ollie said as he tugged his shirt down and tucked it in for what must have been the tenth time since he'd reached the bar. "Really, I'm fine. My shirt's just a bit stiff. Reckon I must have washed it funny. Sorry, you were saying about your course?"

"Right, okay," Malik said slowly. "Anyway, like I was saying, it's so interesting looking at all these artists all together, I just…"

Ollie struggled to listen, instead fiddling with his shirt. It strained a little in his armpit, seemed to pull at the side, the way he rolled up his sleeves seemed to cut into his arms in a way they didn't usually. He hoped he could fix whatever he'd done in the wash - he'd come to think of it as his lucky date night shirt.

Still, it wasn't all bad. It was more comfortable to have the top couple of buttons open and he found the effect of his chest hair spilling out quite sexy. He wondered idly if it really was the shirt or it might be his body - after all, he'd borrowed Geoff's dumbbells a couple of times recently. He tried to flex his pecs a little. Yeah, that was it - he was just bulking at the moment. When he got around to cutting he'd look phenomenal in this shirt.

"Fucking hell mate, what's that about?" Geoff laughed as Ollie walked up.

Ollie looked down at himself, looking for stains, only to see the familiar dancing bear pattern. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"That shirt! It barely fits!" their mate Dan said, howling with laughter.

"Oh, right, that. It's, well I mean, it does fit," he stumbled on his words as his fingers tried to tug the bottom of the shirt towards his waistband, trying not to get too turned on by the feeling of brushing against the soft fat. "I'm just bloated at the moment, that's all. This is my best shirt, it fits perfectly."

"Fits perf… Right, gotcha," Geoff said, his shoulders shaking a little as he chuckled into his pint. "Well, I'm not being funny, but I think you've been bloated for a while now Ollie."

Ollie grinned, making a show of how little he cared. He did his best to ignore how the buttons gaped and cut into his middle as he sat down, even as he sucked his gut in. He set his pint down and flipped the menu open. "You lot eating then?"

Dan burst out laughing again. "You were bloated a second ago, what you wanting to eat for?"

"No, it's not like that," Ollie protested. "I didn't mean, bloated bloated, you know. I mean like, you know, it's just retaining water. You know, from the protein - I'm bulking," returning to his oft stated excuse whenever he was asked why he was eating so much.

Dan and Geoff exchanged a look. "Retaining water, right," Dan said, as Geoff muttered "Got to keep up the bulk."

Six pints, a burger and chips and a couple of side orders of onion rings later, Ollie struggled to suck in his gut anymore. As he walked back to their table, he did his best to hold the pints in front of the gaps in between his buttons where his belly hair was poking through. He set the pints down, exhaled as he lowered himself into his seat slowly and-

A ping rang out as the button hit Dan's pint, who fell under the table laughing. Ollie's hand flew down to his stomach, feeling the expanse of skin and hair now visible in the space opened up.

"Jesus Christ Ollie!" Geoff said, laughing. "Buy some new fucking shirts! Right, well we'll have to head home now, won't we?"

"What for?" Ollie asked. "Because it's your round next? Nah, don't worry about me, shirt's not going to fix itself by getting home any earlier, is it?" He wondered how much of a spectacle he could make of himself by the time they left. "Do you reckon they're still doing food?"

"What the fuck are you doing?"

As Ollie turned around the see Geoff stood in his now open doorway, he heard a rip and felt a breeze at his side. His hands scrambled for the two still-fastenable button on the shirt, his clumsy fingers struggling against the tension in the fabric. He inhaled, strained to shrink his swollen stomach just a touch. His fingers found some purchase, dug underneath the first button-hole, then the second, and the sides of the shirt burst open. He exhaled, and his gut hung out and down, the two halves of fabric framing his heft.

"Sorry Geoff, I was just, uhh." He looked around the room, trying to think of some plausible explanation. He hoped his gut, or at least the attention it was drawing, might hide his throbbing cock. He knew it wouldn't, especially with how tight his trousers were. "I wanted to see if this shirt still fit."

"Right, well, it doesn't," Geoff said. He looked to the side, clearly trying to spare Ollie's dignity by some small measure. "I think you'd sort of be able to tell without trying it on, to be honest."

Ollie shifted, and he tried to ignore the way his body wobbled and folded, willing his erection to stop. "I thought I'd maybe see how bad the damage was," he said with a small chuckle.

"I mean, do you really want to…" Geoff sighed. "The damage is pretty fucking bad, if you really want to know," he said, still averting his gaze. "You were smaller than me in first year, now you're… fuck Ollie, you're properly fucking fat."

Ollie nodded, reveling in the way his chins creased against each other. "I appreciate the honesty mate, really," he said. "I've uhh, started a diet," he lied. "Thought it could be an inspiration thing, you know, see if I can fit back into it at some point."

Geoff closed the door a little, shuffling out the room. "Right, well… anyway, we're going to the pub," his voice came through the door. "If you want to join."

Ollie peeled the shirt off his body, doing his best not to increase the size of the hole in the side seam. "Yeah, I'll be with you in a bit," he said, the sleeve inside out and sliding past his sausage-like arm. "You eating there, do you reckon?"

Ollie panted and strained. With one hand he gathered as much of his gut as he could, with the other he leaned past and underneath to what little remained uncovered of his dick. He squeezed his eyes shut against a wave of pleasure.

The shirt cradled his breasts like a makeshift hammock, a single button hidden in the deep crevice above his belly and below his chest. His rhythm halted for a moment as he dug one hand into a tiramisu and brought it to his mouth, cream smearing across his face. He grunted as he did his best to reach beneath himself, and he began to buck and thrust against his own hand, helping himself along.

He plunged his fingers into his mouth, counting the calories as he sucked down the last of the rich dessert, as he quivered and a sticky wetness covered his hand and filled the soft unknown beneath his quivering middle. He brought his hand up and smeared his cum against his shirt, falling back against his pillows. The motion proved too much for the tortured fabric, and it finally gave out, the button falling to the mattress and the shirt falling open around soft hairy man tits.

Ollie waddled as quickly as he could to the stall, and he smiled at the young woman manning it. He thumbed through the hangers, each shirt brushing against the furthest extent of his gut.

"I used to have this one!" he told her cheerfully, pulling one out and holding it out, looking closely at the images of little dancing bears. "I've been looking for it for years. I outgrew it ages ago, I'd sort of given up hope of replacing it."

"Oh, right," the woman said, an uncertain smile on her face. "Well maybe we'll be able to help you with that."

Ollie grinned. "Maybe - what sizes do you do?"

The woman looked Ollie up and down. "Well, you see…" She looked around, as if searching for help. "We only stock up to XL, but we can do custom orders to 3XL." The last part was added with a clear tone of hope, however vain.

"Ah, right," Ollie said. "Not sure when I last wore 3XL. A couple of years at least."

The shop assistant smiled awkwardly. Ollie knew that look well - no one knew how to respond when he talked about his weight so openly. "I'll take a 3XL anyway," he said, thinking about how hot it was to obliterate the last one.

"Do you want to try it on?" the assistant asked, happy to be back to more standard shop-floor conversation.

"Oh no, don't worry. There's no chance of it actually fitting," Ollie laughed.

"Ah, okay then," the shop assistant smiled, her confusion apparent. "For one day in the future, maybe?"

Ollie shrugged. "Sure, why not?" He paid for the shirt and left. He couldn't wait until this shirt fit as poorly as the previous one.

#the shirt #wg story #weight gain #weight gain fiction #gaining fiction #gainer fiction #gainer story #weight gain story #male weight gain #this was written quite drunk tbh #let me know if theres any typos which are too egregious

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thegainingdesk · 8 months

Text

Momentum

It was hard at first. John thought he knew exactly what to do - he'd read enough gainer stories, followed enough fat guys on twitter for years. All it would take was the decision to dive headfirst into gaining and he'd be as big as any of them in no time at all.

Once a day, every day, he'd eat something that would add at least a thousand calories to his diet. He'd barely even notice. A tub of ice cream, a pot of double cream, a whole cake, a second dinner - all very doable, all easily passing that thousand calorie threshold. Once that got easy, he'd start upping his intake - supplementing it with gainer shakes, or trips to fast food restaurants between meals.

It turns out that your average 12 stone man isn't really built to suddenly, rapidly increase the amount of calories he's taking in. Especially when most of those excess calories were dairy. He spent most evenings clutching his flat stomach as it churned with acid. Each evening he'd vomit it all back up, or have to miss meals, or feel nauseous the next day - constant signals from his body to stop.

He actually lost six pounds that first month. Maybe gaining wasn't meant for him. He watched enviously as his mates the same age succumbed to middle aged spread as they hit their mid-thirties, lamenting how lucky he was to still have his twenty year old metabolism as they patted beer bellies they couldn't shift.

John went back to his old diet, gained back those lost six pounds, and accepted he was just always going to be the skinny one in the group. He kept up a few old habits of course - still bought some of the ice cream flavours he'd discovered for the occasionally treat, kept up cooking with butter and cream where he'd found out how much they improved certain recipes, always made sure there were a few beers in the fridge for those nights when he fancied it. Nothing mad though, nothing that would cause any weight gain, just a few treats. You've got to enjoy life, haven't you?

John looked in amazement at the scales. A stone. An actual, whole stone. 14 pounds. On his body! He started noticing things - the tiniest pinch when he buttoned up his jeans, the slightest blur of softness on his stomach. It was nothing really, nothing anyone would notice, but it was there - solid proof that he could gain weight. He'd just pushed himself too far before, he realised with a laugh. Slow and steady and all that.

All those little habits became regular. Dessert every other night, then every night. Cooking with butter and cream no matter the recipe. A couple of six packs of beer a week. Nothing too intense, not that many calories, but it all started adding up, bit by bit.

Fancy coming for an Indian? the text read.

John's fingers hovered. The answer was obvious - thanks, I've just eaten, I'll join you at the pub after if you're going. But… his fingers traced that new curve of his gut, inching slowly bigger by the month. Not enough to be visible in most clothes really, not enough to be called fat, but there, sure enough. Was he really full? He could eat, couldn't he? What's a curry and a couple of naans?

You off to the Raj? he texted back. What time?

That old familiar feeling, of a stomach overly stuffed, too much food and beer. But different this time. The pain was there. The pressure. But there was a certain enjoyment to it. A pleasure. Warm, rather than acidic; heavy, rather than sharp. And god but didn't his gut look round? He stood in profile in the mirror, holding it almost like a pregnancy announcement. How long until it was always this size, he wondered? How long until it was bigger?

A second dinner became a weekly occurrence, then spread to two times a week, three times, four. After all, he'd proven to himself he had the capacity - why not? Eventually if he hadn't had four meals a day topped off with ice cream he'd be ravenous, his stomach biting at him in retaliation for his neglect.

He crossed 200 pounds. 210. 220. Clothes were bought, grown into, outgrown, and the cycle repeated. The general increase in size that had come before gave way to true signs of fatness. Soft pockets of fat at his chest, his arse rounding out, chubby cheeks, a real, honest to god, gut. It was happening. It was really fucking happening.

His mate Sam, the largest of the group, reached over and slapped John's baby gut after he took his coat off one night at the pub. "Fucking hell mate!" he said. "Never thought I'd see you with one of these!" There were some jeers, some belly pats, some comments - "At least you're not making us look bad anymore." "Welcome to the club, mate."

John looked around as he downed half of his first pint. How much more weight until he was the biggest there? None of them were that big, really, even Sam. Just a load of ex-rugby players with some overdeveloped beer guts. Another 30 or 40 pounds maybe? 18 stone? It sounded good, didn't it? And it would take, what? Six months at his current rate? A nice place to stop for a bit, enjoy his weight and new status as the big guy of the group.

He downed the rest of his drink and went to the bar for his next. "What we eating tonight then lads?" he asked them all, thinking back to the burger and chips he'd had just before coming.

It was all a lot easier with a definite goal in mind, he thought to himself a few weeks later, as he finished a tub of ice cream and placed it down next to four empty beer bottles. The sizes of snacks crept up, until they were meals in and of themselves, and he'd find himself convincing himself he was hungry almost as soon as he'd finished eating. He started stashing snacks everywhere that he couldn't reasonably expect a meal - the passenger seat of his car became reserved for a small mound of chocolate bars, the bottom drawer of his desk at work was filled with crisps and cereal bars.

His mates fell silent as he walked up to them a few months later, the next time he saw them, and he grinned smugly as he saw that, yes, he'd definitely become the fattest there. A couple of them even looked like they'd lost weight, the stupid pricks - didn't they know how good this felt? He put his pint and packet of pork scratchings down, and maneuvered himself down into his seat.

"Jesus Christ John," Sam said softly. "Are you… I mean… Is everything okay?"

John slapped the top of his gut and beamed. "Just enjoying life mate!" he replied, laughing. He tried to listen in as the others murmured around him, doing their best to not be too obvious.

"He wasn't that big last time, was he?" "Definitely not, he was smaller than me." "What's it been, four months? Three?" "He's not ill, do you reckon?" "Must be four stone, at least?"

Okay, so he knew he'd overshot his target and weighed in at 20 stone and change that morning, and yes, how fast it had piled on had shocked even himself, but really, it was all so hot, he was hardly about to complain. In fact, he'd made the decision that 285 felt a little small, really. Why not push for 300, when he was already so close anyway? Then he'd be satisfied, he knew.

"Mate," Sam whispered to him quietly, leaning in. "You've got a little uhh…" He gestured to his face. John took a finger and wiped the corner of his mouth.

"Cheers mate," John said, licking his finger. "Just a bit of cream." He spent the night making jokes about how fat he was getting, and eventually everyone else relaxed a little, content that he at least seemed happy with his shocking weight gain. Underneath his gut, his cock was rock hard.

300 pounds, it turned out, also felt a little small. Or at least, that's what John told himself a couple of months later as he saw 316 flashing on the scales. Maybe just a little bit more - a few more pounds and then he'd stop, once and for all.

But god, did it feel hot. Eating became its own erotic experience. It wasn't merely that he couldn't cum anymore without being completely, painfully stuffed (that point had long since come and gone), he now wondered why he would want to at all. Hook-ups became as much about being fed as they were about the sex. He didn't care who they were - if they had food and were willing to feed him, he'd take them.

John's body became unrecognisable. He was far beyond mere beer belly or dad bod now, his gut was now a globe that spanned out in every direction, wrapping around into thick cushions at his back, draped in inches of fat on top of the firm ball, before cascading off, a surprisingly cold apron of flesh that was slowly threatening to cover his ever shrinking cock. His tits sagged to the side and joined up to his back fat nestled in his armpit. His face, long-since fully rounded, began to elongate, his cheeks and chins sagging into new shapes.

John panted a little as he stood naked in his bathroom, doing his best to push his gut in with one hand as he peered over the top of it to see the scale read 363. "Right," he told the walls of the bathroom. "That's it, I'm stopping there." He struggled to lean down to pick the scales up, sliding them away to the side of the cabinet before straining to stand. "I only bloody wanted to be bigger than Sam."

Food, however, still tasted as good as it had before. And every meal he tried to scale back, every snack he tried to forgo, left him ravenous - each day he'd just end up gorging on more food than he tried to cut back on.

370. 380. 390.

His body began to feel alien. Every joint began to feel crowded, flesh filling the space before he could fully bend his elbow or knee. His arms sat awkwardly by his sides, pushed out by sloping tits. Manspreading became the default, as his thighs met all the way down to his knees which themselves began to inflate out, pillowy and soft.

400. 410. 420.

The gym, he decided. If dieting was out of the question (and there was no doubt at this point that dieting was very much out of the question), he could always exercise. He drove to a nearby gym, asked about personal trainers. Put down more money than one of his mortgage payments for their premium membership for a year, as much to force himself to commit as for the actual services.

His feet ached. His knees grinded. His lungs burned. Sweat poured off of him in quantities that he didn't know people could sweat - and he considered himself to be quite the expert on sweating these days.

Fuck it, he thought to himself after the first session, his circus tent of a t-shirt practically see-through, clinging to every roll of his body, showing off each crevice and valley. It wasn't that much money, really. He could afford to wave goodbye to it, if it meant never having to do that again. What did he have such a good salary for, if not to waste it on shit he'd never use? He'd have only spent it on food anyway.

430. 440. 450.

"My weight's plateaued recently, actually," he told Sam proudly over a pint.

Sam gave an encouraging smile. "That's great mate," he said, in the same tone he'd speak to a child or elderly relative. "Really great."

"Yeah," John said, opening one of the bags of nuts on the table in front of them. "I only put on like five pounds last month."

"Fuck," Sam said quietly, his face draining of colour. "Five pounds last- John, mate, that's still over a pound a week. What are you… how quickly were you packing it on before?"

John shrugged, and pointed to the rugby match on the TV in the corner of the pub, trying to change the topic. At least Sam had put on some weight himself recently - it blunted to criticism just a little.

"I'm over twenty stone now," Sam confessed later, his breath reeking of beer as he leant in close. "I don't know how I'm going to stop," he continued, his words slurring. He leant back and pulled his t-shirt up to reveal his hairy gut beginning to fill his lap and he slapped it. "Look at this thing!" he said loudly enough that people at other tables looked over and laughed. He began to rub it in slow, wide circles, and John could see the outline of his dick growing down the inside of his trousers. He leant back in, lowered his voice once more. "It's kind of fucking hot, isn't it?" he asked, punctuating with a burp. "That's why you've gotten so fat, right? You find it hot too?"

Forty five minutes later, Sam clumsily lined up his cock with one of the folds on John's gut, and slid it inside, grunting as he did so. Both of them held a kebab in one hand, and ate them as Sam's gut and John's whole body shook and quivered with Sam's thrusts, bits of meat and salad and sauce falling down onto their bodies.

"I can't stop," Sam moaned, as his thrusts became more erratic. "I keep on trying to lose weight but I just gain more and more." He spasmed and yelled out, one hand shoving the last of the kebab into his mouth, the other gripping one of his love handles hard, his fingers sinking in to the growing ball of fat.

"That's the thing about momentum," John said as he licked the last of the sauce off his fingers. "Once you get started, it just gets harder and harder to stop."

Sam slid off of John's body and John looked down at himself, surveying his acres of flesh. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to put on just a little more weight, he thought to himself. After all, Sam needed someone to set a good example.

#weight gain #gaining fiction #gainer fiction #gainer story #weight gain story #male weight gain #wg story #weight gain fiction #momentum

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thegainingdesk · 9 months

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Stomach capacity's a weird thing, isn't it? I swear, a couple of weeks ago I thought to myself "I'll never be able to consistently eat enough to consistently gain weight" - itself a somewhat insane thought, since I've gained an average of 1.4 pounds a week this year. I can clearly eat enough to gain weight. However, I also definitely can't "eat like a fat guy" like all the gaining advice tells me to - I cannot binge for the life of me. Once I've hit my limit, that's it. I naturally eat slowly and have, despite developing quite the belly this past year, frequently been unable to eat as much as some much smaller mates. I fundamentally cannot eat like a gainer is supposed to be able to.

But recently, some switch has been flicked. The past two days, I've eaten two dinners on each day, on top of otherwise fairly heavy days.

Yesterday, I had steak and chips with my partner, before going out to meet some mates I hadn't seen in a while. Once I got there, everyone started mentioning they'd not had dinner. Well, I'm not going to just sit there and watch everyone else eat, am I? Here I am, nominally a gainer and skipping a meal? Besides, it'd be rude, wouldn't it. We decide on an Indian restaurant - I order lamb bhuna, portion of rice, two roti. I mean, it's nothing insane, but that's just a regular order - more than a few of my mates ate, and this is my second dinner. I finish it all. I could probably eat more. Two dinners, five pints, sorted.

And today my partner was working from the office instead of from home so I was by myself and I thought, well, got to treat yourself, haven't you? Nipped to the shops - two cinnamon buns for breakfast, big sandwich for lunch, bought a great big sharing swiss roll to just nibble on through the day - a proper, footlong thing that slowly disappears through the day. As my partner texts me he's coming home, I'm feeling like I could eat, quickly polish off a big tub of leftover pasta salad as I get dinner started. Dinner's a roast chicken with vegetables, mashed potatoes, gravy. As we were tidying up the kitchen just now I polished both the wings off too.

What's that? At least 4 thousand calories yesterday, well over 5 thousand today easy (that swiss roll claimed to be 2k by itself). And here's the thing. This isn't just me having a couple of hungry days. I've felt absolutely stuffed the past two days. Woke up stuffed this morning. My gut feels heavy and big and stuffed (looks heavy and big and stuffed, for that matter). I've just... Not cared. Kept on eating. It hasn't even felt like "pushing through it". I've just wanted to eat. Ate like a fat guy.

Here's hoping it keeps up.

#not a story #personal ramblings #gaining #weight gain #personal #i might start doing these little personal things? feels nice to talk about gaining without it having to be a big plotted 5k+ word thing

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thegainingdesk · 9 months

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On Again, Off Again

As soon as I saw Mark I was head over heels. He was tall and naturally broad, a frame improved with well-honed muscles from years of manual labour. A mop of thick dark hair framed a broad, almost blocky face with dark brown eyes and a thick moustache, and mirrored tufts of hair poking out from the top of his shirt and at his cuffs. His voice was deep, but soft, with a slight Bristol accent.

He’d suggested we go to a local museum for our first date - I’d mentioned that I did art history at uni when we were talking on tinder, and there was an exhibition on the early impressionists. I spent a while pointing out some of my favourite paintings, explaining some of the techniques, the use of light, how the movement was different to what had come before but quickly noticed how quiet he was being and my initial attraction started to wane.

“Sorry,” he said after I asked him for the umpteenth time if everything was okay. “I don’t mean to- it’s just, I mean…”

I looked at him, expectantly. Despite myself, despite how flat the date was falling, I found myself crushing on him all over again, looking up into those big puppy dog eyes.

“I wanted to impress you a bit,” he said finally, running his hand across his moustache nervously.

I laughed reflexively, and felt awful as I saw him wince. “What do you mean, impress me? You don’t need to impress me.”

“I know, it’s not… You just said that you were into art and stuff, and that you work with this charity and-” He stopped and sighed. “I’m just this knob-head builder, you know? I didn’t think someone like you would really want to go out with someone like me, and I thought you were cute and the lads at the site said I should do something a bit fancy and… I’ve fucked this up, haven’t I?”

I shook my head. “You’re great. Really. I chose to go out with you, didn’t I?” He shrugged those gorgeous hulking shoulders, somehow looking like a scolded schoolboy, despite his size. “Go on, where would you usually take me on a first date, if you weren’t trying to go all fancy on me?”

“No, no, really,” he insisted, unconvincingly. “I’m enjoying myself here.” He pointed at the nearest painting, a Turner painting of a choppy sea, a bright red buoy at the centre. “Go on, tell me about that one.”

I took his hand, and felt my heart flutter as a smile spread across his face. “Seriously, I agreed to go on a date with you because you were a good laugh while we were texting.” A blush spread across his stubbled cheeks. Fuck, he was hot. “Where we going?” I pulled him towards the exit.

“A pub or something, I dunno,” he mumbled. “We can stay, really.”

“Not a chance,” I retorted. “It's your round - you can’t wriggle out of it that easy.”

A couple of drinks in, the date was thoroughly back on track. Mark was funny, charming and charismatic - I’d go so far as to say he was gregarious, but trying to keep up with the way Mark drank turned that into a few too many syllables for me at the time. A few more drinks and we couldn’t keep our hands off each other - looking back, I cringe at the scene we must have made in that pub. Charitably, you could say we were somewhat hidden away in a corner; realistically, it was a Saturday evening in the city center and people were probably gawping.

“I told myself I wouldn’t fuck you tonight,” he grumbled into my ear, while his big square hand pawed at my achingly hard dick. “That I’d wait a couple of dates.”

I was practically gnawing at him at this point, my mouth deep into the soft crevice between his thick, strong neck and his strong, yard-wide shoulders. “This is basically our second date,” I told his neck. “The museum was number one, the pub is number two.”

I heard him laugh into my hair. “I’m serious, I’m trying to break some bad habits. Trying not to have so much casual sex.”

I moaned. “I’ll give you permission to make an exception.”

“I don’t want this to just be sex,” he whispered. “I really like you.”

“It doesn’t have to just be sex,” I whimpered back. “But it could also be sex.”

I heard him - felt him - practically growl. “I suppose if you came back to mine, we wouldn’t necessarily have to have sex.”

I nodded, and lifted my head to look him in the eyes. “Absolutely, no sex.”

The sex was phenomenal. It was like something out of an 80s romance novel. It was animalistic but sensual, passionate but slow. I think I actually swooned. Mark could throw me about like a ragdoll, and he made good use of that ability. His body was covered almost top to toe in dark, wiry hair, and his cock was so thick I could barely get my mouth around it - but by god I gave it a go.

We spent all of the next day together, nursing twin hangovers and cuddling up on his sofa. Mark explained his philosophy that the only worthwhile hangover cure is as much food as you can manage to keep down. While I nibbled on bread and butter and sipped on water all day, there was barely a moment where he didn’t have some food on the go - bacon and egg sandwiches for breakfast, clearing his fridge for lunch, a string on deliveroo drivers.

By the time I felt well-enough to go home, he tried to convince me to call in sick to work the next day. Tangled up with him like that, I almost did. Even so, I managed to drag myself away, with the promise of seeing him on Friday.

We didn’t make it to Friday. We met up for dinner on Tuesday. Lunch on Wendesday. On Thursday I packed a bag and decided I could just go into the office from his flat in the morning. We were inseparable. Insufferable, most likely. But we couldn’t stop ourselves, didn’t want to stop.

The dinners out, the takeaways, the long days spent cuddled up without a thought of the gym started to add up - on Mark at least. And yes, maybe I encouraged that a little, but I’m allowed a type aren’t I? Okay, maybe more than a type - a predilection, if you were being fancy, a full-blown fetish if you were being honest. So I like them big! Is that a crime? I never went overboard - never stirred butter and double cream into all of his portions, never tricked him into gainer shakes, never slipped him appetite enhancers or miraculous weight-gain pills - I’m not the protagonist of a gainer story, after all.

All I did was nurture that healthy appetite of his. Gave him my unfinished portions, asked him if he wanted seconds, encouraged him to get dessert, muttered into his ear that no, he can’t go to the gym and leave me in bed, cold and alone, that I’d give him all the work-out he needed. He never complained, and I never made any real secret that I didn’t mind him putting on some weight.

It was subtle at first. He’d never had any abs to cover up, but there was a general loss of definition - muscular limbs got smoothed out, pecs started to go puffy, his belly started to permanently bow out into a little arc. His body, already big, sailed past 220 pounds easily enough, and you could barely tell that he’d put on any weight at all, not really, until he’d hit 240 or so.

But then, my god. It’s like some magical fat threshold was reached, almost overnight, like all the gaps in his body had been filled with fat, his whole body lightly covered with a thin sheen of chub, ready for the real work to build up over it. Smooth limbs got soft, puffy pecs drooped, his little distended belly curved out in all directions to form a proper little pot belly. Not six months into our relationship, he was sitting fat and happy at 260 pounds, a firm ball gut at his center, and all traces of that muscular hunk that tried to impress me at a museum were buried under soft, gorgeous flab. If he ever got self-conscious, he never said anything. Still, I told him how gorgeous he was, how sexy the extra weight made him, how he looked more manly, more mature.

We settled into a routine; huge dinners, hot sex, movie nights spent cradling his growing gut, an occasional date night at some new restaurant before moving onto a pub or a bar. We spent so much time at each other’s flats we both assumed we’d move in together sooner rather than later, that this would all last forever.

“Australia?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“I know, I know,” he said, pacing and stroking his moustache nervously. “But the money’s so good, I can’t really pass it up.” I closed my eyes. Gripped the table. Tried to wish it away. “It wouldn’t be forever,” he said, lamely.

“It would be for a year though,” I whispered, opening my eyes.

He slumped down into the chair opposite me. One hand continued to stroke his moustache, the other sat on the shelf of his belly, stroking it ever so slightly. Even while I was distraught he could still drive me wild without even trying. “I’m sorry,” he said simply after a while. I knew there wasn’t any point arguing. That I wouldn’t want to stop him taking the opportunity. It just hurt.

We agreed we’d not wait for each other. We’d stay in touch, but we’d be free to date, and if either of us met someone over the year, or if we’d changed as people, no obligation to go back to how we were.

I spent a full week moping. I became a walking cliche - I barely ate, I barely slept. I sustained myself on a diet of Carole King songs and Richard Curtis films. Mark never had any social media - barely used his phone for anything really - a fact which I was, in turns, thankful for and furious about. On one hand, at least I couldn’t obsessively stalk his profiles all year while I missed him, on the other hand, I couldn’t even stalk his profiles all year while I missed him.

I still can’t decide if that year went fast or slow. There were points when it felt like I was going through the same old bored routines for decades, and days when I’d realise how soon I could see Mark again and it would feel like seconds. I did my best to get on with my life - I met with friends, picked up hobbies I’d let fall to the side while I spent every day with Mark, even plucked up the courage to go on a date. It was nice. He was nice. But it wasn’t Mark. I’m not even sure I could tell you his name. After that, I resigned myself to waiting.

I’m back! The text said. My heart fluttered. Want to meet up for a drink?

I tried to not reply immediately. Wanted to come across as cool and unbothered.

Amazing!!! I replied, not two minutes later. Yes! Where?

As a cucumber.

The Goose? Or maybe your flat? Up to you.

My heart pounded. Meeting at my flat was not the act of an uninterested man. Meeting at my flat was not the act of a man who’d fallen in love with some gorgeous Australian surfer.

My flat’s fine! I responded.

Great. I’ll be like an hour?

My flat was already impeccably clean - I was a bit of a clean freak as it was, but I had it practically sparkling in anticipation of Mark’s return to the northern hemisphere - but still, I busied myself cleaning every nook and cranny. I hoovered my spotless carpet, smoothed my immaculately smooth bed, dusted corners that I previously didn’t know existed.

I had just decided that the flat was too unnaturally clean, like I’d gone out of my way to clean it for Mark or something, and was in the middle of pulling various items just slightly out of position, when my doorbell rang. I yelped, and hurriedly crumpled a throw blanket, before breathing slowly and making my way to the door. It was just Mark, I told myself. Everything would be just the same as it was before. It’s just Mark. It’s just Mark.

I opened the door to a man I barely recognised. Mark was buff. Beyond buff. The fat I’d so deviously piled on him over all those months had disappeared without a trace. He’d not simply returned to the naturally broad, built figure he’d had when I’d first met him, either - he’d added hard, shredded muscle - at a guess I’d say 20 pounds easy. His face was thinner, sharper; his arms were vascular, and I could swear I saw the stitches on his sleeves almost pulling themselves apart; when he raised his arms and his t-shirt rode up, I could make out a defined six-pack even through his dense pelt of body hair. Worst of all though - he’d shaved off his moustache.

I just stood blinking for a while, until I realised that tears were welling up in my eyes. Despite it all, despite the time, despite the body, despite the fucking moustache - it was Mark. It was really, actually, fucking Mark.

Neither of us said anything, he just stepped through my door, held my face in his hands and kissed me, deeply and desperately and hungrily. We stumbled backwards through my flat, knocking perfectly placed objects as we went, pulling at each other’s clothes, never once stopping kissing, until he picked me up and tossed me onto my bed. This time, I definitely swooned.

We didn’t properly talk until the next morning, while I lay with my head on his chest, my fingers lazily pulling through the curls of his chest hair. “Go on then,” I said. “What’s all this?”

Mark yawned. “What’s what?” he asked.

I lightly slapped his six-pack. “Who invited He-Man over here?”

He laughed. “I bet you had a thing for He-Man didn’t you?” he said, running a hand down my back and squeezing my bum, avoiding the question.

“No really,” I insisted. “What happened to my sexy teddy bear I sent off?” I steeled myself. “I bet it was for all those sexy ozzy men, eh?” I forced myself to laugh.

Mark was silent, and didn’t move.

I held my breath. “It’s fine, you know. We said. Date whoever.”

He shook his head. “No,” he said simply, after a while. “I umm… couldn’t bring myself to. That’s why I spent so much time in the gym actually. To take my mind off of…” He trailed off. “Did you? You know…”

“One guy,” I said. “Just a date, you know, nothing…" I added quickly, keen to reassure him. "It was awful.” I sighed. “No, it was probably fine, it just wasn’t…” I looked over at him, took in his chiseled jawline and perfect cheekbones. “It wasn’t you.” We stayed like that for a while, just smiling at each other. I shuffled up his body to kiss him, and rolled over. “I might have to change my stance on that if you don’t grow your moustache back though.”

We were back to our old routine almost immediately, illicit feedings and all. By the time Mark had regrown his moustache, his abs had been hidden by soft fat and he was on his way back to the Mark I knew and loved. It’s like his body missed the fat - it piled on faster than it had the first time, and within a few months he’d put on all his lost weight, plus extra. His newfound muscles clearly faded a little, being neglected so thoroughly by time spent away from the gym, but they provided a firm base for all the fat to cling to, so that all his fat was perkier and bouncier than last time - I was in heaven.

“I need to lose some weight,” Mark murmured around one of his breakfast donuts one morning. I looked over to see him trying to tug a pair of scruffy work jeans closed, but there were several inches of soft fat between the button and its hole. I inhaled and set my shoulders - it was time to bite the bullet.

“I don’t think you need to lose weight,” I started, nonchalantly.

Mark laughed and shook his gut. I fought to stop myself from getting hard. “Look at me - I’m 20 stone and can’t fit into 40 inch trousers. 40 inches! I need to lose weight,” he repeated.

I stood up and walked over to him, putting a hand on each side of his middle. “I like it,” I told him matter of factly, before kissing him.

He smiled and returned my kiss. “You’re sweet, and I know that you’ll love me no matter what size I am, yada-yada-yada, but come on,” he slapped his belly again. “This is getting ridiculous.”

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I like it. I…” I inhaled deeply. “I prefer it. Actively prefer you fat, actually.”

He stared at me and blinked, not speaking for almost a whole minute. “You… like me fat?” he asked, finally.

I nodded. "Mm-hmm," I said, as casually as I could pretend to be.

He squinted his eyes at me. “Fatter?” he continued.

“I… wouldn’t complain,” I said slowly, studying his face.

He took a few steps away from me and looked down at himself, as if seeing his body for the first time. He hefted his gut a couple of times, almost experimentally. His hands drifted upwards, squeezed his soft pecs. I just watched, knowing he needed some space. Finally, he raised his head to look at me. “Why?” he asked simply.

I shrugged. “Why is anyone attracted to anything, you know? Big guys have always just done it for me, I guess,” I explained. He carried on looking at me inquisitively, clearly expecting me to continue. “I mean… it just seems more manly, you know? Like you’re tall and you’re hairy and you’ve got this great moustache and hot face, and being bigger is just one more thing that just makes you even more masculine, you know?” He nodded and I saw him subtly flex, as if in admiration of himself. “So you’re okay?” I asked.

He nodded. “I mean, if it means I don’t have to diet or go to the gym, why not?” he laughed, and carried on getting ready for work. “You might need to pop out today to buy me some new clothes though,” he added.

I nodded and smiled, happy that inevitable, awkward conversation went as well as could I could realistically hope. I started to get set up for my day working from home, and brought Mark a donut as he was about to leave, kissing him on the cheek as I passed it over.

His eyes narrowed, and he looked carefully at the donut. “Did you do this Ben?” he asked, after a moment or two.

“What?” I asked. “Yes Mark, I brought you the donut. Are you okay?”

He shook his head. “No. Not the donut. Me. Did you make me fat?”

I swallowed. Hard. “What? Mark. How could I make you fat? I can’t eat for you,” I pointed out.

“No,” he agreed. “But I put on weight almost as soon as I met you. You’ve always given me half of your dinner, told me to get dessert, stopped me going to the gym.”

“Mark, you can’t seriously be accusing me of manipulating you into gaining weight,” I told him, feeling myself shake a little. "You have a big appetite." Was I trying to convince him, or myself?

“But did you?” he pressed.

I paused just a little too long and he sighed, burying his face in his hands. “It’s not like I forced you to eat anything!” I protested. “You enjoyed the food, you wanted it, you never cared about putting on weight, never enjoyed the gym. I just tried to give you permission to let yourself go a bit.”

“But you didn’t Ben!” he snapped. “You didn’t give me permission because never had a choice!”

“Mark, come on,” I reached towards him, but he knocked my hands away. “I’m sorry for being sneaky, but that’s all it was - a bit sneaky. I never lied, I never convinced you to do anything you didn’t want to, I just made the choice a bit easier.”

He opened the door. “I’m going to stay at my parents for a bit,” he said.

“Mark, no,” I pleaded.

“I just… I just need some time to think.” He moved through the door.

“Please Mark, I love you.”

He sighed. “I love you too,” he said. “It’s just a lot.”

The door closed. The day was a write-off. I spent the whole day cleaning and tidying, scrubbing floors and counters and remaking my bed. I thankfully didn’t have any meetings, and the only work I needed to do was busy-body work that no-one would notice was getting done badly. I fell back into old routines - didn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, Carole King, Richard Curtis.

Staying at his parents “for a bit” meant a couple of weeks, as it turned out. I was mid-Notting Hill when I heard the door open and I turned to see Mark walk in, an old band t-shirt riding up to reveal the bottom of his gut. I rushed over to him, but stopped before I reached him, unsure of what was about to happen. He closed the distance and pulled me into a hug. I melted into him, and we stayed like that for a few minutes, just holding each other.

“I’m sorry,” I said eventually.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I overreacted. I… freaked out.” He scratched his gut. “You were right. It could have happened in any relationship, I just…” He closed his eyes. “I’ve been fit for a really long time, you know, and I’ve never done a proper relationship, and I always felt like people just use me for sex and all of a sudden I find out that you’re a big part of why I’ve put on so much weight and it just felt like… Like you were changing me.”

I shook my head and hugged him again. “I’m so sorry,” I said into his shoulder. “I didn’t want you to change. You’re exactly what I want, any weight, I promise.”

He hugged me back. “I want to change for you,” he murmured into my hair. He pulled away and held my shoulders, smiling. “I spent a lot of time trying to figure stuff out and… you're right. It’s hot.” He slapped his gut. “I get it, I think. I like being big and I like eating and I like that you like it.” I must have looked skeptical because he carried on. “Okay, I’m not, like, thrilled with putting on quite so much, but I also don’t care enough to lose you over it, and I can see where you’re coming from.” I didn’t know what to say, so just kissed him, running my hands under his t-shirt and up his love handles. He pulled away. “I want you to get fat as well though,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“What?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“I think you should put on weight as well,” he said again. “To see what it’s like.”

“Mark, I… I thought you’d forgiven me. I said I was sorry.,” I said.

“I’m not saying it as some kind of punishment or whatever,” he said, and patted my own flat stomach. “I’m saying that I think you’ll like it. That I’ll like it.”

“I think you might be confused,” I told him. “I don’t want to gain weight,” I explained. “I just like fat guys. It’s a different thing.”

“Okay,” he said. “But I didn’t want to gain weight either, and it turns out I kind of like it.” He squeezed his gut for emphasis. “You already like all this stuff, and I just think you owe it to yourself to see whether you like all the aspects of it.”

“Really?” I asked. “You want this?”

Mark shrugged. “Why not? Maybe it’ll be hot, and if you don’t like the first twenty pounds, you can lose it all faster than I’ll be able to lose all this.” He slapped his gut and sent it shaking.

“I uh… okay,” I agreed. “Yeah, I’ll try it out.”

The changes to our classic routine were unsettling at first. No more subtly suggesting dessert or quietly giving extra portions, now Mark would quite happily take seconds and snack throughout the day. He also made sure he wasn’t alone though - everything he ate, he would make me match, to the point that most days I’d end the day cradling my too full stomach while he gently rubbed it for me. Being more open about my preferences meant that we could start introducing food into the bedroom as well - sex now meant ice cream and chocolate and whole-cakes, all eaten off each other’s bodies or while Mark was deep inside of me.

While Mark’s gains kept up a good pace, especially for a man his size, the weight hit my body like a freight train. Without the base of muscle that Mark had, my gains were much softer, and spread across my body as opposed to Mark’s firm core ball gut and fat covered muscles. I found myself loving it - I'd get distracted by the way my flesh would slide past itself, the gentle restriction of clothes just on the verge of being too tight, and the pillowy softness of my body. I would find myself in work-meetings slipping a finger between shirt buttons to stroke around my navel, and it became one of Mark’s favourite jokes to point out when I’d mindlessly pull my shirt up while at home so I could play with my underbelly.

"You not going to lose too much weight while I'm gone, big guy?" Mark asked, kissing me on the cheek as he hoisted his bag on his shoulder.

I swallowed the last of the custard slice I was eating. "You're only going for a week," I pointed out. "Besides, you've managed to put nearly a hundred pounds on me in less than a year, I don't think I'm likely to stop losing weight anytime soon."

"Oh, I see," Mark said laughing. "It's me who put all that weight on you is it? You didn't have anything to do with it?"

"I should be more worried about you!" I said, changing the subject. "Going with all those skinny twigs - they're hardly going to make sure you're eating right."

He gripped his gut with both hands and lifted it. "It's a stag do," he said simply. "My diet's going to consist of beer and kebabs. I don't think you have to worry."

I kissed him goodbye, our guts melding into one another, and he left to get his taxi. I made my mind up to give him something special to come back to - as much weight as I could conceivably gain in the week he was away. I was sure I could put on five pounds (we both did that easily in the week between last Christmas and New Years), but how much more could I do?

Me and Mark were both used to four enormous meals as standard by now, so I added multiple tubs of ice cream and gainer shakes each day on top, to really kickstart my growth. I spent the next week bloated, groggy and uncomfortable - it was one of the hottest things I've ever done.

By the time Mark was back, I'd managed to push eleven more pounds onto my body, bringing me up to a cool 267 pounds. He walked into me lying prone on the sofa, shirt off, fresh stretch marks covering my gut, melted ice cream dripping onto soft moobs. I struggled to sit up to greet him, burping through a smile.

"Uhh, hi," he said, not moving from the doorway. His gaze hovered somewhere over my head.

"How was Berlin?" I asked, finally managing to sit up with a soft "ooft".

"Yeah it was…" he trailed off. "You know, fun. Good to see the lads." Still by the doorway. Still no eye contact.

"Is everything okay?" I asked, the ice cream sitting less comfortably in my stomach by the second.

"Yeah, no, it was just…" He finally moved away from the doorway, pacing around the room, eyes looking at everything except my expanded form. "They kept on taking the piss out of me," he said eventually. "You know, for being so fat."

"Right…" I said slowly. "But you're… you're okay with that, right?" I stood up with some effort and moved towards him. He moved towards the kitchen, still not meeting my eyes. "You've said you find it hot?" I felt self-conscious now, and looked around for a t-shirt I could put on.

He sighed, and finally looked at me. "Maybe not everything has to be hot," he said simply. "Like, yeah, it's great for sex but… Christ Ben, I'm over 24 stone now! Look at me!" He gestured down to his body, swollen with fat in every direction. "Every fucking day was just me trailing behind everyone else, completely out of breath, putting up with fucking jokes every other minute about my double chin and moobs and rolls-"

"Okay, your mates are arseholes!" I said. "Does that matter? Your workmates make jokes like that all the time."

"It's not my mates!" His voice was growing louder. "They're right! We've- I've-" He sighed and rubbed his face, his double chin moulding under his fingers. "We've taken it too far." He looked at me in the eyes. "This," he gestured down at himself and looked guiltily at me, "isn't just 'being a big guy' anymore. It's really, properly fat."

We tried to avoid talking about it for a few days. Then talked about dieting, going to the gym, building muscle, what weight might be a good compromise. Every conversation turned into an argument. Every meal, every shopping list.

I'd gotten so used to over-eating that I'd sneak off in the middle of the night or when he was at work to gorge. The couple of times he caught me turning into raging arguments. The times I caught him doing the same weren't much better.

Three weeks later, he'd packed his bags and gone to his parents. Whereas in the past I'd have stopped eating, I'd now fundamentally rewired my brain. Comfort eating was now de rigueur and every day seemed to overshadow the last. My snacks would have left a grown man satisfied, my meals turned into feasts, ice cream filled the time between like it filled in gaps in my stomach.

I ballooned. My tits drooped, my stomach swelled, my thighs chafed. I was grateful my job was mainly work-from-home, since my old clothes became restrictive to the point of pain. Buying clothes became a matter of adding the biggest size available to my cart and hoping for the best, waiting for the day I had to move to big-and-tall shops. Whenever I did have to go into the office, button-ups strained, my belt dug in, ties became comedically short. I saw my coworkers talking to each other, jokingly at first, then with concern. How could they not? I took up twice the space that I had done not long before, my face was round and jowly and soft. HR sent an email asking if I'd like a stronger chair. Emails were sent round reminding people about the gym memberships that the company offered, ostensibly office-wide, but I knew who they were targeted at.

When I reached 325 pounds I realised I almost weighed as much as Mark had when he left. Would I celebrate, I wondered, once I passed that milestone? Eat a cake to myself? Would that even register at this point?

I heard the door open and close, and I twisted around as best as I could. My flexibility had reached a critical point - now every action came with resistance, as fat bunched against fat and stretched around the sheer bulk of me. I looked around desperately at the mess around me, the ice cream cartons, cake boxes, tubs of cake frosting eaten straight.

"Ben?" Mark asked. I stood up as quickly as I could, tried to pull down my t-shirt so it covered the rest of my gut, did my best to button my shorts. I felt his hands on my arms before I even had a chance to get a good look at him. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

I looked up, finally. "You've lost weight," I said. It was true. His gut, his double chin, his tits, all were still there, big, but diminished.

He chuckled. "The lads at the site still call me a fat bastard," he said and shook his belly. It was true, I supposed - by anyone else's standards he was still obese. "You, erm, haven't," he added, quietly. "Lost weight, I mean."

I felt huge. Disgusting. "I can lose it," I promised, tears welling up in my eyes. "I just missed you so much and-"

"No," Mark said.

"No?" I asked.

"No," he repeated. "I don't need you to lose weight, I don't need…" He sighed. "I thought I needed to get fit again. Lose all the weight. I started going to the gym, dieting. Started seeing results. Got down to two-sixty."

I peered at him. "You're not…" I began.

"No, I'm about two-eighty now. Probably a bit more," he answered my unspoken question. "I realised being smaller wasn't making me happy. Once I stopped dieting, the weight piled back on." He ran a finger across his moustache and looked around nervously. "Then I realised the reason I wasn't happy was because I wasn't with you." I noticed for the first time that he was holding back tears.

I moved towards him and help him for a while. He gripped me tight, his strong arms sinking into my soft back.

A while later, we were sat at the table, a chinese takeaway in front of us - a small attempt at normality.

"So," Mark said, looking at me sideways and speaking slowly, as if to test the waters. "What are you weighing at these days?" he asked.

I sucked air through my teeth. I knew this was coming. I wasn't upset as such - by this point, our relationship was defined by fat. It was a shock though, him coming back having lost so much weight, me having put on so much. "Three-two-five," I said, as calmly as I could. "Well, a couple of weeks ago at least."

Mark whistled and reached over to slide a hand across my belly, as if in admiration. "God, did you ever imagine you'd be the bigger one in the relationship?" he asked. I felt my face go red, and I started to stammer a response. "I've got to be honest," he continued. "I'm pretty jealous."

I choked. "Jealous?" I managed to spit out. "Of being this big?"

He sighed wistfully. "I've always been a big guy, you know? And then when I started going out with you I got used to being the biggest guy in most situations. And I definitely never thought I'd be smaller than you."

I smirked. "Fancy changing that?"

He chuckled. "Just you wait," he said. "I'll be the bigger one again in no time."

I grinned and picked up a rib. "Good," I said. "No man of mine is going to be under three hundred. You'll have to hurry up and catch me though," I told him. "I'm going to be a moving target."

He smiled. "Sounds great." He spooned some food onto his plate. "See you at three hundred and fifty pounds?" he teased.

I grinned. "At least."

#gaining fiction #weight gain story #weight gain #gainer fiction #gainer story #on again off again #no one other than me will ever find it funny that he took him to an impressionist exhibition to impress a date and I'm at peace with that

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thegainingdesk · 1 year

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Stories index

Too Fat

Catching Up

Milestones

A Matter of Taste

Newton's Laws of Motion

The Time Traveller's Waistline

Competition

Little Comments

Family Reunion

An Acquired Taste

Role Model

The Walk of the Goddess

The Crossroads of the Goddess

Gain for Pay (collaboration with @gainingfiction)

Lies

Beach Body

On Again, Off Again

Momentum

The Shirt

The Grommr Profile of Dorian Grey

The Spider to the Fly

Regret

Two Night Stand

Sugar Daddy

#gaining fiction #weight gain #gainer fiction #gainer story #weight gain story #story index

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thegainingdesk · 1 year

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Lies

You've been lying to yourself for years.

Just a little winter weight. And when will you be losing that? It's June now, and the chub still pushes stubbornly over your belt. What will happen next winter, and your next batch of winter weight? And the next winter, and the next one?

You've done so well, following your diet. You probably deserve that treat. A couple of pints won't hurt. Diets are all fads anyway, you've got a balanced diet, that's what really matters.

You don't have a gut, per se, it's just the angle when you look down at your own body, like how no-one's dick ever looks quite so large from above. But then why do you look the same in the mirror? What about that picture, the one from your holiday, with a soft pillow of fat starting to creep out over your shorts?

Clothes are just made so cheaply these days, no wonder the crotch of your trousers have been wearing out quite so often. Fast fashion and all that. But didn't you splash out on this pair, get some proper ones in good fabric? And that pair there, haven't you only had them a month or two?

It's not noticeable, you tell yourself. But you see the looks, hear the comments. "Hasn't he put on weight?" "And he used to be so handsome." "He needs to put down the bloody fork is what he needs."

Just a bad photo, that one. It's all to do with focal lengths, and the right type of lens, you've never really understood it, but you read an article about it a while ago. She's always been rubbish at taking photos anyway, hasn't she? But then, no one else seems quite so bloated, quite so corpulent, quite so wide. And looking through more photos, you can't seem to find any that show you at your best.

The beard makes you handsome, more distinguished, more mature, it's quite trendy now anyway. It's not to hide the double chin, pooling down beneath your jawline. Isn't to mask the cheeks that can't even be called chubby anymore, no these are jowls now, sagging on each side of the face. Not to create some illusion of a jawline where your face has gotten puffier and puffier, rounder and rounder, softer and softer.

Everyone gains a little weight as they get older, don't they? But what about him? 10 years your senior and still as trim as ever. No one else your age that you know has a paunch quite so large, sides quite so soft.

Everyone gets winded on these stairs, don't they? Flight after flight, stupid to put the office there really. No one else takes 5 minutes to get to the top though. No one else is panting when they finally reach the top, hands on their knees and sweat dripping off their forehead.

300 pounds isn't even that big these days. Basically just above average at this point. The obesity epidemic, lockdown weight. You know plenty of bigger people, like… ah. Well maybe - no, he lost a lot of weight didn't he. What about- no, he mentioned his weight the other day, a good 30 pounds lighter than you. But you're sure there must be someone, who maybe you just haven't seen in a while.

You could stop whenever you want, could lose it all easily enough. Go on then. Sign up for a gym membership. Delete Uber Eats off your phone. Have a salad for dinner. But you don't. You won't. The draw of it is too much. Another 20 pounds, another 50. The feeling of a full stomach, a body imprisoned in fat, the constant expansion. It's becoming undeniable now, and yet still, you lie to yourself.

You're not really interested in that website, you're not one of those people, the other users just appreciate a man of your figure, which, you have to admit, is getting rarer amongst the regular dating apps. So what if some of the men want to see you eat when you meet up with them, you'd be eating anyway. So what if they play with the soft, supple fat all over your body while they fuck you, it's nice to be appreciated. So what if you like the feel of their hands exploring your body, the creamy lard rippling like velvet under their fingers. So what if you're finding it more difficult to cum without your face buried in a cake, a gut already full to bursting with rich food.

#gaining fiction #weight gain #gainer fiction #gainer story #weight gain story #male weight gain #weight gain fiction #wg story #lies

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thegainingdesk · 1 year

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Beach Body

Chapter 1

"So she does this every single year for her birthday?" I asked. "What if she wants to do something else?"

"It's a tradition!" Natasha insisted. "It's fun. No, really, it is! Oh, look out for a turning on the left."

"I hate these tiny country roads. And what if it rains one year?" I pointed out.

"It's the start of August, it doesn't rain. There it is, can you see?"

"It can rain in August." I wouldn't let go of this. I turned down the track she'd pointed out.

"There's a pub! We all go to the pub in the village and get pissed instead of having a barbecue on the beach, okay? And it's obviously not going to rain today." Natasha was obviously right about that, bright sunshine illuminating the Welsh countryside around us. "Look, I really don't know what you're worried about."

"I just don't know why I was invited. I've only - there's a car ahead, do you reckon they'll get past if I stop here? - I've only been working with you all for a couple of months, I basically only know you and Jackie." Even I had to admit that I was starting to border on whining at this point.

"But we really like you! And this is a great way to get to know people! Sun, food, a few drinks-"

"I'm driving," I pointed out, interrupting her.

"Well it's bad if you can only have fun if you've gotten drunk," Natasha scolded.

"That's not what I said at-"

"Here! Coming up! Do you see the car park on the left?"

I sighed and parked up, greeting Jackie and a large group of her friends, some familiar, some not. We grabbed various bags of food, drinks and blankets out of the car while we waited for the last few people to arrive. I greeted the few people I knew and introduced myself to some others, promptly forgetting half a dozen names.

Armed with a cool bag of meat slung over one shoulder, and a portable barbecue awkwardly tucked into the crook of my elbow, I joined the line of people making their way across the zigzagging tracks over the dunes leading to the beach. The dunes, while beautiful, were difficult to traverse, and the group split up into small parties, each determined that they'd found the easiest route around or over the steep mounds of sand.

"I'm just saying," I said quietly to Natasha after dropping the barbecue for the third time, looking around to check that Jackie wasn't close enough to hear, "that they are easier beaches to have a barbecue at, y'know."

A loud laugh from behind us, and I turned to see a handsome man I hadn't spoken to yet. "It is a really stupid beach, to be fair," he said, a wide smile on his face.

Jackie's voice came faintly from the next dune over. "What was that?"

"I said it's a fucking stupid beach!" the man called back. He caught my eye, and I must have looked taken aback because he explained: "I'm her brother, I'm allowed to tell her that her annual beach birthday's rubbish." I laughed. "Chris," he stretched a hand out.

I could see the family resemblance to Jackie - the same nose, the same dark blonde hair. Chris immediately put me at ease, with a thick blonde beard framing a constant smile, and deep smile lines around his eyes, despite looking like he was in his early thirties. His handsome face and deep voice set a tingle in my swim shorts.

I took his hand and shook it. "Adam. You must have been doing this your whole life then?"

He laughed loudly. "You'd hope so! No, this is actually a tradition she came up with at about twenty."

"Oh! I sort of assumed it was a childhood thing," I replied.

"That's what she wants you to think. I personally think twenty-eight is a little old to insist on being a special little birthday girl" he shouted this last part across the dunes, and a quiet "fuck off Chris!" came in reply, before he turned to me, and quietly now "but that's just me."

I laughed, his infectious good mood making me forget my earlier reservations about the day. By this point, Natasha was well ahead with some other people from the office and Chris and I were left alone.

"So you work with Jackie?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, just started a few months ago," I replied.

"Enjoying it?"

"Yeah! It's a nice company, people are really friendly." Speaking to Chris, even my boring job was sounding better.

"You're going to have to explain what it is you do, Jackie's never actually been able to make me understand."

"So I'm on the software side, I develop the algorithms that we use to…" I caught myself, realising I was being boring. "I do things with computers that make them make money," I joked.

"Oh my god, I love computers and money!"

"And what about you? What do you do?" I asked.

"Very similar. Computers, money. Sometimes meetings."

"Meetings! Exotic. Is that around Cardiff as well?" I asked.

"Edinburgh." My heart sank, my already slim chances of a date with a handsome, funny man disappearing to nothing. "As much as I think this annual beach birthday is silly, it at least forces me to come back and see everyone."

We walked on for a while, making easy conversation with each other. After a while Chris turned to me. "It's nice to have someone to chat to at this thing. Usually it's just Jackie's work friends talking about office drama and her uni friends talking about decade-old gossip, with me in the middle."

"Surely there's the rest of the family?"

"Nah, she insists on it being young people, but we don't have any cousins, so it ends up just being me. We always do a family thing another night," he shrugged. "Still," he caught my eye and smiled, "I reckon this one will be good."

We heard a small cheer of celebration up ahead as the people in front arrived on the beach, and we sped up, running awkwardly through the sand of the dunes. When we arrived, we dumped our bags in a small pile and helped to spread out the blankets.

I took off my shoes before hesitating, self-conscious of my body. I had a perfectly average body, maybe a little too tall and skinny, but I was always nervous of taking my shirt off in front of other people, lacking the washboard abs and bulging muscles of seemingly all of my friends. I looked around and told myself that no-one would pay me any attention, but I froze, fingers on my top button.

While the other men were wearing swim shorts in various lengths and colours, Chris had stripped off both his fun Hawaiian shirt and particularly short shorts to reveal a pair of bright flowery speedos. His shirt was hiding a subtly chunky body, with a roll of fat sticking out ever so slightly above the colourful lycra, and below, thick legs pooched out ever so slightly where the speedos cut into them. All of this was covered in a veritable pelt of hair, hiding the slight softness of his body.

Chris looked up and caught my eye, and I realised I was staring. I looked away quickly, but could have sworn he gave me a small wink. Emboldened by Chris' confidence and by the lack of notice everyone was paying him, despite the amount of skin he was showing, I unbuttoned my shirt and put it with my shoes.

A while later I walked up to Chris who was manning the various barbecues and settled down next to him. Droplets of salt water still clung to my skin and in my dark chest hair, and I thought the effect was quite sexy, if you ignored all the sand that was sticking to me as well.

"The sea good?" he asked.

"Fucking freezing," I replied.

He smiled and held out a beer to me.

I put up a hand. "Designated driver I'm afraid."

"Fair enough," he pulled the top off and began to drink it himself.

"Are you always in charge of the barbecue?" I asked.

He nodded. "And the beer cooler. It means I get to have more than anyone else without anyone calling me out on it."

I gave a small chuckle. "Good plan," I told him, and took a cheeky look sideways at him. Sure enough, his hairy stomach did look a touch more bloated than it had done earlier. "So your umm…" I cringed at the words even as I formed them, "your girlfriend couldn't make it today?" Smooth Adam. Real smooth.

"Ah, no. My, well my boyfriend had to work." My heart sank. Still, I noticed that his smile shrank ever so slightly when he mentioned his boyfriend.

"Oh! Sorry to assume, I didn't mean to-" I flustered.

"No! No, it's fine really. It happens. Do you? Have a boyfriend?" He held my eyes. "Or girlfriend? Or boyfriend?" His smile was growing again.

"Nope. Single. I broke up with my last boyfriend a while ago." I stressed the word boyfriend more than I meant to. Despite the 400 miles we lived apart, and his boyfriend, I still felt the need to make sure he knew I was gay as well.

"Oh I'm sorry," Chris said.

"Not at all, it was a while ago," I smiled at him. "Just, you know, enjoying being single."

"Yeah, I miss it a little sometimes," Chris said, and I detected an ever so slight sadness in his voice, but he quickly covered it up with his usual, unchanging smile. My heart leapt a little. He was probably just making small talk, sympathising with the lonely singleton, but a boy could dream, couldn't he?

Chris offered me a chicken drumstick. "Have you tried these? They've got like a Korean marinade thing, they're gorgeous. It's like bitter and sweet at the same time. I've had about ten."

I reached over and took it from him, taking a small bite. It was good, and I duly gave a small hum in agreement, but I wouldn't say they were exceptional. Chris picked up on my silence and laughed. "It's probably just me," he told me. "Jackie's always said I'm like a labrador when it comes to food. Food motivated." He beamed at me and picked up another chicken leg, his eyes closing in bliss as he chewed.

I readjusted my shorts ever so slightly. My attraction to Chris was growing as I got to know him - his constant cheerfulness, his small jokes, the way he didn't seem to care what anyone thought about him.

Later that day, I drove back in silence, Natasha passed out after a day of gin in the sun. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face, as I thought back to the day I'd spent mainly with Chris. Despite all the reasons I could never realistically go out with him, I was utterly besotted by the man. I found myself surprised that I was already looking forward to Jackie's 29th.

Chapter 2

"Adam!" Chris called, almost as soon as I'd come from behind the last dune before the beach. "Great to see you!"

I grinned, a little embarrassed. I'd never be able to be so open about being so excited to see someone, but then that's exactly what attracted me to him last year. Paul, a friend from the office, gave me a confused glance which I purposefully ignored. "Hey," I greeted Chris, "looking good man!"

This, I thought to myself, was very true. He was wearing the same flowery speedo as last year, but it now looked positively painted on. He'd clearly put on some weight, last year's roll of flab turning into a sack of fat, suspended above the tight swimwear. His thighs had faint criss-crosses around the tops, not quite hidden by the thick hair there, and his chest now stood ever so slightly forward and down - he didn't quite have moobs, but there were certainly small pockets of fat that weren't there last year. He'd shaved his beard down to stubble, showing just a hint of a double chin forming below his jawline. While I'd never particularly gone in for the overly-ripped, action-man physique, I was still surprised by how much I enjoyed the changes to Chris' body.

I followed Chris back to where some barbecues were already set up. "Got a beer for me in one of those boxes?"

He passed one over. "Not driving this year?"

I nodded over to Natasha, who had a small crowd around her cooing over a small bump at her midriff. "Natasha's pregnant so she's not drinking anyway."

"Handy!" He clinked his bottle against mine and took a swig. I took my shirt off and was pleased to see Chris' eyes rake up and down my body, taking it in. "Sun's out, guns out, eh? You're looking fit!"

I smiled at the compliment and thanked him. I'd taken advantage of the company gym a fair amount over the past year, and for the first time ever I felt like my body could be described by more adjectives than just 'lanky'. I gave a small, joking flex, quietly proud of my beach body and was surprised when Chris reached out and gave my bicep a squeeze. "Looking good," he repeated.

We caught up for a while, taking advantage of being in charge of guarding the beer coolers, Chris eating seemingly almost constantly. While I'd thought back again and again to last year, I'd forgotten just how easy Chris was to talk to, and how much I enjoyed his company.

A few beers in, my courage picked up. "Boyfriend not here again?" I asked bluntly.

He looked confused. "Boyfriend? What do you- oh, John? God, you've got a good memory. No, he cheated on me, I found out around Christmas-ish."

"Oh god, I'm sorry. What an arsehole." I clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, fuck him, y'know."

He laughed at this. "Fuck him! Funnily enough, that's what my mate Sarah did." He laughed again, clearly unbothered.

"Hey! Bisexual affair though! Very modern, very progressive," I joked

He nodded, still laughing, and I watched intently as his paunch shook. "That is a big comfort to me, that at least he cheated on me in a diverse way." His smile grew lopsided as he looked at me, and he shuffled a touch closer to me. "And you? Got a boyfriend on the scene?" He'd lowered his voice now.

"Umm, nope. No. No boyfriend. Some tinder dates, you know but umm," I looked down at his lips. "Single. You know. Available. For stuff."

He nodded and looked around at what everyone else was doing. "The dunes are lovely. To walk around. And stuff. If you wanted to-"

"I want to. Yep. Absolutely. Lovely dunes." I nodded furiously, the sudden movement making me feel more drunk. "The ecosystems and the, uh, crescent shapes."

"Fucking love an ecosystem," Chris said, standing up while he fished out another couple of beers to take with us and quickly grabbed one last hot dog to take with him.

We ran up the closest dune, laughing, and practically fell down the other side. Chris grabbed my hand and led me a bit further on, before pulling me towards him and kissing me, having to reach up slightly to account for the several inches of height difference between us. I melted into him, my shoulders immediately releasing tension I didn't know I was holding, and I ran my fingers through his hair.

The combination of beers, sun and arousal made us act like schoolboys having their first kiss. We stumbled again and again as we continued to walk through the dunes, not paying enough to where we were going, our hands grabbing at each other's bodies the whole way, and giggling breathlessly.

Chris' hand moved down to my swim shorts, and he pulled away slightly, his tongue briefly coming out to wet his lips as his hand rested on my straining cock. "Enjoying yourself I see?"

"Very much so," I replied, pulling him closer to kiss him again. My own hand moved down to his own crotch and I cupped his bulge through his speedos, running my fingers along his length before grasping his hard cock through the lycra. He exhaled shakily and I felt his body tense slightly as I stroked him, grabbing at the fat at his sides as I did so, kissing him deeply the entire time.

Chris stepped back and pulled me down onto the steep sand with him, grabbing my own cock beneath my shorts and began pumping his hand slowly. I pushed him back and pulled down his speedos and my shorts around our thighs. I sat up and straddled him before I grabbed both our cocks in one hand, my long fingers struggling around them both, and began stroking us off together. Chris gave a breathless laugh and laid back, his eyes rolling up into his head in pleasure. I kept my eyes open, watching the shaking of his beef with each small twitch of his body. Chris began to gently girate his hips and I sped my hand up, the fingers of my other hand probing into his flesh, the fat pooling up around them. I heard Chris' breath catch and I relaxed my body, letting my own climax come, so that we both sprayed thick jets of cum up his body at the same time.

I rolled off him and lay next to him, both of us catching our breath. He shifted his weight, rolling over slightly to kiss me. "That", he whispered, "was really fucking hot."

I laughed and nodded. "You know, I really feel like we haven't explored these dunes very much yet."

He took on a faux serious expression and nodded. "I personally don't feel I've seen enough of the unique flora and fauna endemic to Welsh dune ecosystems." He stood up, struggling to pull his too tight swimsuit back up his thighs, and I followed suit, my own swimsuit coming up easily. "There's a sort of cove-y inlet-y thing, that way," he said, pointing, "that's pretty secluded. We could clean ourselves up and explore a little more." He spread his arms out and motioned down at his sticky torso before wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Sounds perfect," I agreed, taking his hand.

A couple of hours later, we stumbled back onto the beach, Chris making a beeline for the barbecue. Thankfully, someone had taken over his duties so there was plenty of food for him to grab. My friend Paul sauntered over and raised an eyebrow suggestively. "You look like you've had a good time."

"We just went for a walk. It's very beautiful around here," I protested.

"Very beautiful," Paul nodded, his voice thick with sarcasm. "I wouldn't have had you down as a chubby chaser."

"What? I'm not a chub- nothing happened! And he's not chubby! That's very rude. And nothing happened anyway!" I could hear my voice go up too high as I blatantly lied.

"No, no, absolutely, I believe you," Paul said. "Your shorts are on backwards by the way."

I felt my face go even redder, if that was possible. I was saved from my embarrassment by Chris returning with a beer for me, and we moved towards the sea for a swim.

"Listen, I know you'll be going back to Edinburgh, but if you're around this week for a drink or something…" I suggested, once we were in the cold water.

The smile on Chris' face completely faded for the first time since I'd met him, not even a joking undertone left. "I'm going back tomorrow morning. 6 am flight."

I forced a smile. "Yeah, of course! That's fine, of course. You'd have wanted to spend time with your family anyway."

"No, no, I'd love to, I would. I really would." Chris looked genuinely sorry. "It just didn't work out. I'm sorry."

Later on, I sat in the back of Natasha's car, exhausted from a mixture of alcohol, food, sun and sex. Natasha was explaining to Annie in the front seat about how she'd actually had so much more fun while not drinking, and she was so embarrassed for all of us, convincing no-one, when Paul leaned over from the other side of the back seat.

"He seemed nice", he offered.

"Yeah, nice," I replied distantly.

"You guys going to see each other again?" he asked.

I shook my head. "He lives in Edinburgh."

"Shit, I'm sorry. Will he be there next year do you reckon?"

I gave a small smile. "Yeah, next year maybe."

Chapter 3

I got to the beach first, the usual work group trailing behind me. I was desperately trying to seem cool and calm, but I knew I was failing miserably. I looked around for Chris but couldn't see him anywhere.

"Jackie! Hey! Happy Birthday! Thirty! The big one!" I ignored her angry reply about how she didn't want to be thirty yet. "Yep. Uh-huh. Absolutely. Got to hate the linear flow of time. Anyway, Chris not here yet? He usually comes to this, right? Can't miss the big day!"

"Oh, do you two know each other? Yeah, he's going to be late, he was visiting our grandma so he's coming all the way from St Davids," she said the name of it like a joke, and I duly laughed, never quite getting the hang of Jackie. Me and Chris had texted a few times in the past year, but I'd been too nervous to ask him directly about coming to his sister's birthday, so I was relieved to hear he was coming.

An hour and a half and a few beers later, I heard a wolf-whistle behind me. "You've joined the speedo club I see!" I turned around to see Chris approaching me, fat jiggling with each heavy footstep. I'd been inspired by his confidence and my own improving physique to opt for something skimpier this time, and was happy to see that he hadn't worn anything less revealing.

It was clear that last year's weight gain wasn't a one-off. While before, he might be able to get away with being charitably called stout or burly, he was downright fat now. His gut was now a heavy, near-perfect sphere, bulging out to the sides and slightly sagging down in front of him, with genuine tits, round, plump sacks of flesh that sat on top of his belly. His always present smile now pushed two chubby cheeks out like a hamster, and he'd regrown his beard, much thicker than before, in a clear and futile attempt to cover a rounding jawline.

I matched his beaming smile and walked towards him, grabbing a beer and a burger on the way for him. I handed them over and slapped a hand onto his gut, emboldened by the few drinks I'd had while waiting. "You've got some new speedos yourself I see," I said quietly.

He twisted and pulled his gut out of the way to look, before looking back at me. "Ah, yeah, the other ones," he looked away sheepishly, "don't really fit anymore."

I bit my lip. "I'm sure they don't," I said jokingly. He smiled nervously back at me.

"Listen, I'm going to have a swim, grab some food. I'll talk to you later, alright." I watched him walk away, deflated. Did he regret last year? Or maybe something had happened, to make him so frosty? A new boyfriend maybe?

I sat and drank on a large rock, until he walked over to me and sat down next to me. Despite my nervousness, I thrilled at the thick fat on his sides brushing against my arm.

"I've been thinking about you, this year," he said finally. I looked over, heart rising.

"Me too," I replied with a smile.

His face broke into its usual grin. "Good. Good. I was a bit nervous, since you didn't text or anything. I wasn't really sure if you'd come."

"I thought the same, honestly," I confessed.

"And then," he continued, "I arrived and saw you looking really fucking good," he reached over and squeezed my strong thigh, "and I thought maybe I'd gotten too fat for you." His face had become bright red as he said this.

I laughed at him. "I like it. Really. It works for you. You carry it really well." I reached out and squeezed his own thick thigh, the fat feeling like butter beneath the skin.

"So you're into fat guys, hey?" He was still smiling, but looked a little embarrassed.

I shook my head. "Not really. I'm into you though."

His smile grew even wider. "I'm into you too." He reached out and held my hand. "I tried to diet for a bit," he confessed after a while.

"I can't imagine you dieting. You're way too confident. Like, you don't care what people think. It's sexy," I told him

"Well it turns out I'm not very good at it. I didn't actually lose any weight. But, y'know, I had the thought. Downloaded an app and everything."

"What was the app?" I asked, quietly laughing.

He shrugged. "It counted calories, told me when I was being a fat arse. Turns out I was probably supposed to do something with that information."

"Probably," I agreed.

Eventually, I realised his cheeks weren't getting any less red. "You're burning," I said, jumping up, "I'll go get some sun cream."

"I'm fine! I'm fine, really, I don't burn" he grabbed my hand to pull me back down but I pulled away.

"You're bright red. I'll get you some food and beer while I grab it," I promised. He relented, pleased that eating and drinking would now be involved.

I came back with my hands full, and passed everything over. I sat behind him and squirted some sun cream onto his back while he ate, and started rubbing it in wide circles. I relished the feel of his soft fat under my fingers, sliding my fingers deep into the crevices and folds of his body, and grabbing thick slabs of beef, all in the name of his skin health. I repeated the process on his front, exploring his soft tits, and hefting his gut up towards his face before letting it go and watching the ripples move through his body. I lingered for far longer than was necessary, tangling my fingers into the hair that covered his body, down from his shoulders, spreading across his torso and arms.

A while later, we both lay sunbathing on the sand, Chris barely moving, while I'd periodically jump up to grab him a snack. I handed him a burger and he propped himself up on his elbows and looked at me. "Listen, I'm not going home for another few days, and I've got a room at the village pub. Did you want to come for dinner? Maybe stay the night?"

"Dinner? You've been eating all day!" I responded.

"I've been snacking all day, I'll need a proper meal," he explained. I could see why he'd put on so much weight.

"That sounds good though, yeah. We need to make sure you don't waste away."

We fell into bed that night, Chris' stomach stretched tight and even rounder than earlier. I pulled off his too small t-shirt, unaccustomed to seeing him in clothes at all. I watched him for a minute or two try to take his shorts off, the button pulled tight by his heavy gut above. I took pity on him and made him suck his gut in, which he managed to, with difficulty, just enough for me to free the button and pull down the zipper, to reveal his aching cock straining against his speedos, still on from earlier.

"There's some condoms and lube in my suitcase," he told me.

"Someone was confident!" I said, but fetched them nonetheless.

He struggled to sit up, his full gut getting in the way, so I pushed him back down. "Don't you worry big guy, I'll do all the work." I sat next to him on the bed and helped him rub his gut, filled with a day's worth of barbecue and beer, and topped off with a heavy dinner, including dessert. He groaned, and I kissed him deeply. I pulled off his speedos, and his dick sprung up, slapping against his distended belly, smearing it with a spot of pre-cum.

We spent the night fucking, being as gentle as possible with Chris' overfull stomach. We spent the next day together as well, lounging on the beach, and I called in sick to work on Monday so we could spend one last day together. As I got out of Chris' car outside my house, he got out and kissed me, making me promise to stay in touch.

Chapter 4

I walked out onto the beach and made a beeline for Chris, pulling my shirt off as I approached him. He'd continued to gain weight, and his ball gut had expanded out, retaining its spherical shape but sagging down, with a deep cavernous belly button at its centre. Thick love handles sat either side of the giant gut, and above it his ample tits sat thick, beginning to droop ever so slightly towards his sides. His thighs were like tree trunks and were easily larger around than my waist, and between them I could just make out a bright flash of fabric, his speedos almost completely covered up from the front.

"They still make those in that size?" I teased him as I reached him.

"Well I don't think they don't make them too much bigger," he laughed.

"You've got your bags?" I asked.

He nodded. "In Jackie's car. You're not driving anyone back?"

"Nope, free to go as soon as we're done here." I grinned at him, excited about our planned week in Cornwall. "You can have a drink though, if you want, don't worry."

He shook his head. "I'm happy just spending some time with you."

I smiled at him and gave him a kiss. Some work friends looked over curiously, but I saw Paul and Natasha lean over to fill them in on all the gossip.

"We'll be the talk of your office will we?" Chris asked.

"Oh, hardly. It turns out Greg might actually be the father of Natasha's baby, so we'll barely be a blip on their radar."

"Oh my god!" Chris said. "I don't know who any of those people are!"

I laughed and led him over to the barbecue.

As we drove away that evening to my house, I looked over at Chris, as he snored faintly. He'd not had anything to drink, but he'd eaten so much over the course of the day that getting back over the sand dunes had been a genuine issue, and by the time we got back to the car park everyone except Jackie and her fiancé had long gone. Jackie passed over Chris' bags and I put them in the boot while Chris collapsed into the front seat, the car dipping dramatically on that side.

That night lacked the urgency of the other times we'd met, not driven by lust, but rather just enjoying each others' company. We watched a movie while I snuggled into his side, sinking into his soft fat like a pillow. The next morning I made a large breakfast before we set off on our holiday.

Chapter 5

I walked out of the sand dunes and was almost immediately accosted by old colleagues. "How's Edinburgh?" Paul asked.

"Great! Really, really great! The job's basically the same thing, computers, money, meetings, you know," I replied.

"And Chris? How's he?" Natasha asked.

"He's great too, we've settled really well into living together, it just all works."

"Is he coming or…?"

I turned around to look at the dunes. "He's just taken the scenic route, he'll be here in a bit." For the most part I'd gotten used to walking at Chris' slower pace, and kept with him for most of the walk, but had run ahead at the last couple of dunes. Sure enough, after a minute or two he appeared between the bases of two dunes.

He'd put on more weight while we were living together, but he'd slowed down a little recently. Still, he was clearly bigger than the last time we were here, one year ago. While the changes might not be so obvious to a lot of people, just a fat man getting fatter, I noticed them all. His stomach stuck out just that bit more, his sides that much wider, his legs that much softer.

He walked over to me (waddled might be more accurate, I pondered, especially on the soft sand), and gave me a peck on the cheek. We put our bags down a convenient distance to the food, and stripped down to our speedos, Chris' once again new to stretch across his added weight.

"Fancy a swim?" Chris asked me, already walking towards the water.

"Sounds good," I said, quickly catching up to him. "Maybe afterwards we can go for a walk through the dunes?" I raised my eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh fuck off!" Chris said. "I'm not going back through those, I'm knackered after that walk. You're just going to have to wank me off in front of everyone, if it comes to it."

I laughed and kissed him on the cheek, admiring the plush softness. "Well hopefully it won't come to that."

"Why not?" Chris asked, joking. "Do you not think I'm beach body ready?"

#gaining fiction #weight gain #gainer fiction #gainer story #weight gain story #male weight gain #weight gain fiction #wg story #beach body #i wrote this aaaaages ago and decided there were pacing issues #i convinced myself id rewrite it to add another year early on but clearly thats not happening #so im posting it now #enjoy!

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