Chapter 1: A Desperate Gamble

Jeffrey sat slumped in front of his computer screen, the harsh glow of the display casting deep shadows on his gaunt face. His stomach rumbled ominously, a hollow, aching reminder of his financial desperation. He had always been lean, but now his once-athletic physique was starting to waste away, a mere shadow of its former self. College had been his dream, a ticket to a better life, but with the loss of his scholarship, that dream was quickly turning into a nightmare.

As he scoured the internet for any possible solution to his predicament, his eyes fell upon an unexpected subculture: weight gain fetishes. He felt a mixture of disgust and intrigue as he watched the videos of men consuming vast quantities of food for the pleasure of their viewers. They were making good money, these "feeders" and their "feedees". Could this be the answer to his prayers?

He mulled it over for days, his stomach a constant companion in his deliberations. Finally, he steeled himself and created an account on OnlyFans. He set up his camera, adjusted the lighting, and prepared to make his first video.

"Hey, guys," he said hesitantly, staring at the lens. "I'm Jeffrey, and I'm here to...uh...eat. For you." He swallowed, feeling self-conscious. "If you want to see more of this, you know what to do."

Subscribers trickled in, and Jeffrey found himself making more and more videos. He ate when he was hungry, and he ate when he wasn't, choking down bite after bite for the pleasure of his fans. He was surprised by how much they enjoyed it, their messages of encouragement and desire flooding his inbox.

But he was even more surprised by the type of fans he was attracting. They were all men. He had naively assumed that his audience would be primarily women who enjoyed the sight of a chubby man indulging, but the reality was far from what he had imagined. He couldn't help but feel a little disappointed, a little confused. But money was money, and he needed it to stay in school. So he swallowed his pride along with his food and continued on.

The first few weeks were manageable. He ate more than he was used to, but he didn't gain much weight. The novelty of the situation kept him going, but as time went on, the pounds began to add up. He found himself craving the rich, decadent foods his fans sent him, even when he wasn't recording. He would devour entire pizzas in one sitting, savoring the greasy, salty goodness, the cheese stretching in long, tantalizing strings as he pulled each slice towards his eager mouth. He could feel himself getting bigger, his once-tight jeans now hanging loosely on his hips, the waistband digging into the soft flesh of his belly.

But it wasn't enough. The comments on his videos grew increasingly demanding, the tips less frequent. He needed to do more. So he began to eat more, two meals at a time, sometimes three. He could feel his stomach straining against the onslaught of food, but he pushed on, driven by the need for cash.

The packages kept arriving at his doorstep: entire cheesecakes, tubs of ice cream, boxes upon boxes of macaroni and cheese. He would sit in front of the camera, the food spread out before him like a grotesque feast, and consume it all, his fans watching and cheering him on. The thought of the food made his stomach turn, but he couldn't afford to be picky.

As he tipped the scales at 190, Jeffrey couldn't help but wonder how much further he could take this. He stood in front of the mirror, running his hands over his expanding midsection. He had never been this big before, and he wasn't sure he liked it. But the money was too good to pass up, and his fans seemed insatiable.

He sighed, grabbed a fork, and sat down in front of the camera, ready to consume another meal. The smell of greasy, cheesy pasta wafted up to his nose, making his stomach churn. He took a deep breath and dug in, the sound of his fork clinking against the plate echoing in the silent room.

As he ate, the weight of his situation settled heavily on his shoulders. He had never imagined himself like this, a glutton for hire, stuffing himself to the brink of discomfort for the enjoyment of others. But he was in too deep now, the lure of easy money too strong to resist. He would do what he had to do, even if it meant sacrificing his own body in the process.

The food seemed to dissolve on his tongue, each bite an affirmation of his new reality. He could feel himself getting heavier with each mouthful, his body rebelling against the sudden increase in calories. But he kept eating, his eyes locked on the screen, watching the numbers climb as he devoured more and more.

When he finally pushed himself away from the table, sweat beading on his forehead, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret. How long could he keep this up? How much more of himself would he have to give away before he had enough?

He sighed, rubbing his bloated stomach. It was a question he didn't have the answer to, but he knew one thing for sure: he needed the money, and his fans needed to be fed.

Chapter 2: The Downward Spiral

As the weeks turned into months, Jeffrey's fan base grew, and with it, their expectations. The more weight he gained, the more enthusiastic they became. Their messages were filled with praise and encouragement, urging him to eat more, to grow bigger. The money started to flow in more consistently, but the cost was high.

The decision to drop out of college after losing his scolarship weighed heavily on him, but he just couldn't afford it anymore. The bills piled up, and his part-time job at the local bookstore barely covered rent. He had to make this work. So he doubled down on his efforts, spending hours each day in front of the camera, eating food that he once would have considered repulsive.

He could feel his body changing, the weight piling on at an alarming rate. It was as if he was losing control, as if his body was no longer his own. The once-familiar feeling of his jeans sliding easily over his hips was replaced by the struggle to button them, the fabric straining against the new curves of his body. He could see the disappointment in the eyes of his friends and family when they saw him, the subtle glances at his expanding waistline, the concerned comments about his health. But he couldn't stop.

He started to incorporate more extreme eating challenges into his videos, consuming larger and larger quantities of food in a single sitting. He would sit in front of the camera, a mountain of greasy, cheesy, carb-laden dishes spread out before him, and dive in. The taste of the food became secondary to the rush of adrenaline that came with each challenge. He could feel his heart racing, his breathing becoming labored, as he stuffed himself beyond the point of comfort.

But even as his fans cheered him on, Jeffrey couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He was trapped in a cycle of consumption, his body no longer just a vessel for his own pleasure, but a commodity to be consumed by others. He tried to justify it to himself, telling himself that it was just a phase, a means to an end. But deep down, he knew it was more than that.

When he finally tipped the scales at 240, the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He had gained 90 pounds in just a few short months, the equivalent of an entire other person. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing the chubby, bloated figure that stared back at him. He ran his hands over his body, feeling the soft folds of fat that had taken over his once-defined abs, the rolls of flesh that spilled over the waistband of his pants.

He had hoped that the weight gain would slow down, that his body would adjust, but it only seemed to get worse. He found himself becoming more and more sedentary, the simple act of walking up a flight of stairs leaving him winded. His joints ached, his back protested with every movement, and even the simple act of bending over to tie his shoes was a struggle. He had become a prisoner in his own body, a prisoner to his fans' desires.

His appetite, once voracious, began to wane. He would force himself to eat, gagging on the sight and smell of yet another huge meal. But the thought of disappointing his fans was more than he could bear. He had become dependent on their validation, their tips, their messages of praise.

He tried to tell himself that it was just a job, that he was providing a service, but the lines between fantasy and reality were starting to blur. The food no longer tasted good, the act of eating no longer brought him pleasure. It was simply a means to an end, a way to pay the bills.

One day, as he sat on the couch, nursing a sore back and a full stomach, he received a message from a fan. "You're getting so big and beautiful," it read. "I can't wait to see you hit 300."

Jeffrey's heart sank. He had never imagined going that far, never thought he would let himself get that big. But the thought of the money, the thought of losing his only source of income, was too much to bear. He sighed, picked up another slice of pizza, and turned the camera back on.

He knew he was in too deep, that he had let things go too far. But he was trapped, caught in a cycle of consumption and self-loathing that he didn't know how to escape. He kept telling himself that it was just for now, that he would stop once he had enough money. But he couldn't shake the feeling that this was his new reality, that he was destined to live out his days as a human buffet for the enjoyment of others.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and took another bite, the sound of his own chewing echoing in his ears. The taste of the cheese and sauce was cloying, the dough heavy and dense in his mouth. He could feel the weight of each bite settling in his stomach, a leaden ball that grew larger and larger with every swallow.

As he sat there, he couldn't help but wonder what his life had become, and what the future held for him now that he had sacrificed so much for the fleeting pleasure of others.

Chapter 3: The Benefactor's Bargain

Just when Jeffrey thought his situation couldn't get any more dire, a lifeline appeared in the form of a new fan. This one was different than the others, though. He was wealthy, and he had a proposition for Jeffrey. The man, who introduced himself simply as "Benefactor," began offering Jeffrey substantial donations in exchange for completing extreme eating challenges.

The first offer was a three-tier wedding cake, with the promise of a $200 donation if Jeffrey could consume it all in one sitting. He stared at the message on his screen, his heart racing. It was a lot of food, more than he had ever eaten at once. But the money... that was enough to pay for his rent and then some. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but he felt he had no choice. He accepted the challenge.

When the cake arrived, it was even bigger than he had anticipated. The sight of it, towering over him, filled him with a mixture of excitement and dread. He could almost smell the sweet, thick icing, could already feel it coating his tongue. He took a deep breath, picked up his fork, and started to eat.

The first few bites were blissful, the cake melting in his mouth like a dream. But soon, the sweetness became cloying, the texture of the cake growing heavier with each bite. He could feel his stomach expanding, protesting against the onslaught of sugar and flour. He pushed through, forcing himself to swallow, his eyes never leaving the camera.

By the end of the hour-long video, he was dizzy and nauseous, the room spinning around him. He had barely managed to finish the last bite when he felt the first wave of sickness wash over him. He stumbled to the bathroom, retching up the remains of the cake into the toilet.

But when he checked his account balance, the money was there. He had done it. He had eaten an entire wedding cake, and he had been paid handsomely for it. The rush of adrenaline that came with the accomplishment was intoxicating, and he knew he would do it again.

And so, the challenges continued. Each one more demanding than the last. He received a message one day, offering him two gallons of ice cream for $250. He hesitated for only a moment before accepting. The weight of the tubs in his arms was almost too much to bear as he carried them to the kitchen, but he knew he needed the money.

The ice cream was rich and decadent, the cold sweetness sending shivers down his spine. He ate until his brain went numb, his mouth raw from the constant assault of the frozen treat. When he finished, he lay on the floor, his stomach distended and sore, a sticky puddle of melted ice cream surrounding him.

His fans loved it. The tips poured in, the comments filled with praise and encouragement. But Jeffrey could feel his body rebelling against him, his once-lean frame now buried beneath a mountain of fat. He was constantly hungry, even on days when he wasn't given a challenge. The binging was stretching his stomach to its limits, making him crave more and more food.

The next offer was four large deep-dish pizzas for a $200 donation. He accepted without hesitation, his stomach growling in anticipation. The pizzas arrived, their aroma filling the small apartment and making his mouth water. He could feel the weight of them as he lifted the first slice to his mouth, the cheese pulling and stretching like a web.

He ate and ate, each bite more delicious than the last. But as he neared the end of the second pizza, he felt a familiar heaviness settle in his stomach. He pushed through, gorging himself on the gooey, cheesy goodness, the grease coating his fingers and chin.

When he finally finished, he collapsed onto the couch, his body feeling like it was made of lead. He lay there for hours, unable to move, the acid in his stomach churning and gurgling. He had never felt so full, so uncomfortable. But the money was worth it.

The challenges kept coming, each one more extreme than the last. Five bags of potato chips and two cartons of French onion dip. A 24-pack of soda. A whole roasted chicken, smothered in gravy and butter. He ate it all, his body swelling with each passing day.

The constant eating took its toll on Jeffrey, both physically and emotionally. He was always tired, his energy levels nonexistent. His clothes no longer fit, and he had to resort to wearing baggy t-shirts and sweatpants to accommodate his new size. His social life had dwindled to almost nothing, his friends and family too horrified by his new lifestyle to be around him.

But the money... the money was enough to keep him going. He was finally able to pay his bills without worrying, to buy himself little luxuries that he had once only dreamed of. He could almost convince himself that it was worth it, that the sacrifices he was making were just temporary.

As the weeks turned into months, he found himself growing more and more dependent on the Benefactor's challenges. He needed the money, yes, but he also needed the validation that came with completing them. He lived for the moment when he would see that donation hit his account, the rush of adrenaline that would course through his veins as he read the messages of praise from his fans.

But he couldn't ignore the toll it was taking on his body. His knees ached with every step, his back screamed in protest when he sat for too long. He could feel his heart straining against the extra weight, beating a frantic rhythm in his chest.

He knew he had to do something, had to find a way to break free from this cycle. But he was trapped, his need for money and validation driving him further and further into a world of gluttony and self-destruction.

One night, as he lay in bed, unable to sleep due to the discomfort of his swollen stomach, he received a message from the Benefactor. It was another challenge, one that would net him enough to pay for the rest of the month's rent.

He stared at the screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He could do it, he knew he could. But at what cost? He was already so much bigger than he had ever imagined, his health in jeopardy. He knew he couldn't keep this up much longer.

He took a deep breath, his hands shaking, and typed out his reply. "I'll do it," he wrote, his stomach twisting in knots. "Send me the food."

As he waited for the delivery, he couldn't help but wonder if this was the challenge that would finally break him. If this was the one that would make him realize that he had gone too far. But the thought of the money, of the praise, of the feeling of satisfaction that came with pleasing his fans, was too strong. He would do whatever it took, no matter the cost.

Chapter 4: A House of Cards

The next day, a large package arrived at his doorstep. He could feel the weight of it as he lugged it inside, his heart racing with anticipation and dread. He ripped open the cardboard to reveal a giant canister of lard and six boxes of graham crackers.

His stomach turned at the sight of it, but there was something else there too. Something he hadn't felt in a long time. Heat flooded his cheeks as he realized he was sexually aroused. He had never considered himself to have a food fetish before, but the idea of consuming such a large, unhealthy amount of food in front of an audience was undeniably thrilling.

He set up his camera, a wicked glint in his eye, and addressed his viewers. "Alright, guys, today's challenge is a little... different." He held up the canister of lard, watching their reactions through the screen. "I've got to eat this whole thing, with the help of these delicious graham crackers."

He popped a cracker into his mouth, savoring the sweet, familiar taste, then scooped up a large spoonful of lard. He could feel it coating his tongue, sliding down his throat like a greasy oily snake. It was disgusting and exhilarating all at once. He closed his eyes, moaning softly, and the chat exploded with excitement.

"Mmm, so good," he said, his voice dripping with false pleasure. "I could eat this all day."

As he continued to eat, he found himself flirting with the audience, playing up the sensuality of each bite. He could feel their hunger for more, both for the food and for him. It was intoxicating, this new level of control he had over them. He had become more than just a feedee, he was a performer.

The lard challenge was a turning point for Jeffrey's page. His fans became more demanding, more eager to see him consume massive amounts of food. The tips poured in, and Jeffrey found himself struggling to keep up. But he was determined to make as much money as he could, to prove to himself that he could do this.

The days passed in a blur of excessive eating and expanding waistlines. Jeffrey's apartment was a constant mess of food packaging and dirty dishes, the air thick with the scent of grease and sugar. His body was no longer his own, a fact he was reminded of with every new challenge the Benefactor sent his way.

The next challenge from the Benefactor was even more extreme: six double patty melts and six large orders of curly fries, washed down with three chocolate milkshakes. He stared at the pile of food, his stomach already protesting, but he knew he couldn't back down now. He had to see this through.

He devoured the meal with a fervor he didn't know he possessed, the cheese and meat oozing out of the thick buns, the fries crispy and salty. He could feel his body expanding, the weight pressing down on him, but he pushed on.

And the fans loved it. His subscriber count shot up, the messages in his inbox multiplying by the hour. They all had their own ideas of what he should eat next, what he should wear, how he should pose. He felt like a puppet, his every move dictated by the whims of others.

As he neared the 400-pound mark, he couldn't help but wonder about the people on the other side of the screen. The Benefactor was obviously a man, his messages filled with a twisted sense of domination and control. But what about the others? He knew they used pseudonyms, but he couldn't help but wonder about their true identities. How many of them were men? How many were women? What did they get out of watching him eat?

He tried to push the thoughts away, to focus on the money. He needed it, desperately. But the questions lingered, gnawing at the back of his mind like a persistent itch.

The Benefactor's challenges continued to escalate, each one more decadent and disgusting than the last. Jeffrey's body was a testament to his success, his once-lean frame now a bloated, jiggling mass of flesh. He hated what he had become, but he couldn't deny the thrill of it all. The power he held over his fans, the money that flowed into his account like a never-ending river.

But with each new challenge, he could feel himself slipping further and further away from the person he used to be. He was losing himself in the sea of calories and grease, the weight of his new reality pressing down on him like a leaden blanket.

As he lay in bed one night, his stomach aching and distended, he couldn't help but wonder if this was really what he wanted. If this was really the life he had chosen for himself. He knew he needed to make a change, before it was too late. But the thought of giving up the money, the attention, was almost too much to bear.

He sighed, his body heavy with exhaustion, and closed his eyes. Tomorrow was another day, another challenge. And he knew he would rise to the occasion, no matter what the cost.

Chapter 5: The Foul Turn

Jeffrey's descent into the world of feeding fetishes took a turn one day when, during a particularly intense eating session, he accidentally let out a loud, wet fart. He froze, mortified, but the reaction from his viewers was unexpected. Instead of disgust, they seemed thrilled. The tips started rolling in, and the chat filled with messages of encouragement and excitement.

He couldn't believe it. He had always been a bit self-conscious about bodily functions, especially in front of an audience. But his fans seemed to love it. He tried to brush it off, telling himself it was just a one-time thing, but the seed had been planted.

As the days went by, he found himself becoming increasingly aware of his gas. He would feel it building inside him, a pressure that he couldn't ignore. And when it happened on camera, the response was always the same: a flurry of tips and messages, begging for more.

At first, he tried to fight it, to maintain some semblance of dignity. But the money was too good to resist. And so, he started to lean into it, eating foods he knew would make him gassy, playing up the sounds and the smells for his viewers' pleasure. He even began to fantasize about it, imagining himself as a massive, immobile piece of meat, used only for the satisfaction of others.

The shame and disgust he felt were overwhelming, but so was the arousal. He couldn't deny the thrill of having so much power over these people, of knowing that they were getting off on his suffering. He was both repulsed and turned on by the idea, his thoughts consumed by it.

He started to incorporate more and more sugar alcohol sweeteners into his diet, knowing they would make him fart like crazy. He would sit in front of the camera, his stomach bloated and distended, and wait for the inevitable explosion. And when it came, the tips would flood in.

He started to see his body not just as a source of sustenance, but as a tool. A means to an end. He would push himself to the brink, consuming more and more food, his stomach protesting with each bite. And then he would let it all out, a symphony of farts and belches that filled the room with a noxious cloud.

His fans loved it, their messages growing more and more explicit. They begged him to eat more, to get even fatter, to let them control him completely. And Jeffrey, desperate for the money and the attention, was more than happy to oblige.

He would sit in front of the camera, his cheeks flushed with excitement, and shove handfuls of food into his mouth. He would moan and groan, his eyes rolling back in his head as he savored the taste and the texture. And then he would wait, his body tense with anticipation.

The first few farts were always the best, the sweet release of pressure making him feel lightheaded. But as he continued to eat, the gas built up inside him, a constant, gnawing ache that demanded to be let out. He would try to hold it in, to draw out the suspense, but eventually, he would have to give in.

And when he did, the response was always the same: a chorus of approval from his fans, their keys clacking furiously as they tipped him more and more. He could feel his power growing, his body becoming more and more of a spectacle.

As he grew fatter and fatter, his mobility became more and more limited. He would waddle from the couch to the kitchen, his legs straining against the weight of his massive belly. His clothes no longer fit, and he was forced to wear nothing but a pair of stained sweatpants that hung low on his hips, exposing the top of his flabby, pink thighs.

He found himself growing more and more aroused by the idea of being a helpless, immobile blob, used only for the pleasure of others. He would lie in bed at night, his hand buried in his pants, and think about all the things his fans wanted him to eat, all the ways they wanted to see him grow.

The line between fantasy and reality was blurring, his thoughts consumed by the idea of being a fat, gassy plaything. He knew it was wrong, that he should be ashamed. But he couldn't help it. He was addicted to the rush of power and pleasure that came with each new challenge.

And so, he continued down this dark path, his body and mind growing more and more twisted with each passing day. He was no longer just a college student trying to make ends meet. He had become something else entirely, a monster of his own creation. And he was both terrified and exhilarated by it.

Chapter 6: The Embrace of Humiliation

One day, a package arrived at Jeffrey's doorstep. He recognized the sender's address immediately - it was from Victor, his most generous and creative benefactor. He tore open the box, his heart racing with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

Inside, he found an outfit that was both humiliating and arousing: a child-sized sailor suit, sized for an obese adult. The tiny shorts barely covered his swollen, jiggling thighs, and the buttons on the shirt strained against the rolls of flab on his chest. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of shame as he looked at himself in the mirror. But the thought of the money, and the reaction he knew he would get from his fans, was enough to make him put it on.

He turned on his camera, the fabric of the outfit squeaking with every movement, and addressed his audience. "Well, guys," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "Victor sent me a little something to wear today." He did a slow spin, giving them a full view of his new attire.

The response was immediate and intense. Tips flooded in, messages filling his inbox with words of encouragement and degradation. They loved it. And so did he.

The outfit became a regular part of his routine, the tight fabric pressing against his skin, accentuating his massive belly and thick thighs. He started to enjoy the humiliation, the way it made him feel small and powerless.

Soon, other fans began to send him similar clothing. Oversized t-shirts with demeaning slogans one had a picture of Dumbo the Elephant on it with the words "Dumbo Slobo" on it.  One just had the word "FATASS" written on it in all caps. One had a picture of a pig, the winning pig from Taiwan's "holy pig" ceremony, with the words "100% pure pork" underneath. This last one especially hit his feels as he looked at it and said "Lucky pig."

Victor had an elaborate pink spandex suit custom made to Jeffrey's measurements and sent it to him with a realistic pig snout, pig ears, and a little bib with a pink piggy face and the words: "This stupid worthless pig is only good for being fattened and used." He loved it all, the way it made him feel like he was truly living his fantasy.

He wore the pig costume most often, the soft material caressing his skin, the snout pressing against his face with every bite of food. He would oink and grunt for his audience, the sound of their laughter and pleasure ringing in his ears. He would save the best treats for last, the ones that would make him fart the most, and he would revel in their delight as he filled the room with the scent of his own body.

When he masturbated, it was always with the pig costume on, the image of himself as a massive, helpless creature filling his mind. He would imagine Victor's hands on him, feeding him, controlling him, turning him into the fat, gassy pig he was meant to be.

One night, Victor requested a private show. Jeffrey's heart raced as he put on the costume, his body tingling with anticipation. He settled in front of the camera, the pig nose pressing into his cheeks, the ears flopping against his sweaty forehead.

Victor's voice was low and gravelly, filled with a dark excitement that made Jeffrey's stomach flip. "Tell me, piggy," he said. "What do you really want?"

Jeffrey hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. Flirting, and getting into the "role" he said "I want to be like a winning 'holy pig' of that Taiwan festival." he said, his voice barely above a whisper. The fantasy stuck with him since it was first suggested in the chat on his page. He had been pretending not to read it, but he did actually read it, and it snuck into his spankbank. 90% of Jeffrey's spankbank was now related to his new dayjob. "I want to be so fat I can't move. I want to be used and fattened until I'm nothing but a giant piece of meat, helpless against being fucked non-stop."

Victor chuckled, the sound sending shivers down Jeffrey's spine. "Such a filthy little piggy," he said. "I think we can arrange that."

As they talked, Jeffrey found himself growing more and more aroused. He reached down, his fingers fumbling with the drawstring of his sweatpants, and began to stroke himself. The sensation was intense, his body responding to the humiliation and the fantasy in equal measure.

"That's it," Victor encouraged. "Be a good little piggy and cum for me."

Jeffrey moaned, his hips bucking as he reached his climax. When it was over, he collapsed back against the couch, the costume damp with sweat. He knew he had crossed a line, that things would never be the same. But he also knew he didn't care.

He was living his fantasy, and the money and the attention were more than he could have ever dreamed of. He was a star, a beloved figure in this dark, twisted world. And he would do whatever it took to stay there.

Chapter 7: The Boldest of Bargains

As Jeffrey continued to gain weight and his popularity soared, Victor's demands grew bolder and more frequent. He found himself constantly anticipating the next outrageous challenge that would land in his inbox, each one more extreme than the last. But despite the increasing intensity, the messages came less often, only once a week now.

The anticipation was almost unbearable, each day dragging on as he waited for the ping of a new notification. When it finally arrived, he would rush to his computer, his heart racing, and tear open the email.

One week, the offer was $350 to consume three gallons of ice cream in under an hour. Jeffrey's eyes widened at the sight of the number, but his stomach twisted at the thought of the daunting task. He knew he couldn't do it without some help, so he decided to cheat a little.

The ice cream came in large plastic buckets. Jeffrey took the lid off and one at a time put a bucket in the microwave and nuked it for five minutes. When he finished, each of the three gallons were almost in a liquid state. He then brought them to the table in front of his camera and poured part of the first one into a pitcher. Then he hit the timer which started the countdown and he began to gulp the first pitcher down gulping relentlessly without coming up for a breath of air.

At first, it was easy. The ice cream slid down his throat, the sweetness making him lightheaded. But as the minutes ticked by, the going got tougher. His stomach protested, cramping and swelling, but he pushed on.

When he was about halfway through, he started to panic. He was running out of time, and he could feel himself slowing down. He kneeled on the floor and rested his elbows on his chair, allowing his belly to hang down so that the pressure was taken off the top of his stomach.

In a desperate attempt to finish, he leaned back and poured the remaining ice cream down his throat, the cold liquid hitting his stomach like a brick. He gasped for air, his body convulsing as he tried to swallow it all.

When he was done, he collapsed back onto the couch, his stomach distended and painful. He could feel the ice cream sloshing around inside him, a sickening reminder of what he had just done. But the rush of adrenaline and pleasure was undeniable.

He logged onto his OnlyFans account, his fingers shaking as he typed out a message to Victor. "I did it," he wrote, attaching the video as proof. "I'm ready for the next one."

To his surprise, Victor's response was almost immediate. "Well done, piggy," he wrote, a smiley face emoticon following his words. "I knew you could do it. Next week, we'll up the ante."

Jeffrey groaned, already dreading what was to come. But the thought of the money, and the power it represented, was too much to resist.

The next week, the challenge was four family-sized trays of lasagna, to be eaten in one sitting. Victor gave him three hours to complete it, a time limit that both thrilled and terrified him.

He spent the day preparing, his stomach growling in anticipation. He heated up the lasagna, the rich scent of tomato sauce and melted cheese filling the small apartment. He arranged the trays in front of him, the sight of all that food making his mouth water.

When the timer started, he dug in, the first few bites heavenly. But as the minutes wore on, the weight of the food settled in his stomach, heavy and uncomfortable. He pushed through, each bite more difficult than the last.

The sauce was thick and rich, coating his mouth and hands. The pasta was soft and chewy, the cheese stretching in long, gooey strings. He could feel himself growing more and more full, his stomach straining against the confines of his costume.

As the hours ticked by, he found himself growing drowsy, his body fighting against the massive influx of calories. But he refused to give up, each swallow a small victory in his mind.

When he finally finished, he was covered in sweat, his stomach painfully distended. He could barely move, his body feeling like it was made of lead. But the thrill of completion, and the knowledge that the money was on its way, was enough to make it all worth it.

He logged onto his account, the chat filled with messages of congratulations and disgust. He couldn't help but smile as he read them, his power growing with each passing day.

But as he sat there, his body aching and his mind racing, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing control. The food was no longer just a means to an end, it was becoming an obsession. And he knew that if he didn't find a way to rein it in, he would be lost forever in this world of gluttony and humiliation.

Chapter 8: The Inevitable Descent

As the months dragged on, the weight continued to pile onto Jeffrey's small frame at an alarming rate. His body, never meant to hold so much, strained and groaned under the pressure. He found himself approaching 500 pounds, a number that seemed impossible just a short time ago.

The toll it took on his body was immense. Simple tasks like walking to the bathroom or climbing the stairs left him winded and in pain. His knees creaked like old floorboards with each step, his back protesting the constant strain. He couldn't stand for more than a few minutes at a time, his feet swelling in his too-small shoes.

His wardrobe had long since stopped fitting him, the cool college gear that he had once prided himself on replaced by a series of humiliating outfits sent by Victor. They were the only things he could wear now, the bright colors and tight fabrics highlighting his rolls and folds. He hated them, but he had no other choice.

Job opportunities were scarce. No one wanted to hire a man his size, especially not one who could barely move. He had applied to countless places, his resume and cover letter filled with lies about his current situation. But the truth was obvious the moment they saw him, their expressions a mixture of disgust and pity.

Just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, Victor started making even more lucrative offers. $600 to eat five large deep dish pizzas. 600 to consume eight boxes of cereal drowned in a two gallons of whole milk. He knew he should say no, that his body couldn't take it. But the money was too good to resist.

He sat in front of the camera, the smell of the pizzas making his stomach growl. He had eaten so much already, but he knew he had to push through. He took a deep breath and picked up the first slice, the cheese stretching out like a long, gooey string.

The first few bites were heavenly, the taste of the sauce and the crunch of the crust almost enough to make him forget the pain in his jaw. But as he continued, his mouth grew tired, the chewing becoming more and more laborious. He chugged water between slices, trying to make it easier to swallow.

Hours passed, the pile of empty pizza boxes growing larger and larger. He could feel his body expanding, the buttons on his shirt straining to contain him. But the money... the money was worth it.

The cereal challenge was even worse. He stared down at the mountain of soggy, milk-soaked marshmallows and colorful shapes, his stomach churning. He had soaked them for hours, trying to make them easier to eat, but they still filled his mouth like wet sand.

He forced himself to swallow spoonful after spoonful, the milk dribbling down his chin and onto his chest. It was a messy, disgusting process, but he didn't stop until every last bite was gone.

When he finally weighed himself, he couldn't believe the number. The scale only went up to 550 pounds, but he knew he was well beyond that now. The realization was like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from his lungs.

He was trapped, his body a prison of his own making. He didn't know how much more he could take, how much larger he could get. But he also knew that this was his only source of income, his only hope of survival.

He tried to push the thoughts away, to focus on the next challenge. But it was getting harder and harder to ignore the pain, the constant discomfort that was his new reality. Even the simple act of wiping himself after pooping had become a wrestling match with the flesh of his own backside, his arms no longer long enough to reach.

He sighed, his massive belly rising and falling with each breath. This was his life now, a never-ending cycle of eating and humiliation. And as he sat there, his body aching and his mind numb, he couldn't help but wonder how much longer he could keep going.

Chapter 9: A Gilded Cage

Victor's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched Jeffrey's transformation on the screen. He had created a monster, and he loved every second of it. The once-fit young man was now a bloated, immobile mass of flesh, his every movement a struggle.

But he could see the desperation in Jeffrey's eyes, the longing for something more. And he knew it was time to make his next move.

He typed out a message, his fingers dancing across the keyboard. "Jeffrey," he wrote. "I have a proposition for you."

Jeffrey's heart raced as he read the words. What could Victor possibly want now? He had already given so much, sacrificed so much of himself. But he couldn't deny the small spark of hope that flared in his chest.

"I have a small cottage on my estate," Victor continued. "It's quite comfortable, I think you'll find. And best of all, you'll have access to my staff. They'll take care of everything for you."

Jeffrey's mind raced. A cottage? Servants? It sounded like a dream come true. But there had to be a catch.

"Of course," Victor added. "I'll need you to continue your little... hobby. The upkeep on the cottage isn't cheap, after all."

Jeffrey's stomach sank. He knew what Victor was asking, knew the price he would have to pay. But the thought of not having to worry about the rent, about the constant struggle to make ends meet... it was too tempting to resist.

He thought about the last time he had tried to leave his apartment, the agony of each step, the way his body screamed in protest. He thought about the mountain of dishes piling up in his sink, the laundry that he could no longer reach. He thought about the way his fans looked at him now, with a mix of disgust and adoration that sent shivers down his spine.

And he knew he had no choice.

"I'll do it," he typed back, his heart heavy. "I'll keep making videos."

Victor's response was almost immediate. "Excellent. I'll have everything arranged."

A few days later, Jeffrey found himself being helped into a car by a pair of strong, silent men. He had never felt so helpless, so completely at the mercy of others. But he also felt a strange sense of relief, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

The cottage was everything Victor had promised and more. It was small, cozy, with a fireplace that crackled and popped, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The smell of fresh flowers filled the air, the soft scent of lavender and lilies.

There was a small kitchen, a living room, and a bedroom with a giant bed that he could barely climb into. But it was the bathroom that really caught his eye. It was larger than his entire apartment, with a deep, sunken tub that could easily fit his massive form.

The servants were attentive and efficient, their movements silent and graceful as they went about their work. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of arousal as they catered to his every need, their hands gentle as they lifted him from the bed, washed his body, and fed him.

He started to fantasize about Victor, about the older man's hands on him, controlling him. He would lie in the tub, the hot water soothing his aching muscles, and imagine being fed by him, being used and fattened until he couldn't move.

The thought of it made him hard, his cock straining against the water's surface. He reached down, his fingers slipping and sliding on his own slick flesh as he stroked himself, the sensation heightened by the knowledge that he was being watched.

He moaned, the sound echoing off the tiles, and came with a force that left him breathless. It was the first time he had felt anything resembling pleasure in weeks.

As he lay there, panting and spent, he knew he had made the right decision. This was where he belonged, a fat, useless creature at the mercy of his fans and his benefactor. He was more than just a feedee now, he was a slave to their desires.

And he loved it.

The days passed in a haze of food and humiliation. He would eat, then sleep, then eat some more. He couldn't remember the last time he had left the cottage, his body too large and unwieldy to navigate the outside world.

But he was content, in his own twisted way. He had everything he needed, and the money was rolling in. He was a star, a beloved figure in the world of feeding fetishes. And Victor was his king, the puppet master who controlled his every move.

He knew he was giving up his freedom, his dignity. But in that moment, as he drifted off to sleep, his stomach full and his body aching, he couldn't find it in himself to care. This was his life now, and he would embrace it with open arms.

Chapter 10: The Illusion of Control

Jeffrey's new life at the cottage was a never-ending cycle of food and humiliation. Each day blended into the next, his body growing larger and more cumbersome with every passing moment. But he had never been happier.

In the small studio that Victor had set up just for him, he spent hours in front of the camera, his naked form a testament to his complete and total submission. The room was filled with the smell of sweat and grease, the sounds of his chewing and slurping echoing off the walls.

He had started to perform his feeding sessions naked, a decision that had brought in a whole new wave of fans. They loved the sight of his massive, jiggling body, the way the food seemed to disappear into the folds of his flesh. And he loved the attention, the feeling of being desired despite - or perhaps because of - his size.

But as the weeks turned into months, Jeffrey noticed a disturbing trend. His fan count was dropping, the tips growing fewer and farther between. He didn't understand it. He was bigger than he had ever been, his body a grotesque, beautiful work of art.

Then Victor explained it to him. "It's the AI fatties, dear boy," he said, his voice filled with amusement. "They can make them any size they want, and the novelty never wears off. You're just a man, after all."

Jeffrey's heart sank. He had worked so hard, sacrificed so much, and now he was being replaced by a computer program. It was more than he could bear.

But Victor had a plan. "Every week," he said, his voice low and menacing. "If you don't make enough to cover the cost of the cottage, I'll have a special meal prepared for you. Something that will make you grow even bigger, even faster, and that will cover the remaining cost."

Jeffrey's stomach twisted with a mix of fear and excitement. He knew he couldn't keep up with the demands much longer, but the thought of failing, of disappointing Victor, was unbearable. So he agreed, knowing that he had no other choice.

The first few weeks were a blur of food and pain. He would eat until he thought he would burst, his body straining to contain the massive amounts of calories. And each week, the totals of the OnlyFans contributions were counted.

And each week, he would come up short.

Victor would smile, his eyes gleaming with a dark pleasure, and present him with the next challenge. A 20-pound turkey, stuffed with bread and butter. A mountain of mashed potatoes, covered in a lake of gravy. A 12-quart vat of chili, with a dozen hot dogs floating on top.

Jeffrey's body rebelled with each new meal, his stomach swelling to unimaginable sizes, his joints creaking under the strain. But he pushed through, his determination fueled by the thought of losing everything.

And then, one day, it happened. The beep of the chair's sensors was different, the number on the screen higher than it had ever been. 650 pounds. He had done it.

He logged onto his OnlyFans account, his heart racing, and saw that his inbox was full of messages. His fans were coming back, their interest piqued by his new size. The tips were pouring in, enough to cover the cost of the cottage and then some.

But as he read through the comments, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. They didn't sound like his fans anymore. They were too excited, too demanding. They wanted more, always more.

He turned to Victor, the fear in his eyes plain to see. "What have I become?" he asked, his voice trembling.

Victor's smile was cold and cruel. "You've become exactly what they want," he said, patting Jeffrey's massive belly. "A living, breathing, eating machine."

Jeffrey knew then that he was truly lost, a slave to his fans and his own twisted desires. But he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction, a dark pleasure in his new role.

He sat back in the chair, the cool leather pressing into his sweaty skin, and prepared for the next challenge. He would do whatever it took to stay on top, to be the biggest and the best.

As he shoved another handful of food into his mouth, he couldn't help but wonder if he could ever go back to the person he used to be. But deep down, he knew the truth. That person was gone, swallowed up by the monster he had created.

Chapter 11: The Dark Side of Desire

Jeffrey sat in front of his computer, his heart heavy as he watched his fan count dwindle. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't seem to keep their interest. The novelty of his massive size was wearing off, replaced by a new breed of AI-generated monstrosities that seemed to defy the laws of physics.

He knew he needed to do something, anything, to bring them back. And so, he turned to the one place he had been avoiding: the comments section.

The messages were a mix of support and disgust, of encouragement and derision. But one comment stood out among the rest: "Butt plug!" it read, followed by fifty likes.

At first, he was taken aback. He had never considered going that far, never even thought about it. But as he sat there, the thought began to take root in his mind. Was it really that much worse than what he was already doing?

He thought about his own self-worth, about how far he had fallen. He used to be a normal college student, with dreams and aspirations. Now, he was a bloated, immobile blob, living off the money of strangers who got off on his humiliation.

He sighed, his massive body shaking with the force of it. Maybe it was time to embrace his new reality, to give the people what they wanted. He knew he couldn't compete with the AI fatties, not in terms of sheer size. But maybe, just maybe, he could give them something else.

He started to fantasize about it, his cheeks flushing with shame and arousal. The thought of being used, of being nothing more than a piece of meat for his fans' pleasure, was intoxicating. He imagined himself on camera, a bright pink inflatable butt plug nestled between his cheeks, his body shaking as he squeezed the bulb, inflating it further and further.

The more he thought about it, the more turned on he became. He reached down, his hand trembling, and grabbed his vibrator and pressed it against the tip of his cock. It was a Hitachi Magic Wand, one he used in private when the cameras were off. But today, he let the thought of the butt plug creep in, let it become a part of his fantasy.

He closed his eyes, his mind filled with images of his fans watching, their faces twisted with lust and disgust. He could almost feel the plug inside him, stretching him wide, filling him up. He groaned, his hips bucking against the air as he brought himself to a shuddering climax.

When he opened his eyes, he knew what he had to do. He ordered the butt plug, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement. It was a new low, but he was desperate.

A few days later, it arrived. The package was discreet, the contents hidden from prying eyes. He took it into the bathroom, his hands shaking as he unwrapped it.

It was bigger than he had imagined, the smooth rubber cool against his fingertips. He stared at it for a long moment, his stomach twisting with a strange mix of revulsion and desire.

He heard a ping from his computer, pulling him from his thoughts. It was a message from Victor. "I have an idea," it read. "One that will make you a lot of money."

Jeffrey's heart sank. He knew he couldn't say no, not when he was this close to losing everything. He opened the message, bracing himself for the worst.

Victor's plan was simple: set a donation goal, and for each squeeze of the inflatable butt plug, he would add $20 to it. It was degrading, humiliating. But it was also exactly what his fans wanted.

He set up his camera, his heart racing as he positioned the plug. He took a deep breath, then pressed record.

"Hey guys," he said, his voice shaky. "I know things have been a little... slow lately. But I have something special for you today."

The comments started to roll in, a mix of excitement and disbelief. He could feel his cheeks burning with shame, but he pushed on.

He squeezed the bulb, the plug inflating inside him with a soft pop. He let out a moan, the sensation both painful and exhilarating. The numbers on the screen started to climb, faster and faster.

He continued, squeeze after squeeze, his body shaking with each new addition. The plug filled him up, stretched him to his limits, and still, he pushed on.

As he reached the final squeeze, he could feel his orgasm building. He squeezed one last time, the plug now a massive, unyielding presence in his ass. He came hard, his body convulsing as the pleasure overtook him.

When he was done, he checked the total. $1,240. It was more than he had ever made in one session. He couldn't believe it.

After the cameras were off, he collapsed onto his bed, his body spent and sore. He felt like he had hit rock bottom, like there was nowhere left to go.

But then Victor was there, his strong arms lifting him up, his firm lips pressed against his own. It was the first time they had kissed, the first time Jeffrey had felt anything resembling desire for his benefactor.

He moaned, his body responding despite his reservations. Victor smiled, his eyes dark with lust, and guided him to the bedroom.

Jeffrey lay face down on the bed, his enormous ass in the air. He could feel Victor behind him, his cock hard and insistent. He closed his eyes, his heart pounding as Victor entered him, filling him up in a way the plug never could.

He lost count of how many times he came, his body a vessel for Victor's pleasure. It was humiliating, degrading, and yet he couldn't get enough.

When it was over, he was left with a mixture of shame and satisfaction, his body covered in sweat and cum. He knew he had sold himself completely, that he was nothing more than a fat, useless pig to Victor and his fans.

But for the first time in a long time, he didn't care. This was his life now, his twisted, perverted reality. And he was going to make the most of it, no matter the cost.

Chapter 12: The Depths of Desire

The influx of new fans after the butt plug show was astounding. Jeffrey's inbox was flooded with messages of both disgust and admiration, but more importantly, tips. He noticed that some of his old subscribers had unfollowed him, but he didn't care. He had found a new niche, and he was going to exploit it for all it was worth.

He had finally come to terms with his new life as a massive, immobile blob of flesh, a plaything for the perverted desires of others. And he was going to enjoy it as much as possible.

Victor, sensing his newfound acceptance, upped the ante. "I have another challenge for you, piggy," he said, his voice dripping with excitement. "Five gallons of melted ice cream. If you can take it all, I'll donate $800 to your account."

Jeffrey's stomach turned at the thought, but the money was too good to pass up. He nodded, his body trembling with anticipation.

The next day, he sat in front of the camera, his mouth open wide as Victor poured the thick, sweet liquid into his waiting maw. He could feel it sloshing around in his stomach, filling him up like never before. It was a strange mix of pain and pleasure, his body fighting against the onslaught of calories even as his mind reveled in the feeling of submission.

As he reached the halfway point, he started to feel dizzy, the sugar rush making his head spin. But he kept going, his moans and groans growing louder with each passing minute.

When he was finally done, he lay back on the bed, his body slick with sweat and ice cream. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his stomach stretched to its limits. He was disgusting, a pitiful, pathetic creature.

And he loved it.

He had officially crossed the 750-pound mark, and Victor was thrilled. "You're doing so well, piggy," he said, his voice soft and gentle. "I think it's time for an upgrade."

Jeffrey's eyes widened as he was helped out of the cottage and into the main house of the estate by massive wheelchair. He had never been inside before, and he was awestruck by the opulence that surrounded him.

His new room was a lavish, oversized bedroom, with a king-sized bed that could easily accommodate his massive form. He was helped into the center, where he would remain for the foreseeable future.

Victor's next surprise was a contract, laying on the bedside table. It outlined their new arrangement in detail: Victor would see to Jeffrey's every need, feeding and caring for him like the helpless baby he had become. In exchange, Jeffrey would relinquish all control over his own body, becoming Victor's complete and total slave.

He signed it without hesitation, his heart racing with excitement.

The change in Victor was immediate. Gone was the benevolent benefactor, replaced by a violent, controlling master. He demanded that Jeffrey address him as "Daddy", and Jeffrey obeyed, his voice small and meek.

"You've been a very naughty boy," Victor said, his voice low and menacing. "You're not fat enough. We need to teach that ass a lesson."

With that, he began to spank Jeffrey, hard and fast. Each blow sent shockwaves of pain through his massive body, but Jeffrey didn't fight back. He reveled in it, the sting of each slap pushing him further into his fantasy.

"Yes, Daddy," he moaned, his voice trembling. "Teach me a lesson."

The spanking continued, each smack harder than the last. Tears streamed down his face, his ass a fiery red. But he didn't stop moaning, didn't stop asking for more.

Finally, Victor's hand stopped, and he reached for something new. Jeffrey could feel the cold, hard pressure against his anus, and he knew what was coming. He braced himself as Victor began to fist him, his fingers sliding in and out with ease.

He cried out, his body writhing in pleasure and pain. He had never felt anything like it before, the sensation of being so completely filled, so utterly controlled.

Victor worked his prostate expertly, the pressure building until Jeffrey could take it no longer. He came with a scream, his body shaking with the force of it.

When it was over, he was left panting and exhausted, his ass raw and sore. But he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction, a deep, primal need that had been met.

From that day forward, Jeffrey's OnlyFans page became something new: a showcase for an enormously fat man being violated by increasingly larger objects. The camera was always focused on his ass, the lens capturing every squeal and grunt as Victor pushed him to his limits.

Victor became his co-star, his massive cock and even larger toys replacing the food that had once been Jeffrey's main source of pleasure. Jeffrey's moans and groans filled the room, his cries of "Ooffff!", "Oh myyy!", "Uhhhhhhhh...", and "Yeah!" becoming a familiar soundtrack to their twisted games.

He was completely and utterly dependent on Victor now, unable to even move from his spot on the bed. His feeding sessions became more frequent, the food more and more decadent. Victor would only allow him to poop every few days, the enforced constipation making him excessively gassy.

He would lie there, his body a swollen, distended mass, and fart for his fans' enjoyment. The smell was overwhelming, a mix of sweet and sour that permeated the room. But they loved it, their tips and comments proof of their devotion.

And so, Jeffrey's life continued in this twisted, perverted cycle. He was a slave to Victor's whims, his body a canvas for the other man's dark desires. He was lost in a world of pain and pleasure, of domination and submission.

But as he lay there, face down in his own filth, he couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment. This was his life now, his new reality. And he was going to embrace it, no matter how low it took him.

Chapter 13: The Ballroom Bash

Jeffrey's life as a fat, immobile sex toy had reached a new level of depravity. Victor had decided to throw a party in his mansion's grand ballroom, inviting all of his most devoted fans to come and witness Jeffrey's ultimate humiliation.

The room was filled with the scent of expensive colognes and stale sweat as the men milled around, their eyes glued to the massive form spread out on the bed in the center of the room. Jeffrey had been decorated with streamers and balloons, his body a grotesque, twisted caricature of a party favor.

He lay face down, his hands and wrists shackled to the corners of the bed, a hose attached to a funnel in his mouth. His ass was completely bare, the skin stretched taut and red from constant use. He could feel their hands on him, squeezing and prodding, their laughter ringing in his ears.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the sensation of their touch. But when he did, the shame was almost too much to bear. He had become nothing more than a plaything, a fat, helpless pig to be used and abused at their leisure.

As he lay there, he realized something that should have been obvious all along. There were no women in the crowd, no soft voices or gentle touches to balance out the rough, calloused hands of the men. He was a sideshow for their twisted desires, a living embodiment of their darkest fantasies.

He let out a loud, wet fart, the sound echoing through the silent ballroom. The men around him erupted into cheers, their laughter a bitter reminder of his new reality. They slapped his ass, hard, the pain shooting through him like a bolt of lightning.

Victor entered then, a massive pink aerogel dildo in his hands. It was monstrous, easily two and a half feet long and thicker than a two-liter soda bottle at its base. But it was squishy, the gel-like material compressing and expanding with each movement.

Jeffrey's heart sank as he watched Victor approach, the dildo bouncing and jiggling with each step. He knew what was coming, had been preparing for it all day. But the thought of taking something so large, so invasive, was almost too much to bear.

Victor greased it up with a tub of lard, the slick, greasy substance coating his fingers as he worked it over the dildo's surface. He positioned it at Jeffrey's entrance, his grip firm and unyielding.

Jeffrey took a deep breath, bracing himself for the worst. The first push was agony, the dildo stretching him beyond anything he had ever experienced. He moaned, the sound muffled by the funnel in his mouth, as Victor worked it inside him.

The men watched, their eyes filled with a mix of lust and disgust. Some of them were taking pictures, their phones flashing in the dim light. Others were jerking off, their hands a blur of motion as they stared at his inflating, helpless form.

Victor continued to push, his face a mask of concentration. He was enjoying this, Jeffrey could tell, relishing in the control he had over him. And as the dildo sank deeper and deeper, Jeffrey found himself responding in ways he never thought possible.

His body was no longer his own, a vessel for Victor's pleasure and the pleasure of the crowd. He was nothing more than a fat, squealing pig, his ass stuffed with a massive, squishy toy.

And he loved it.

He let out a breathy "oof" as the final few inches slid into place, his body convulsing with the sensation. He could feel the pressure against his insides, the dildo filling him up in a way that food never could.

Victor stepped back, admiring his handiwork. The dildo was now completely inside Jeffrey, the base pressing against his swollen, sore ass. Jeffrey could feel it, a constant reminder of his complete and total submission.

"Now," Victor said, his voice ringing out in the silent room. "It's time for the main event."

He gestured to the table beside the bed, where a five-gallon bucket of weight gain mix sat. The crowd surged forward, each man eager to take his turn.

One by one, they stepped up, their eyes gleaming with excitement. They would take a scoop of the thick, chalky mixture and pour it into the funnel, their laughter growing louder as Jeffrey's stomach swelled and strained.

With each new addition, Jeffrey's body grew heavier, his movements more labored. He could feel himself sinking into the mattress, becoming one with the bed and the massive, jiggling mound of flesh that was his new reality.

As the bucket emptied, he knew there was no turning back. He was theirs now, an object of lust and derision.

And as the last of the mix slid down the hose and into his stomach, he accepted his fate.

This was who he was now, a fat, helpless pig, living only to be used and fattened by the men who paid for his pleasure.

And as the cheers and laughter filled the room, he let out a final, satisfied sigh.

This was his life now, and he was going to make the most of it.