toptierteaser

[toptierteaser]

Fatboy Sorting

There are many challenges that the Administration at Fatty Camp must address over the course of time, not least among them repairing all the busted bunkbeds and broken exercise equipment, sewing patches into the uniforms their fatboys bust out of...and of course, keeping up with the rampant, ravenous appetites of their Campers as they binge and gorge and stuff themselves endlessly out of house and home...

But among the most pressing challenges--as well as the most popular amongst the Coaches at Fatty Camp--is the Sorting. You see, with all the various types and sizes and flavors of fatboy at Fatty Camp, it is imperative that the Administration does a fine job of sorting its piggies into subcamps, assigning each to a Bunk specific to their blubbery and chub, to their gluttony and girth...and to ensure each of them is put on a diet and workout regimen and under the guidance of a couple Coaches which can "best fit their ample needs."

It starts with size, of course. With the measuring, the prodding of embarrassed fatty after embarrassed fatty onto the scales, a taunting jock wrapping his measuring tape around each quivering pork chop as he shouts out the numbers, as they are flashed on the screen before every fitty and fatty alike! And then, with a firm pat on the ample tukis, a prod of the juicy love handle, and a good shake of the protruding gut, each fatty is sent waddling to their freshly-assigned line, where a sticker in the shape of a bear or a pig or a turkey or a hippo...or even a whale...is stamped onto their fat, widened ass and on the front of their rising, riding shirt.

It's embarrassing, of course, but what better way to put each fatty into his place?

Of course, it doesn't begin and end with the sorting based on size, on weight, on the circumference of each Camper's chest and stomach and ass...no. The REAL sorting begins when each panting, juicy camper is run through a series of tests. An obstacle course through which the Coaches poke and tease and prod each Camper to watch his struggling, ballooning body jiggle as he pathetically attempts to complete it. Of course, each fatboy thinks they’re being tested based on physical aptitude alone. And they are. But on top of the observations by their Coaches and the Directors to see who can do the monkey bars or the wall climb, they are also being watched. Who among them will beg for release? Who will struggle through the line of tires, only to get his fat hips stuck on the second-to-last, to squeal and call out for help? Who will run out of breath on the treadmill? Who will become distracted by the lone cupcake placed on the trap door and yelp as his fat ass falls through? Who will be embarrassed as he swings down the line of monkey bars, aware that his obese ass is jiggling like crazy? Who will be totally oblivious that his shirt has completely ridden up? Which porker will be delusional enough to try the tube slide only to get stuck, wriggling, begging, and pleading, halfway through?

For the Coaches, it’s one of their favorite parts of the Sorting. For the Campers, it’s one of the most embarrassing.

When the Campers have been duly sorted again…the whiners from the oblivious-porker from the determined fatboys who aren’t SO chubby just yet, but who will be well on their ways to obesity within a few months of bingeing…each is sent to the Fitting Room. There, another test awaits. The routine outfitting of the porky, chubby campers. They find themselves on benches, ordered to strip to their briefs and forced to waddle over to the clothing that awaits them. without sizes, the fatties do their best, racing and wrestling each other for the roomiest clothes that can fit their obese bodies. and the Coaches have themselves a fine time watching their piggies struggle, huffing and puffing, cheeks reddening as they force themselves into the bright pink booty-shorts, the humiliating striped shirts that chafe between their rubbing thunder thighs or wedge up their enormous butts or don’t even come close—no matter how hard they tug—to covering their ballooning bellies and exposed bellybuttons! Each, looking like a packed sausage, the Campers grunt as they struggle to lean down, yank socks over their chubby toes and wrestle with their bellies to tie their shoes. Huffing and sweating by the end of their ordeal as they look around at one another’s bodies, puffing out like pastry from the too-tight clothes…

And then the eating bell rings.

Here comes a reward. Or so each fatty thinks, as his ass bumps into his neighbors, fighting each other to claw the way through the doors to the cafeteria. They race, pushing and shoving each other’s overfed bodies to get to the buffet first. nearly bending over, ass up in the air as they race to fill their plates, knowing how quickly food could be taken away from them. Knowing how hungry they are, having exerted themselves during the ten-minute obstacle course and clothing try on; An unusually-EXHAUSTING day for Fatty Camp. They pack themselves in, love-handle-to-love-handle, asscheek-to-asscheek, overblown-belly-to-overblown-belly, on the benches at the tables, which groan in pain beneath the collective girth. Stuffing themselves to the brim on all their favorite foods, unaware that the Coaches and Admin are watching. Unaware that they’re being documented like pigs. Which one likes which foods? Which will eat himself until the button on his camp shorts pops? Which will feed himself until he can hardly move?

It's an easy way to do the final sorting. As, from behind the one-way-glass teams of doctors and Coaches and Counselors take notes, laughing as they sort each of you fatasses into your group.

Oh, the PLANS they have in store for you!

How they go about their sorting. Placing the exjocks—the former football players turned butterball, the swimmers and runners who let themselves go, the wrestlers who never cut again after high school or college. Even their own, the Coaches who couldn’t keep up with their diets and exercise requirements. How much fun they will have, taunting you, reminding you of your skinnier, fitter days when you were hot stuff and an athlete. When you were one of them…

The ‘helpless fatties,’ they’ll categorize differently. Penning you in the bunks where they know you desperately want to lose the weight, though they’ll do everything in their power to sabotage your diets, to fill your overeating urges. Treating you like the adorable piglets you are…

And the gainers. Oh, what they’ll do with you! Knowing how easy you are to control. How you would od anything to be fed, to grow, to avoid exercise. How they will hold that—literally, holding cupcakes and donuts—over your heads, just to watch you beg and whimper and plead.

How much fun they’ll have, when the sorting has been finished and you accept the kind of fatboy you are!

[toptierteaser]

A Fat Party Predicament

What? You thought we invited you to here because we thought you were cool? That's funny, fatty! We invited you to the party because everyone has noticed how much weight you've put on! You used to look so handsome and fit! And yeah, you're still 'cute,' but sort of in the same way a piglet or a bear cub is 'cute...'

Nah, the REAL reason we invited you to this party, fatboy, is because the guys and I want to see how you react to your recent weight gain. Those extra...what...fifty, seventy-five, one hundred pounds of additional blubber? Haha, well, we noticed your binge eating and the effects it's been having...and we wanted to test out the results!

Don't worry, you're not alone! See that fat fuck stuck in the window? Haha! See how the guys are playing beer pong by bouncing the ping pong balls off of his fat ass! Haha! Hear how he's whimpering?

Or that guy on the table everyone is taking belly-button shots out of! They're going to get plastered, seeing as his belly button has gotten SOOO much deeper! Wow! Just look at him wriggle! See how embarrassed he is?

Or the dozen chubby fatboys who we made come here just to serve at the party! Wasn't it a nice touch, making them wear their old tuxes and suits? Haha, the way they BURST out of them! See, his zipper doesn't even CLOSE anymore! Lol! And look at HIM! Those buttons are ready to BURST! And you can see HIS belly through the jacket AND the shirt! Haha! It's so funny watching their fat, flustered faces as we make them bounce around, doing our bidding! Bringing us drinks and food! They just think they're being sneaky little piggies...but we've noticed they've been sneaking food! It's only a matter of time before they bust completely!

See, it's happened to PLENTY of guys, fatass! Just a shame it had to happen to you too! Haha!

Oh, you? What do we have in store for you...well, I definitely don't want to spoil the surprise, fatty...

Why don't you enjoy yourself for the time being. Grab a drink...have some food--I know you wanna! Go see the sites! Explore...Haha, there's chubby-fuck twister downstairs! And we have some of the fatboys doing Just Dance in their undies, so we can watch their asses jiggle! Haha, oh and there's a competition later where we'll make you piggies sit on the washing machine to see how badly your tits bounce! Haha!

I can see the mystery and anticipation of your fate tonight has gotten you all riled up...not to worry...that's what binge eating was invented for...to calm your nerves and drown out those pesky thoughts of yours...now go on and stuff yourself! We'll want you nice and PLUMP for our initiation ceremony, fatboy!

Or, if you choose...you can try to waddle your fat ass off and go stuff your face in your room...but why would you? That's a lot of walking for you, blubber buns and with the way your thighs have been rubbing lately, and the distance it is from the house back to town...not to mention how many of your favorite foods we have here for you tonight...you and I both know you won't be wobbling your way back home ANY time soon!

Now, enjoy the party, fat cakes...while you can...

[toptierteaser]

The Reason Why You're FAT and What We're Going to Have to Do about it.

A Poem, by TopTierTeaser

It’s the burgers that you’ve been Shake-Shacking,

That have sent your fitness goals backtracking.

All the exercise that you have been lacking,

Which makes you feel like you’ve been backpacking,

When those fat rolls of yours start meatpacking.

All the calories which you’ve been packing,

Like the cupcakes on which you’ve been snacking,

And the pepper your mouth has been jacking,

The donuts your fat face was attacking,

Which has caused your lard ass to start cracking,

Those scales—you fat fuck!—that you’re whacking,

With those pounds your body has been racking.

But the self-control that you’ve been lacking,

And the jogging on which you’ve been slacking,

The binge eating you just can’t start tracking,

That has made your pudge truly nerve-wracking.

Sure! Blame the pancakes the diner’s been stacking,

See how folks run when you start to backing?

No, you don’t cause lately you’ve been blacking,

Out of notice when you start fast-tracking,

Fatty foods you gorge over hopsacking.

Now, I’m certain you’re no longer hacking,

The capacity to go kayaking,

Though, I’m sure you’d be ‘fit’ for linebacking,

A slow player at that, but who’s tracking?

But, if I can’t fix you with my flacking,

Or that fat ass I just can’t stop smacking,

And to stop your compulsive ransacking,

Of the pantries you can’t stop attacking?

I’ll make you take me piggybacking!

[toptierteaser]

Butterball Status: Pt. 1

A Blowup Anthology Story

“Well, well, well…seems like somebody’s hit ‘Butterball Status” today!”

The taunt, accompanied with a firm poke into his ample abdomen, carried out across the hall, audible to the dozens of Coaches and hundreds of Campers alike. Diego’s mouth fell agape, his plump cheeks reddening as the weight of what had just been said sunk into his stomach way that extra, stale donut had last night. I knew I should’ve laid off the treats for a while! Diego cursed internally.

But Coach Jason simply smiled at him. Or was it more of a sneer? It was hard to tell with Jason. ‘Chubby-chasin’ Jason,’ they called him. Behind his back, of course. Never when the handsome coach was present to make his Campers run an additional lap around the track. Watching diligently as their overblown backsides jiggled uncontrollably with all the added weight. Of course, the Coach could never fully express his predilections, as it would have been social suicide among the other Coaches. But he had his reputation among the Campers, and the fatties had eaten the rumor up faster than a bucket of fried chicken.

Naturally, Jason played up the angle of a Coach being disgusted at his camper for packing on as many pounds as Diego evidently had. And so the sharp poke into his big, juicy tummy transfigured into a grab as Jason’s hand snaked around from Diego’s front to his equally-tubby love handle. The other hand was placed on its twin and Deigo felt himself, helpless, defenseless, and in full view of half the camp, being turned toward the mirror in front of him.

The scale had confirmed it, the numbers having jumped by ten since the last weigh in—how was it even possible he had packed on that much weight in a week?—and Coach Sebastian clacked away at his calculator, racking up Diego’s routinely-increasing BMI. The nerdy coach began snickering behind his glasses as he waved the numbers up in the air. “It’s official!” said the Coach in his nasally voice. “The fat fuck is officially a butterball!”

Those within Diego’s earshot began to snicker and whoop, to offer snide comments about how he had “never quite been able to put the fork down, that one.” Or how it was a “good thing he’ll get bumped up a weight class. His fat ass was barely able to fit through the door as it was, poor fat fuck.”

Diego tried not to let everyone see how badly it affected him, how flustered and embarrassed it was making him. But such teasing, taunting observations weren’t even the worst of it.

                “This is your own fault, you know, pork chop?” said Jason in his ear. Now he really was smiling. “You’re the one who fed yourself up like this, weren’t you fatboy?”

                And as Diego’s round body was wheeled about, he realized the Coach was absolutely right. He almost didn’t recognize himself. Before him stood a tubby young man, the lingerings of handsomeness jutting through the added pudge on his face. but the rest of him was completely unrecognizable. In his time at the Camp, Diego had absolutely buried himself in layers of fat, his belly swelling to completely cover his fly, his thighs porking out ridiculously, his moobs pressing up against his chubbed-up neck. He looked like a big fat scoop of neopolitan ice cream, his warm brown skin busting out from underneath the tight white t-shirt that didn’t even reach his cavernous belly button and his bright pink booty shorts that looked more like painted-on briefs. It had been a while since he’d been forced to look at himself in the mirror and while he still found his shocked, embarrassed face to be handsome, he felt that the rest of him rather resembled an overinflated balloon!

                It was all too much! The image of himself, standing there, big fat legs pressing out against each other, juicy arms unable to rest because his love handles were in the way. His Coach poking and prodding and squeezing his chubby side rolls. The sight of himself, about a bite of cheesecake away from splitting his uniform, completely defenseless. An overfed blowfish who in all likeliness would only be blown up even fatter! He felt himself growing excited, the waistband of his shorts creaking as he felt himself expand within them.

                Calm down, he told himself. Just take a deep breath.

                And then he saw Brandon, the flamboyant Coach who had been a tailor and a hairdresser before they began Rounding Up fatties across the country, walking up to him, smirking with a measuring tape held taut between his hands.

                And as Coach Jason was forced to stand aside as Brandon took the helm, wrapping the tape beneath Diego’s armpits and tut-tutting as he slid down Diego’s sides to his big belly, measuring the ridiculous circumference of the fatass. “Seems like the fat fuck has ballooned his belly wider than his shoulder-width!” said the Coach. And as he said it, Diego felt himself rise, swell, and—PING—the button of his shorts went flying out across the room!

                There was another humiliating snickering that surrounded him, consuming him, driving Diego ever-more flustered.

                And then, as Diego’s obese ass and thunderous thighs were measured, Jason all but shoved Brandon out of the way, grabbing Diego by the love handles and turning him in a 180-degree fashion. “Well, biggums…I’m sad to see you leave the Bunk…but rules are rules…now, there’s only one thing left to do.” And Diego braced himself, hoping his belly covered the exposed fly of his shorts, as he felt the enormous stamp flying out across the air and pressing squarely in his extremely-wide ass.

                He gave an involuntary squeal of embarrassment that thrilled the Coaches. And then, looking more pathetic than ever, Diego turned to look at the mirror over his shoulder, taking in the stamped image of a turkey that now replaced the teddy-bear print on his caked-up ass.

                “Well, then,” said Coach Jason. “All there is for us to do now is to roll you on down to your new bunk and introduce you to the other tubby butterballs!”

[toptierteaser]

Fatass Control

He enjoys it. The view from the Control Room, his little kingdom. Surrounded on all sides by screens displaying the surveillance projections of the men in his charge…his personal ‘Guinea Pigs,’ he likes to call them. He smiles as he leans back in his chair, folding his strong, muscular arms behind his head, propping his big feet up on the desk as the eyes on his handsome face alter from one screen to the next. Just the thought of them…of the power he harbors over them, the knowledge of what he can do to them at any given time, on a simple whim makes him smirk with pleasure. And as he settles in for his shift, heart hammering with excitement and anticipation, he lets his eyes move from one screen to the other, from one overblown ass to the next as his fingers tease the control switches beside him, as he weighs his options of who to toy with first…

                Who should it be today? He looks at the top screen, displaying a fatty in his late college years, his distended belly and fat, swollen ass bursting out against his gray sweatshirt and sweatpants…the only things he is capable of squeezing his overblown body into since his rapid, recent weight gain. The controller’s eyes move to the next screen where a big ginger man cowers away in the bathroom, panting as he desperately attempts to close the button on his dress pants, ashamed and embarrassed as his voluptuous belly struggles against his waistband, his overindulgence at lunch catching him in the act of gluttony. He looks again, from the chubby businessman on the screen now to the man huffing along on the treadmill, his jiggling rolls warring against his exercise clothes as the fat on his enormous ass wobbles, his thunderous thighs rubbing as he attempts to do something resembling a run.

                “At least fat fuck number three is putting in a little effort today,” he snickers, watching the former jock’s pathetic version of athleticism. The same cannot be said for the others, though, as they do their usual, wiggling in their seats as they try to get comfortable, picking at the undies and shorts that ride up the ballooning asses that swallow them up. Struggling against buttons and seatbelts, or desperately whimpering as they try to put on their shoes. But none dare to do the fattest thing he can think of…none dare to stuff their chunky faces. They know he is watching them, keeping tabs on their gluttony…that he will punish them for their weakness and their greed, the moment they break and begin to stuff their tubby faces with more fat, fast food!

                He adjusts in his seat, calming himself. His job is to hold these porkers accountable…at least it was, when the obese men first signed up for the program. Each of them had heard of the results, had seen their coworkers and friends shed the pounds at a rapid weight. They had waddled their quivering asses as quickly as they could to the stores where they could sign up to have their ears implanted with an irremovable headpiece, their brains injected with signals that could control their appetites and fatigue receptors, their fat cells connected to “alterers,” which could supplement a rise or fall in swelling, in fat storage…

                At first the results had been dramatic and quick. The controllers spent their days encouraging the plump men to exercise, eat right, engage in healthier activities…and their clients reaped the benefits of their hard work! Nothing like taking the easy route for fatboys like these; handsome heads on blowfish-like-bodies, whose only thoughts seemed to be about their next opportunities to stuff their faces with greasy food. But then, corporate stepped in. He and the other controllers had been doing too good a job, and other drugs which would result in more rapid weight-loss were starting to take the place of their program. They were starting to lose customers, and corporate certainly couldn’t have that. So they encouraged their employees to…prolong the formerly-recent results. Maybe even reverse them if it came to it…

                He had been surprised by the instructions, even resentful. So his job was to help a bunch of fat fucking porkers who couldn’t keep their chubby hands out of the cookie jar to get even fatter? He scoffed at the idea. But that all changed after his first bout of tampering with his customer’s weight. He had caught the man bingeing, hiding out in his car so his roommates couldn’t see him cheating on his diet. And he had taken the opportunity, not to speak words of redirection or encouragement, but to whisper into the mic that connected directly to the man’s ear, “you know you want it fatty. You know you want another burger. You know you want to shove down another fistful of fries!” And to his surprise, the fat fuck obliged, gobbling down every greedy mouthful in the bag until he had to lean back, his belly puffing out between his waistband and his shirt as he looked at the chubby, round results of his greed. Far fatter than the little binge could account for…

                He hadn’t even realized as he was whispering what his fingers were doing, that they had wrapped around the control knobs, that they were pushing buttons. That they had made his client’s fat cells swell so much that by the time he stripped and stepped onto the scale, he had gone up twenty-five pounds.

                A sudden, intense twinge excited him and made him realize that there was a flicker of enjoyment in teasing the fatboy, in calling out his greed, in blowing him up with the touch of a button and even gaslighting the flustered fat fuck afterward into believing that it was his own fault for gorging on the bag of burgers, despite the impossibility of him putting on twenty-five pounds in a day!

                That moment had blossomed and ballooned as rapidly as his clients’ backsides, as he realized just how much he enjoyed toying with their bodies and their brains, and tampering with their appetites. Now, as he sits in his chair, surveying his collection of struggling, fatties, his harem of young, handsome piggies who were growing right before his eyes, he leans into the feeling, his toes clenching, his fingers itching for the control panels as he weighs who his next target will be…

                Who to fuck with? His eyes move from the chubby swimmer barely able to fit into his swimsuit to the TA, hardly able to keep his buttons from flying and hitting his students to the delivery man whose lips wet as he smells the aroma of food steaming from the bags beside him.

                His index finger tickles the top of one of the knobs. “Eenie…” He looks at the groomsman, desperately trying to fit into his tuxedo. ”…meenie” A mechanic tries to wiggle his blubbery body beneath a car as his coworkers tease his chub. “…miney…” A fatass sweats as he tries to decide at the lunch counter between a bowl of pasta and a salad.

                He leans in, a sneer curling the lips on his chiseled, pretty face. who should it be? He would have to deserve it, of course…and while he enjoys watching them all struggle, none of them seem to be doing anything that would warrant punishment. Who will be the one acting enough like a fat fuck to tip his hand?

                And then he sees him…the former model, the social media influencer. The handsomest of all…or at least he was until he blew his fat body up like a pastry! Well, his face was still handsome…and the rest of his body looked like an overinflated Thanksgiving Day Parade float.

                He watches as the ridiculously-cute fatty strides into his room, fat ass wedged into the designer underwear he could fit into about a hundred pounds ago. Flustered as he crosses his apartment, but apparently not caring or remembering that the controller can see what he is doing. The chub’s thick arms wrapped tightly around something, as if trying to hide it from view of the camera. The controller leans in, adjusting the camera to reveal that the object is a gigantic bucket of fried chicken accompanied by potato wedges. All deep fried. All fattening.

                He leans into the screen, about to burst from his excitement. The overfed model jiggles his fat body onto the bed, leaning back as his belly takes up half his lap, as his thighs fight each other for space, as his man tits and chubby arms battle over the bucket. The piglet reaches his hand in, drawing first a chicken leg and then a potato wedge in the other. He opens the plump, pretty lips on his handsome face…

                “Do it, fatty,” says the controller into the mic. And he watches as the fataboy sinks his teeth into the chicken, ripping a chunk greedily!

                That’s all he needs! The controller flicks the switch and as the fatty binges, he watches as his skin stretches, his fat rolls swelling, the pudge rapidly blimping around his swelling body. He eats and eats as the controller whispers in his ear. “That’s right piggy…eat like your life depends on it fatboy,” the settings so low that the fatass won’t be able to even register that he is being talked to…commanded to act like the true, fat piggy boy that he is.

                It isn’t until the former model is done stuffing his face that he even realizes the change. But when he does, the controller can see him grow flustered in an instant. The porker leans back, sweating, grabbing at his belly, eyes wide with shock, as if unable to believe what he sees before him.

                The controller smiles, satiated by the handsome fat fuck’s flustered state. But it doesn’t keep him satisfied for long. In an instant, he turns his attention to another, to the fat businessman still struggling to button his pants. He flicks a switch and laughs as the man’s belly blubbers out by a couple inches, sending the button flying wildly across the bathroom, accompanied by a satisfying r-i-i-i-i-p of the lardass’s trousers!

                And then he unleashes all his might, flicking this switch and that, whispering into each of his client’s ears as he sends them, one by one, into a tizzy, a feeding frenzy, watching his own symphony; the smacking of food, the squealing of shock, the huffing flustered whimpering as they try to run of the pudge. A mosaic of helpless, flustered fatties who balloon before his eyes, who burst against their clothes as they make total embarrassments of themselves in front of their friends, as they rip their clothes and pop their buttons and blub up like a farm full of fat, handsome piggies who only grow fatter before the controller’s eyes!

[toptierteaser]

Arrival at Fatty Camp

Imagine your first day at Fatty Camp...

Waddling off the bus, into the hard-packed earth in the yard. Stuffing yourself with the last donut of the dozen. Loudly licking your fingers, shrugging off your nerves as you tell yourself it'll be a breeze. You'll do a little dieting, a couple jumping jacks, a few circuits of the track...and you'll be in shape in no time!

And then you see them...the Campers...dozens and dozens of handsome, formerly-fit men, busting out of their uniforms; tight short shorts that expose the fattiness of their thighs, that barely contain their blimping asses, shirts that don't so much as cover their tubby stomachs, that hug their plump chests WAYYY too tightly! Whimpering and panting, squealing as a snickering, teasing jock pokes at their juicy rolls, jiggling their overfed bellies, shaking their ballooning asses. Making them run, laughing as the fatties' thighs rub, as their shorts threaten to burst.

Your eyes widening as the reality of this place hits you, as you gulp down the last of your donut. Mouth slack as you realize what being sent here really means. Your breath shortening as you are prodded forward by the Coach behind you, as you catch a glimpse of the embarrassing sights before you. Trying not to panic as you see a trio of adorable fatties, bodies jiggling like crazy as they are made to jump, trying to reach the cupcakes a jock hoists far above their heads. Passing a long line of chubs, queued belly-to-butt as they wait their turn, the fatty in the front being measured with a tape, weighed on a scale, and sized with a caliper for all the trembling Campers and laughing Coaches. A glimpse through the window of the dining hall where rows of Campers are packed in, asses squeezed in tightly between each other as they gorge themselves on mounds of food, feasting like swelling piglets.

And, panting, panicking, catching a glimpse of your own thickened body in the reflection. Sweating as a smiling, cocky jock in a Coach's uniform struts up to you, holding aloft a t-shirt and shorts, beaming as the reality dawns on you both; that you won't be able to fit into your uniform.

Your time at Fatty Camp begins now, fatboy...

[toptierteaser]

Office Fatty

It's your job to get fat, fatboy...

I mean, literally. It's what you get paid to do here. See? It's right here, on the contract you signed. See the fine print. It's within your career expectations. "The employee is expected to eat a minimum of three snacks hourly...the employee is entitled to have his chair replaced quarterly...the employee will be paid a stipend for any upgrades in wardrobe that he should find necessary, including expansion of waistbands and upsizing of shirts, pants, etc."

See, it's all right there for you thiccums. Plain as day! Heh, why else do you think we were so excited to hire you on? What, you thought it was your smarts? Haha! We saw you come in here, a thick handsome dude who was starting to pudge out around the edges. We needed an office fatboy. And here came one, waddling in, ass busting out in those tight chinos, belly starting to quiver, eyeing the snacks. We've really enjoyed watching you grow this last year. Plumping out, ass filling up your swivel chair. The number of times we see you jiggling off to go stress eat in the breakroom. Buttons straining on that big belly of yours!

You thought you were being sneaky, didn't you piggy boy? You thought we didn't notice you sneaking away to pig out on the leftover donuts? Wake up, fatass! We LEFT them there for you to find! And you ATE, big boy! Came back with jelly stains on your shirt, toddling in like no one would notice. Well, we noticed alright! We noticed how much you were sweating, the fact that the seam on your butt was barely hanging on by its threads!

What? You want to quit? Now? When you've been doing SUCH a good job being our tubby fatty boy? When it's almost time to give you a raise? You want to waddle out on us? Haha, don't delude yourself fatass. You know you can't stay away from the snacks. You've been enjoying it too much! All the food we cram in to your face! All the leftovers we pack into your stomach after work lunches! All the attention you get around the office...when the guys rub your tummy. All the ass pats you get from Ryan and Jake. All the belly pokes you get from Dmitri and Demarcus. All the teases you get from Mason and me. Oh, don't think we don't know...you LOVE it, fatty. You LOVE the teasing most of all. Otherwise, why would you be sneaking off to binge in your cubicle every time we poke fun at you? Huh, fatty?

No, you like it too much. So you're gonna stay. And you're gonna work. And you're gonna EAT. And you're gonna GROW! You're gonna bust out of those pants and the pair you buy after THAT! You're gonna break that creaking chair fatboy! You're gonna be the center of attention, blushing as you waddle off to run copies and gobble down the next dozen donuts! You'll barely be able to contain your excitement, fatass!

You're our designated office fatty. And you're only going to get FATTER by the day...

[toptierteaser]

You're Putting on Weight, Fatboy...Again...

Sure…you slimmed down, worked hard, she’d the pounds . You’re fit, slim, hot. We get it, alright…?

Sure you post TikTok’s all day of you kissing your abs or whatever, wearing undies you couldn’t fit into before…

But we all know this is temporary, don’t we fatboy…we all know who you are inside. The fatass you used to be. The chunker who couldn’t stop shoving donuts down his helpless face. The fatass who jiggled with every tubby step. Your thighs that now stand apart once brushing and rubbing as you waddled. Chiseled jaw buried in adorable, pinchable fat!

Here’s the thing. We can all see it. The fatass you used to be. The porker who you shoved deep, deep down inside. The lardasss who is begging to come out. We can all see it dude. The way you ogle at cakes whenever you walk by them. How you drool when you smell a burger. You miss it, your old appetite, the ability to shovel in food nom stop while your ass and tummy ballooned! A happy, spoiled piglet.

We all know it’s going to happen to you again, fatboy. We know you’re going to blow up, anytime now! You’ll start cheating on your diet here and there, then you’ll begin noticing the pudge that accumulates on your pudgy waistline your thickened ass. You’ll feel us tease you as your love handles grow, as your legs begin to rub again, as we watch you transform back into the chubby fatboy you worked so hard to leave behind! Only this time the fat is here to stay! You’ll be too embarrassed to even waddle to the gym, instead cramming yourself in those tight sweats of yours and jiggling your overweight ass to the nearest drive thru where you can gorge your feelings!

It’s only a matter of time before you start to blub up again. Only a matter of time before you become an ex-jock! In fact, I think I can see it now, fatboy! Your belly’s pushing out, your legs are getting thicker, and that ass…just look at those shorts! All that fresh new FAT is just beginning to strain again! 🐽

[toptierteaser]

The Vicious Cycle of being a Fatty

Your weight-gain is like a self-sustaining curse.

You eat, filling your mouth, your insatiable belly, feeding yourself everything your piggish little taste buds desire.

Then you grow. Your fat accumulates on your pudgy stomach. Rolls start to form on your juicy sides. You start to get love handles, your ass blimps up, your thighs start to blubber. Even your moobs and your face and your hand betray you, showing off your newfound fattiness and greed!

Then it starts to get uncomfortable! It's not like you CAN'T waddle off to the gym and work out…you're not THAT fat…at least, not yet. But it's getting uncomfortable.

It's embarrassing. Being slower than the other guys. Your fat ass jiggling in your shorts. Having to constantly pick a wedgie as your undies disappear between your thick, caked up cheeks. Constantly needing to shift your short to cover your tubbing belly!

But beyond that, you've started to notice a change. You're getting out of breath more easily. It didn't even take that much FAT! You just noticed you were panting, that it was hard to catch your breath! Your thighs rub, now! They chafe and fight for space! Your belly has begun to quiver when you waddle--god, you WADDLE, now to keep your thighs from rubbing!

Still, you hit the gym and you try to work off the fat…

But you can't stop eating. You can't stop stuffing yourself. And it's the KNOWING that you're not so far gone…it's the KNOWING that you haven't blimped up beyond all hope…that's what makes it impossible to shave off the weight for good! The food is just TOO delicious! And the weight isn't even BAD enough yet…not until it is…

And when you finally realize how far you've let yourself go…when you finally realize what you have DONE…when you finally realize what a piglet you've made of yourself…there's nothing you can do about it anymore!

Sure, you could work off some of the pudge. It wouldn't be all THAT hard. But it would take a LOT longer now that you realize how fat you've swelled! You can't just hit the treadmill a few times, fatboy. You have to actually commit! And committing to anything--besides STUFFING your lazy, pudging body on a daily basis--is not exactly in your forte! You're a FATBOY through and through! And because it's so much easier for you to just sit there, on your plumped-up fat ass! Becuase it's so much easier just to EAT to your heart's content, than to actually get up off your lazy, blimping ass and go for a jog every once in a while…well, that's exactly what you do! You just eat and eat and eat! You blubber and balloon! And you fill up even more, stretching your stomach and getting hungrier as you get greedier as you get fatter as you get lazier!

It's a vicious cycle, fatboy, and one you just keep eating yourself further--and fatter--into!

[toptierteaser]

When the Guys Notice You're Getting Fat

You love being teased for your weight gain.

                You love when they notice, when they single you out, poking a finger into your chubbing belly that you can’t seem to suck in like you used to. You love seeing them smile down at your tummy as their finger sinks into your pudge, testing your newfound blubber. You love the way they place a hand on your abdomen, sizing up your protruding fat as they squeezes you like dough. The way they laugh as they objectify you, as they compare you to a tub of lard, a bag of fat. When they smiles at you and call you ‘fatboy’ before letting your jiggling tummy go.

                You get so flustered, don’t you fatboy? Trying to keep up with the guys. Waddling along, noticing your breath shorten, panting as you try to keep up with their long, muscular legs which they present no discomfort showing off. Watching their tight asses and strong thighs tense as they step, as you feel your own backside jiggle like crazy, your thunder thighs rubbing like mad, your legs wobbling with every brush!

                You get turned on when they notice you. When they see how the pudge has accumulated all over your body. When they catch you snacking as they tweak your love handle, laughing as they make it squish! Snickering at your discomfort as you stuff in another mouthful, your ass widening far too large for your tight stretch shorts. Taunting you as you desperately try to unstick the fabric that disappears between your rolls, your fat pockets, your blimping, rubbing cheeks! Poking you at every chance they get whenever your pudgy body becomes exposed, a bit of fat sneaking out between your shirt and your waistband, vulnerable for them to jiggle and grab!

                The things they do to you, the attention they give! It’s intoxicating, fatboy! The ways they compare you, calling you their “thickest in the friend group!” Keeping tabs on your weight. Testing you for any sign of leftover fitness. Making you jiggle. Making you blush. As if they know how much it turns you on! Watching you thicken and expand. Pinching your chub! Grabbing your blubbery ass and making it shake as you squeal in surprise! A dozen hands pressing food into your mouth, enamored by your fattening! A dozen fingers poking your juicy fat! A dozen mouths bullying you for “letting yourself go,” for “pudging up,” for “porking out,” for “being a total fatass!” Two dozen eyes watching you feed yourself, watching you bust out of your clothes, watching you struggle with every added pound!

                And if they knew the truth…if they knew how absolutely crazy it drove you being teased in this way, would they keep making fun of you for being a fatboy…or would they have their fun with it and make it a thousand times worse?

[toptierteaser]

Tubby Guy on the Treadmill

"Woah! Oh, come on man! This is so embarrassing! Fuck, dude! C'mon! You know I can't run on that thing!"

You whimper as the Coach prods you up onto the treadmill, digging his sturdy poking stick into your plump, juicy love handle.

"Well," sneers the coach, alternating from your love handle on the left to the one on your right. You stifle a squeal as the sensation of wood being pressed into your sensitive flesh flusters you further. "You should have thought about that before you stuffed your fat fucking face, shouldn't you, porker?"

You can only whimper as he pokes you forward, as you waddle, feeling your plumped-up body rebelling against your tight, restricting clothes. Your t-has already come untucked, your ass wide, threatening to bust straight out of your tight, Camp-issued running shorts. As you waddle forward, each cheek rises and falls with a shuddering quiver, driving your tight briefs farther up between your massive butt cheeks. You resist the urge to pick your wedgie, knowing it will only draw more ridicule from the handsome, fit handler who herds you along. But the feeling of yourself getting closer to busting every shred of fabric, the tightness wedged up every crevice and between every roll has begun to drive you mad!

You arrive, fat and chubby as you look forward onto the treadmill. How much have you packed on since your arrival at the Camp? Fifty pounds? One hundred? An embarrassing amount, there's no arguing that! The coach gives your waistband a tug, signaling for you to stop and you oblige.

"Welcome, Camper!" says a booming, masculine voice from above. Another Coach, no doubt. Another fit, handsome jock who looks down on you like a tubby sack of blubber. You blush as you hear the taunting in his voice, the smile audible over the speaker. "Well, it seems that it's been a while since you've taken to one of these...been skipping out during workouts, have we?" Your plump bottom lip drops in embarrassment, but before you can muster up the courage to answer, the voice continues. "No matter. Today's exercise is merely a...measurement of sorts...an estimate of your stamina. Does that make sense, big boy?"

You nod, though the voice certainly hasn't answered every question reeling in your mind.

"Very good. You'll find this exercise to be much easier the more agreeable you are. Now, please mount the treadmill.” The Coach gives your fat ass a sharp prod and you waddle forward, planting first one heavy foot onto the floor of the treadmill and then another. You find some difficulty mounting properly, your wide hips and juicy love handles getting caught on the armrests.

“Oh my…does our Camper there need some butter to help him squeeze in?”

Spurned on by the thought of the Coach behind you excitedly rubbing your exposed chub as you helplessly attempt to wriggle your lardy ass onto the treadmill before an entire panel of Coaches, you manage to wriggle through, belly wobbling ridiculously as you finally make it. You swear you can hear a sharp ‘BWOMP’ as your juicy ass snaps through behind you and your cheeks turn crimson!

“Well fatty—I mean, camper—I trust you know how a treadmill works?”

You nod.

“Very good. Though, of course it doesn’t look like it. Now, your expectations are as follows. You will be tasked with a simple jog. A measurement of your endurance. Everything will be recorded and documented, from your breathing to your…ahem…body movements. The large red button before you…” you look noticing the impossible-to-miss red button directly in front of your face. “…is for tapping out…only when you simply cannot continue to waddle—I mean run—any further! Is that understood?”

Again you nod.

“Very good. The punishment for tapping out early is severe…” you don’t know what that could possibly entail, but you know it’s nothing good. “Oh, one more thing,” says the disembodied voice. You hear a sharp clack sound from above and watch as something descends above your head. “You will also be incentivized here to continue your jogging for as long as possible…so we have included some…treats…to entice you. As the item descends, you notice a cheeseburger tied to a string dangling right before your eyes. about a few feet above, tied to the same string, is a donut…and above that, a cupcake! Your pulse quickens in helpless excitement as you spot some of your favorite treats dangling above!

“Does that look sufficient to you, big boy?” says the voice. You simply look dumbly at the long string of the dozens of snacks ready for you to consume. “Excellent.” Says the voice. “Now, let us begin. We’ll start slow.” You hear a distinct clank and feel the treadmill begin to move beneath your feet. Instinctively, you step forward, towards the burger that dangles tantalizingly out of reach. You will have to earn it, you know that! But they aren’t making you waddle too fast just yet! You can do this! You waddle forward, feeling your cheeks jiggle behind you like separate, massive entities, your belly rising and falling with every step, your love handles shaking funnily at your sides. Everything is chubby, everything plump. You become more flustered as you feel your thighs rubbing, your elbows pushing up against your love handles as you waddle forward. You can feel the eyes of the Coach behind you, fixated on your widened body. You must look ridiculous, blubbing out of your workout clothes like a pig! Chasing a cheeseburger on a string! And next a donut! And next a cupcake! You can hear the snickering over the loudspeaker, the stifled laughing of the Coach behind you. But as you become consumed with the waddling and the jiggling and the rubbing, the ever-present promise of the cheeseburger that gets a millimeter closer with every step, you are left with little room to consider anything else but the promise of food and the sheer embarrassment of being a butterball on a treadmill…

[toptierteaser]

Fatty Microchip

Imagine, fat boy...

Being unwittingly hooked to a Fatty machine.

A chubby ex-jock, dissatisfied by the layers of pudge he's accumulated onto his once-fit jock body, eagerly jiggling his way to have a microchip installed. A microchip supposedly meant to repress his appetite and encourage healthy living. Tiny cameras hidden at work, at home, in your car, to watch for any signs of fattiness…

But that's not what the microchip is for...that’s not what the cameras are watching for…not any longer, at least…

You see, each of you fatties, each of you lard asses has actually been implanted with a chip meant to CONTROL your weight, to CONTROL your appetite, your self-discipline, your motivation to exercise, your dignity...and considering the potential for the controls to so easily fall into the hands of a corrupted jock, a fit hottie with a vengeance, a muscle stud with a thing for fat boys...well, you could see how quickly the devices could become corrupted...

Now, after a few months of diet and exercise and self-control you were starting to see results. But something has changed. Something has altered. You've noticed you can't seem to be full, no matter what you do stuff yourself with! And you certainly aren't filling up on carrots (unless you count them when they’re in a cake!). No, it's cupcakes you're shoveling in, fat boy! Saucy burritos! Cartons of ice cream! Pancakes for breakfast, corn cakes for lunch, and cheesecake after dinner! Stuffed to the max every night!

What's worse, you have no motivation for exercise! You can't seem to get your lazy, larding butt up off the couch to do anything except to waddle to the fridge in search of more food! You're tubbing up, barely able to fit into your clothes! The buttons on your pants, your shirts are all getting tight! Bunching up and straining against the fat on your stomach and love handles and chest! You look like a tick about to POP, fatty!

But little do you know, as you stuff your face, bingeing as your eyes glaze over in front of the TV. Little do you know as you waddle around at work, as the guys laugh in the corner while you jiggle by, self-consciously stuffing yourself with another snack cake from the breakroom, that the men hired to watch you, to adjust your microchip when you’re feeling lazy or hungry, that they are the ones doing this to you. You had no idea that as you stuff yourself, shoveling in plate after plate at your favorite restaurant, glugging down milkshakes in front of your teasing friends, helping yourself to seconds, thirds, fourths of your buddy’s birthday cake—that behind the screens, a cluster of men are watching you, laughing their asses off as yours threatens to bust the seams of your pants!

You see, because you’ve become something of a guinea pig, fat boy. Their guinea pig. Whenever they see your appetite decrease, these workers flip a switch, dialing up your hunger, watching as you ravenously gut the fridge, cramming in whatever you can fit into your tubbing, insatiable belly! When they see the seams on your pants fighting to hold on for dear life, they press a button, sending your head into a tizzy as you immediately begin to gorge. When you go for a run, they twist your mind, making you doubt yourself, making you self-conscious. As if everyone is watching your juicy tits jiggle on your chest. As if the jocks who pass you easily on the trail can see the way your ass quivers and shakes!

And they keep feeding you, fat boy, making you feed yourself, helplessly ballooning in your own home! Crammed into briefs that will bust at any moment, mindlessly stuffing yourself! Unable to stop, to do anything but succumb, outgrow your clothes, become trapped by embarrassment as your body expands like dough! As you give whatever little control you had over to gluttony, contained and controlled and in the hands of jocks whose lone agenda is to make you thicken like a tubby butter ball. Like a fat, pathetic, remote-controlled toy!

[toptierteaser]

Which Type of Fatty are You?

There are different types of fatties, waddling around in this increasingly-shrinking world...

There's the fatass who who stuffs himself, bingeing and emotional, oblivious to the fact that he's plumping up out of his clothes. He waddles his blubbery butt around as his friends comment on his jiggling, his eating habits, as they pat his growing tummy, as they press into and pinch his lardy love handles. They make comments, try to convince him to eat right, offer to show him how to properly exercise, but it's no use, because this fatty's lone focus is on food, on filling himself, on puffing up as porkishly as is humanly possible! Because he doesn't even realize what he's doing him self...and perhaps he never will, not until he can't squeeze into his own clothes or fit his fat ass into his chair...perhaps even then, with a twinkie dangling out of his mouth and his body bursting out of his clothes...perhaps he won't even realize it then...

Then there's the thick hottie, the friend who starts to get a little tubby, who feeds himself and finishes off the plates of his friends, on whose body the fat starts to expand, to distend. The weight creeps up on him, thickening his side rolls and plumpening his belly until he's an absolute fatboy, his belly pudging out over his waistband and his moobs thickening on his chest. He tries to run it off, to work it off, but the goodies are too tempting and when he waddles, it's like he's trying to outrun his own, thick ass, which drives him crazy as it bounces and jiggles behind him, a constant target for his teasing friends, who poke and slap it and giggle as they watch it quiver. And he only gets plumper, feeding himself as he tries to drown out the embarrassment, only worsening the panting of his breath, the rubbing of his thighs, the tightness of his clothes...

Finally, there's the self-aware fat boy. The pig, who is aware he is a pig. The doughboy who is aware he is a doughboy. The tubby butterball who waddles proudly around, pampered and spoiled and self-aware, knowing the effect his juicy ass and big belly have on the hotties who watch him take up more and more space. The one who laughs as he "accidentally" knocks a cup over with his tummy or bumps something off a desk with his ass. Who draws attention as he laughs with self-deprecating humor that he can't fit into his pants, that he can "barely button" his own shirts! The one who grows, who gluts, who lives for the teasing, for the feeding, for the pampering and the poking and the prodding. Who craves that his ass will be slapped, his stomach jiggled, his love handles grabbed and squeezed. Who wants only to be a fit jock's mindless plaything, to be spoiled and fed for the rest of his life. To be an eternal fat boy.

Which fatty are you?

[toptierteaser]

The Intern

The intern always tries to take care not to overdo it. While the coffee and breakfast runs would have kept him mostly slim-and-trim from all the bustling around, since he began his largely-unpaid employment here, the treats have had the opposite effect. He has grown rounder, softer…dare he say, fatter? The cheap chinos and tucked-in shirts that used to fit his jock body so well have gotten snug. He can see the seems just beginning to unravel. The buttons on his belly, his chubby chest have gotten tight…far too tight. Far too snug for appearances. Far too squeezing for professionalism. Far too tight for his ever-widening body.

The culprit is the leftovers. The fit hotties at the firm all care about their looks. To lard out is like a death-sentence here, where the poor unfortunate few who failed to keep their bingeing under control became the butts--the rather wide, juicy, jiggly butts--of every fat shaming, humiliating joke.

Knowing this, the intern does his best, trying to keep up with his workouts, saving up so he can let out his clothes if the time comes, trying to eat right to stave off the inevitable. It's little use of course. The employees, all tall and muscular, and handsome, all fit, smile at him, snickering every once in a while as they leave the table, as they watch him blush, the softening jaw of his handsome, chiseled face dropping when he sees the boxes and boxes that have been left. Donuts, Danishes, breakfast pastries, bagels. Boxes of pizza and sandwiches and subs. All mostly-ignored by the employees. All his responsibility to get rid of.

If he only had just a BIT more self-control, the leftovers would find their way into the garbage crates at the side of his apartment. But he doesn't and by the time he arrives, he's always packed at least a few donuts fatter, several pizzas plumper. Thickened by sandwich after sandwich, which seems to appear in his chubbing hand as he drives. The seatbelt grows snugger and so does his regular belt. He's begun to notice the side eye from the employees, the smirking, sideways glances as his belly threatens to puff out over his waistband, as his ass threatens to blow his pants wide open.

Still, he can't seem to stop stuffing himself, to stop his constant eating. And the firm makes it no less difficult. After all, it seems every intern fell to the same unfortunate fate as he, in the years before. And at least he's being fed. If they don't pay him properly, at least they make sure he doesn't starve. Though from the undeniable tubbiness of his body, the rubbing of his thighs, and the slight, but unmistakable jiggling of his belly and his love handles and his thighs, starvation is a far cry from what will no doubt happen to him as he finishes out his internship…

[toptierteaser]

"Crime and Plumpishment"

                Look at you. Larding yourself out. Stuffing your face. Stretching out that belly as you sit on your overblown, pampered ass. Thighs fighting for space. Your tubby gut puffing forward, out and over your waistband. You just can’t stop stuffing yourself like a pig, can you, fat boy? You just can’t help but to cram more and more into that greedy, feeding pie hole of yours. You just can’t stop yourself—you have no self-control—as the pudge accumulates all over you, as you continue to thicken up like a fatass. As your legs begin to rub and your belly starts to quiver and your juicy, jiggly cheeks wobble up and down, rubbing, bouncing with every tubby step you take.

                “Hey, it’s not hurting anyone!” you say through a mouthful of cupcake, spraying crumbs all down your tubby tits. “My body…my rules.” You say it, smiling, your plump cheeks rounding out bigger every time, so happy to be a gluttonous piggy who does nothing but sit on his lazy, widening ass all day and cram more goodies into his chubby face. “I’m not doing anything wrong!”

                Oh, but you are, fat boy. You really are. Your crimes may not be hurting anyone directly, but that’s not to say that they don’t affect anyone at all. They affect a myriad of people; the other fatties who see a handsome, once-fit guy like you gradually turning himself into cake batter, who take your lead and think it’s okay to stuff themselves silly. Then there’s the matter of all the people you bump into on a daily basis, not used to how far your belly presses forward, how far back your behind has grown. As you bump and knock, waddling into people, so oblivious as you down milkshakes and cram in more candy bars that you don’t even watch where you’re going! You could crush someone’s foot if you stepped on it, what with all that weight you’ve packed on.

                No, I think you know the effects of the crimes you commit, fat boy. Not least of all, the victims who must live with your chunky blubber-butt waddling around in their world. Not least of all, yourself.

                Yes, you too, fat boy! You’re a victim of your own greedy hands, of the consumption by your own ever-feeding mouth. Sure, the chubbing up is pretty bad. But what of all the damage you’ve done to your own psyche…deluding yourself, telling yourself that you’re “not that fat (yet)?” What about what you’re doing to your own ego, fatty? Forcing a once-fit ex jock to waddle around in public, with everyone watching? What about what you’re doing to your mind?

                No matter. Even if you won’t admit how ridiculous everything you’ve been doing to yourself as you fatten and feed has become…the jury will. The jury of peers, that is. Of all the fit, attractive people who watch you as you waddle by. Your friends who observe as you thicken up, fat and happy, like rising dough! Former acquaintances, old friends, previous flings whose eyes widen when they realize who you are, how much you’ve tubbed up since they saw you last! The strangers, fit jocks at the gym, passersby at the street, fellow mall-and-movie-and-party-and-club-goers, who see you, “dressing your best” as you struggle to squeeze your fat into your nicest clothes, as the buttons strain in public and your ass threatens the seam of your pants and you jiggle around, oblivious to the fact that you’ve become a fat fuck. The ones who snicker at you behind your widening back as you jiggle and squeeze, unaware of how much of an absolute pig you’ve come to look like!

                The verdict, of course, is ‘guilty.’ Sheer, unadulterated, guilt, which registers in the minds and faces and under-the-breath taunts of everyone. Everyone, that is, but you. You are guilty, fatty, of juicing yourself up, of stuffing yourself like a pig. Of bingeing more than your fair share and daring to take up more space than everyone else! Entitled, spoiled, and thicker than a snicker!

                The punishment is a different beast. It won’t be doled out by the masses, save for the occasional verbal tease or a grabbing of the love handle. Rather, the punishment comes from none other than you…yes, you fat boy. You administer your own retribution, as you soften into this new life you’ve ripped wide open for yourself. As the realizations slowly dawn on you. The facts that you can’t fit into your favorite clothes anymore, that the button on your pants is blown wide open with no hope of closing anytime soon! That your shirts don’t cover the whole of your belly, that a sliver of your midsection has just begun to poke through! That the buttons are stretched wide, exposing that soft dough underneath! You blush as you begin to realize what a pig you’ve made of yourself, and you vow to begin hitting the treadmill a few times a week!

But, the shame is only your first circle of reprisal. The discomfort is your second, and far more inescapable than the embarrassment, which you just jiggle off, telling yourself you can “lose it in no time!” There’s no escaping the feeling of the tightness of your clothes, fatty! There’s no escaping the awareness that your pockets are too tight, that your pants and shorts hug you at the thigh, that your seams might pop at any moment or your button might go flying across the room for all to see! There’s no denying the discomfort of your moobs jiggling on your chest, or the way your seatbelt cuts into your stomach, or how you’ve started bumping into the counter whenever you go to brush your teeth or reach up into the cupboard for your favorite cereal. There’s no ignoring the feeling of your undies, as your ass waddles, crammed snugly into the only pair of pants you could squeeze yourself into, the fabric sneaking itself up to tightly wedge between your cheeks, driving you madder and madder with every blubbery step.

You’ve begun to panic, to question if you are, indeed too far gone. You waddle off to the gym, but you’ve become self-conscious, overly aware of how ridiculous you look, feeling your fat ass bounce around on the treadmill as all the fit jocks snicker and watch. The embarrassment can only be cured by a good binge session as you pack yourself full of burgers and shakes and fries! And the instant regret that follows your salt-and-sugar high. You look down at the belly that has taken up so much space in your lap—space that was once reserved for hotties and cuties during your favored make out sessions—and realize what a long, long way you must go before you can make a dent in this chub.

And what’s more, you begin to realize, as you become aware, how much more difficult you’ve made everything for yourself! How you have to wriggle and squeeze as you plant your ass in your gaming chair, the armrests slowly becoming “love-handle-rests.” You start to notice the amount of space you take up, the way you fill up a room, the sheer amount of you there is to haul around. Out of breath, you waddle around, trying to keep up appearances throughout your daily life. Smiling like the mindless fatty you used to be. Only you aren’t mindless inside. You’re aware now, piggy, of the way your own thighs are blimping and rubbing, how big and jiggly your fat ass has become! You know what you are now, fat boy.

And still, there’s no escape. The bars of your cell are your fat rolls. The guards are your lungs, restricting your ability to run, or even to waddle too fast. The promise of retribution remains in the fact that you’re not so far gone that there’s no coming back. But that’s only if you can put the donuts down and hit the gym. That’s only if you can stop feeding yourself every time you have an emotion. That’s only if you could stop eating fatboy. And we both know that’s not going to happen anytime soon. So, you might as well start getting used to the fat, the jiggling, the squeezing, the waddling. The sharp pokes in the belly that your friends give you. The comments from concerned coworkers, the unsolicited advice from jocks as they tell you what to do to change…things you know you’re either too lazy to try or too much of a feedee to do for long. You have no discipline, no ability to stop yourself from larding out. And so, this sentence, this punishment of a gluttonous fatty, seems to be for life…

[toptierteaser]

an illustration from a couple of years ago for patreon 🐛

[toptierteaser]

The Wishing Swell: Chapter 1

Synopsis: Joey Sanchez is shopping at the mall with his friend when an unwitting wish in the coin well has some unexpected and humiliating results...

Joey looked down at the water, which shimmered brilliantly, the wishes of a million mall-goers reflecting the light in nickel and copper. He glanced from the contents of the flickering, bubbling fountain to his own hand. It had been years since he did this; since he was a kid, believing in wishes, emptying his pockets in a desperate, faithful bid to bring them into reality. Of course, he knew how fantastical his thinking had been then, as it was now, but he was desperate. Having to crane his neck a bit to see over his stomach, he frowned at the penny resting atop his plump fist. Yes, he was desperate. Desperate to lose some of this weight, to be able to fit comfortably into his clothes again, to no longer need to crane his neck to be able to see past his big belly. The diets had failed. The personal trainer, the appetite suppressants, the workout routine…they had all failed. Maybe his thinking was fallible, fantastical, but he wasn't going to risk missing out on an opportunity to help shed at least some of his pudge.He closed his eyes, breathed deeply into his belly (causing the waistband of his stretch shorts to strain), and thought I wish I could lose this…

“Dang, Joey! You made your wish yet or what?” he opened his eyes as he felt the familiar clasp of his shoulder. He gasped, nearly losing his balance from Danny’s “friendly” shove. The extra hundred-and-twenty-four pounds Joey had accumulated onto his frame in the years since college always caught him off guard. Even the slightest attempt to reach down and tie his shoes could send him rolling over into a big, fat mess on the floor. He rubbed his shoulder, clamping the penny in his hand and turned to his friend.

“Jesus, Danny!” said an indigent Joey. “You almost made me fall into the water!”

“Eh!” Danny, ever the evader of interpersonal accountability, waved him off. He looked Joey up and down. “You’re buoyant, man! You can float!” Joey couldn't help but smile. Danny Ono, his friend since high school, never failed to cheer him up, which in part made up for the fact that he wasn’t remotely reliable and was about the least patient person Joey had ever known. “Anyway, go on. Make your wish! I want us to get some snacks and hit up a few stores before the movie!”

“Alright, alright!” said Joey, turning towards the fountain. “Just, let me do this in peace, and we’ll be out of here in a second.” He was about to close his eyes and return to his wishing when another sight caught his gazer. It was a man, about his age, in his mid-to-late twenties, sauntering by. A bit scruffy, tall, muscular, dressed casually but well, he brought up the rear of his friend group, but he didn't engage with the gaggle of men. His eyes were fixated on Joey, who instantly blushed. The man gave Joey a half-smile and the flickering raise of an eyebrow before he turned his attention back on his friends and walked off.

Damn, thought Joey. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

“Oh, come on, man!” Danny gave Joey a sharp elbow in the ribs–or rather in the pudgy rolls above his love handle. Joey gave a surprised whimper as he was broken of his trance and without thinking, dropped the penny.

“My lucky penny!” Joey gasped. He watched as the copper coin hit the water, flipped and shimmered before it landed deftly on the fountain’s floor.

“Well, it looks like you made your wish!” said Danny, oblivious. Joey looked at his friend, but already, the fit manchild was starting to walk away. “Come on!” he said, smiling. “Let’s go get a snack!”

…If the fat fuck can waddle for long enough. God, the only way for me to get him to do anything is to tempt him with food! Alright, let’s waddle a little faster, fat boy!

Joey blinked at his friend, freezing midstep. Though somehow, Danny’s lips were not moving, Joey could hear his voice, clear and plain as day. “What the fuck did you say to me, Ono?!”

Danny froze, turning towards his friend. “I…I said let’s go get a snack…the–the movie starts in an hour…” His friend looked perplexed.

So, suddenly, piggy boy’s hearing things?

No, Joey wasn’t mistaken. Danny’s mouth hadn’t moved, when he said the second thing. Still, that didn’t stop him from hearing the insults.

“What did you call me?!” Over the years, Danny had directed his fair share of teasing towards Joey, had fat shamed him, especially when they were kids, before Joey had gotten fit and staved off the extra chub for a few blissful years during college. But this was different!

“I-I didn’t call you anything, Sanchez!” Danny said, evidently confused. God, did I say that out loud? There’s no way!

“You called me, ‘piggy boy.’” said Joey. Danny’s light golden skin took on a sickly white coloring.

“Oh…oh man…man, I’m sorry. I guess it was the slip of a tongue. I didn’t even realize I was talking. Dude, I’m sorry.”

Joey looked back at him. This was weird. Really weird. Impossible even. And then he realized. My wish! He thought. My…my wish came…it came true!

Joey thought on his feet, shaking his head. He needed to act naturally. “You know what, don’t worry about it, Dan. Let’s just get to the movie…

Joey started walking past a dumbfounded Danny, in the direction of the food court.

God, that was weird. Like he could read my mind or something. Bizarre…hehe, wow, look at that fat fuck waddle! Haha, his ass has blubbed up like a juicy, round balloon! If I wasn’t straight…anyway, better get him to the food court. I have to keep him stuffed like a thanksgiving turkey, so he doesn’t look more handsome than me! Get all the girl’s attention like in college.

It had come true! Joey’s wish. He had wished that he could hear that guy’s thoughts…and here it had come true. Only instead of just that one man’s inner voices, he could hear Danny’s. He looked around the mall, where hundreds of people were busy, their noses buried in their phones or chatting with their friends. Could he read their thoughts too? He would have to test it out.

On the walk to the food court, the realization of his wish coming true was all-consuming. And it stressed him out. And true to form, that stress made Joey hungry. He needed a proper snack and the two twenty-seven-year-olds found themselves in the line to the soft-pretzel stand. It was a favorite of Joey’s, had always been, and he smiled as he stood in line, the tantalizing scent of butter and sugar washing over him along with Danny’s profuse apologies.

“Look, I’m really, really sorry, man! I didn’t mean what I said, honest!” Danny seemed incapable of even temporary silence. Perhaps he really was sorry. Or perhaps he, like Joey, was somehow putting two-and-two together, despite the impossibility of the scenario. And if that was the case, then his friend had no doubt concluded that the best way to keep Joey from reading his thoughts was to just keep blathering.

“Alright, dude,” said Joey, smiling. He placed a hand onto his friend’s shoulder. “I get it. Really, it’s okay.”

“Okay, dude…I mean, here, I’ll buy you whatever you want!”

Joeys’ smile turned into a knowing smirk. “To keep me fat, right? So I don’t start looking more handsome than you?” The befuddled look on Danny’s face was priceless and Joey grinned as he turned to the worker. The employee was a young guy, maybe twenty, twenty-one, his mop of hair crammed beneath his folded paper hat.

“What can I get for you?” asked the young man in a bored voice. Honestly, this fatty just needs a good couple jogs around the mall. Seriously, I swear these porkers get tubbier every summer! It’s a shame too…he’s really handsome. Too bad fatboy couldn’t keep his hand out of the pretzel bag!

Despite knowing that the latter assessment of his physique was all in the employee’s mind, Joey couldn't stop himself from blushing, his jaw dropping agape, his plump body squirming in embarrassment as he resisted the urge to cover up his stomach.

“Is…there…anything…I…can…get…you?” said the employee more forcefully. Thicc-boy’s head is filled with so much sugar he doesn’t even understand what I’m saying!

Joey shook his head, but it was Danny who came to the rescue.

“We’ll take three large pretzel bites; one cinnamon-sugar, one salt, and one plain…a cream cheese dipping sauce and two jalapeno cheeses, and two extra-large lemonades!”

There, maybe he’ll forgive me, now! Thought Danny. God, unless he thinks I’m trying to fatten him up! I was only joking!

Oh Christ, I knew it! He’s one of those gainers! And the skinny guy’s gotta be a feeder! Haha, what a couple of weirdos! “That’ll be twenty-seven, seventy-four,” said the pretzel boy. As Danny forked over the money, Joey tried to calm his breathing. He looked around. The chatter of the mall was making it difficult to discern who was talking and who was thinking. He looked around. Yes, a few eyes flickered away from his extra-large ass and his chubby love handles, but he couldn’t really make out what they were all thinking.

“Come on, man!” said Danny, pulling him to the other side of the pretzel stand. Joey waddled along with his friend. He glanced at the little cluster of people waiting for their pretzels. All fitter than him. Now, he could hear their thoughts a little louder.

Aw, what a cute couple. I hope I can find someone who loves me that much…

Haha look at the way his stomach jiggles! Fatboy has got to get a better-fitting shirt! Looks like he ate himself right out of this one! You can see his gut and his tits through it!

Bwompa bwompa bwompa bwompa!

Wubba wubba wubba wubba!

Jiggle jiggle jiggle jiggle!

The last thoughts belonged to a trio of young men at the end of the cluster who watched Joey’s steps, timing their internal insults to each fall of his heaving legs, his thick rubbing thighs, his jiggling ass. It was not so much that they narrated the specificities of their fixations, but that he could feel them…

“Dude, what is going on?” asked Danny, as he grabbed Joey by the arm. God, I didn’t realize how thick his arms were getting! It’s probably mostly fat though!

Joey turned to his friend, looked him in the wide, frightened eye, and said in a distant, disbelieving voice,  “Danny, I think I can read minds.”