Two Hundred Pounds Later: Chapter 3

“Why is it already 90 degrees in May?” I complained, splayed nude at the dining table, my belly pushing against the edge of the table while my ass hung off both sides of the chair.

“I don’t know babe, but I’m really feeling this extra weight. It’s a struggle.”

Indeed, Calvin had significantly porked up over the past few weeks. I’m not exactly sure why, but all his weight seemed to hit at once. It was interesting too because Calvin was such a top heavy guy but then suddenly his lower half was catching up exponentially. Last week he actually had to retire every pair of pants that he owned, even sweats. His gym routine remained the same so I guess it was purely our pigging out that had him so caked up.

I stood up with a grunt and wobbled over to the freezer where I extracted a pint of ice cream. At this point, ice cream and melted ice cream were like water to me. The diary and sugar was simply filler between meals, keeping my caloric intake maximized.

“Gimme some,” Calvin asked as he lumbered towards the kitchen.

Unlike myself, Calvin was clothed. Well, barely. He wore an old muscle tee and threadbare boxer briefs that concealed next to nothing. From the front, you could see his fat pad thick and swollen above his bulge. I had become enraptured with its growth in recent weeks as it expanded several inches and became striated with stretch marks. It was so soft and warm to the touch I could barely keep my hands off it. From behind, the underwear left three inches of ass crack exposed. Calvin’s rump was so big that finding clothing to conceal it was now a struggle. When I met him his legs and ass still had a pert firmness to them, and now my hands could sink into layers of soft padding.

I handed Calvin the ice cream container, a bit surprised. He tended to snack and protein throughout the day while I filled up with dairy and carbs. I was glad to see my glulttony rubbing off on him.

“Did you see the numbers our last post did?” Calvin said after gulping down some soft ice cream.

“No, how much?”

“A few hundred on Grommr and thousands on Twitter. I’m not surprised though, we look fat as fuck in it. Can hardly believe it myself.”

Calvin was already pretty well known on the gainer scene, but once I joined the fold and we started posting together our accounts blew up. It was a little odd sometimes to know that countless strangers were jacking off to photos of me. At times it felt like I was giving up something special and other times it felt empowering. I tried not to overthink it. Besides, now we were getting encouragement from all directions and it was making me hell bent on growing us both larger.

“I’m not gonna lie,” I smiled devilishly, “400 is starting to sound pretty appealing…”

“You’re crazy,” Calvin’s eyes lit up. “That would mean a hundred pounds gained in a year.”

“I mean, I did it last year.”

“Woof two hundred pounds in two years, huh? I guess I found me a real pig haven’t I?”

~

I spent the next three days at Calvin’s place as he plowed me (and himself) full of weed, alcohol, food, and dick. Once the idea of a 400 pound Tristan was on the table all bets were off. Calvin was determined to get me there and I didn’t mind at all. In fact, I was really enjoying leaning into the submissive side of gaining.

It started as role play. I would say I was too lazy to walk to the fridge or reach the remote or even stroke my own cock. I’d complain of just how heavy I felt. It was simply too much effort to do anything more than walk to the toilet. I even needed Calvin to bathe me and lotion my stretch marks. Calvin dutifully doted on me while keeping me stuffed to the brim all the while.

Eventually the role play became sincere. I did feel heavy, it was a struggle to do basic tasks. I think that my body was so busy trying to digest my enormous food intake that doing much else was tiring. The part that scared me the most was just how much I enjoyed it. Behaving like a complete sloth and glutton was amazing, especially when a handsome bear was facilitating it.

During those three days we fell into a routine that would end up lasting a long time. We would start the day with morning sex. My newfound laziness meant that I was bottoming most of the time. Calvin would pound away at my prostate, sometimes while feeding me, but would disallow me from orgasming myself. Once he finished we ate a massive spread for breakfast washed down with ice cream.

I would usually nap until I woke up to Calvin feeding me. Lunch was the only meal of the day where Calvin got away with eating less than me, usually because I was so out of it after napping. He liked to jerk me off and play with my ass or my belly or my tits while I ate. The point is, he kept me aroused but refused to let me come.

We’d spend the afternoon hanging out in our underwear, sometimes playing video games or reading. Just hanging around. Dinner was usually a more formal affair. Whether we cooked or went out we would put on whatever clothes still fit and make a date out of it. Afterward, was the real marathon consisting of ice cream or sheet cakes or whatever we could get our hands on.

This was the point in the day when I really began to struggle. I’d moan and complain so that Calvin would keep pace with my eating, usually stroking us both off and manhandling our excess weight. By the end of the night I would be truly too stuffed to move. At that point he would allow me to come, usually after pounding my hole mercilessly.

It was a great routine and I could sense that Calvin enjoyed the sense of dominance and control it gave him. It was fattening us both up and bringing us closer as a couple. There was just one thing, it was never quite enough. We always wanted more.