The Fat Parlor - Part 1

 I’ve had a few requests recently for more humiliation porn, and I gotta say, I’m just not that into it. It can be fun sometimes to throw in a bit of cruelty, but I’ve had to live with the trauma that sort of cruelty can cause my entire life. Some fat guys get so scarred by it they can’t even bear the thought of being topless in the bedroom, let alone in public. So humiliation really doesn’t turn my crank, as much as some folks wish it might.

Instead, I often get off on imaging a world where fat men are as desirable as I find them to be, or scenarios where the rules society places on obesity get turned on their head. Like this little ditty, which will likely be a short tale of blatant wish fulfillment. Since I’m stuck indoors due to coronavirus, this is about as much fat boy action as I’m getting at the moment. Sad face. 

Anyways, enjoy!

I’d never been to a brothel before. My taste in men had always been somewhat counter to what society deemed ‘attractive,’ so I’d just never bothered. But then I heard it through a friend of a friend there was a new place opening downtown that was a bit… different. A spot that catered to a very different kind of clientele. The only rule there was that you couldn’t be some 6-pack adonis like you find at every other strip joint in the country. You had to be different.

I was intrigued, so I went. It was a Friday night, and I was hopeful that this place being new meant that it would still be relatively empty. I was wrong.

It actually took me a few minutes of staring at the sign and listening to the sound of laughter as the door opened to let patrons in and out before I gathered up the nerve to cross the street. The sign read “The Fat Parlor,” which I took to be a promising sign. As I stepped through the door, it turned out to be fairly descriptive.

Everywhere I looked there were men in various states of undress, and all of them, every single one, was huge. They all had different shapes--one near the bar had an ass that looked big enough to rest a glass on and was delightfully on display through what must be custom made chaps. Another had a gut that hung halfway to his knees and covered the front of his leather tartan. A third had tits the size of cantaloupes and had a leather harness that framed his chest perfectly, a leather strap even acting as an underwire to make them extra perky. All of them were smiling and speaking to smaller men that seemed very interested in what they had to say.

It was all a bit too much for me and I stood in the doorway dumbstruck with sensory overload. A hefty employee waddled up to me, his jowls and belly jiggling in time with each step. 

“Hi there,” he said, his voice as bubbly as his shirtless body. “Let’s get you out the doorway--there we go. Now, come to the bar and we’ll get you set up.”

He looked young, maybe in his early 20s. Everything about him was round, from his face to his chest to his stomach, like a series of spheres had somehow all coalesced into a morbidly obese human. 

“I’m Troy, I’ll be getting you paired up tonight. What’re you drinking? Or do you prefer to smoke?” Troy asked.

“Uh… maybe drink now, the other stuff later?”

He perked up, sending a brief ripple through his hairless torso. “Sure thing, but just remember this is a non-smoking facility, so any smoking must be done in designated outdoor areas or in approved rooms.” 

I nodded, asked for a rum and coke, and Troy continued his pitch. “Anyone you see here is available--they’re just flirting with the customers. Some of these guys just like to come here for drinks after work and to socialize. We don’t turn them away since it makes the place seem comfier and less like we’re just peddling our asses.” 

Troy laughed and I blanched at his frank assessment of the situation. “And if you don’t like anyone here, I’ve got a few more I can call up. Their photos are in the catalog,” he said, producing a booklet of photographs as if by magic. 

“Prices are all the same, so don’t bother asking.” 

“Are you… um, for sale?”

Troy smiled and placed a pudgy hand over mine. “Oh sweetheart, of course! But don’t throw your money at the first pretty face you see--there’s a wide variety available, if you’ll pardon the pun.” 

If I was honest, I wanted them all. They all had their enticements, even this bubbly boy in front of me. I could only imagine what he was capable of behind closed doors. Still, perhaps he was right about not diving into the first pretty face I met.

I turned to the bar, sipped my drink, and opened the catalog. It was filled with naked pinups of all sorts of men of various shapes, colors, and ages, but only one size: big. I couldn’t believe there were this many attractive men in the entire city let alone this many working at a single brothel. 

At the top of each page was a brief blurb about themselves and their stats, including weight. One read 375 lbs, the next 400 lbs. The largest I saw described himself as a gainer and featured a picture of him stuffing cake into his mouth with icing dripping down his rippled torso. It wasn’t exactly what I was here for, but I’d certainly come across that particular fetish in my online travels and could understand how it might fit in with a place like this.

And then I saw him. Larger than most at 450 lbs, and somewhat more mature with grey flecks in his beard and wavy hair, but a youthfulness in his smile that made you ignore everything else. He was hairy, with great swaths of his expansive chest and middle covered in fur along with his upper arms and legs. Likely his back too, although it was hard to make it out in the photos. He called himself a big bear, which seemed as good a description as any. 

The way my eyes lingered on the page was all the confirmation Troy needed. Without a word he got up and left. I hardly even noticed and figured he was just greeting another potential customer. Then after a few moments, the man I’d been lustfully staring at for the past while was sitting there beside me.

“Hello,” he said with a smile that matched his photos, and I instantly melted. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, but they were both tight enough to leave little to the imagination. “I see you like my photos.”

I just nodded. He smiled again, and I nearly slid off my stool. “I’m Guy. Care to get a room?”