fatorfiction

[fatorfiction]

Personal Best - first story

After I come home from work, I see you standing in the kitchen in just your tiny briefs, your fat overflowing and wobbling with every step, and all I can say is "Damn." We make out for a few minutes, but then I smack your lardass and send you to go watch TV while I bring in food from the car and start cooking and preparing your erotic feast. An hour later, I call you back in, and I stand behind you, pressing my cock against your plump cheeks, my tongue exploring the folds in your thick neck, and my hands squeezing, jiggling, and smacking your fat hips and love handles. Then I bring a slice of pizza up to your desperately hungry fatboy lips and shake and spank your ass while you eat the slice as quickly and voraciously as possible.

Then once you lick the grease off my fingers until they're clean, I use your spit and mine to rub and sensitize your nips, then bringing three pierogi up to your mouth to gulf down while I play with your smooth, juicy tits.

Then I bring a quarter pound burger dripping with bbq sauce up to your food-addicted face, my other hand massaging, squeezing, and jiggling your greedy, heavy, smooth and furry gut, whispering "Good work, fatboy" in your ear with each swallow, while I'm finally pressing my hard cock against your fat ass passionately enough for it to reach through your lard-filled cakes to graze against your hole.

Then I let you sit down at the table to finish all the pizza, pasta, tacos, sushi, pierogi, burgers, and gyoza dumplings, while my face is buried into your crotch, my mouth desperately trying to reach your buried cock through your mound of a fatpad while my hands explore and tease your hips and thighs.

Once you're done, you say you're too stuffed for any more, I say "No, we both know you have room for dessert." I then scoot your chair back and bend myself over the table, covering my ass with whipped cream and donut holes for you to devour and lick clean.

When you're done with my ass, I turn over and have you eat another three donuts off my hard dick. Then I help my handsome hog waddle over to the bedroom, lay you across the bed with plenty of pillows to support you, letting you have a little break from eating with gentle making out, tender belly rubs, and occasional slow, sweaty strokes on your cock. I tell you "Keep it up, cutiepig, only one more round to go."

Then I ask you to choose five flavors of ice cream for me to go fetch from our freezer stocked with thirty homemade flavors. I tie up your arms to the bedposts and suspend five plastic containers from a frame on the ceiling, each container with a half-inch wide tube coming down that is clasped at the bottom. I melt a quart of each of the five ice cream flavors in the microwave and then pour each of them into their container. I ask "Ready, pig?", with a supportive, yet mischievous grin on my face. You nod yes with an ached groan, your lips and jaw too overworked to produce speech, and your eyes wide with excitement, greed, and a little fear.

I put on your blindfold, give you a kiss on your lips, and you open your mouth automatically, mentally preparing for what's coming. I stick the first tube in your mouth and you instinctively wrap your lips tight around it. I don't have to explain the rules of our ritual we've done every week for the last five years, and twice a week for the last two. You know that if you let any ice cream out of the tube so that it drips onto your chest, I add more ice cream to that flavor's container: one scoop for every lost drop. You usually try your best to not let any fall because it just means even more crammed in your painfully tight gut, but sometimes if you're particularly greedy or particularly enjoying a flavor, you'll intentionally let some drops fall just to be tube-fed more sweet lard-building liquid cream. I say "First, dulce de leche", unclasp the tube, and watch your throat start gulping down the calories fed to you by gravity.

As you enter a trance of gluttony, I get to take advantage of your exhausted, hypnotized start to explore and use your fat however I like, your muscles too burdened with heavy lard to be able to resist. For the first flavor, I only use my hands: rubbing, jiggling, squeezing, massaging, spanking your fat and teasing your nips and cock.

Once I see your first tube empty, I give you another kiss on the lips, more passionately this time, then say "Strawberry cheesecake" while you suck down another quart. For the second flavor, I get to use my mouth, but only lips, no tongue. I spend some time sucking on your nips, kissing the folds between your side tits and love handles, and sucking on your juicy fat pad. Just as I plan to start sucking on the end of your hard cock poking through your lard, I already hear you taking deep breaths after emptying the tube, finishing much sooner than I expected.

With another kiss, this time making out for a minute with tongue, we continue thirdly with mint fudge swirl. Now that I can use my tongue, I spit on your tits to massage them with my hands then go straight to wrapping my lips around your cock to make up for lost time during the last flavor. While your mouth and throat work to consume another quart, I use my mouth and throat to pleasure your pig cock, my saliva mixing with your sweat and precum. I can tell you're starting to get a little too excited, so I slow down and switch to massaging your taint with my tongue, my head trapped between your massive, burgeoning thighs. You start moaning through the swallows, then finally moan out loud, signaling that you've finished the third flavor.

"Fourth, vanilla with cinnamon roll." Now is when the fun can really begin. I lift your giant, heavy belly and place my cock between your fatpad and overhang. I start grinding into this deep fold of fat while kissing and sucking on the sides of your neck. As I slowly push back and forth into you, the whole bed starts to shake as your fat amplifies the momentum of my hips. You feel my low-hanging balls grace the head of your cock while your shaft alternates between being further buried by your lard when your gut bulges forward and being slightly freed as my body presses down your fatpad. As I fuck your fat, the resulting ripples through your crotch lard create the sensation that your cock is fucking your own fat. Before we know it, you're gasping for air again, barely able to squeeze out fatigued, muffled words of "more... more..." between breaths, begging me to fatten you further with the next quart.

"Finally, chocolate chip cookie dough, one of your favorites, handsome pig. Keep up the good work. I had to use a wider tube to allow the chunks of dough to flow through, so get ready for it to come down even faster." I skip the making out so we can return straight to our fat fucking. I thrust harder, deeper, and faster as all of your lard shakes as one enormous, weighty, gelatinous mass. Both of our cocks rubbing against your soft fat, becoming closer and closer to climax. As I watch the last of the ice cream flow down the last tube, I marvel at how quickly you've consumed, yet become slightly disappointed you'll finish before you can time it with your ejaculation, and also that you didn't let a single drop fall from your mouth to get extra scoops. After you inhale that last few inches of ice cream, you moan, your mouth still full, and grunt out, "Get a... hnnh... sixth... *urp*... flavor."

My jaw drops and I'm frozen in shock, my hands at the sides of your head just about to take off your blindfold. You groan and mumble "hu...hurry", and I notice your cock twitches with anticipation. I come to my senses, grab the sides of your head to kiss you, then leap off the bed. As I run to the freezer, I have to keep myself from cumming in sheer awe of your gluttony, and quickly grab a flavor to melt before you cum. I instinctively grab maple blueberry pancakes, knowing it's one of the most calorie-dense flavors I've made, with real buttermilk. I think about your cute, greedy mouth eager to suck down one more quart, staring at the timer counting down with anticipation. Five seconds before it beeps, I dash to the cupboard to grab a bottle of boost to mix in for an extra-fattening finale, then rush back into the bedroom to fill a container and prepare the tube. With one last kiss, I put the tube in your mouth, and say, "Breakfast is served, fatboy. Maple blueberry pancakes, with a little extra surprise."

I wink as you gulp down faster than I've ever seen you consume before, before realizing that you can't even see my face and that I'm wasting precious time to get us both ready to cum together. I put our cocks in position and quickly resume thrusting, trying to fuck you as desperately as you are desperately engorging yourself like never before. In less than three minutes, I see the liquid level start to descend, and I pull out my dirtiest pig talk that I know to turn you on even more.

Thrust, thrust, gulp, gulp. 30 inches left. "Come on, cutie. Show me how much of a doughboy you really are."

Thrust, thrust, gulp, gulp. 27 inches left.

"Keep it up, fatty. Let your gluttony make you heavier, softer, larger, larger, larger."

Thrust, thrust, gulp, gulp. 25 inches.

"Fuck, I can't believe you're going for six whole quarts. You're taking lardass to a whole new level!"

Thrust, thrust, gulp, gulp. 22 inches.

I move my grip from squeezing your love handles to squeezing your tits while I hump.

"I don't think even our disciplined lotion regime will be able to stop stretch marks from forming now."

Thrust, gulp, 20.

"Feel every part of your body expanding, taking up more space: your shoulders, your ankles, your fingers, your cheeks."

Thrust, gulp, 18.

"Feel every part of you becoming more weighed down with the permanent consequences of gluttony: your thighs, your forearms, your back rolls, your succulent, bouncing tits."

I let go of your tits to watch them tremble with our fucking, and you feel them whipping back and forth more vigorously than you've ever felt before. I reach around to grab onto your back rolls, so I can pull myself closer and fuck you deeper.

Thrust, gulp, 16.

"Feel every part of you become softer, more squeezable, more malleable, controllable, and exploitable. Feel your body sink deeper beneath a layer of fat, a prison made from your own plunge into hedonistic bliss."

Thrust, gulp, 14.

"I've never been so proud of my pile of lard."

13.

"Show me how addicted you are. Show me that your destiny is to wake up every day more obese than the day before. I know you want it, pig, but we both know you couldn't stop even if you wanted to."

12.

"By now you would have been done with the quart, but I decided to throw in a bottle of boost to push you even more."

11.

"I did that to remind you that what you want for yourself, I want even more. When you ask for three pizzas, I order four. When you look at cute 6XL shirts online, I buy a 7X. When you said you wanted to reach 350, I said 375."

10.

"Remember that I am in control. You may have started your descent into hoghood, and even set yourself down the path at full-throttle, but now, after you became my fatboy, I sit in the driver's seat."

9.

"You sit in the back of our custom van, with a ramp and handrail so you can waddle yourself up to your sofa-sized seat, before our mini nightly road trip to the first ten drive-thrus you can think of."

8.

I realized you stop, and I can see panic all over your face, even though you still have your blindfold on. Switching to more supportive pig-talk, I say. "You're so close, fatboy! I know you can do it! Think of where you started, how far you've come, and how much further you're going to go!"

7.

Breathing through your nose, you take another swallow while mental images form pof memories of your gaining journey. "Think of when you were young, how your eyes were transfixed on the fat men in your life. How their fat bodies had such different physical interactions with clothes than everyone else. How their heft altered every aspect of their labored movements. How deliberate their breathing was, and how sitting down seemed to bring them such great relief. How talking about food, planning events with food, looking at food, and of course consuming food brought them such unrivaled joy and escape. And how lucky you felt to witness any instance of their softness be uncovered: dense, paler thighs more visible when shorts ride up as they take a seat, a belly revealed hanging over a belt, a meaty and hairy chest on display thanks to barely buttoned shirts in the heat, and best of all, the glorious beach trip or pool day."

6.

Another swallow. "Remember when you would study the before photos in weight loss ads like they were historical art, how the ridiculous eating and fattening scenes in cartoons felt unfairly just outside the limits of reality, and how tabloid articles and paparazzi pictures of celebrity weight gain felt confusingly yet satisfyingly scandalous, perplexed but intrigued why such a body change was undesirable."

5.

Another swallow. "Remember when you would google images of fat men, then found forums and videos of guys intentionally gaining weight. How you browsed these sites anonymously while you realized this was something you could pursue yourself. The first time you ate a huge meal not just out of vague desire, but out of intentional explorations of the limits and results of overstuffing yourself. Your hands on your gut, marveling at it being the roundest it had ever been, yet clearly not enough as you imagined it bigger and bigger. Then you first joined grommr, and a little while later uploaded your first pic and updated your profile."

4.

Another swallow. Your belly - no, your whole body - feels stuffed to its limits, tighter and heavier than you ever thought possible. You take slow, deep, rhythmic breaths, and even sneak in a few inhales through your mouth without gasping We both start to worry this might be the end of the feeding, but I keep talking, just to continue your trip down gaining memory lane. "Remember when you first increased your weight on grommr. When you first felt a shirt be stretched by your newly rounder gut. When you outgrew your first item of clothing, and when you officially started buying clothes a size up. When you first realized a meal that previously stuffed you was barely satisfying now. When you first set your weight goal to 275. When you popped your first button and ripped your first seam. When you finally had an overhang while standing. When you first noticed your chest jiggling while you walk. When you saw love handles in a candid photo for the first time."

"When you got your first stretch mark. The first time you were rejected on Scruff for being too fat. When you endured the consequences of your first summer as a fatboy. The first time your family commented on your weight and eating. The first time you were given extra food at home, and asked if you wanted to take home leftovers from work. The first time you had a 20-lb weight update, then changed your weight goal to 300. When you first felt your fatpad take up some length on your cock while jerking off. The first time your ass knocked something over. The first time you went to three fast food places in a row, and got home and noticed precum in your underwear. The first time you didn't need a jacket on a fairly cool day. The time you realized you had no fancy clothes that fit right before an event. Your first photo with a caption of 'I thought black was slimming.' The first time you saw your reflection and noticed your gut was hanging out entirely accidentally. Your first time being fed."

"The first time a guy called your chest tits. The first time the word pig in casual in conversation turned you on. The first time you ate on all fours. The first time you were eating at the same time as planning food for next week. The first time you didn't fit on an amusement park ride. The first time you finished a whole pizza. Your first 2XL shirt. The first time friends hesitated to invite you to dinner. The first time you took off your shirt at the beach and got stares. The last time you were invited to go hiking. Your last time with a non-encourager hookup. When you reached 295 and removed your weight goal altogether. The first time that you realized you couldn't cum with a guy without being called 'fatboy'."

"The first time you cancelled plans so you could stuff yourself. When you first couldn't see your own cock without a mirror. When you first put on a shirt without caring that it had food stains. The first time a guy motorboated your tits. When you first became 'morbidly obese'. When you first created a snack cabinet next to your bed. When you broke your first chair. When you first felt like your walk had become a waddle. When you first couldn't it make it up a flight of stairs without stopping more than once. When your tits connected with your back rolls. When you started buying furniture exclusively built for heavier weights. When you first met me."

"When I fed you your first 8000 calorie day. When I bought you a 600-lb capacity scale. When I first buried my face between your fat thighs during a video call. When you first noticed your cock was completely buried when soft. When you first tried my ice cream tube feeding, and you managed to drink two quarts." Your stomach growls and you feel a slight sensation of hunger return on the horizon.

"When we first got you a CPAP. When we first saw your tits stay sagged down to touch your love handles even while your arms were raised. When you graduated to three quarts of ice cream. When we retired your last belt, then your last pair of jeans. When you could touch both of your nipples to your mouth at the same time. When we bought you a seat belt extender, and started buying two seats on planes. When I first fucked your fat pad. When you moved up to four quarts. When you realized you couldn't remember the last time you jumped, because it was too excruciating the last time. When I invited over two others feeders so your whole body could be worshipped, used, and abused while you were fed. When you couldn't get your first-ever 2XL shirt over your chest. When your gut first measured five feet around. When you first looked like you were nude from the front in your swim briefs. When you first drank five quarts, and broke 400 pounds the next day."

"Now just imagine how far you're going to go!" I feel you clear your throat with determination as your cock twitches, and I reposition myself for fucking again. "Only three more inches fatboy! I KNOW you can do it!" You take another swallow for the first time in seven minutes, as our hard cocks get closer to cumming from the thoughts of our mutual aspirations for your growth. I pound into you more aggressively than I ever have before, with each thrust painfully reminding you how much you've eaten tonight.

2 inches.

"Remember, eating is sex for you now. Growing is sex for you now. Food leads to fat, fat leads to fucking, and fucking leads to food. You are more than just a pig. Your entire being is lard. You are fat, and fat... is... YOU!"

With another swallow, you have only one inch left. I pull down your blindfold and you witness in disbelief how huge you've grown tonight. Your belly completely eclipses any view of your lower body, yet you're so stuffed that your bouncing tits almost hide your belly. I stand up, bring my throbbing cock to your face and shout, "Eat, fatboy, EAT!" cumming all over your face as you moan and force down your last swallow, and seconds later, you climax in pure, gluttonous, ravenous ecstasy, white cum erupting from your mountain of a fatpad and white melted ice cream dripping down your entire torso.

I collapse next to you, careful not to put any pressure onto your gut, while we lie still, panting in a sweaty, sticky, pile. After you regain control of your breathing, I hear you lick your lips, and I watch your face as you contemplate the taste of maple blueberry semen pancakes ice cream. We both smile and I say, "As always, good work, cutiepig. You continue to blow me away." I give you a kiss and get up to clean myself up, then gently clean you up while you still recover from the exhausting night. As we snuggle up for bed, I tell you, "I think this month you'll break 435." I see you're close to dozing off, so I brush the side of your head and give you one last kiss, not expecting a response. A few minutes later, you sigh, and whisper, "This is the year I break 500." I raise my eyebrows and inhale in shock, then chuckle when I realize you've just set yourself a goal to gain twice as fast as last year.

- End -