Kinktober Day 8: Weight Gain on the Job

I wanted to write something that wasn't the usual someone-gets-fat-sitting-at-a-desk deal. Wasn't sure what I'd write until I remembered one of the funniest fucking things a coworker has ever said to me, and of course it's only something I personally would think was hilarious because I am a specific type of weirdo. So now you all get to laugh with me, because as I am sure we all know, with the right attitude, there is no job you can't gain weight doing!

***

“Dude, it’s seriously impossible to gain weight working this job. Do you know I walked six miles yesterday, just at work? Six fuckin’ miles!”

She smiled and nodded, laughing inwardly. She wouldn’t know how “impossible” it was to gain doing their job. She’d managed to put on ten pounds in the last two months.

Of course, they were gaining two entirely different kinds of mass. Her coworker, a gym rat and beginning bodybuilder, was looking to put on muscle. Her goal was to put on fat. And as she well knew, fat tended to pile on much easier than muscle. Not that gaining was particularly easy for her. She, too, walked six miles a day or more, back and forth across the squeaky white linoleum floors, answering customers’ questions, stocking shelves, and facing products at one of the busiest big box stores in the city for minimum wage. And then she took a crowded bus back to her neighborhood, and then walked some more to get home.

But then, she wasn’t trying to go to the gym at any point after her shifts were done. So long as she didn’t have classes to attend, she would plop her softening rear down on the couch with her assigned reading and eat whatever she could find. It was not unusual for her to treat herself with a half-gallon container of ice cream when she’d had a particularly long day.

The day that her coworker mentioned that he was having trouble putting on weight, she fed herself particularly well. Her roommate was gone for the weekend, so she could really do things properly. She ordered an extra large pizza for herself, plus cheesy garlic bread and butter sauce to dip it in. While she waited, she sat on the couch in thigh-hugging short-shorts that had once been loose on her but now clung to her waist for dear life, eating ice cream straight out of the carton. She was halfway done when the pizza delivery guy knocked on the door. She debated for a moment whether she should put the carton in the freezer, but decided she’d sit it on the coffee table and let it melt instead, figuring it would go down easier after her pizza binge that way.

She tipped the delivery guy well, shut the door, and then was alone with her feast. “Every pizza is a personal pizza if you try hard and believe in yourself,” she said, laughing at her own joke. She sat back down on the couch and set the warm box of pizza beside her. It was still steaming a little when she flipped it open. Perfect.

The next hour was pure bliss. She ate until she was genuinely concerned she might burst, or at least throw up. She’d pushed up the tank top that she was wearing about halfway through. Her flabby stomach was swollen, the skin at the top red with the strain. She massaged her belly gently, closing her eyes and relishing the feeling. These were some of the moments that made her certain life was worth living. Being so full and heavy that she ached, so packed with food she could almost feel herself growing in the moment? Caressing herself with the kind of tenderness and affection most could only muster for their lovers and never themselves? Bliss. There was no higher pleasure.

There were only a couple slices left. Full as she was, they likely wouldn’t last until morning. She liked to top herself up right before bed on nights like this, knowing everything extra she put in her mouth would go straight to her swelling fat cells. And speaking of topping up, she managed to lean forward just enough to grab the ice cream carton off the table, groaning as she did so, loving the way her rounded gut got in her way. Maybe someday she wouldn’t even need to stuff herself for that to happen. She shivered happily at the thought.

The ice cream went down thick. She could almost feel the pizza dough soaking it up, her belly becoming heavier, hanging lower. She lay back on the couch, belly rising high above her. She felt gargantuan and powerful and… wet. She had to reach around her stomach to touch herself, and her body was so devoted to digestion at that moment that she almost didn’t have the energy for an orgasm, but she wanted one, and she was not the sort of girl who denied herself things.

With her free hand, she queued up a video of one of her favorite gainers on the TV. There was nothing like being so stuffed you could barely move and coming while watching someone in the exact same predicament. Once the video was playing, her hand moved back to playing with her belly, her thighs, her tits—anywhere she could grab onto to feel how fat she was getting. Frankly, almost anywhere was a good place at that point. She kept finding new things to love about herself as the pounds crept on, soft places on her body that had never existed before. She watched the video and marveled at the fact that she’d once believed the girl on the screen was huge, someone she could never catch up to, and now they were the same size. She covered her mouth as her orgasm blazed through her, crying out into her palm at the thought that it wouldn’t take long before most of the women she’d once been so envious of were smaller than she was, and how even then she’d still keep getting fatter.

As she basked in the afterglow, she giggled again at the thought of her coworker whining about not being able to put on weight. “Better work harder, hon,” she said breathlessly as she leaned to the side and grabbed one of the last slices of pizza. “All that weight isn’t gonna gain itself.”