An original weight gain story by kyaada
It had been a couple of months since I’d seen Max in the flesh, and I always looked forward to his visits to town with the neverending hope that I’d see more of him than the time before. Each time we’d meet, I’d concentrate on bolstering his waning self-confidence attributed to his ongoing weight gain, assuring the 26 year old Swedish meat ball that he still had more than his share of good looks. Of course, I’d also fill his head with restaurant ideas and tempting recipes, never letting him forget that it was important to keep that belly of his full of many pleasingly delicious things.
It was fairly busy day at the warehouse club with a steady stream of shoppers pushing their as-yet unfilled carts past Max’s roadshow table. Very few stopped to show interest in the product, making it a perfect time to hang out and chat.
“Yeah, I tried to go on this diet that my father recommended, and I had bought all of this stuff– $400 worth–” Max said, scratching the top of his belly, “but it lasted two weeks. Then I gorged my way through Thanksgiving, then the whole month of December, well, hell, I’m still eatin’ like a pig. My pants are so fucking tight, and well, this is my biggest shirt and it’s completely filled.”
“Max-filled, by the looks of it,” I said, reaching over and giving his rounded belly a gentle pat, bringing out a bit of laughter. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, Max, I mean, come on– you’re still a really handsome guy.”
“Well yeah, but I was so hot when I was in college. I need to get back into shape.” He stood there letting his belly stick out as far as it wanted after his substantial lunch at Applebee’s. Giving his stomach a friendly massage with one hand, Max worked out a steady stream of mini-belches. “Fuck, I ate too much for lunch.”
“Aw c’mon, Max. You enjoyed it, right?”
“No doubt, man.” Max put both hands on his midsection, spread his fingers, and gave his food barrel a squeeze. “I enjoy everything too much– the main reason why I weigh 240 pounds now. I’m the biggest I’ve ever been! My roommate calls me his “big boy” now. Damn him anyway for being such a good cook.”
“Oh, does he cook for you, Max?”
“Yeah, with me being out of town for a week at a time, it’s hard for me to keep groceries in the house. He usually just cooks for me when I’m home, and with what he learned in those cooking classes last year, he’s become quite the budding chef.”
“That’s more than handy, huh?” I asked, watching Max reach down and shift some stiffness in his pants zipper region.
“You could say that. The other week, he made this awesome tender steak with these loaded baked potatoes and this vegetable dish and this amazing garlic parmesan bread and my favorite salad and even some homemade pasta.” Max kept his hand on top of his belly as he described the lengthy meal, rubbing back and forth as his eyes nearly rolled back in his head.
“What? No dessert? The bastard!”
Max’s belly shook as he laughed. “It’s all good– I don’t really care all that much for sweets. Besides, I probably wouldn’t have been able to fit it in. As it was, I could barely move. I just sat there on my fat butt like a big vulnerable pregnant Buddha.”
At the mention of his divine after-dinner state, I found myself getting harder. “That must have been quite the sight, Max. Did your roomie rub the Buddha belly for luck?”
“Come to think of it, he did, and he snapped a couple photos with his phone. He told me that I was too big to get away and that I’d have to eat the rest of the sausage cannelloni because he didn’t want any leftovers.”
“Wow! It sounds like you were definitely vulnerable to a serious overfeeding at that point.”
“I was beyond swollen when I finished that last bite of saucy pasta goodness. Good thing I was close to the couch and he only had to help me waddle a short distance. The Buddha was ready to burst!”
“You know, you really do need to come to my house on a night when you don’t have any appointments. I’ll make you some dinner, and you can relax yourself with a good feed.”
5’ 10” Max smiled at me, showing off his irresistible dimples, “that sounds like fun. We could have drinks and I bet you’re a pretty good cook.”
“Oh absolutely. Guys that come to my house for dinner should wear pants with a little give in ‘em and a shirt that will stretch some. I’ve had a couple complaints where my dinner guests had eaten too much.”
“Are you gonna impregnate the Buddha?”
“Maybe a little bit, Max. Overstuffing you and putting you into a vulnerable state is pretty appealing to me, I’ll have to admit. I might even have to you weigh in and out.” My eyes shifted down to his belly region again after thoroughly inventorying his dimples, much fuller cheeks, and beginning double chin. “By the way, what time do you go to lunch today?”
“We could go now, actually, it’s not that busy.” Max began gathering his various phones and electronic devices. “Besides, all this talk about food has made me hungry.”
As we walked across the parking lot to his favorite standby Applebee’s, I noticed how much his round belly bounced with each eager step.
“Where are the good places around here to run?” Max asked me as one of his heavier steps dislodged a small belch.
At first, my mind refused to connect the vision of his perfectly fat bouncing ball of belly and his desire to go through such ridiculously pointless physical effort; nonetheless, the memory of his diet and exercise talk spurred my response. “Run? That’s too hard on your knees, Max. You don’t want to be running.” The short walk across the parking lot was topped by the sight of his wide rear going into the restaurant ahead of me. He really did have an amazingly shaped bubblebutt and gloriously stacked love handles.
When we got to the booth, I noticed that the table was pushed over to one side, and he automatically chose the widest seating area. Max said that he was going to be good and just have a salad. I told him that I knew he was trying to stick to his diet and “get back into shape”, so I first interested him in the French Onion soup that he’d never tried before, then ordered the 4-Cheese Mac and Cheese with Honey Pepper Chicken Tenders along with a steak quesadilla appetizer for us to share. He gave it some thought and added some crispy chicken to top his humble Caesar.
Max received his soup first, and was completely thrilled with the new flavor and stacks of gooey cheese. He helped himself to pieces of the steak quesadilla at my urging, and was well through that pile of nibbles by the time our entrees came. The server flew about like a crazed bee between tables because it was so packed, but she still managed to keep Max up to his nipples in Coke, which he sucked down at a near-panicked rate. Next, Max conquered his heaped salad easily, and didn’t flinch when I pushed my mac and cheese towards him with a heartfelt request for assistance.
Max’s belly swelled with obvious confidence. The gap between his expanding stomach and the table edge narrowed as he widened in front of my eyes. The fleece pullover, already tight all over, was getting a stretching in the midsection. Suddenly realizing how full he was getting, Max leaned back momentarily and emitted a stout belch. The bearchub of a manager chugged his way up to the table and asked how everything was tasting, recognizing Max from his many previous lunch trips. “How’s my best customer?” the bearchub asked, “from here, it looks like you’ve got a little space left between you and that table, so we should fill it with a nice big dessert. What do you say?”
Powerless to avoid being desserted, Max watched as the bearchub sat an overscooped Blue Ribbon Brownie in front of him with two spoons. The brownies were stuffed with chunks of dark chocolate and nuts, covered in hot fudge. Two large scoops of chocolatey decorated vanilla ice cream sat on each side of the brownie pile in a similarly irresistible manner like Max’s fattened pecs adorned the top of his rising belly. Despite his previously mentioned aversion to sweets, Max gorged himself to capacity on the quickly melting heap of decadence.
“There! That was a great diet lunch, Max.” I complimented the completely rounded stud seated in front of me. His overfull belly pushed against the table hard enough to cause a mini-roll of fatness just above the table ledge. If I would have shoved the table over just one inch toward him, it was likely that I’d be wearing his enormous dessert.
Max smiled at me as he rested his head back against the top of the booth, absentmindedly running his hand across the top of his big bloated belly. “I’m so fucking full that I hurt.”
“Poor guy! Applebee’s apple barrel boy.”
Max looked at his phone. “Oh shit– I better get back to work!” His sudden realization spurred him into movement, but his next revelation was that he was a bit too overloaded to move quickly. “Oh my Goddddd, get the forklift! You might have to help roll out the barrel boy…” Belching and grunting his way out of the tight fit of the booth, Max was finally able to stand up and begin his journey to the front door. Even the most casual of observers in the restaurant could make out Max’s protuberant bulge and how it led the way while he shifted his pasta butt into gear to motor towards the entrance.
“Take your time, Max, remember, you’re built for comfort, not speed.” I told him, looking ahead to see the bearchub manager waiting patiently at the front with a to-go bag.
“You got that right– besides, I don’t think I could move faster than this if I tried.”
Max slowly glided into position by the bearchub manager like a heavy-laden truck pulling into a highway weigh station. The manager smiled and thanked him profusely for coming in again, handing him the to-go bag. Addressing Max’s confused look, he offered, “you forgot your leftovers at your table, sir.”
“But I didn’t…” Max sputtered, relaxing his belly for a moment to let it become as round as possible. The hefty young manager peeled off a “Blue Ribbon” sticker and smoothed it onto Max’s extra-taut fleece right above his left nipple. Finding the humor in the situation, we all chuckled at how Max really did resemble fattened free range livestock. The bearchub reached over and patted Max’s very full belly and thanked him for being a valued customer, “I know that you’re pretty stuffed at the moment, but here’s a little snack to tide you over before dinner.”
The walk back to the warehouse was a much lazier affair due to Max’s heavy lunch. His gut was so packed so tightly that it essentially refused to bounce with each plodding step.
“Still thinking about taking up running again there, Max?”
“Smart ass.” Max smirked at me. “Exercise of any kind is pretty much out in my present condition,” he confirmed as he rubbed his impressive sphere in languid circles. “Buddha Boy here overdid it again…”
The next day, Max sent me pics during his visit to Famous Dave’s. “Diet food” was the title of the first one, showing a mega-pile of food for his “Feast for One”, and this was after he’d guzzled beer at the bar during happy hour. He’d told me before that he usually avoided drinking beer because it made him bloat so outrageously, but the cute young bartender had convinced him to try a local brew he ended up really enjoying. Max devoured his single feast after tanking up with beer, and sent a photo looking down to show how round he’d become. His new gal pal behind the bar went on to work out a deal on a giant bowl of bread pudding with sauce and ice cream, enticing Max to stuff it in. He must have handed her the phone to take the picture, so I received a very revealing shot of his tight shirt and swollen belly accompanied by a text that said he was going to “have to be rolled out.” I texted back and told him that I loved his new diet plan.
The following night, Max ate Mexican food before going out to two appointments. Then, he went out for pizza and beer. Following that, he used the 2-for-1 Whopper meal coupon I’d given him and had to go to his hotel room for a rest. He sent me several photos of his attempts to get comfortable on the bed, blaming me for his overgorged state because I’d shoved that coupon on him. After accusing me of being a bad influence, he told me that he had the next evening free, so I jumped on the chance to invite him over for dinner. Then he called me.
I answered the phone and heard this protracted belch rumble through my earpiece.
“Wow, Max, you okay?”
“Oh my GOD I’m so full. Just stick me with a pin and pop me already.” Max said, breathing loudly enough for me to hear him over the phone.
“Poor guy. At least you’ve had two nights of stretching your stomach before you come to dinner at my house.”
“I’m definitely stretched out. I had to unbutton my pants.” Max belched again. “I look so fat right now.”
“You looked like a big ol’ sausage in the pics you sent me. A big, stuffed sausage…”
“Sauté me in beer until I split.” Max quipped.
“So, are you in the mood for beer tomorrow night, Max?”
“Whatever you got. I’m just gonna sit there with my mouth open like a little baby bird and let you feed me whatever you want.”
“Okay then.” I felt my face get hot as my blood started to rush around my body.
I certainly didn’t mind spending hours preparing for Max’s Big Meal the next day. Cooking and baking non-stop, I gave my collection of cookbooks a thorough workout. Feeling a touch exhausted, I poured myself a gin and tonic and looked over the assortment with undeniable satisfaction as the doorbell rang. Time had really gotten away from me during all of that preparation.
I opened the front door and guided Max in. “Hello there,” I said. “Hey,” Max replied with a smile.
“You know, I’ve never been invited to a guy’s house for dinner before,” Max said as he shed his coat and showed off his ensemble. To my amazement, he’d chosen his black knit pullover shirt he’d outgrown several months prior, stretched it over what appeared to be a tank top underneath, and then struggled to button his tan dress pants from work. The zipper had no hope of traveling up to the top of the track, and there was a “v”-shaped gap underneath the tortured pants button.
“No worries, dude. You just sit back and get a bellyful of food and drink like normal.”
“All right, I can do that!” Max confirmed, running his right hand over his rounded middle. He sucked in the delicious aromas that filled the air. “Wow, what smells so good?”
“I’m so glad you asked. Would you like a drink?”
“That sounds perfect.” Max said, “I could use a stiff one.”
“Kitchen’s that-a-way,” I pointed out, letting him walk in front of me. His fat butt wobbled from side to side in front of me, and I tried to calculate how many pots of pasta it took to get the seat of his tight pants to fill out that much. “How about a martini?”
“Sure!” Max looked around at the smorgasbord of food around the kitchen and was genuinely surprised. “Oh. My. God. You really outdid yourself!”
Max made short work of the frozen glassful of gin I’d poured him and held the empty out for me to fill again. “No way, you left the scale out for me?” Seeing the scale over by the back door, Max sauntered over and stepped on it. “Not sure if I should do this or not…”
I took another long drink of my gin and tonic as I walked over to see what the scale had to say. “Huh. 251 pounds, Max,” I told him as he tried to suck in his belly and lean forward to look down at the readout.
“251, really?” Max sipped his martini confidently. “Damn. I just keep putting on weight,” he said as he started scooping up seven layer dip with tortilla chips, “ Well, I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised with how much chow I’ve been pushing down my gullet these past few days.” The effects of the quick infusion of cold gin became obvious; Max was getting “softer”.
Like a switch had been flipped, Max concentrated on conquering the chips and dip while alternating nibbles of crostini slathered with roasted garlic cream cheese, roasted peppers, and balsamic vinegar. I opened him a beer and he guzzled to wash down the uninterrupted stream of appetizers. Finding true love with the barbecue sauce-drenched bacon-wrapped Italian meatballs, he popped them in his mouth, one after the other, like Pac Man on a hurried trip through the maze. Max’s black shirt stretched as his stomach swelled, and his facial expression was that of pure bliss. “What’s for dinner?” he asked.
“Come this way,” I said, guiding him into the dining room where I’d set a very attractive table. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“One minute,” Max delayed, as he doubled back to fill a large plate full of his favorite hors d’ oeuvres.
“You’ve sure got a good appetite there, Max.” I complemented him, giving his middle a lustful stare.
“You’re an amazing cook, too. I think I’m in trouble,” Max told me, setting his big plate of nibbles on the table and rubbing his rounder belly in wide circles.
Max’s prediction of trouble became more real over the next hour of uninterrupted binging. After he’d finished the entire pan of steak enchiladas, the outline of his wide belly button was unmistakeable through his divinely taut shirt. The slipperiness of the black knit material caused the hem of that outer shirt to slide up a bit on his swelling belly, creating a white strip of the cotton undershirt below. Max finally took a break from shoving food into his mouth. He scooted his ample butt forward and leaned back in his dining chair, arching his back slightly. The movement caused him to emit a very satisfied belch; startled at the volume of the burp, Max excused himself and rested a hand on top of his much taller belly.
I leaned toward him, unable to hide my pleasure in his condition, and pushed my hand against his firm stomach. Max let out a grunt and looked over at me. “How are ya feelin’ there, big guy?” I asked, giving his bulging belly a couple enthusiastic thumps. “Yer gettin’ big!”
“The food is too good. I gotta use your restroom for a minute.”
Max struggled to get up, grunting and groaning all the way, pausing to stand before me while he stretched his arms up to the ceiling. His combination of shirts rode up his belly, baring a nice portion for me to view, and his pants button appeared to be in imminent danger of launching. Max grabbed his latest beer bottle off of the table and chugged down what was left. “Ahhh, good stuff,” he said, belching loudly. Allowing his belly to relax a little, the increased size was enough to pop his pants button off into my lap.
“Well, it was only a matter of time. That button’s days were limited,” I comforted him.
“40s here I come,” Max said before turning to wobble to the bathroom. I watched his concerted effort to walk after eating as much as he did, and continued marveling at how fat his ass had gotten over the previous few months. His gait seemed unnecessarily hindered until he let out a fart as he exited the room. “Excuse me!” he called behind him as he continued his journey to apparently release even more accumulated pressure.
I checked on the outrageously topped pizza in the oven and pulled it out ahead of it becoming too browned. Opening another beer for Max, I waited for him to return. As I was cutting slices, I heard Max puffing his way down the hallway. Emerging in the kitchen, he lacked his overtight black pullover shirt and was clad only in his completely filled white tank top. His nipples were obviously hard and he’d made no effort to raise his pants zipper whatsoever. Max’s basket was plump as he opened his mouth. “Pizza? Oh no. My weakness. You know my weakness.”
“Yup. You told me one time and I’ve never forgotten.”
Max stood there in the kitchen admiring the incredibly tasty mound of toppings smothering a semi-thick crust, sucking back drool and swallowing hard to keep it from escaping the corner of his mouth. “It looks so good.”
“Do ya think it will fit in your belly?”
“It’s definitely gonna be a tight fit. I’m gonna have to stretch top-to-bottom and side-to-side.”
“Attaboy, Max! That’s the spirit!”
I picked up a heavy slice and guided it towards his mouth. His lips instinctively parted as he opened his mouth wide for a giant bite. I pushed the ample portion in as far as I could and he responded by taking an enormous chunk. That first piece disappeared quickly, and his hunger was reignited by the irresistible combination of flavors. He stood there in front of the cooktop gorging himself on pizza as I opened another beer for him. Max spread his feet apart to lower his center of gravity toward the food supply, and relaxed his abdominal muscles as possible to facilitate continuous swelling.
I must have created the perfect storm of toppings because Max could not and would not stop eating. His midsection blew up like a balloon as he used both hands to push in slice after slice. He looked over at me with a couple pieces remaining, blinked several times, belched forcefully, and said, “I’m getting s-t-u-f-f-e-d!!”
“No doubt, Max. Your gut looks like you’ve swallowed a beach ball.”
Max chuckled as he requested another beer. “I can’t believe what a bad influence you are. I’m supposed to be on a diet!”
“Hey, I’m sorry, Max.” I walked over and placed my hand on top of his protruding belly. I pushed in to fully appreciate the fullness, watching his nipples harden again. His softened pecs sat on top of his overfed belly as plump reminders of his long-forgotten days in the gym. I put my other hand on the small of his back, brushing his thick lovehandle on the way over. Pushing him forward with one hand as I rubbed back and forth on his solid belly with the other, I noticed him chew his mouthfuls faster. “Your diet is as blown as this fat belly.”
Max looked down and the surprise on his face was evident. “Holy fuck…my belly has never been this big!”
“Feels good, doesn’t it, Max?”
“Fuck yeah. Keep rubbing! Maybe get behind me and use both hands…”
He didn’t have to ask twice, and I pushed my hot crotch into his fat bubble butt as I reached around his front. Max gobbled down the last of the pizza and guzzled his near-full beer. I squeezed a big long belch out of him and then shook his enormously swollen belly from side to side.
“You’ve impregnated me with food!” Max babbled in a daze, leaning his head back against my shoulder. “Not that I’m complaining at all, but fuck, I’m so fat!”
“Yeah, you are. Your belly feels like it’s gonna bust!”
“No lie. You ought to pop me and put me out of my misery!”
“Maybe after dessert.”
I started smacking Max’s tight gut with alternating hands. “Damn, this tank makes some fine sounds. I could play this drum for a long time!” Max put his weight back against me as I harvested a new round of burps from his ripe watermelon of a belly.
Max pulled away from me and waddled over to where the scale sat on the floor. He was so full that his arms swayed out away from his body. Stepping on the scale, he became frustrated almost immediately. “Shit. I can’t see the display– my belly is too big. You fed me too much!”
I walked over to his side, looked down, and reported the 261 that showed on the display. Smacking him right in the full gut, I told him “hey, it takes two to make a 10 pound food baby.”
“Fuck, man. I gotta go on a diet. I’ll never find a girlfriend at this rate.”
“Max, I’ve told you before…you’re a damn handsome guy! So what if you’re thirty, forty, uh, sixty or so pounds overweight for your height.”
“More like 80 pounds overweight,” Max smirked, putting a hand on each side of his bloated sphere of chow. “Okay, 90.”
“Trust me, Max. You can find a girlfriend. There’s plenty of women out there that will find you a plenty good catch. You’ve got a steady income, you’re reliable, and you come with nice big bubble in the middle, which means you’re on the level.”
“I’m just not looking because I don’t like how I look right now…” Max said, stepping off of the scale.
“But hell, you’re so hunky and chunky. You just need to find a girl that will bring you beers while you sit on the couch waiting for her to finish making you an extensively filling dinner. You’d be much happier letting your belt out another notch than going and sweating it up at some gym.”
I could sense Max traveling to this magic land of perpetual weight gain in his mind as he wobbled back into the main kitchen area sniffing around for more food. “I do hate cardio, that’s for sure.” He parked his fat butt against the counter and let his gut relax out to full bulge.
“See?” I eased my way over in front of him and gently punched around on his enormous ball of belly. His tank top’s hem lifted up to expose his belly button, inviting my finger in for a visit. “You’re destined to be an overfed chubby hubby.” As I pushed my finger in and out of his belly hole, he horned up instantly. “Now, how about some dessert?”
“Jeeeeeez. Are you just going to keep pushing food in me until I explode?”
“Is that a bad thing?” I inquired.
“Nah. You’re an amazing cook. My belly is telling me to stop, but my taste buds are longing for more. Why did you make everything so delicious?”
“It was all part of the plan to make sure you really enjoyed yourself, Max. I’ve loved watching you grow fatter over the last few months.”
“Hmmm. Well, you do talk about restaurants and recipes a lot. You’re always making me hungry….even after I’ve eaten!”
“Oops… Sorry about that.” I pulled out a plate of brownies and wafted the aroma under Max’s nose. He started salivating again, and his dimples made a lengthy reappearance. “Brownie cups with Reese’s peanut butter cup centers…”
I took one and shoved it halfway into his mouth. Pouring him a big glass of chocolate milk, I had him take a big gullet-clearing swig after he swallowed the generous bite of brownie treat. “C’mon.”
Soon, I had him laying across my lap on the couch as I fed him stuffed brownies and poured chocolate milk down his throat. After I’d shove another morsel in his eager mouth, I’d give his ever-swelling belly an intense rubbing. Max’s stomach pushed up higher and higher into the air, becoming tighter as it rose. Finally, Max was struggling to swallow down each subsequent bite, and I knew he was reaching capacity.
“Ohhhh, my belly…” Max moaned.
I put both hands on his mound and finger-massaged my way around it. “It’s like a big round rock!”
“I know…it’s all your fault.” Max got out between labored breaths. “I’m overgorged.”
“Poor guy. Hard-bloated from rib to cock….” I thumped his enormous gut like a ripe melon. “Now, aren’t you glad you finally made it over for dinner, Max?”
“Buddha is on the verge of going boom!”
Max wriggled off of my lap and capsized onto all fours on the floor. For a moment, all he could do was adjust to the amount of gravity pulling his tumescent abdomen close to the rug. “Blue ribbon Buddha…” I observed, remembering the sticker he’d gotten the other day from the hot bearchub manager at Applebee’s. Thumping the side of his full tank, I produced a series of most pleasing “bomp” sounds. “So ample and plump, this Buddha Boy,” I told him, scooting forward to sit on the edge of the couch so that I could reach all of the way under his solid gut. “Like a big tom turkey being fattened for a sublime Thanksgiving meal.”
“Tell me about it. I keep wanting to get back my hot college bod to get the ladies, but all I have are guys stuffing me until I’m ready to pop like a tick!”
“You should resist those insane temptations and do some push ups – right now!”
Max grunted incredulously. Pushing his legs back one after the other, he soon found himself laying on his beach ball of a gut in a pregnant plank position. I pushed him over onto his back and watched his mountainous bellyful wobble into upward prominence. I mercilessly fingered his shallower belly button and shook his tank from side to side.
“Heh. I thought so. Now, try to do a sit up.”
“Please.” Max breathed, working out a long, satisfied belch. I knelt down beside him and put both hands on top of his tall girthy gut, applying pressure in various degrees all over the broad expanse. I watched his cock lengthen inside his taut underwear, knowing that he was thoroughly enjoying the attention. Grabbing the hem of his tank top, I worked the skin tight affair up to his fattened pecs crowned with hard nipples. I slapped the bare skin of his bloated stomach, careful not to work his packed digestive tract too much.
“Max can’t run, he can’t do a push up or a sit up,” I stated, lifting my leg up and over to straddle his big round mountain. “He can’t even escape a sure and certain forcefeeding coming up to finish him off.” I gently bounced on his giant gut, quite mindful of the fact that it could prove disastrous to put much weight on it.
Max sputtered out an oh-my-god, then “sit on my cock instead. My pregnant belly can’t take any pressure at all. I’ll split down the middle!”
“Attaboy, Max,” I affirmed, giving his taut balloon a good massage, “now to push another fattening pile of food into Buddha…”