Timey Wimey Wibbly Wobbly Stuff — massivelyfattening: Have I mentioned like a...

The Buffet

growthjunkie

So here it is, my first foray into #gainerfiction! Let me know what you guys think. I wrote this on request from a guy on grommr so it’s tailored to his kinks - humiliation, messy eating and unhealthy gaining - so it may not be to everyone’s taste, but all feedback is welcome. If you guys think there’s potential here I might do this more regularly!

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“God, this is so fucking embarrassing”, I thought as I turned around to see you breathlessly waddling behind me. Your red face shone as beads of sweat began to cluster along your eyebrows and nose.
“If you don’t hurry up we’ll miss our reservation!” I spat in disgust, “We’re almost there and once we get in you can go straight to the bathroom, I’m not sitting next to you when you’re looking like that!”
“Don’t act like you don’t love this as much as I do” you said as you slapped your 400lb gut, reminding me of all the fun we had had transforming you. I stopped and let you catch up and then we made our way to the buffet.
We were greeted, had our coats taken and went to sit down. You grow apprehensive as you noticed we were being lead towards a row of booths. As the waiter turned, signalling for us to sit, his eyes widened as he became aware of his mistake.
“There are other seats available if this isn’t suitable” he said with panicked embarrassment, all the while his eyes darting back and forth to your exposed overhang.
I smiled, “This will be fine, thanks” and the waiter excused himself.
You looked at me in disbelief, “I’m never getting in there” you said in an angry whisper.
I hushed you and insisted you’d be fine. Then, with a sigh, you sat down your gut only just managing to get past the edge of the table.
“See?”, I smiled, “ Besides, you know the drill. You sit and I bring the food to you”.
The waiter returned with jugs of water and some refillable glasses of our coke. At one point his tray became dangerously overbalanced as stared in disbelief that you managed to fit your imposing body into the tight booth.
You quickly sank a pint of water, still struggling to recover from the short walk to the restaurant. I laughed to myself and got up to fetch the first course. As you watched me walk away you noticed our waiter standing at the bar with some of his colleagues, they were all look at you. One of the girls started to giggle while the other screwed her face up in disgusted, casting a judgemental stare over your body.
I returned with the first plate staked high with Chinese - chicken satay, beef strips in oyster sauce, spring rolls, salt and pepper chicken, mounds of rice, chips and prawn crackers - and you ripped it from my hand, so keen to start. Your knife and fork moved rapidly as you indulged in the spicy treats, taking breaks only when you needed a drink or a brief, gasping breath. As you ate, rice, vegetables and splashes of sauce began to collect on the top of your gut. A low, grumbling burp signalled that you were finished and I got to my feet again.
“Italy this time” I said as I sat the plate down in front of you. Your eyes grow as you surveyed the pile of pizza; 12 slices, each one different, each one smothered in gooey, rich cheese and a generous layer of tomato sauce. Pepperoni, ham, pulled pork, chicken and sweetcorn, vegetarian, meat feast, they were all there.
“This looks great” you said with eager eyes and a broad smile.
“Tuck in”, I replied.
You were monstrous; disgustingly ill-mannered in your gluttony. The couple beside us tried to quietly comment on your vile behaviour, but we both heard them and it only spurred you on. As you continued to inhale each slice you couldn’t contain the groans of intense satisfaction as you felt your stomach slowly harden with every mouthful. Glancing over to the couple you exposed the full width of your sauce stained face to them and grinned clumsily as you tried to swallow your last mouthful of pizza. Another deep burp marked the end of your second course and finally forced the other couple to leave, sneering at you while they passed.
“I’m so sorry, he’s such a pig, it’s unbelievable how he behaves around food sometimes” I said with poorly hidden glee in my voice. With them now out of earshot I turned back to you, “That’s the first time my hog has scared off other people, good work!” I patted your belly and pressed it to see how full you were, “ Still plenty of room” I winked. You threw you head back and sighed in response as you massaged the thick folds of fat that were spilling into the booth. I refilled our drinks and gave you a few moments respite before asking what you wanted for your plateful.
“Burrito” you whispered, almost silenced by the sudden fullness you were experiencing. I rolled my eyes and goggled as you sat there unaware of what was to come.
I walked up to the burrito bar and the chef asked what I would like, “Everything” is said.
He laughed and sighed, “Yeah there’s a lot of choice and it all looks pretty good. So what will it be”?
I smirked, “No, I’m serious everything, in one burrito”.
He stared back at me, “I don’t think it’ll all fit in one”.
“Don’t worry about that, just do your best”.
So then he began to fill your wrap. Rice, black beans, chicken, beef strips, lettuce, tomato, cheese, sour cream, salsa, guacamole, extra garnish and corn. It was overloaded. The chef tried to fold the wrap but it wasn’t able to cover the heaped pile of fillings. The wrap began to tear and the chef swore under his breath.
“Don’t worry about it, the guy that’s eating it won’t being paying much attention to how it looks” I joked.
He placed it on my tray along with a bowl of cheesy, bacon fries swimming in grease and topped with more salsa and sour cream.
“Good luck” he said as I made it back to the table.
I found you restlessly stretching in the booth. “Are you ok?” I asked.
“I’m just so hungry and you were gone for ages”.
“It was worth it, trust me” I chuckled as I sat the heavy plate down in front of you.
“Fuck” you groaned, rolling your head and stretching you neck in anticipation. As you began, the weakness of the wrap against the over-generous filling became too evident as excess sauce and chicken fell, bouncing off your gut and onto the table. In a hurried desperation you started forcefully pushing the burrito into you mouth, determined not to lose anymore. I looked on with a strange mixture of shock, repulsion and arousal. The effects of your frantic eating was beginning to show up all over your body. Your hair was damp with sweat which began to cascade down the thick roll of fat at the back of your neck. Your waistband began to cut in under your overhang as the elastic was unable to stretch any further. You could feel the hot, itchy sensation of fresh stretch marks cutting across your gut and love handles. Your gluttony was beginning to outstrip your body but you didn’t care, you ignored your body’s cries to stop for even a moment and continued to gorge. I had never seen you eat like this, with so much speed and greed. Soon the massive burrito was gone, the only remnants of it being the dark stains on your t-shirt and the crumbs littering the table. Almost without breath, you reached for the bowl of greasy fries and started lifting lazy handfuls to your mouth as you finally began to slow down. I slide round to your side of the booth and start massaging your overhang which is hanging heavily between your legs.
“Don’t give up now”, I whisper, “You still have to get your dessert”.
“I’m not sure I can”, you say in a worried, breathy sigh.
But I just smile into you face, your eyes slightly glazed over, and begin kneading your fat more firmly. The strong, soothing, strokes easing your engorged belly. You breathing slowly becomes easier and you start to lose your sleepy stupor.
Finally, after 15 minutes of belly rubs and several pints of coke and water, you turn to me, “Ok. Dessert”.
I smile and leave the booth once more. When I return you’re move lively and excited once more for what I’ve brought you. You look down at the plateful of sweet treats - chocolate coated donuts, mini lemon meringues and strawberry cheesecakes, overfilled profiteroles with caramel dipping sauce and a bowl of whipped ice cream covered in sweets, chocolate buttons and sprinkles. You make short work of the desserts, wolfing everything down in seconds. I’m surprised you’re able to. You turn to the bowl of ice cream and begin to mix it with your spoon, faster and faster and it begins to melt while you work it. You like some stray chocolate sauce from your lip and lift the bowl to your face. Gulp after gulp you sallow down more of the cool pudding. You stop only because we’re interrupted by the waiter.
“I’m afraid we need to ask you gentlemen to leave” he says coldly, “ We have another party waiting on your table and we think you’ve exceeded your stay”.
You roll your eyes and tut, “Just a sec”. You lift the bowl to your face once more and hurriedly drink what’s left. It starts to spill over the sides of the bowl and trickle down your checks. You then turn back to the waiter, ice cream running down your face and dripping onto your tee, “Done”.
I laugh, pay the bill and wait for your to get out of the booth. You start to move uncomfortably from side to side as you try to inch your way out, but it’s no good. All the food now resting heavily in your gut has pinned you tightly into the booth. You had been so cared away in the excited gluttony of the evening that you hadn’t notice that the table was now cutting deep into you torso, your soft belly bulging above and below the partition. You continue to struggle and become red faced and sweaty once more. Your uncomfortable grunts have started attracting attention for the other diners in the now packed restaurant. Some look on in pity, others laugh but must whisper in disgust to one another. You’ve become a spectacle and yet you’ve never been more aroused. What remains of your dick begins to harden deep in your fatpad as your continued struggles force your t-shirt to ride up your swollen body, exposing your thick, soft fat to the aghast onlookers. The booth begins to creak under the heavy strain and family sat in the booth adjacent to ours get up for fear of it collapsing. Eventually you manage to slide to the end of the booth and fall to the floor as the force of your once trapped body is released. The sudden thud has brought the restaurant to a silent standstill and now you have to begin the equally challenging task of standing up. You grab my hand and I slowly haul you to your feet. You fix your tee and try to pull it over your tight frame. The grease and food stains have now spread, rubbed all over your top. We move towards the door and the party waiting for our table stand in silent judgement and you try to waddle past.
We make it to the car and we burst into laughter. “That was amazing”, I giggle, “You went full pig in there”.
You laugh too as you turn to me, “I can’t wait to go back”.

See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

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