hedonisticfeedee
Bad Habits | Chapter 7 | Too Fat to Lift
Published: November 15th 2019, 12:00:02 pm
[Content Warning: This story will include SSBHM weight gain, queer sex, messy eating, drug use, romanticizing abusive relationships, immobility, and extreme obesity related health issues.]
Bad Habits
Chapter 7: Too Fat to Lift
The pounds continue to pile on Oliver’s frame in a cycle. The more he eats, the more he gains. The more he gains, the more ravenous his appetite becomes. Oliver spent the last month staying at home camped out on the couch, smoking more weed and eating entire days away. He only got up to use the bathroom, get more food, and lumber his way to the bed. His bad habits have him addicted. No one would be able to tell Oliver used to be fit.
Candy wrappers litter the big bed, with Oliver laying in the middle. Dylan sighs contently. His fat boyfriend is adorable, laying around like he belongs in a pig pen. The thick fat engulfing Oliver’s once-thin body intrigues Dylan. The bad habits they instill in Oliver make themselves ever more visible: layers of chin, an abnormally thick neck, round tits bigger than some women’s and a big soft belly to match. Oliver is a landscape to be admired by Dylan while he sleeps. Dylan gets a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach while he watches Oliver snore heavily, his enormous gut rising and falling.
It’s so cute Dylan is hesitant to wake up the sleeping superchub. He knows he should because he snuck off earlier in the morning to bring back Oliver fresh donuts. Dylan walks over to his lover and sits on the bed with the box of a half dozen donuts. He sinks down into the groove of the mattress.
Dylan takes a donut out of the box and brings it to his lover’s lips. The fresh scent causes Oliver to come alive, despite still having his eyes closed. Oliver moans a little while taking a big bite. He smiles while he chews.
“What’s the for?” asks Oliver, opening his eyes.
“I just love you is all,” Dylan responds.
“Only six donuts? You don’t love me that much then,” he jokes back.
“Listen, I know your limits. These aren’t those weak ass yeast donuts that’s like eating air. These are cake donuts. These have substance. I also chose the most fattening donuts around: Chocolate coconut cake donuts that clock in at 600 calories each. Hurry up and eat, hog, Daddy has to go to pop by the gym to fill out some paperwork.”
“Oof, and to drink?” Oliver mumbles through a mouth full of sugar and dough.
Dylan doesn’t respond with words. Instead, he leans forward to the ground and opens the mini fridge they moved to the bedroom. A fridge made midnight snacking and spontaneous feederism session easier. He pulls out three containers of Boost VHC.
Oliver starts his second donut as Dylan punctures the top of the Boost container. Oliver shoves the donut into his mouth like a chipmunk and does a grabby hand motion like a toddler for his drink. Dylan pulls the caloric supplement away from Oliver. “Not so fast, Ollie-pop. I want to start recording your progress. You’ll get this once you take some progress photos for me and record your weight.”
Oliver pouts at Dylan’s proposition. Weak to the need for his addictive sustenance, he whines “fine” and lumbers out of bed and into the bathroom. Oliver doesn’t actually know how much he weighs anymore. He stopped getting on the scale after his parents moved three months ago. No one was left to badger him about his weight, so what was the point?
Dylan takes his phone out. He takes a variety of photos, having Oliver turn around at different points. Dylan chuckles occasionally at his model. Oliver is forced to pose in a variety of ways. Some photos have him holding his tummy, while others have him groping his tits and pushing them together.
After several snapping noises from Dylan’s phone, Oliver is directed to the pitiful-looking scale. The scale groans under Oliver’s weight. A red needle creeps up and around, making a complete 360 and starts again to over the 300 mark. The needle spins to 400 before it clicks. The scale groans before letting out a particularly loud click. The number snaps back to 0, the scale completely busted under his weight. It only has a capacity of 400lbs. Oliver doesn’t weigh himself often, but it’s clear he’s officially over the threshold. They both should’ve expected the scale to stop working soon. He gets off it, but needle still points at 0.
“I-I broke it,” Oliver says shyly. He didn’t realize he weighed that much yet.
“Goddamn, that’s hot as fuck,” Dylan says seductively stripping down. “Get back to bed, fat ass. I need you now!”
“I thought you said you had to go into work,” teases Oliver.
“I do, but that can wait. I’ll just tell them I got stuck behind a wide load,” he says smoothly, grinding against Oliver’s shelf ass. It had to be at least 25 inches wide now due to his bottom heavy shape.
Dylan lures his plump lover back to the bed and hands him the Boost as a reward. Dylan gets on the bed and lays on his back. His cock springs up in the air and he motions Oliver over. “Ride my cock while you eat,” he commands.
Oliver does what he is told. While Dylan lubes up his member, Oliver grabs two donuts in one hand and a second Boost in the other. He carefully maneuvers his girth over to Dylan and slowly sits on his hard member. They moan in unison. They both enjoy the pleasure, but Dylan loves having the weight of his morbidly obese boyfriend on top of him.
They rock back and forth heavily. Oliver starts on one of the donuts. Oliver’s poor penis disappears as he rocks, his sitting position causing his belly to spill forward more than when he’s standing. Despite being hard, his weight violently pushes downward. The swollen fat pad threatens to be another roll on his frame. Outwardly, he expressed concerns about being too big to reach his member before much longer. Secretly, he is excited that Dylan will eventually have to go spelunking to find the buried treasure when his genitalia is completely obscured.
Dylan grab’s Oliver’s belly as he tries to thrust into Oliver’s weight. “Goddamn, son. You’re so heavy. I love how much there is to hold.” Their grunts and moans explode from their lips and burst into the air like fireworks.
Oliver leans closer toward Dylan. Two massive breasts hang forward with puffy nipples on top. Oliver’s position causes his tits to swing like pendulums. He then holds on to the headboard exposing his fleshy underarms that hang down and jiggle.
Oliver opens the third Boost, feeling bloated. The liquid sloshes around inside him, but he must continue. Dylan sees his opportunity. He presses his face into Oliver’s mammoth soft and warm belly. “More,” he lusts while pulling Oliver forward for his gut to engulf his entire face. Dylan thrusts as fast as he can for about a minute, running out of oxygen from under Oliver’s belly. If he dies from being smothered under Oliver’s gut, it’ll be a small price to pay.
Oliver eventually pushes himself back up and tosses the Boost container onto the bedroom floor. Dylan notices the donuts are also gone now as he gasps for breath, but it’s nothing compared to Oliver’s labored breathing from just existing. Oliver bounces on Dylan’s dick. Dylan gets closer to exploding inside of his pig.
The springs scream from within the mattress. It’s like an unfortunate competition to see what snaps first: a spring or Dylan’s spine. Oliver’s weight slams roughly on him, pounding him into the mattress over and over again. “Make me immobile, daddy! Feed me!” The line are basic, but it gets Dylan closer. The next set of words is enough to make Dylan cum: “I’ll break every scale, even the bariatric one built into my reinforced bed!”
After awhile Oliver lifts himself off Dylan. Dylan sighs contently, all sweaty either from the exertion of pumping himself in a whale sized body or the sheer amount of heat that Oliver’s body radiates. Dylan rolls out of bed and walks to the bathroom before turning on the water in the tub.
“Shit, I guess it’ll have to be quick,” says Dylan before closing the door. Five minutes later he returns to find Oliver in a pair of oversized gym shorts and a tight tank top that exposes the bottom slab of belly hanging out. The straps of the tank top are close together letting his juicy tits hang out the side, two perky nipples in view. The tank top looks like a circus tent to Dylan compared to the one Oliver ran track in when he was still fit.
“Jesus Christ, what are you trying to do to me today, Ollie? Why are you so stupid hot?”
“I-I was just wondering if I could come to work with you today. I broke our scale and I know the gym has a heavy duty one. I thought maybe you’d like to know just how big you’ve made me,” he replies.
“You know, most people’s sex lives die when their partners get fat. You, on the other hand, just makes my libido feel like it’ll make me explode. You’re right, though. I do want to know. It’s also been awhile since you’ve actually left the house, hasn’t it?” asks Dylan.
“Almost a month. I’ve just been sitting around gaming and eating. I’m starting to get depressed. I need to see people,” mumbles Oliver.
“You're right. I think it has been that long. No use wasting energy when you have me to help with everything, but I definitely want to know how big you are now. You’ll need to sit in the gym’s front area until I can call you back though. Got it?”
Oliver nods his head in agreement to the terms set forth for him. Dylan puts on his clothes and they walk out of the apartment to get to the car. Oliver didn’t realize how fortunate he had been, stuck in the apartment, until he looks at the front seat. “Shit, did this passenger seat get smaller?”
“No, you’ve just gotten much larger. Plus, you fit a month or two ago. It was just a tight squeeze. You’ve gotten out of practice squeezing into my clown car,” teases Dylan as Oliver opens the door and attempts to get in.
“Fuck,” whines Oliver. The gravity of the situation starts to give him more and more anxiety. “I- I can’t, Dylan. I’m not going to fit. I’m going to break it. I’m going to have to stay here or I’ll get stuck in the car. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Tears well up in his eyes.
Dylan recognizes the panic. Oliver seems all into living a life of dependence when it’s hot enough to get him off, but sometimes a situation can trigger an anxiety attack if there isn’t food or weed around to calm him. Oliver’s mental health issues shouldn’t turn him on as much as they do, but he knows it only enriches Oliver’s weight problem.
Dylan wants to tell him it’s going to be okay, but that isn’t something to tell someone in complete panic. “Quick, tell me what you see,” he asks.
Oliver huffs “Trees, the street, our apartment, your car, the grass.”
Oliver calms down a little to which Dylan says “see, we’re grounding you. I’m here for you baby. We can make you fit. I promise you won’t get stuck.” He’s a little concerned that maybe the gym isn’t the best place to take Oliver now, but he survived Josh’s outburst and his own parent’s disapproval.
“I- I think I can give it a try,” whispers Oliver. He moves forward to try to sit down in the seat.
His stud of a boyfriend tries to help him into the small car. “I guess it’s a good thing you’re not going to be on the driver side with the steering wheel, huh?” asks Dylan as he pushes Oliver’s gut. “I think we are going to need to push the seat all the way back.” Oliver pushes the button to make the seat move back as it clicks. Then, Oliver tries to pull the seat belt out. The entire length isn’t enough to wrap all the way around his belly to fasten.
“I know, sweetie. It’s an old car that isn’t designed for heavy passengers. I’ve got a present for you. I thought you’d need it eventually,” states Dylan. He disappears to the trunk. After a minute of rummaging through the back he brings Oliver his gift: a seatbelt extender. Together they click it on and are ready to leave.
“C-can we stop and get fried chicken?” begs Oliver. His eyes glisten with addiction and cuteness.
“You’re making me so late, but I can’t say no to you, babe. Anytime you need food, just let me handle it,” Dylan says with a hint of excitement. He wonders how Oliver can still be hungry after over 4500 calories almost an hour ago for a late breakfast. He still had two meals left for the day, plus snacks, but already finished more calories than a normal fatty would eat in a day. It’s no wonder he’s blowing up so fast.
Dylan does everything he can to make the ride to the gym as pleasant for Oliver as possible. He lets Oliver choose the music, adjust the temperature as much as he wishes, and even buys him a bucket of fried chicken. Oliver doesn’t have many pleasures or choices due to his size anymore. One thing Dylan can’t do to help Oliver: he can’t get him to the front door of the gym.
The block of street the gym is on is closed to be repaved. Dylan follows the right turn only and circles the block before the gym. He sighs, realizing that the closest parking will be a few blocks away and there is absolutely no way Oliver will agree to walk that far. He does the next best thing he can do: leave his frustrated boyfriend at the corner to walk to the gym and meet up with him later. Oliver reluctantly agrees to walk a short distance and let Dylan come in the back office once he parks.
Oliver opens the door and practically falls out of the vehicle. He regrets his decision immediately. He shouldn’t have convinced Dylan to let him go to the gym. He didn’t need the fried chicken. He definitely doesn’t want to walk the short distance to the gym. Walking is getting much too difficult and slow, not to mention he takes up so much of the sidewalk, others who pass by become angry. The roundest part of his cheeks flush as he pants, sweats, and waddles down the block with his bucket of fried chicken.
Fuck, this walk would be so much easier with a cane to support his aching knees. He makes a mental note to beg for one later. Hundreds of pounds of pressure push down on his skeletal system with every heavy step. He dreams about a mobility scooter, and never having to walk far distances again.
Oliver’s thighs rub together and chafe. He winces in pain. Dylan will be more than happy to help Oliver after work. One of Dylan’s favorite things to do is cup Oliver’s tender fatty tissue - tissue which is starting to retain more and more fluid these days. Lotion on his tender hands feels so good to Oliver that he almost moans at just the thought. He snaps back to reality, realizing he’s at his destination.
The front desk clerk notices Oliver lumbering toward the entrance. He watches in disgust as Oliver plows through the double doors, gasping for breath, carrying a bucket of fried chicken. Some of the male customers look at him perplexed that someone so big would be jiggling their hundreds of pounds through the gym.
Shit. Everyone is staring at him. Oliver suddenly remembers the gym is a gay gym. He is an anomaly being gay and fat. It doesn’t help that he’s probably one of the heaviest individuals to come in for a long time. Most of the clientele are buff men maintaining their healthy lifestyles and anonymously hooking up in the locker room. The latter is just a rumor, of course.
The massive pig waddles up to the counter before leaning on the top. Oliver’s soft enormous rolls push against the counter, giving him support. He gasps for air while the clerk rolls his eyes. The staff member reluctantly asks “Uh... how can I help you? I think you’re looking for the ice cream parlor down the street. Can I get you anything before you leave? Perhaps an ambulance?”
Oliver turns red from embarrassment. A voice cracks from his mouth. “I d-don’t have a membership, but I’m w-waiting on Dylan. He told me to wait in the front.”
“There’s a bench over there by the window and water cooler,” shoots the clerk, wondering if the bench will even hold the fat fuck before him.
The big belly attached to Oliver turns sliding off the counter space. One leg in front of the other, he waddles over to the wooden bench. His ass slowly pushes down on the seat because plopping down with force would surely split it in half.
Oliver sits patiently on the bench in the gym’s lobby area. He expands his legs, trying to prevent them from touching as much as possible. Oliver’s belly overhangs, threatening his knees with cellulite-stuffed, stretch-marked globs of fat. The bench creaks from the magnificent lard taking up half its length.
After adjusting himself, he dips his hand into the bucket and pulls out a chicken breast. Oliver takes ravenous bites as if he’s been starved. Bits of chicken skin fly round him or land on his greasy cheeks and tank top. As he eats he also notices the glances the gym’s clientele give him. In fact, his face turns beet red. Part of it is exhaustion, but some of it is because he notices that a few people are using their phone to record him eating the chicken. He tries to suck in his belly, but he has too much fat for it to make any difference. A camera flash goes off in the distance. He says fuck it: it’s time to put on a show.
He pulls out pieces one by one and devours the chicken even faster with everyone watching, almost choking on the greasy morsels. Greasy residue drips down his chins. After every piece, he wipes his hands on his tank top leaving dark stains. The shirt soaks up the grease despite it already being over saturated with sweat.
He often hears from Dylan that these men go through processes of “bulking” and “cutting.” Oliver knows bulking too well, but the concept of cutting is foreign to him. He doesn’t particularly care about the cutting portion for himself, but every male in the whole damn gym provides him a frame of reference and eye candy while he snacks.
He chews the meat off the bone with speed. The clients, even the smaller fat ones are understandably grossed out by the public display of gluttony in a place that promotes weight loss. Yet, they watch on, some completely stopping their work outs in curiosity while others use it as motivation to not get like him.
“What can I do for you, dough boy?” asks a voice in front of Oliver. He hadn’t noticed a fit man in shorts and a blue tank top with ‘Cum In Me Bro’ printed on it with white lettering. Oliver looks to his left and then to his right.
“I’m talking to you, porky. You’re the only land whale in this gym. Everyone else takes care of their bodies.”
Oliver blushes wondering how he got away with wearing that shirt, but also at the stinging comment. He looks at the name tag of the crude employee. Evan’s body resembled Dylan’s physique. His body looks hard and like he works out twice a day. They both have firm abs and muscles all over their bodies. The first difference came to their hair color: Evan is blond. The other difference is personalities. Dylan worships Oliver’s body, while Evan comes off as cold and abrasive. That’s not to say Dylan hasn’t been that way during their feederism sexcapades, but Dylan does it out of lust. Evan is simply cruel.
“I-I don’t have a membership. I have to stay over here,” fumbles Oliver hoping Evan will go away.
“Consider this a free consultation, tubby tits. You definitely need a membership and I can show you why. Get up and stop eating that gross bucket of grease,” Evan says while bouncing his pecs.
“N-no thank you, sir,” says Oliver, growing more anxious. He grabs another piece of chicken and takes a bite.
“I said get the fuck up, pig. Come around to my side and try to lift. We will start easy before we try something harder. Do that for me, lard ass.”
The situation is surreal to Oliver. Evan can’t possibly make Oliver do these things without his consent, right? Still, Evan is a scary gym bunny. He doesn’t want to take any chances at pissing off Evan. Oliver puts the piece of chicken back in the bucket, levers himself up, and whimpers.
Oliver looks at a rack of dumbbells. There are smaller ones, but he’s afraid he will look like a wimp, even if that is the point. He decides to go with one labeled at 20 pounds. His hands wrap around the bar and he attempts to lift it. The dumbbell slightly elevated before Oliver drops it back down on the rack.
“What a clueless pig. That doesn’t work if you’re not fit. You’ll want to start with the smaller free weights. As a reference, women who start free weights increase muscle mass with one that weighs between 5 and 10 pounds. Men should start with 8 to 10 pound dumbbells. The average person should build up to 15 repetitions. For fat fucking pigs? We’re about to find out,” Evan harasses Oliver.
Pondering which weights would be comfortable, he grabs a five pound dumbbell. This one actually gets off the rack, but gravity tugs down on the mass almost causing Oliver to drop the weight. While the gym bunny watches him, Oliver attempts to do curls with his thick bingo wings jiggling. He tells himself he can do this, despite the clear challenge of bringing the the weight up. He does a few reps, getting out of breath and sweaty. He sits it back down again to rest.
“That’s it? That’s your set? 6 reps? That’s pathetic,”
Oliver’s tiny cock twitches at the verbal abuse. While being at the gym showing off his weight gain embarrasses him, it is truly what he wants. The teasing becomes part of what turns him on. A fit stranger hurling insults is much more sexy than his best friend or parent’s concerns. Despite being turned on, his heart pounds from exertion and nervousness.
“Rocco, Slade, get over here!” he shouts. Two men who watched the whole thing comes up to Evan. “Rocco and Slade are some of my best clients. They are really strong and know what it’s like to go from overweight to fit as fuck. You’ll never be like that. You’re not even trying, so we will just help you out. Get him, guys,” commands Evan.
The two muscular men grab Oliver by his fat upper arms, restraining him. His heart pounds out of his chest. Everyone is watching. How can everyone just let this happen? Tears well up in his eyes, but being manhandled surprisingly makes him keep his boner.
“Well, you only have three pieces of chicken left. We’re going to help you finish them,” says Evan. He grabs a piece and shoved it into Oliver’s face. “Yeah, eat it fat boy!” Oliver does as he is told and shreds the meat from the bone with his teeth.
"Damn, dude, how did you let yourself get like this?" questions Rocco, his voice stinging.
Oliver just continues to take big bites and chew. The second piece of chicken is taken out of the bucket by Evan. He rips into the chicken with his bare hands to shove it in Oliver’s mouth forcefully.
“You don’t have any willpower. You’re going to need to find some motivation or you’re going to end up stuck in a bed in the next three years. You’re way too young for this,” teases Slade. Evan, meanwhile, is determined to shove the rest of the chicken in him.
“It’s not my fault. My boyfriend helped get me like this, plus I have a lot of anxiety and maybe a thyroid problem,” Oliver mumbles between bites.
"That’s the excuse you’re going for? No one made you do anything. You're a blimp because you're a greedy glutton and too lazy to change your life around," Evan taunts with a subtle flex between pushing the final bits of chicken in Oliver’s mouth.
Rocco and Slade let go of the poor fat boy. The trio start walking to the front desk of the gym to the management offices. Oliver’s heart still beats at an alarming rate, sweat dripping off him and his knees shaking like he will collapse at any moment. As soon as they reach the door, Dylan walks out of it.
“Dylan! Have you been here the whole time? You missed us feeding this new fat ass with no self control. Look over there,” points Slade. Oliver and Dylan exchange glances. Dylan gives a grin and a wink to his lover.
“He’s kind of a lost cause. I mean, he’s eating fucking chicken in a gym despite facing certain death! It’s both terrifying and sad that we live in a society that allows and even encourages this to happen!” continues Slade.
Rocco adds to the conversation, “He’s definitely a sub. He basically gave in immediately to us. Can you imagine how gross you’d have to be to fuck a pig like that?”
“He’s so out of shape and hopeless. He’d never work off all that fat. He can’t even lift anything and I was afraid to start him on the treadmill. I don’t want to be responsible for him having a heart attack,” Evan informs Dylan.
“Did you get his weight? I wonder how big he actually is at this point,” asks Dylan with a laugh.
“That’s really sadistic making him weigh in public. I don’t know why you never join the fun when a fat guy comes in. You have so many great ideas,” grins Evan.
The entourage walks over to Oliver. “After consulting with my colleague, we want to get your wide load of an ass on the scale. It’s industrial, so unless you’re over 1,000 pounds, it should be fine,” teases Evan.
Oliver huffs while he waddles to the scale. His distended gut leads the way forward. Fortunately, he’s so bottom heavy it helps him balance. He takes a step up and then another. It might be an industrial scale, but the ledge the size of a stair step isn’t bariatric friendly. The electronic number does its dance on the scale before settling on a weight.
“Look at him. 512 fucking pounds. He’s fucking disgusting. Can you imagine trying to have sex with that thing? He’d crush you to death! I bet he can’t even reach his dick to masturbate!” shouts Evan.
Neither Dylan nor Oliver knew that he crossed over 500. The philosophy around Oliver’s size was about how his flabby flesh looked and felt; these two characteristics were more important than a number on the scale. At least, until now. The outrageous number quickly developed meaning indicated by the fact that they were both hard. The reality of seeing a quarter of a ton on the scale makes Dylan think about even larger numbers. Oliver tries to hide his shock.
Somewhere deep down in his stomach he feels sick. Yet, the entire day so far - from breakfast, to not fitting well in the car, to the gym bullying - has Oliver pre-cumming in his fupa. Dylan gives Oliver a look that says “I’m going to feed you and pound you harder than I ever have tonight.”
“Want to see something really disgusting?” Dylan teases his co-worker.
Dylan walks over to Oliver and fondles his belly, causing him to blush. Dylan walks his fingers up Oliver’s magnificent curves. He lands on the Oliver’s plump exposed nipples and tugs making him blush and moan. The gym employees freeze while Dylan kisses him on the lips.
“Fuck. Shit, man. I had no idea. That means this is Oliver that you talk about all the time? I’m so, so sorry. If I had known, I would have been nice.” Evan says, blushing.
“D-Dylan. Don’t do this. Everyone is watching. I don’t want to embarrass you,” Oliver says while looking around to see shock on everyone’s faces, including Evan’s. A whine in his voice indicates to Dylan that he doesn’t actually want him to stop.
“Oliver, I’m not ashamed of you. I love you. Honestly, some of these people need to see that you can love someone at any size,” says Dylan. Oliver’s heart leaps. Dylan continues, “how about some lunch, tubby tits? My treat,” as they both walk out of the gym with confidence.