How the Dinner Tables Have Turned

Originally published August 21, 2016.
Contains: long-term weight gain, direct encouraging.

There are quite a few guys I’ve seen online who describe themselves as strictly feeders/encouragers, but who seem to have more gaining tendencies than they let on. Maybe they’ll post a lot of pictures of their own belly, or even go as far as to stuff themselves and post photos of the process or aftermath. Observing that gave me the idea for a story about an aggressive feeder and a feedee who gradually turns the feeder’s enthusiasm for encouraging against him, making him gain weight instead. And so this story was born.

Clark sat in a moderately crowded coffeeshop sipping an Americano as he trawled his phone for guys looking to be fed. After the feedee he was planning on meeting with had canceled last minute, he was trying to get some kind of action to alleviate his disappointment. But even in a city as big as the one he lived in, finding guys who shared his fascination with growing was difficult.

As he browsed, a little “1” appeared above his inbox. He opened his messages and saw the avatar of a husky man with a thick but closely trimmed brown beard; a hulking, round belly; and a smirk on his face. Clark was intrigued, until he opened the message and read, “Evening! Feeder or feedee?”

Clark’s intrigued expression slumped into a frown. In his profile, he clearly stated that he was strictly an encourager and feeder. His profile picture was a head-on shot of him with an assertive expression, accentuated by his goatee and dark brown eyes. Do I look like a feedee?, he asked himself. Sure, he had something of a paunch under his size-large shirt and a double chin he hid in his profile pic by craning his neck at just the right angle. But it was 2016, he reasoned. Everyone had a little bit of body fat except those gym freaks. It didn’t mean anything.

“Strictly feeder and encourager here. You looking to get stuffed tonight?”

After a brief wait, the man replied, “Why else would I be on here? 😉 Name’s Dale. Your place or mine?”

The two hashed out the details and Clark ordered several pizzas to be delivered to Dale’s house after he arrived. He felt relieved at the fact that his talents wouldn’t go to waste after all. But they would certainly go to Dale’s waist. Clark prided himself on his abilities as a feeder, on being able to get guys to eat more than they thought possible, and sometimes even more than he thought possible.

Clark had amassed a rather impressive online following thanks to the videos and pictures he’d take during or after the sessions, with the feedee’s permission of course. When the feedee didn’t give permission, he’d wait until they fell victim to food coma and take a photo then. He never shared those photos online, of course; that would have been asking to get caught. They were personal mementoes for him, a trophy for his private collection.

This particular session turned out to be no exception. Clark pulled into Dale’s driveway just before the pizza arrived, paying for it before the delivery driver could even reach the door and ringing the doorbell with the boxes in hand.

Dale answered the door in a tight tee shirt that let a little of his spherical belly peek through the bottom. “I see you’re prepared,” Clark said with a mischievous smirk.

In person, Dale was even more imposing than he was in his profile. He stood several inches over Clark, and his eyes looked down on Clark half-closed with an expectant smile on his face. He didn’t strike Clark as the type to be a submissive feedee, but he’d be surprised before. “I liked your idea to order the pizza before you got here,” he said in a deep, husky voice. “I wanted to do some preparation of my own.”

With a smile on his face, Clark walked in and put the pizza on the counter in the kitchen. “So, my usual feeding style is pretty aggressive, but I’m more than willing to be flexible based on what we would both enjoy the most.”

“Aggressive is good. I didn’t get this big thanks to timid encouragement,” Dale boasted as he thumped his belly. Clark felt a throbbing in his pants at the sight of it, looking forward to where this night would go.

“Excellent. Now, should I listen when you say you can’t eat another bite?”

“Unless it’s prefaced with ‘I don’t think…’, yes. When I say, ‘I can’t eat anymore,’ I mean I can’t eat anymore.”

Giving Dale a thumbs up, Clark asked, “And finally, are you okay with me filming or photographing you during or after to share online?”

“Absolutely not,” Dale replied seriously. “You never know where that stuff’s going to end up.”

“Alright.” Clark always worded that question as asking if the guy would be okay with him taking photos to post online, so technically, they weren’t saying no to Clark taking photos for himself. Not that it mattered when they were knocked out from being stuffed so full of food and didn’t know what he was doing. “Bedroom? Kitchen? Couch?”

“Kitchen. It’ll be the easiest place to clean up the mess we make,” Dale said as a level of playfulness came back to his voice.

With a deep chuckle, Clark grabbed a box of pizza and said, “I don’t think you’ll be doing any cleaning when I’m done with you, fat boy.”

“Oh yeah?” Dale goaded as he backed up until he hit one of the counters. He leaned back on it with his hands holding him up on either side.

Clark opened the box of pizza as he walked, taking a slice of the meat lover’s pie in hand and shoving it toward Clark’s open mouth. “You’ll see.”

Two hours and nearly three large pizzas later–one meat lover’s pizza, one sausage pizza, and most of an extra cheese pizza–the two found themselves on the couch in Dale’s living room area, just off of the kitchen. Clark had brought the extra cheese pizza with them and kept feeding it to Dale. He’d already had to help Dale undo the button on his cargo shorts, and the flaps on either side of his fly lay folded over in defeat. He’d long ago ditched the shirt, which lay on the counter in the kitchen, and he sat back with his bulging belly sticking out in front of him, a testament to everything Clark had stuffed in there.

“I dunno, Clark,” Dale huffed as his belly rose and fell with his shallow breaths. “I don’t know if I can have another bite.”

“Well I do,” Clark said as he took the last slice of extra-cheese pizza and put it in Dale’s open mouth. Dale moaned as he started chewing, but he kept on eating anyway. “That’s a good fatty,” Clark said as he rubbed Dale’s gut before giving it a few smacks, making Dale moan. “You’re gonna finish this third pizza, just like the tubby you are.”

And Dale did finish the slice, with much groaning and grunting along the way, letting out a belabored sigh once he’d swallowed the last bite. “No more,” he gasped as he laid back, letting his belly jut out even farther.

Dale took his cue and stayed on the couch, rather than going up to get the fourth pizza, a pepperoni one. “You did good, tubby,” he told Dale as he gave him a few gentle pats on the belly, this time coaxing a pleased moan out of him. Dale tried to lift his arms up toward his swollen stomach, but Clark put his hand on one of them as told him, “Leave that to me.”

After scooching around so he could sit on Dale’s lap, Clark faced his overstuffed companion and massaged his taut belly, making Dale let out a quiet, satisfied moan. Dale’s arms lay listlessly at his side as he groaned from all the pizza inside him, but Clark’s expert hands had him feeling vocally relieved.

As Dale’s eyes started closing, he groggily mumbled, “The mess in the kitchen…”

Clark patted Dale’s shoulder and said, “I’ll take care of that. You lay here and let all that pizza become more of you.” With one last pat on Dale’s stomach, Clark got up to head to the kitchen, but not before turning around to take one last look at his overfed companion. He’d stuffed a lot of guys in his time as a feeder, but seeing Dale’s bulbous gut sticking out like that, his mouth flanked with grease as he gasped for breath, arms lying useless at his side with palms up, it was almost too much for him. Though Dale’s eyes were only mostly closed, Clark figured he was safe standing to Dale’s side at the end of the couch. He pulled out his phone, took a quick photo, and walked off to clean up the kitchen like he promised.

A few wet paper towels was all it took the clean the kitchen, as most of the crumbs had gone in Dale’s eager mouth. Clark stacked the two empty pizza boxes and put the pepperoni pizza in the fridge for Dale to find the next morning. All he had to do was grab the empty box in the living room to throw out and he’d be all set.

When Clark walked in front of Dale to grab the last pizza box, Dale let out a shallow gasp and his eyes opened half way. After being startled awake, he opened and closed his mouth a few times, like he still had more food to swallow. His arms and legs wriggled around a bit, but he was still definitely stuck in place.

Clark leaned in close so he could talk to Dale quietly. “The kitchen is all cleaned up. Do you have garbage barrels outside?”

“Behind the shed,” Dale answered quietly.

“I’ll take the pizza boxes out there. There’s a pepperoni pizza in the kitchen if you want it tomorrow. Will you be alright if I leave you here?”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

Clark proudly patted Dale’s belly with a smile on his face. “This was fun,” he warmly whispered. “I hope you felt the same way.”

Dale nodded. “No… pictures though… right?”

Clark was caught off guard by the question, but Dale had no reason to not believe him. “Of course. Just like you asked.” With a smile, he gave Dale one last belly rub until he fell asleep. When he started snoring, Clark took out his phone to take one more photo, before he grabbed the final pizza box and headed out.

The session left a smile on Clark’s face as he drove home that night, and thinking about it made it easy for him to take care of his own business when he got home. The next morning, he checked his messages and found one from Dale: “Hey, had a great time last night. Want to do it again soon? ;-)”

A smile spread across Clark’s face before he typed out his reply. If he could make a regular out of some who could eat like Dale, then he knew he’d be seeing some significant growth very soon.

It was only six days later, on a Friday night after Clark got out of work, that he and Dale met up again for another session. Clark was excited to go to work on this giant of a man and help make him bigger, and that excitement had him driving quickly through Dale’s neighborhood. This time, Dale had suggested that Clark order fattening finger food for delivery, including mozzarella sticks, chicken fingers, cheesy breadsticks, potato skins, pizza bites, and more, all of them size large orders.

Clark got to Dale’s house before the delivery driver did and found him wearing another ill-fitting shirt. Of course, to Clark, it fit perfectly. “Hello again,” Dale greeted.

“Hello,” Clark replied with an enthusiastic emphasis on the last syllable. “The food should be arriving soon. Shall we do this like last time?”

“Actually, this time I want to try a roleplay.”

Clark’s eyebrows shot up and he flashed a smile. “Alrighty, what do you have in mind?”

“I want to pretend to be a reluctant feedee who’s never done this before, and you’re the experienced feeder encouraging me to go for it because you know that I’ll enjoy it. So basically, just play yourself,” he chuckled.

“Sounds easy enough,” Clark said, interested in seeing where Dale would go with this. In truth, he’d never encouraged someone who needed to be convinced before, but he figured there was a first time for everything.

It wasn’t long until they heard a knocking on the door, at which Dale stepped out of sight so Clark could grab the food. Once the bill was settled and the door was closed, Dale walked toward the living room area saying, “Let’s do this on the couch tonight.”

Clark followed dutifully with the two giant paper bags in hand, dropping both on the table and pulling an item out at random. He ended up with the mozzarella sticks, which he held up with a smile and asked, “Shall we?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t, Clark,” Dale replied, putting on a more inexperienced tone. “I’ve been eating a lot of fast food lately, and I’ve really been packing on the pounds,” he said as he patted his stomach disapprovingly. “This shirt doesn’t even fit me anymore!”

“Oh, I believe you’ve been eating a lot,” Clark said mischievously. Giving Dale’s gut a few pats of his own, he said, “And something tells me you enjoy it.”

A smirk slipped through Dale’s façade before he adopted a shocked expression. “Enjoy it?! Clark, how could I! My belly getting bigger every time I let myself near food? My shirt getting too tight for me? Some nights I can’t stop eating until I feel like I’m going to pop!”

“Mmm, I bet,” Clark said as he gave Dale’s belly a rub. “But hey, what’s the harm in just having a snack?” At that, Clark pulled the mozzarella sticks out of their bag and held them close to Dale’s face. “Don’t these look tasty?”

“Mmhm,” Dale answered nervously.

Pulling one out, Dale encouraged, “go on and have just one. That’s all.”

“Mmm, okay. I guess it’s just one.”

The two played out their fantasy until Dale had eaten all but one of the mozzarella sticks. When Clark held out the last one, he said, “Bet you can handle one more.”

Dale took on a nervous expression again and said, “Th-that’s okay. You can have that one.”

“Me?” Clark asked, only half in-character, confused as to where Dale was going with this.

“Just go with it,” Dale whispered. “That way I can pretend I didn’t eat the whole thing, and you can use that to convince me to eat more.”

With a shrug, Clark tossed the stick back and resumed his performance. “How kind of you to share. I have some more food here we could split between us.”

Taking on his nervous tone again, Dale protested, “Oh, that’s very kind of you, Clark, but I’ve already had so much.”

“Nonsense, it was just a snack. You didn’t even have a whole side yet, let alone a meal.” Clark pulled out the box of pizza rolls and popped one in his mouth with an audible “Mmm”. “I bet you’d love to try these.”

“Mmm,” Dale emoted anxiously. “They do look good.”

“Decide for yourself,” Clark said as he fed Dale one of the bites. When he tried to feed Dale another, Dale looked at him nervously and said, “I don’t know. That looks like a lot.”

“What, this?” Dale asked, tossing back two of the bites. “See? It’s nothing. You can handle these just fine.”

After letting a smirk show through briefly, Dale got in character again and said, “If you say so,” before letting Clark feed him most of the rest of the bites.

Clark snacked on a few here and there as they went, eating the last pizza bite like he ate the last mozzarella stick. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked as he chewed the last pizza bite.

“Mmhm”, Dale answered hesitantly.

“I knew you would,” Clark said as he gave Dale’s belly a gentle pat. “See? Just relax. Let yourself enjoy all this good food.”

“Mmm, I dunno, I feel like I’ve eaten a lot.”

“Hey,” Clark said softly, leaning in closer to Dale. “You haven’t even finished a whole side yet. Hell, you ate less of the pizza bites than you did of the mozzarella sticks. You’ll be fine,” he assured him, drawing out the last word as he gently rubbed Dale’s belly.

“Mmm, okay,” Dale relented. “As long as I’m sharing it with you.”

And so the rest of the feast disappeared down Dale’s mouth, as well as Clark’s. Clark shared with Dale the whole way as Dale ate more than any feedee as inexperienced as he was pretending to be could ever eat. That didn’t surprise Clark, given how much he’d seen Dale eat before.

What did surprise Clark was how much he himself ate. As the last bite of the meal disappeared down his throat, Clark found himself leaning back from the sizable lump of food in his stomach. He rubbed his own stomach as he looked at Dale, who was far more stuffed than him. Dale laid back with his eyes half open, groaning and rubbing his own gut. In comparison, Clark thought, he really didn’t eat that much. He probably just wasn’t used to feeling full at all during a session, he figured, since he never partook of the food himself. It felt good in a strange way.

But this session was still about Dale, so he put his hands back on Dale’s gut. “Not too bad, tubby.”

“Oh, Clark. I ate so much.”

“You sure did. It was so good, you couldn’t help yourself,” he said as he patted the top of Dale’s belly, making him groan. That part didn’t seem acted. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

“Mmhm,” Dale moaned.

“Bet you’ll want to do it again soon.”

Leaning his head back, Dale let out an extended, “Mmm,” in reply.

After rubbing his belly a little longer, Clark dropped the act and asked, “Are you really that full or is that part of the roleplay too?”

With a chuckle, Dale replied, “That’s very real.”

“Good,” he said, giving Dale’s gut another few pats. “You want help up or are you okay being left here?”

“Some help up would be good,” Dale grunted, trying to lean forward and failing. Giving Dale his hands, Clark helped his stuffed partner off the couch. Once he was upright, he let out a massive belch and leaned back, rubbing his own belly. His shirt had ridden up well above his belly button, and he didn’t seem at all inclined to pull it down.

“So how was that?” Clark asked.

“Pretty fun,” Dale admitted. “How about for you?”

“The whole convincing you part was fun, though I don’t know if I did a good job of playing the part,” Clark admitted.

With a giggle, Dale gently patted his rounded stomach and said, “I think you did a damn good job.”

After some more chatting, the two bade each other farewell and Clark walked out of the house. Once he was out of Dale’s sight, he let out a deep exhalation and let his stuffed gut surge forward, no longer sucking it in. “Jesus,” he said as he patted his distended stomach. “That’s a first,” he mumbled as he got in his car to drive home.

It was Saturday night when Clark and Dale next met up. Dale had told Clark he liked the finger food stuffing and wanted to try it again, but without the pretenses of inexperience. As such, Clark ordered more for their session than he had before. He figured Dale could eat more if he wasn’t pretending to be so hesitant about it, and could stuff more food in before he felt full.

Dale greeted Clark at the door with a tight button-down shirt on, prompting Clark to ask, “Are we going to try to make those buttons pop tonight?”

“That’s the goal,” Dale said as he invited Clark in. Motioning to some large bags on the counter, he continued, “The food already came, so we can get right to it.”

“Oh… Sorry I wasn’t here to pay–”

Dale shook his head back and forth and gave Clark a dismissive wave. “Don’t worry about it. I figured it’s time I start pitching in too.”

“How much was it?”

“Never you mind,” Dale commanded with a smile. “What’s more important is making it all disappear,” he said as he patted his belly.

With a noise somewhere between an “Mmm” and a growl, Dale said, “We can do that.” Grabbing a box from the bag on the counter, he turned to Dale and asked, “Kitchen? Couch?”

Dale backed up against the counter and beckoned Clark toward him. Leaning forward, he stretched his shirt even tighter, making the gaps between the buttons stretch open as the cloth billowed out around them. With a low chuckle, Clark approach him as he dragged the bags closer too. He kept walking until he ran into Dale’s belly, giving it a rub with his free hand. “Careful,” Dale joked. “You might get a bruise if a button pops off while you’re this close.

Lifting up the box of breadsticks and taking one in hand, Clark said, “Only one way to find out.”

With Dale no longer putting on the façade of a hesitant feedee, he wolfed down the breadsticks in no time. Most of them, anyway. After Clark had stuffed the second-to-last breadstick in Dale’s mouth, he grabbed the last one and ate it himself as Dale chewed. He let out an “Mmm” as he took the first bite, before finishing it about as fast as Dale finished his. A smirk spread across Dale’s face as he watched Clark eat, prompting Clark to tell him, “Don’t get too comfortable.” He pulled out the chicken fingers next, shoving one in Dale’s mouth as his finished his breadstick.

When Clark finished the breadstick, he took a chicken finger for himself and munched it as he fed Dale the rest. He chewed with intense bites, slowly, deliberately, with a smirk on his face. The satisfaction of chomping on the chicken finger added to the enjoyment he got out of stuffing Dale, and he found himself eating another before Dale finished the rest.

The rest of their stuffing session continued the same way, Clark snacking the whole way as he fed Dale even more. As tight as Dale’s shirt was, it held until they were near the end of the meal. As Clark walked toward Dale with the bag of pizza bites in hand, he heard the cloth rip and a tinkle as several button landed on the floor. Looking down, he saw that two buttons had flown off, and Dale’s pale stomach peeked out from between the cloth. “There it goes!” Clark said.

Dale replied with an “Mmm” before he pulled the shirt apart and more buttons popped off. With a sigh of relief, he patted his gut before giving it a gentle rub.

“Good. Now it has more room to grow,” Clark said before he threw a pizza bite in his mouth and stuffed several in Dale’s.

As expected, Dale ended the night with a massively stuffed belly peeking out from within his shirt, though Clark was sporting a small belly of his own. Between the two of them, they finished all the food Clark had ordered. Dale hadn’t fallen victim to food coma the same way he did their first night, but Clark chalked that up to the fact that it was easier to stay awake while they were standing up.

Giving Dale’s belly a hearty pat, Clark said, “Nice job, tubs.”

Dale looked down with only a modest smile on his face. “I dunno. I definitely could have eaten more.”

“Hmm. Maybe the finger food isn’t such a good idea when we’re not pretending you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Maybe next time we just need to have more on hand,” Dale said, his voice taking on a sultry tone, as he pulled Clark closer. Clark felt his belly hit Dale’s, and a mild soreness resulted as his full belly felt the impact. “Next time, you could get even more food, so you can snack on it all you like and we’ll still have enough to stuff me to the gills.”

Dale’s deep, husky voice only made Clark even more excited about his idea. “I like the sound of that.”

With the kinks worked out, Dale and Clark’s sessions only got more intense as the two kept meeting. Clark got quite a lot of joy out of seeing Dale stuffed delirious when they met, but their sessions had evolved beyond that. Though Clark couldn’t eat as much as Dale, his snacking during their sessions was bordering on outright mutual feeding.

It started off small, with Dale occasionally feeding Clark when Clark had finished his snack and didn’t immediately take another. Once Clark grew used to that, Dale took on the responsibility more and more until Clark wasn’t even feeding himself his own snacks. And once Dale had dominion over Clark’s eating, he could up the ante easily.

Not that Clark minded enough to notice. The interplay between the two made the sessions even more hot, and he wasn’t going to question that. Though he still considered himself an aggressive feeder, he saw the mutual feeding as a kind of competition, a playful struggle to see who could feed the other more. It was a struggle he always won, but the margin of victory was growing smaller.

And Clark himself was growing bigger. What started as a paunch that could easily be hidden by his shirt had grown into a respectable gut in its own right. Clark’s new belly had grown to the size of a beach ball, and his arms, chest, and double chin had all plumped up to match.

Unfortunately, it had generated some unwanted attention online. Though he still had in his profile that he was strictly a feeder, quite a few guys had messaged him about meeting to feed him. Most lost interest when he told them he was only an encourager and not a gainer, though one had made a rather snide comment about the differences between his old photos and his new photos suggesting otherwise. That lead to a rebranding effort as Clark deleted his old photos and uploaded new photos of himself with captions like, “I can get you much bigger than this.”

But Clark mostly put his own growth out of his mind, caring more about Dale’s expansion. And Dale had indeed grown thanks to Clark’s encouragement. His belly looked to have expanded an inch vertically and two inches horizontally compared to how big it was when the two started out. Between Dale’s enthusiasm for eating and Clark’s aggressive encouragement, the results had been spectacular.

Unfortunately, this left Clark with less patience for the less enthusiastic gainers who sought out his encouragement. After getting to stuff a guy like Dale, having to stuff a feedee who wanted to stop as soon as he felt full or wanted a whole lot of extra activities on top of the feeding just wasn’t as satisfying.

Thankfully, Dale lent Clark a sympathetic ear to vent about it. “It’s just so frustrating,” he typed into the messenger on the site where they first met. “If they’re going to stop eating as soon as they’re full, they can just go out to eat with their friends. That’s not what I’m here for.”

“Haha, good point,” Dale wrote back. “What’s even special or hot about it if they stop when they’re full? That’s how civilians eat.”

“If only I could share some photos of you. You could show them how it’s done.”

After a pause, Dale messaged back. “I’m honored, but you know how I feel about that.” And shortly after, “But hey, you’re not too shabby yourself. Maybe you should show them how it’s done.” Followed by, “Especially since you’re strictly a feeder. If you can do it, they definitely can. :-P”

The suggestion put Clark off at first, but when Dale put it that way, the idea seemed more appealing. It would allow him to speak with more conviction when he told his feedees the amount of food they’d eatied wasn’t “that much”. If he could take his usual encouragement techniques and turn them on himself, then it might even be fun.

So one night, Clark stopped by a local sandwich shop and ordered three foot-long subs. He also stopped by the liquor store to pick up a six pack, then headed home for what was going to be an interesting night.

Sitting on his couch with the TV on, Clark set up his phone on a stand to take photos of himself. It felt strange, as he usually set it up to face someone else. But he shook off the feeling, turned on the TV, popped open a beer, and got started.

Clark started by taking a photo of himself with the three hulking sandwiches in hand, thinking of possible captions as he did:
“Trying something a little different tonight.”
“This can’t be as hard as y’all make it out to be.”
“Just a light snack before bed.” He decided against the last one, as it sounded too much like something an actual gainer would write.

With the “before” shot taken, Clark opened the first sandwich, a chicken salad sub, and started eating. At first he ate slowly, conscious of how unusual this was for him and not sure how to go about it. He ended up chasing every bite of his sandwich with a gulp of beer, sometimes several, such that he finished the first can before he’d finished even half of the sandwich. The second can disappeared just as fast, and with a third of the sandwich left, he thought it was a good time to take the next photo. So he stuck the remaining sandwich in his mouth and took a photo mid-bite.
“Chicken salad sub. No big deal.”
“Goes down so easy.”
“If I can do it, what’s your excuse?”

Clark got more into it once he finished posing for the second photo, because the rest of the sandwich disappeared far faster than either of the thirds before it. Perhaps it was the beer, he reasoned. Or maybe he was finally getting into the feedee mentality. Either way, he unwrapped the second sandwich, a turkey club with bacon, and started stuffing it down. The second sandwich disappeared much faster than the first, such that Clark almost didn’t think to stop and take another photo.
“Two down, one to go.”
“Good stuff. Shout out to my local sandwich shop.”
“I can see why you lot enjoy this so much.”

Once the second sandwich was done, Clark chugged most of another can of beer before letting out a massive belch, using the break as a chance to take another photo as he drank the rest.
“Washing it down.”
“On my third can. How much can you drink?”
“This is starting to seem like a good idea,” he thought of with a chuckle.

Once he finished the beer, Clark let his hand fall on his stomach, feeling the firm mass of food and drink building up beneath it. It was something he was usually excited to feel in another guy’s stomach, but as he felt his gut push back against his fingers, he started to enjoy it. Lifting up his shirt, he posed for another photo.
“Starting to feel it.”
“Things are going just swell here.”
“Showing it off. Might as well return the favor.”

With one more sandwich to go, Clark unwrapped the chicken parm sub and started wolfing it down. It was easily his favorite of the three, but by then, he was really starting to feel the build-up of sandwich in his stomach. He chased down each bite with another swig of beer, thinking it would help it go down, even though it only meant he felt fuller. When he’d finished his fourth can, about half of the sandwich remained, so he took the opportunity to take another photo.
“Packing the last one in.”
“If I can do it, so can you.”
“Showing you fatties how it’s done.”

The last half of the chicken parm sub went down almost as slowly as the first half of the chicken salad sub. Though he’d gotten his bearings, his stuffed belly was starting to protest against his continued eating. Lying back on his couch, his firm stomach perked up over his torso as he got the rest of the sandwich down, bite by bite, each one assisted by another swig of beer.

Eventually, the last bite finally went down. With tired hands, Clark rubbed his distended gut, and a mild amount of relief settled over him. He had to struggle to sit up and hit the button on his phone to take a photo, but after he fell back on the couch, he put on a more assertive, dominant expression.
“Showing off the gut.”
“Let’s get you bigger than this.”
“I want to see you eat even more.”

Once he saw the camera go off, he let out a sigh and relaxed. As full as he was, he couldn’t keep up the dominant persona, certainly not without a guy to dominate. With a grunt, he reached down to undo his pants, letting out a groan of relief when the belt finally came undone. His shirt had already bunched up around his chest, so he let his hands wander over his bare belly, rubbing his heft tenderly with tired moans.

Clark had the photos he needed, but something about leaving one last beer unopened didn’t sit right with him. With a grunt, he reached around to grab the last beer and fell back on the couch with a groan. Undeterred, he opened the beer and chugged it down, paying no attention to how full he already felt until he swallowed the last of it and heard the ripping of cloth before something small and plastic settled on the floor.

Curious, Clark reached down and felt around the top of his pants. He pulled at the flaps around his zipper and felt them come apart with a metallic whir as the zipper descended. It seemed his button had popped off. With his belly now totally unconstrained, it had jutted out even farther, providing even more relief. With a chuckle, Clark patted his protruding stomach, feeling almost proud that he’d managed to accomplish something like that. It was so exciting when he stuffed a feedee enough that one of their buttons popped, and now he’d managed to do it to himself.

His excitement was soon tempered when he tried to get up and found his stomach pushing back against him. Though he strained against his defiant gut, he eventually fell back against the couch and muttered an “Oof.” With a nervous chuckle, he rubbed his stomach like he was trying to placate it into letting him go, before attempting to stand up again and failing. When that didn’t work either, he let out a defeated sigh and gently patted his swollen stomach. The TV played on as he kept massaging his gut, his breath shallow as his gorged stomach took up space once reserved for air. Soon his eyelids felt as heavy as his belly, and after they wavered for a while, he drifted off to sleep.

It was several weeks later when Clark and Dale were able to meet up again. Though Clark had been having plenty of fun with other feedees, especially after the burst of new popularity his feeding session photos had brought him, he wanted desperately to see his old favorite again so there could be some real stuffing. Then one Friday night after work, Clark finally got his wish.

Dale had insisted on ordering the food this time, so Clark drove to his house with no idea what to expect that night. Not that he minded; more than anything else, he was excited to see his favorite fatty again. When he arrived and knocked on the door, Dale greeted him wearing only boxers and a white tank top that was a few inches too short for him.

“You’re prepared,” Clark commented with a chuckle.

“Come on in,” Dale said with a smirk, taking Clark by the shoulder and leading him into the kitchen. On the counter were several subs, a large pizza, and a six pack of beer.

“I thought you didn’t drink beer.”

“I don’t, but you definitely do,” Dale said with a chuckle. “I saw those photos. You did a good job,” he commended as he reached in the fridge for a seltzer water.

“Hey, gotta show ‘em how it’s done,” Clark retorted. “People seem to have taken to it, too.”

“Mmhm,” Dale replied before he pulled a beer out of the plastic rings and handed it Clark. “Something to wet our whistles before we get started,” he explained before Clark took the beer. With a “cheers”, they clinked their cans and started drinking. “Those photos really were good,” he told Clark. “You really got into it.”

With a shrug, Clark asked, “What can I say? It was fun to trying something new.”

“‘New’, mmhm.”

With a curious smile and his head cocked to the side, Clark asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dale assured him. “Now, hopefully this is enough for both of us. I know you like to snack when you feed me, but as I recall, you don’t eat that much,” he said dismissively.

“Oh really?” Clark said indignantly. “I make a whole photoset of me eating three sandwiches and drinking a six pack of beer, and you think I can’t eat that much?”

A smile grew across Dale’s face and he merely shrugged. “For all I know, you might not have really eaten everything you said you did. Maybe you just ripped those sandwiches in half and posed with them.”

Clark’s nostrils flared. He grabbed one of the subs and tore into the paper wrapper, delighted to see that it was chicken parm. “Wanna bet?” he asked before taking a giant bite out of it. Dale let out a deep chuckle, which only emboldened Clark. Snacking casually when he fed Dale was fun and all, but now he felt like he had something to prove.

With the help of sheer dogged determination and the beer to wash the sandwich down, Clark scarfed down the chicken parm sub in no time at all. He quickly opened another sandwich, this one a meatball parm sub, and started on that one too. Most of it disappeared just as quickly, but as Clark neared the end, he was starting to feel the buildup of meat and cheese in his stomach. Another can of beer helped him finish the sandwich, but a big belch afterward left him rubbing his stomach with a groan.

“Not bad, not bad,” said Dale as he walked toward Clark. Once Dale got close, Clark felt Dale’s hands on the side of his belly before he started rubbing it. It surprised Clark at first, but once he got used to it, he felt a wave of relief sweep over his stomach. With Dale giving his stomach the attention it needed, Clark knew he could finish the third sandwich, albeit at a slower pace than the other two.

With a more relaxed demeanor, Clark picked up the third sandwich and started munching, moaning as he did. Though he did indeed feel rather full, the moans were a show for Dale, affirmations intended to keep him rubbing Clark’s belly. If Clark could keep him doing that, he knew he could finish the third sandwich.

And Dale, it turned out, was more than happy to oblige. As Clark worked through the third sandwich, Dale kept his hands on Clark’s belly, soon making his way under Clark’s shirt. Feeling Dale’s warm hands on his skin made Dale’s massage all the more relieving, and Clark soldiered through his third sandwich without much trouble at all. Between Dale’s goading and his attention to Clark’s belly, it turned out to be much easier to finish the third sandwich than it was when he did it alone.

“Not bad at all,” Dale commended as Clark washed down the last bite of the sandwich with a swig of beer. “Color me impressed,” he added as he took to rubbing Clark’s belly more deeply. Though Dale’s strokes slowed down, Clark could feel Dale’s hands pushing into his stomach more, making his head fall back with mouth agape. “You put in a good effort. I won’t blame you if you throw in the towel now.”

That snapped Clark back to attention, and he looked to the right and saw the box of pizza. With a determined grunt, he opened it to reveal a meat-lover’s pie, exactly what he needed to top off the sandwiches. Taking a slice in his hand, he folded it in half and started shoveling it in.

With a chuckle, Dale grabbed the pizza and said, “Let’s take this into the living room.” Clark followed behind him with the slice in one hand and the remaining beers in the other. As he walked, he could feel that his belly had more bounce that usual, but that left his mind as soon as he sat down and resumed wolfing down his slice. Dale took to rubbing Clark’s belly again, and once Clark finished one slice of the pizza, Dale provided him with another.

The two continued their session that way, with Dale taking occasional drinks of beer when he needed to to get the pizza down. As the slices disappeared from the box one by one, he could feel the tension in his stomach tightening, his belly swelling with everything he was putting into it. But his determination to show up Dale kept his spirits up, as Dale’s deft hands on Clark’s belly ensured he never felt too stuffed to keep going.

But he definitely still felt full. As Clark ate more and more of the pizza, his moans slowly turned from put-ons to keep Dale’s attention on his gut to genuine expressions of the unfamiliar mix of pain and pleasure he felt. The steadily expanding mound of subs and pizza and beer in his stomach pushed out tightly against his belly from the inside, but Dale’s constant massage placated his stomach’s protestations. And though the food coma had him ready to fall asleep, Dale ensured he could keep going, even as he grew too tired to do anything but eat the pizza Dale gently pushed into his mouth.

With another slice finished, Clark let out a low groan and his head fell forward. “You did it,” he could hear Dale say. “You finished all the subs, all the beer, and all the pizza.” Clark’s groan turned boastful at this wonderful news. He’d shown Dale what’s what after all. It was a great feeling, and the last one he remembered before he let the food coma finally take him.

Dale kept rubbing Clark’s belly until he could hear his overfed companion’s gentle snoring. At that, he knew he was in the clear. After standing up, he took his phone out of his pocket and took several photos of Clark passed out on his couch, his mouth flanked with sauce as it hung agape, his shirt having ridden up around his chest and his belly having swelled at least an inch in all directions. It was perfect.

“No pictures, just like you asked,” Dale whispered mockingly.

Once he had some photos he was happy with, he pulled up the website where he and Clark first met and posted his favorites, mentioning Clark by his username. In the captions, he left several clichés that Clark might say with mocking quotation marks, making the irony of the photos clear.
“Strictly feeder and encourager here,” on a photo of Clark passed out from food coma.
“You looking to get blown up tonight?” on a photo taken from the side, showing how much his bulging belly stuck out.
“I’ll make you bigger than I am,” on a photo taken from a low angle to emphasize the size of his gut.
“Do I look like a feedee to you?” on a close-up of his sauce-covered face.

As the notifications started pouring in, Dale closed the site with a satisfied smile. After collecting the trash to throw away, he walked past Clark and patted him on the side of his bulbous belly, goading a sleepy moan out of him. “You did good, tubby.”

One thought on “How the Dinner Tables Have Turned

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