piggytfs

[piggytfs]

I'd like to be turned into a smelly obese old man with a husband who's similarly aged but totally jacked unlike me... like he's got some insane muscles that'll make anyone jealous and question why he's with me.

Oh, and make us both incredibly flatulent too, me with my beer farts and my husband with his protein farts. Please?

You were a lanky 24-year-old barista, all sharp elbows and nervous energy, slinging lattes at a hipster café with your boyfriend, Matt, a wiry gym rat who was always talking about bulking up one day. One night, you both stumbled into a dingy antique shop after a weekend date, drawn to a dusty old beer mug etched with a grinning boar on the front. “Looks cool,” you said, running your fingers over the warm metal. Matt smirked, “Make a wish, babe.” Half-drunk on cheap wine, you laughed and said, “I wanna be an old, happy couple with you, living large!” The mug flared hot beneath your palm, and a low, guttural chuckle echoed in the air.

Oh, you didn’t say how you’d live large, did you?

A greasy, churning heat surged through your body, starting in your gut. You gasped, clutching your stomach as it let out a loud, wet gurgle. “What the fuck?!” you yelped, but your voice was already deepening, rough and gravelly. Your flat belly swelled, inflating like a beach ball pumped full of lard. The skin stretched tight, pale flesh ballooning into a massive, wobbling gut that hung over your waistband, crisscrossed with red stretch marks. Your T-shirt ripped at the seams, the fabric tearing to reveal doughy rolls that jiggled with every panicked step. Your jeans split, thighs thickening into sweaty, chafing trunks that slapped together. Your arms bloated into flabby hams, sprouting coarse gray hair, and your chest sagged into heavy, pendulous moobs that bounced like water balloons.

You stumbled to a cracked mirror in the shop, your heart pounding. Your boyish face was gone, replaced by a sagging triple chin, puffy cheeks, and deep wrinkles that aged you to a ripe 60. Your hair thinned into a greasy, balding white patch, sweat dripping down your scalp. A ripe, sour stench rolled off you, armpits reeking of stale beer and BO, your gut churning with every movement. A loud burp erupted, sour with the tang of cheap lager, followed by a wet, rumbling beer fart that filled the air with a rank, yeasty stench. “No fuckin’ way!” you groaned, but your voice was lewd, proud, and hungry for more.

Your mind fogged, a new persona taking over—a kinky, obese old slob who loved his size and his stink. The old you screamed inside, but the new you grinned, smacking your gut with a meaty hand. “Fuck yeah, I’m a big, nasty hog,” you rumbled, your thoughts twisting into perverse pride. You turned to Matt, expecting him to be horrified, but the mug’s magic had hit him too—just in a very different way.

Matt’s wiry frame had exploded with muscle. His shoulders widened into boulders, his pecs swelled into chiseled slabs, and his arms bulged with veins, biceps bigger than your head. His abs were a sculpted six-pack, his thighs like tree trunks, and his jawline sharpened into a rugged, silver-stubbled cleft chin. He was 60 too, but a jacked, silver-fox god, his skin bronzed and tight, his hair a thick, gray mane. Every inch of him screamed power, the kind of physique that made gym bros weep with envy. But his eyes glinted with a kinky edge, and a loud, protein-shake-fueled fart ripped from him, stinking of whey and sulfur. “Fuck, babe,” he growled, flexing his massive arms, “you’re a sexy fuckin’ pig, and I’m your muscle daddy.”

The shop's scenery melted and morphed into a seedy gym, packed with cameras and an audience of online fans. Your new self waddled to a bench, your 400-pound frame creaking the metal as you plopped down, chugging a beer from the cursed mug. Each gulp bloated your gut tighter, skin stretching, and you belched so loud the weights rattled around you. “Look at this pile of lard!” you roared, jiggling your belly for the livestream, your beer farts blasting out in a rank symphony. PRRRRRRFT! Matt strutted over, his protein farts rumbling like thunder, and flexed his monstrous pecs for the camera. “Who’s jealous of my fat hog?” he taunted, smacking your gut so it wobbled, his own stench mixing with yours in a filthy cloud.

The old you was trapped, horrified, as your body reveled in its excess. You grabbed a tray of wings, grease dripping onto your sweaty chest, and shoved them in, burping and farting with every messy bite. Matt grinned, flexing his biceps and letting out a protein fart that made the crowd cheer. The eggy, protein smell shot straight up your hog nose. “Tell us how nasty we are!” he bellowed, and the comments poured in, mocking your stench, your size, his impossible muscles. You loved it, begging for more taunts, your gut swelling bigger with every jeer. Half the comments were asking why such an impressive man would ever put up with an obese loser like you, and your tiny nub cock squirted pre beneath the fat pad crushing it. Matt leaned in, whispering, “You’re my perfect pig.” His breath was hot and rank, and you moaned, your mind fully twisted into a flatulent, kinky slob who lived for his jacked husband’s worship and teasing.

The mug sat forgotten on a gym bench, its boar face still grinning. You’d wished to live large, and you got it — not as a happy young couple, but as a smelly, alcoholic obese hog and his muscle-god husband, both farting up a storm and ruling the gym with your filthy, kinky love.

[piggytfs]

The Wrong Wish (revamped)

inspired, once again, by the iconic @bigfuckingdudes. more stories to come! appreciate all the asks and excitement. hope y'all weren't trying to lose weight while i was gone.

Kyle slouched on the couch, his lean, 19-year-old frame tense with disgust. Craig, his mother’s new husband, waddled in from the kitchen, his beer gut swaying, sweat stains blooming under his armpits. The man let out a ripe fart, chuckling as he scratched his hairy belly, crumbs from a bag of BBQ chips tumbling to the floor. “Hey, lighten up, squirt,” Craig leered, winking with a crude grin. “Life’s too short to be so uptight.” Kyle’s stomach churned. Craig was everything he despised: loud, vulgar, and shamelessly gross. Worse, his mom seemed blind to it, laughing at Craig’s lewd jokes, blushing when he groped her. Kyle was the opposite—quiet, introspective, a college kid who valued discipline and order. This slob was ruining his life.

That night, Kyle lay in bed, his mind racing. “I’d do anything to get Craig away from Mom,” he whispered, his voice cracking with desperation. The words hung in the air, heavy with intent, as if the universe itself was listening. Exhausted, he drifted into a deep, uneasy sleep.

And then the sun rose on a new reality.

Kyle woke to a suffocating weight, his body sinking into the mattress like it was quicksand. His limbs felt sluggish, pinned by an unfamiliar and quivering bulk. His chest heaved, each breath a labored wheeze, as if his lungs were squeezed by layers of dough. He tried to move, but his neck—now a thick roll of fat—resisted, creaking as he turned his head. In the dim light, Craig loomed beside him, propped on one elbow, his doughy face split into a smug, intimate grin. “Mornin’, my sexy hog,” the man purred, his voice dripping with lust. His meaty hand reached out, stroking Kyle’s cheek, fingers lingering on the stubble of a double chin.

Kyle’s heart pounded. “What the—” His voice was alien, a deep, raspy growl, thickened by years of grease and smoke. He tried to sit up, but his body rebelled. His belly, a massive, quivering dome, spilled across the bed, its pale, stretch-marked surface trembling with every breath. Rolls of fat cascaded down his sides, pooling against the sheets, each one soft and heavy, like warm dough. His thighs, thick as tree trunks, rubbed together, slick with sweat, their friction sending a jolt through him. His arms were flabby slabs, jiggling as he flailed, and his man-tits sagged, dusted with coarse, dark hair that trailed down to his navel. A sour, musky stench clung to him—sweat, body odor, and something earthier, like unwashed skin. It was his smell, and it made his stomach lurch.

He raised a hand, fingers now fat and clumsy, nails yellowed, and saw a gold wedding band glinting on his ring finger. His chest tightened. He was married. To Craig. “No, no, no,” he rasped, his voice trembling. He tried to roll off the bed, but his bulk made it impossible. His belly sloshed, dragging him back, and his joints ached under the strain. Beneath the layers of fat, his cock stirred, buried under a thick pad of lard that jiggled with every movement. It throbbed, hard and aching, the pressure intense but humiliatingly inaccessible, smothered by his new girth.

“Look at you, my big, blubbery boy,” Craig teased, his hand sliding down to knead Kyle’s belly, fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh. “Fuck, you’re so heavy, ain’t ya? Bet you can’t even get outta bed without me.” He chuckled, his own gut pressing against Kyle’s side, their sweaty skin sticking together. Kyle’s cock pulsed harder, betraying him, and a wave of arousal hit so strong he gasped, his cheeks flushing under his chubby cheeks.

“Get… away,” Kyle managed, but his mind was foggy. He was not himself—or was he too much himself? Memories flickered, not his own. He saw himself as Kyle, the lean, disciplined kid who planned his workouts, who cringed at fast food, who valued control. But new memories—vivid, invasive—pushed in. He was 48 now, not 19, a man who’d spent decades indulging, gorging on pizzas and beers with Craig at their favorite diner. He was no longer quiet; he was loud, laughing at crude jokes, belching in public, reveling in his bulk. He was Craig’s husband, a role model for excess, a gainer who lived for the scale’s climb. Their wedding day: Kyle, 400 pounds, waddling down the aisle, his suit splitting at the seams, Craig whispering, “You’re my perfect pig.” Nights in this bed, Craig feeding him, their bodies entwined, sweat and musk mingling as they fucked.

“No, I’m not that guy!” Kyle growled, shaking his head, his jowls quivering. He clung to his old self, the college kid who hated Craig’s filth—his farts, his sweat, his lewdness. But it was fading, like a signal drowned out by static. Craig grinned, undeterred, and grabbed a tray from the nightstand, laden with donuts, their glaze glistening, alongside a pitcher of cream and a stack of bacon. “Time to eat, big man,” he said, holding a donut to Kyle’s lips. “Gotta keep my hog nice and stuffed.”

Kyle’s stomach roared, a deep, hungry rumble that shook his frame. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to open his mouth. “I’m not… your fucking pig,” he spat, but the scent of sugar and grease was intoxicating. His cock throbbed beneath his fat pad, the pressure building, and he hated how good it felt. Craig’s teasing didn’t stop. “Oh, come on, babe, you love this. Look at that gut, all swollen with lard. Bet you can’t even reach your dick anymore, huh? Need your husband to take care of that for ya.” He jiggled Kyle’s belly, sending ripples through the fat, and Kyle moaned, the sound raw and involuntary.

His mind begged him to fight. You’re Kyle. You’re not this slob. You hate him. But his body had other ideas. His mouth opened, and the donut slid in, the sweet, doughy taste exploding on his tongue. He chewed, glaze smearing his lips, and another moan escaped. Craig fed him another, then a strip of bacon, the grease dripping down Kyle’s chin, pooling in the folds of his neck. Each bite was a surrender, his old personality crumbling. The disciplined kid was gone, replaced by a man who craved excess—food, sex, filth. He was becoming Craig’s mirror, a loud, crude gainer who laughed at restraint, who loved burping contests and farting in bed, who got off on being too big for chairs.

“Fuck, you’re such a greedy pig,” Craig growled, his hand sliding under Kyle’s belly, fingers brushing the fat pad where his cock strained. “Look at this. All that lard’s got you so hard, but you’re too fat to do shit about it.” He squeezed, and Kyle bucked, his bulk quivering, pleasure overwhelming his resistance. Craig leaned in, kissing him, his stubble scraping his sensitive skin, his breath hot and sour. Their bellies pressed together, sweat and musk mingling, and Kyle’s mind frayed. Craig’s filth—his filth—wasn’t gross; it was hot. His farts were funny, his sweat was sexy, his crude love was perfect.

“I… I’m not…” Kyle whimpered, but the words were a lie. The wedding band felt like it had always been there, a symbol of their kinky bond. New memories solidified: him and Craig at a buffet, Kyle’s shirt riding up, Craig feeding him ribs until he couldn’t breathe. Their honeymoon, Kyle stuck in a hot tub, Craig fucking him as the water sloshed. He was a gainer, a hog, proud of his 500-pound frame, his immobility a trophy of their love. His personality had shifted—he was no longer introspective but boisterous, cracking lewd jokes, goading Craig into stuffing him fuller.

“More,” Kyle gasped, his voice thick with need. “Feed me, Craig.” His mind screamed one last desperate plea, but it was drowned out by his hunger. Craig’s laugh was deep and triumphant. “That’s my big, filthy hog,” he said, stuffing a pancake into his mouth, syrup dripping onto his man-tits. His hand worked under the fat pad, teasing his cock, and Kyle moaned, his body quaking. “Gonna make you so much fatter, babe. My perfect husband.”

Kyle surrendered completely. He was Craig’s, body and soul. His old life—discipline, restraint—was a distant dream. He loved his filthy, kinky husband, loved the sweat, the stench, the excess. As Craig fed him, fucked him, worshipped him, Kyle knew this was where he belonged: a massive, smelly hog, bound to his fat man forever.

[piggytfs]

Impressive start. These stories about such guys becoming depraved fatass gooners are rather well written with good image references. Looking forward to seeing what you next produce.

thank you for the encouragement. there's several asks in my inbox i need to answer - and there's several people waiting patiently to be changed for the better. can't wait until all my readers are pervy gainer hogs.

as a thank you, here's a treat for you all:

Kyle smirked smugly as he cracked his knuckles, focusing his gaze on the glowing screen of his roommate Aaron’s laptop. The chubby loser had stepped out for the night, leaving behind his personal device like a quite-literally-open invitation. It was shocking enough that the chubby fag actually had a reason to leave his room for once, but this was the icing on the cake. Kyle, the undisputed king of their shared dorm — athletic, classically handsome, irresistible to hot babes —couldn’t resist the temptation to snoop.

Aaron was weird, always stuffing his chubby face with greasy food and belching endlessly, sweating through his XL shirts as he waddled in and out. Kyle figured the loser had to be into something embarrassing. He'd take a quick peek, snap a picture or two, and he'd have a couple month's worth of entertainment to milk when he showed his bros later. He expected to see some cringey anime shit, maybe weird foot stuff. But this?

Kyle’s breath caught as a video popped open on the screen.

An obese, hairy, gray-haired man reclined in a chair, his too-small shirt riding up over a massive, bouncing gut. The guy looked at the camera with a lazy, satisfied grin, and he used his massive hand to rub slow, indulgent circles into his belly.

“Mmmph… just keep feedin’ me, darlin’,” the man moaned, his voice deep and drawling. The old fat ass sounded hungry. He licked his thick lips, then let out a long, wet belch that made Kyle's ears ring.

Kyle recoiled, his stomach feeling uneasy with disgust and confusion. “The hell is this?” His finger reached for the power button. The last thing he wanted was to watch anymore of this weird shit!

ZAP.

A jolt of electricity surged through his body as quickly as his fingertip pressed down on the key. He yelped, but the sound lodged itself in his throat as his muscles locked in place, heat blooming in his chest, his toned core tightening like a retreating wave — then swelling like a full force tsunami.

A deep, gurgling sound roared from his swelling stomach.

Kyle gasped as his once-taut abs pushed outward with lard, the definition he worked so hard for vanishing beneath thickening fat. As he grew, his skin became stretched and sore. His tight shirt became strained from the sheer size of his torso, the fabric clinging to his skin as his belly inflated like a rising dough ball. His whole body quivered, muscles going soft and untrained. Fat piled onto his frame like an avalanche.

His pecs sagged into heavy moobs, a thick carpet of distinctly gray hair erupting across his much larger chest. His arms thickened into fat, useless slabs of meat. Then his fat, dimpled thighs bulged apart, forcing him into a wide, helpless sprawl. He hated it, but he could feel his once proud 8 incher shrink into a numb as his groin became swallowed beneath a hairy, musky fat pad.

Kyle's once handsome face rounded, his jawline vanishing beneath a sagging double chin.

The changes came faster. His smooth, youthful skin wrinkled, years of age marching across his face in mere seconds. His styled, dirty blonde hair lightened, thinned, then started to turn as gray as his chest hairs. Greasy strands fell from his scalp as what remained of his hair formed a horseshoe around his head. His body odor shifted, his designer cologne replaced by sour sweat, musk, and the lingering stench of beer and fast food.

Kyle wheezed, his massive gut surging forward, spilling over his waistband and pressing against the desk that housed Aaron's laptop. His sausage fingers sank into the heavy, warm blubber, and an indecent moan slipped from his lips before he could stop it.

BUUUUUURP.

A deep, thundering belch erupted from his drooling mouth, spraying spit all over the laptop screen. His massive, clearly obese belly heaved, wobbling with the force of the expulsion. His thick fingers twitched, rubbing slow, indulgent circles over his bloated gut. It was like he was forced to act out the pervy video he watched.

And it felt… so good.

Kyle’s mind screamed that this was wrong, that he should fight this, but God, the warmth of his fat belly, the satisfaction of a good belch pushing hot gas out of his bloated body, the sensation of his jiggling, hairy gut jutting out in front of him —it was pure bliss.

The door creaked open.

Kyle turned his nearly bald, sweat-dampened head just as Aaron stepped inside. The young man's beady, piggish eyes widened behind his thick glasses, then his lips curled into a knowing smirk.

“Well, well,” Aaron murmured in self satisfaction and a mix of lust, stepping closer. His gaze raked over Kyle’s massive, inflated frame, lingering on his thick, graying chest hair, his sweat-slicked moobs, and the way his huge gut surged over his lap.

Kyle huffed, another lazy burp slipping from his lips as he rubbed slow, eager circles into his belly.

Aaron’s voice dropped, teasing and eager. “Guess ya finally found my collection, huh?”

Kyle whimpered at the tone, his fat, old man body trembling at Aaron’s attention. He should’ve been angry. He should’ve fought. But when Aaron reached into his bookbag and pulled out a greasy fast-food bag, the overwhelming aroma of burgers and fries filled the air —and Kyle’s fat gut growled in need.

Aaron chuckled, cupping his unimpressive bulge with his free hand and starting to rub. “C’mon, big guy. Let’s make my dream daddy even fatter.”

Kyle licked his lips hungrily. The last of his old self melted away and was blasted out of his ass as he let rip a droning, reeking fart. He leaned forward to reach for both his meal and his ideal lover, gut slapping against his thighs.

After all… what else was a greedy, gainer addicted, perverted old man supposed to do?

[piggytfs]

Loved that story you posted! Cant wait to see what else you've got in store

Thank you for the encouragement! I just posted another story that was inspired by an old favorite of mine, but more content is definitely on the way. I'm excited to drop some more original stories for you all soon. Also, you sent in the very first ask to my blog, so I hope you don't mind if I work a little magic and change ya. Being such a good follower means you deserve a nice treat - or several.

POOF!

I want you to be a fan of my stories forever, so turning you into a gooner, obese, balding loser of a nerd should do the trick. Now you're too busy stuffing your face with greasy fast food and jerking off to hot weight gain TF stories to worry about anything else.

And don't worry, fatso! You'll have more material for your spank bank before you know it! (Maybe try to go waddle into the bathroom and take a shower while you're waiting?)

[piggytfs]

Colton had always seemed like the perfect guy. He was in the prime of his life with a jacked physique, smoldering blue eyes, and a cocky smirk that made both men and women swoon. He was the king of the gym, the star of his university’s football team, and the kind of guy who turned heads wherever he went. Sometimes, this was an awesome thing. Like when the cheerleader babes would eye him up like a sexy slab of all American beef. He loved to show off his muscles for them, listening to them giggle and squeal.

However, he didn't like being ogled by just anyone. Some dudes were oblivious to the hints he would drop: that he was in no way, shape, or form interested in their pathetic, gay attention.

Which was why he hated the way his doctor, Dr. Reynolds, kept looking at him as if he was about to blow a disgusting load into his XL work khakis.

The older man was always too touchy during checkups, his eyes lingering just a little too long on the younger man's biceps and firm pecs. It made Colton’s skin crawl. As he sat on the exam table, dressed in nothing but his compression shorts, he felt those eyes scanning over his muscles again. Dr. Reynolds was eyeing Colton's girthy package, moments away from drooling.

“Man, I wish you’d stop looking at me like that,” Colton muttered hatefully under his breath.

A chill ran down his spine. The air in the room seemed to shift — something he couldn't perceive, but he could not deny that something had begun to change. Dr. Reynolds blinked, his expression becoming blank and flat, before his lips curled into an amused grin.

“Looking at you like what, Colton?” the doctor asked, his voice laced with condescension. He had never spoken so haughtily before. “Like I’d ever be interested in you?”

Colton frowned. That wasn’t right. Dr. Reynolds had definitely been checking him out less than a second ago. The man was a fat perv who drooled over his hot athlete patients, this wasn't far from the normal experience. “Dude, you were just—”

Colton's stomach lurched so violently that he couldn't stop the URRRRRRRRRRRRRP that erupted out of his mouth. A deep, guttural gurgle started to brew inside his belly. He gasped, gripping his gut as an unbearable heat spread through his body. Sweat collected on his forehead, dripping down the sides of his body as his pits became slick and hairy. His skin tingled, rippled, then started to sag under the new weight.

He stared in horror at the full body mirror propped up against the wall, watching as his reflection warped before his very eyes. His sculpted pecs deflated, drooping into soft, flabby moobs. Curls of dark, wiry hair began to sprout across his aging skin. His tight six-pack was swallowed by lard as thick rolls of fat spilled over the waistband of his shorts. They had fit snugly before, but now they were far too tight. His thighs swelled, losing their lean definition as they turned into fat, pale slabs of dimpled hairy flesh that rubbed together, sticky with sweat. The smells wafting off his changing body made Colton want to gag.

“What the fuck?” he gasped, his voice cracking, higher, wheezier — wrong.

Dr. Reynolds chuckled. But his nasally voice seemed different — his slouchy posture was correcting itself — the old pervy doctor was being transformed, too! His hunched shoulders began to straighten, his immense potbelly retreating into an increasingly sculpted core as abdominal muscles pressed against his much smaller, tighter shirt. All the fat on his body began to melt away as years of neglect were reversing before Colton’s eyes. Dr. Reynold's graying hair darkened, growing thick and healthy. His wrinkles faded into smooth, taut skin. His pasty complexion was now bronzed and glowing.

“Colton, please settle down. This is your usual checkup, nothing more. And quit cussing — you of all people should know better,” Dr. Reynolds said, but his voice was deeper now, stronger, more confident. His lab coat suddenly fit better, snug against a chest that was now larger than Colton's had ever been. Even the man's biceps looked larger, veins running across the surface.

“What?” Colton wheezed, struggling to pull up his compression shorts as they dug painfully into his growing gut and fat pad. But the fabric was changing beneath his fingertips — stretching, darkening —becoming ratty sweatpants stained with grease and even grosser liquids.

“You’re always acting like a nervous wreck when you come in here,” Dr. Reynolds went on, now casually adjusting the very tight sleeves of his tailored hospital uniform. “You’d think you’d be used to it by now. How many times have I told you to cut back on the junk food? Christ, Colton, you really have ballooned since last visit.”

“No, no, no—” Colton gripped his thickening face, his bloated fingers sinking into new layers of soft, jowly fat. His chiseled jawline was buried beneath multiple chins, his sharp cheekbones lost forever beneath two fat dimples. His now greasy hair thinned before his eyes, receding higher and higher up his forehead. His nose widened, nostrils flaring as they twitched from the rancid stench that rose from his body.

Sweat. Cum. Food. Gas.

These were the things that defined him now.

Dr. Reynolds— younger, stronger, undeniably out of Colton's league — waved a large hand in front of his face, grimacing at the foul stench. “Jesus, did you even shower before coming in? Or is that just how you always smell?”

Colton’s mind reeled in confusion. He could still feel his old self somewhere, buried beneath all the blubber, the sweat, the stink. This wasn’t real—this wasn’t him! His chest hair begun to turn white, his balding hair turning gray as a salt-and-pepper beard erupted across his fat chins.

“I’m not—” he gasped in exhaustion. “I’m not—”

The words caught in his throat. He was losing the battle to remain himself.

Dr. Reynolds smirked, beginning to remove his now perfectly-fitted coat, muscles rippling with his every movement. “Not what? Not some fat, pathetic, gay slob who spends more time shoveling junk food into his face than actually taking care of himself?” He scoffed, his beautiful face glaring down at Colton like he was the smallest morbidly obese man in the world. “Colton, be serious for once in your life. When’s the last time you even saw the inside of a gym?”

Colton had just been at the gym — he had been hitting the weights all morning long before his check up! Pumping iron, running drills! He had done all of these things! But even as he reached for those memories of himself as a young and disciplined jock, they slipped away, replaced by something else — something that terrified him.

Hazy images of stained couch cushions arose in his conflicted mind, fast food wrappers strewn across his disgusting apartment. Late nights spent online on gainer forums took root in his brain, scrolling through mukbang videos while stuffing his own face. He vividly recalled jerking off to images of fit jocks who wouldn't even spit on him if he were on fire.

His stomach roared, suddenly starving, and he felt his mouth water at the thought of a greasy double cheeseburger and some extra-large fries.

“No…” Colton whimpered, shaking his fat head, his chins jiggling with the motion. His once proud cock had shrunken beneath his growing fat pad, but he could still feel it throbbing, rubbing against his folds as his massive body wobbled with each breath. It felt like he was balancing a beachball on his lap. And it was inflated to the point it was about to pop.

Dr. Reynolds scribbled something down on his clipboard, his biceps bulging slightly as he moved. Colton's little nub of a cock got harder, his fat lips glistening with drool. “Well, old man, we’re gonna have to talk about your cholesterol again. Not that you’ve ever listened to me before. You’re lucky I even let you keep coming in — most guys your size just give up on doctors entirely.” The young man chuckled, voice smooth, self-assured. “Then again, I guess you have given up, huh?”

Colton tried to protest, to fight, but his body ached — his back was sore from carrying so much weight, and his thick thighs were chafing with every tiny movement. His gut gurgled again, demanding food, reminding him of who he was — who he had always been. An obese, smelly old man who was addicted to porn; who got off to young jocks teasing him for being such a fucking loser.

Reality snapped into place around him.

Dr. Reynolds sighed, shaking his handsome head as he handed Colton a prescription slip. His hand was strong, veined, perfect, as Colton’s thick sausage fingers struggled to take it. “Here. Not that you’ll actually do anything about it, but at least it makes me feel better.”

Colton looked down at the slip. His chubby fingers struggled to grip the paper, smudged with sweat and burger grease he couldn't be assed to wash off. His name at the top was the same, but… had he ever been that perfect, sculpted jock that was still lingering in his mind? Had he really played football, been admired by his peers, been wanted by anyone in a sexual sense?

Or had he always been this old, flatulent lard ass loser?

“Get outta here, Colton,” Dr. Reynolds said, already moving on to the next file. His grin was smug, confident, gleaming. “And try not to waddle too much on your way out.”

Colton got up and rubbed his sagging, bloated belly as he marched out of the room. He knew there was no helping his waddle, but he found himself blushing in shame as his wide ass cheeks jiggled behind him. As he left the room, Colton squeezed out a nasty, droning fart. His tiny cock was squirting pre into his fat pad folds.

A distant voice in his mind was screaming for mercy, but the new Colton just got off on the sheer weight of his obese body, the knowledge that his handsome, young doctor thought he was disgusting. Fuck. This was the only reason he still showed up to his appointments.

This old perv needed to get home and order some fast food and start jerking to his favorite jock porn immediately! He'd consider actually reading his prescription slip tomorrow.

(this story is a reimagined version of Athlete No More by the iconic @bigfuckingdudes)

[piggytfs]

(inspired by the one & only @fattystoriez, this is a prequel to Preston's 18th Birthday)

Travis had always prided himself on his ambition.

At eighteen, he already had a promising future ahead of him — a scholarship to a top university, a beautiful fiancée named Megan, and a baby boy only months away from being born. He planned to be the kind of father he never had growing up. His own father, Carl, had walked out on the family when Travis was still in diapers.

The night of his eighteenth birthday was supposed to be a celebration. Megan had planned a homecooked dinner and game night with Travis's mom and a few of their close friends. But everything changed when Carl showed up unannounced. A heavy fist thudded against the front door, and Travis was the first to answer.

It had been years since Travis had even heard his father’s name spoken, yet there Carl was, standing on the porch — he was a bald with a thick, dark beard. His huge, beachball sized gut had burst through the buttons on what must have once been a nice dress shirt, and the sour stink of beer and gas clung to him like a second skin. Travis focused on the sheer girth of the man, the way his massive belly jiggled as he drew in a ragged breath. Even his huge, hairy tits couldn't be contained by his XXL shirt.

“Travis,” Carl greeted with a gruff voice and a wide grin, exposing his yellowed teeth and exhaling the scent of cigarette smoke and fried food. “Figured I oughta be here for my boy’s big day.”

Travis barely managed to keep his disgust hidden as he frowned at the obese, raunchy man. Even after being told about his father’s betrayal, Travis liked to fantasize about who Carl actually was. As a kid, he imagined his dad was a police officer, or an astronaut. He liked to pretend Carl's job had been why he couldn't stick around, but the man standing in front of him looked more like a stereotype of a dirty plumber than anything else.

The truth was hard to come to terms with. Travis stared at the bloated man as his huge gut bounced and sloshed with lard, unable to be contained by his useless shirt. His father was nothing like the man Travis planned to become. This man was an obese, bald loser with hygiene issues and an a smoking addiction.

Still, something in Carl’s intense gaze made Travis's stomach twist. He could hear it gurgling.

Travis needed to hear Carl's side of the story, so he quickly stepped onto the porch and closed the front door behind him with a quiet thud. The air was thick with unspoken tension, and the meaty stench of a fart seemed to orbit around the massive man he struggled to view as his father. "Mom isn't going to allow you inside, but you drove here, right? We can go to the diner together. I'll at least hear you out."

The pickup truck the two squeezed into seemed to amplify all the smells, like belches and farts were embedded into the old leather cushions. The thick girth of Carl pressed against Travis, shoving the slender teen against the car door as he found himself literally stuck between a rock and a very fat place. Travis was able to notice that they had a similar eye color and the same dark, curly brown hair. Only, Travis still had it on his head, and Carl had it around his chubby, sagging face. The similarities ended there: an athletic jock and an obese slob driving in silence.

Once they arrived at the diner and received their orders, they passed the first few minutes with awkward small talk. Carl barely touched his towering stack of maple drenched pancakes, watching Travis intently. Travis found himself eating eagerly, as if he hasn’t already eaten the breakfast his mother had cooked only a half hour ago. Finally, as the meal wound down, Carl leaned in, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers up Travis’s spine. The musk of his father rolled over him in a thick wave. “You ever wonder why I left, boy?”

Travis swallowed hard. He was so close to finally having an answer, but opening up about his feelings was a daunting task. He had always longed for a father, but was it worth it to stoop this low? “I figured you just didn’t care enough to stay.”

Carl chuckled, his fat gut pressed against the table and making it shake, but there was no humor in the sound. “Not exactly. You see, men in our family… we got a curse. A blessing, really. But it don’t matter how hard you fight it, how much you wanna be different. It’s in your blood.”

Travis frowned, having to clear his throat as his voice began to take on the same hoarse quality as his father's. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Carl pulled something from his pocket—a grease stained, crumpled old photograph. Travis hesitated before taking it. The man in the image was almost unrecognizable, but the longer he stared, the more it all started to make sense. It was Carl in the photo, younger, leaner, and with a striking resemblance to Travis himself. It was shocking to see how much a human's body could change over the years.

“That was me at eighteen,” Carl said, his hand rubbing circles on his engorged, hairy belly. It was jutting out from his dress shirt like a hairy beachball, begging to be worshipped. “Before it happened.”

Travis scoffed, about to throw the photo the ground when a sharp pain twisted in his gut. He doubled over, a cold sweat breaking out across his body as he started to tremble. The gurgling was back again, a tightness in his stomach that made him feel like he needed to pass gas.

“What the—?” The words died in his throat as heat surged through his limbs. His fingers were shaking, his vision blurred. And his muscles, once lean and toned, tingled—then they began to soften. Like someone was pumping him full of dough. His chest felt itchy before the firm definition of his pecs sank into soft, pliant flesh. Dark curls of hair started to poke through his skin. It didn’t take long before the front of his shirt was stretched by a pair of saggy man boobs. Travis’s arms thickened, his lean biceps swallowed by layers of fat.

And that was only the beginning.

He gasped as his stomach pushed outward, stretching his shirt until the fabric groaned and began to tear at the seams. Rolls upon rolls of flesh surged forth, his abs dissolving beneath an avalanche of lard. Every trace of his old physique was being swallowed by a body that began to look increasingly like Carl's. His thighs ballooned, pressing against each other. His once-taut ass was spread out and sagging against the chair beneath him. Travis felt his asshole twitching between his swampy crack. His fat ass cheeks jiggled as he squeezed out a hot, sputtering fart against his will.

PRFFFFFFFFFFFFT!

The smell came next, and it was noxious. A deep, pungent musk seemed to ooze from his pores—thick, sour, inescapable. He reeked of body odor, stale sweat, and something heavier, something rotten.

“No—No, this isn’t—” His voice was deeper now, rougher, his breath coming in ragged, phlegmy wheezes. His vision cleared just enough to catch his reflection in the diner window—a bloated, thirty plus slob stared back at Travis. His sharp jaw had disappeared beneath jowls, his youthful face buried beneath a double chin and stubble. Sweat had soaked through his now ruined dress shirt. The flimsy fabric clung to his hairy gut for dear life. His belly looked even larger than Carl’s.

The buttons didn't take long to start flying off.

Travis stank. And worse—he was getting used to it. He breathed in deep, his shrinking cock twitching as it rubbed against his soft, fat body.

Carl laughed, clapping Travis on the shoulder. “Ain’t no fightin’ it, son. We were meant for this life. Me, my daddy before me, and now you.”

Travis wanted to scream, to fight, but his body was betraying him. A deep rumble built in his gut before he let out a thick, meaty belch. The sheer release sent shudders of disgusting pleasure through him. His cock—once proud and athletic—twitched beneath his huge gut, crushed under his fat pad. He tried to cling to his identity, but his memories of the old Travis were fading fast. He wasn't strong enough to stop himself from burping and farting them all out,

PRFFFFFFFFFT! BELCH.

Megan. His unborn son. His future.

All of it—

Gone.

A new hunger replaced the old ambitions. The thought of responsibility, of fatherhood, of discipline, felt foreign to the hog now. A greasy, gluttonous craving overtook everything else. His stomach gurgled loudly, demanding more. Without thinking, he reached for the pancakes Carl was ignoring, shoveling sugary bites into his mouth, moaning at the taste. His nub of a cock leaked pre down his fat leg. He was so happy he couldn't help but jiggle for his Daddy.

Carl leaned back, grinning as he squeezed and played with his own gut. “That’s my boy.”

As Travis sat there, gorging himself and flaunting his size, his past life faded into a distant haze. He wasn’t meant to be a father. He wasn’t meant to amount to anything of note. "Oh, Daddy. Thank you." He was only meant for this—to be a lazy, filthy slob with no worries beyond when his Daddy would provide his next meal. The two of them were now bonded for life, and the old Travis disappeared without a trace.

And the best part?

He was absolutely in love.

"This was the best birthday yet, Daddy. Yer gonna have to let me repay ya." Maybe the other diner guests should have been shocked to see the obese, filthy father and son began to fondle and play with one another in public. Their huge bellies met across the table and rubbed together as they moaned. It seemed that Travis had some latent magic of his own, the same blood curse his father warned him about. The hornier Travis got, the more the diner begun to heat up. And the more the guests became hotter and hornier and hungrier, too.

Travis heard the clothes ripping as men swelled to epic proportions.

And he heard the grunting sound of pig-like men shoveling food down their throats.

From a visiting businessman to the diner's very own chef, no man was safe from the magic that Carl and Travis unleashed.

And Travis was too busy sucking on his Daddy's fat tits to notice.