Fatlazyhog

Chapter 1

Tommy Mercer had always lived his life with the uneasy feeling that something inside him was different from everyone else around him. Not broken-just hidden. Misaligned. Like he had been handed a script he was supposed to follow, but every instinct in his body kept nudging him toward another version entirely.

At twenty-eight, Tommy looked exactly like the kind of man magazines said he should want to be. He worked maintenance at a distribution warehouse outside Phoenix, spent weekends lifting weights at a chain gym near his apartment, and wore fitted black T-shirts that showed off broad shoulders and a narrow waist. People called him disciplined. Reliable. "Built."

He hated hearing it.

Not openly, of course. He smiled when coworkers complimented his physique. He nodded politely when strangers at bars asked about his workout routine. His girlfriend, Rachel, loved wrapping her arms around his stomach and joking that he had "armor plating" instead of abs.

But the compliments made Tommy feel strangely hollow.

Because late at night, after Rachel fell asleep, he would lie awake scrolling through videos and photographs online that stirred feelings he could barely explain to himself. Huge men laughing as they struggled out of restaurant booths. Bellies stretching tight beneath stained T-shirts. Thick arms. Double chins. Heavy breathing after walking up stairs.

Tommy did not mock them.

He envied them.

The realization terrified him the first time it surfaced clearly in his mind.

He was twenty-two then, sitting alone in his truck outside a fast-food place, watching an enormous man waddle carefully toward the entrance while balancing a milkshake carrier against his stomach. Tommy remembered staring at him so intensely that the man glanced back in confusion.

The sight sent warmth flooding through Tommy's chest.

Not lust exactly.

Something stranger.

Longing.

He wanted to know what it felt like to move through the world like that. To feel soft instead of hard. Heavy instead of controlled. He imagined fullness. Warmth. Endless permission.

Most of all, he imagined relief.

Because Tommy was exhausted from monitoring himself all the time.

Calories.
Protein.
Cardio.
W aist measurements.
Gym schedules.

His entire life revolved around staying small enough, lean enough, disciplined enough to remain acceptable.

Meanwhile, the men he secretly admired looked unconcerned by any of it. Massive. Comfortable. Indulgent.

Free.

For years, Tommy buried those thoughts beneath routine. He meal-prepped chicken and rice. He drank protein shakes. He forced himself through workouts he increasingly hated. Whenever he caught himself lingering too long on fantasies of overeating or gaining weight, he shoved the thoughts aside with shame.

Then, slowly, something shifted.

It started innocently enough.

One Friday after work, Rachel canceled dinner plans because she was meeting coworkers downtown. Tommy found himself alone in the apartment with no obligations and no one watching him.

He ordered takeout.

Not one meal.

Three.

Two burgers, chili fries, mozzarella sticks, and a massive chocolate shake.

When the bags arrived, Tommy spread everything across the coffee table and stared at it with a pounding heartbeat. The food smelled rich and greasy and overwhelming.

He should have felt disgusted.

Instead, excitement curled low in his stomach.

He ate slowly at first, savoring each bite. Then faster. Fries disappeared. Burgers vanished. Cheese stretched from his fingertips. Grease coated his lips.

By the time he finished, Tommy sat slumped against the couch cushions breathing heavily, his stomach swollen tight beneath his shirt.

He pressed both hands against the firm bulge protruding from his abdomen.

The sensation made his face flush.

He felt enormous.

Stuffed.

Satisfied in a way the gym had never once made him feel.

The next morning, guilt crashed over him. He skipped breakfast and punished himself with extra cardio. But throughout the workout, Tommy kept remembering the weight in his stomach the night before. The fullness. The warmth.

That memory followed him for days.

Then weeks.

Soon Friday night became his private ritual.

Rachel thought he simply liked relaxing with junk food after stressful workweeks. She laughed about his "cheat meals" and teased him for inhaling entire pizzas.

Tommy laughed too, pretending it was temporary.

But the changes accumulated quietly.

Five pounds.

Then ten.

His abs softened first, disappearing beneath a thin layer of fat that fascinated him whenever he stood shirtless before the bathroom mirror. He would poke at the slight curve forming over his waistband, unable to stop touching it.

Rachel noticed eventually.

"You're getting a little squishy," she joked one night while lying beside him in bed.

Tommy laughed too quickly.

"Yeah. Guess I've been slacking."

"Not complaining," she said lightly, squeezing his stomach. "Just don't become one of those guys who totally lets himself go."

The comment lingered in Tommy's mind long after she fell asleep.

One of those guys.

The phrase should have scared him.

Instead, his pulse quickened.

Over the following months, Tommy's appetite grew impossible to ignore. He started stopping for breakfast sandwiches before work. Energy drinks turned into milkshakes. Lunch portions doubled.

At first he maintained enough self-control to compensate occasionally, but eventually the effort felt pointless. Once he started eating, something inside him demanded more.

More fries.
More soda.
More dessert.

He loved the physical sensation of fullness so intensely that restraint became painful.

His coworkers noticed before he did.

"Damn, Tommy," one guy laughed during lunch break. "You bulking or what?"

Tommy looked down at himself instinctively.

His work shirt stretched tighter across his stomach now. When he sat, his waistband dug painfully into his belly. His face looked rounder too.

"Something like that," he muttered.

But secretly, hearing someone acknowledge his gain sent a thrill through him.

That frightened him most of all.

Because Tommy knew he should feel ashamed.

And part of him absolutely did.

Shopping became humiliating. Medium shirts clung to his body awkwardly. Large shirts fit his stomach but hung loose elsewhere. He found himself breathing harder climbing stairs at work. His thighs rubbed together when he walked.

Yet every embarrassing milestone carried hidden pleasure beneath it.

One evening Rachel asked him to help move furniture in their apartment. Tommy bent to lift the couch, and his jeans split loudly down the back seam.

Silence filled the room.

Rachel stared.

Tommy froze, face burning.

Then she burst out laughing.

"Oh my God, Tommy!"

He laughed too, but his heart hammered violently.

The cool air against his exposed skin. The pressure that had finally overwhelmed the fabric. The undeniable proof that his body was becoming too large for his clothes.

He hated how much he loved it.

Rachel stopped laughing after a moment.

"Seriously though," she said carefully, "you've gained a lot lately."

Tommy shrugged.

"Guess I've been stressed."

"You've gained like twenty pounds."

Hearing the number spoken aloud sent heat flooding through him.

Twenty pounds.

He pictured it physically. Twenty pounds layered across his stomach, chest, face, and thighs. Twenty pounds making him softer. Wider. Heavier.

Rachel crossed her arms.

"You used to care about yourself."

The words stung.

Not because they were cruel.

Because part of Tommy feared they were true.

But another part whispered something darker.

What if he didn't want to care anymore?

That thought cracked something open inside him.

After Rachel went to bed, Tommy sat alone in the kitchen eating leftover cake straight from the container. He stared at the reflection of his growing body in the dark window above the sink.

His stomach pushed visibly against his shirt now even while standing.

He imagined it bigger.

Rounder.

Hanging.

The fantasy made him dizzy.

For the first time in his life, Tommy admitted the truth to himself.

He wanted this.

Not accidentally.

Not secretly.

Deliberately.

The realization should have filled him with panic.

Instead, he felt relief so intense he nearly cried.

Once the truth surfaced, Tommy stopped pretending his habits were temporary. He still hid his desires from everyone else, but privately he surrendered to them completely.

He began structuring his days around food.

Breakfast became a drive-thru feast before sunrise. He snacked constantly at work. Family-size bags of chips vanished during television marathons. He ordered extra sides automatically.

His body responded rapidly.

At two hundred pounds, he noticed his stomach bouncing slightly when he hurried down stairs.

At two-twenty, he started avoiding mirrors because seeing himself unexpectedly made his breath catch.

At two-forty, strangers stopped describing him as "big" and started calling him "fat."

Every new change brought conflicting emotions.

Embarrassment.

Arousal.

Fear.

Excitement.

Tommy lived in permanent contradiction.

Publicly, he apologized for his size constantly.

Privately, he traced his growing belly with trembling hands while lying in bed at night.

Rachel grew increasingly frustrated.

"You don't do anything anymore," she snapped one Saturday after finding him asleep on the couch surrounded by takeout containers. "You come home, eat, and sit."

Tommy rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"I'm exhausted."

"You're lazy."

The word hit him strangely.

Lazy.

He remembered secretly admiring fat men precisely because they looked unconcerned with productivity or discipline. The insult landed with unexpected warmth.

Rachel noticed his silence.

"Are you even listening?"

"Yeah."

& quot;You used to have goals."

Tommy stared down at his stomach protruding beneath his stretched shirt.

Maybe this was his goal.

The thought frightened him because it felt true.

Rachel tried helping at first. She bought healthier groceries. Suggested gym dates. Encouraged walks after dinner.

Tommy sabotaged every attempt unconsciously.

He ordered extra food behind her back.
Snacked secretly at night.
Pretended to forget workouts.

Eventually Rachel stopped trying to help and started criticizing instead.

"You're always eating."

"Do you realize how out of breath you get now?"

"Your clothes barely fit."

Each comment humiliated Tommy publicly while feeding something private and hungry inside him.

One humid evening in July, the inevitable collapse finally came.

Rachel arrived home early from work and found Tommy sitting shirtless at the kitchen table surrounded by empty fast-food wrappers. Sweat glistened across his chest and stomach. A half-eaten pie sat directly in front of him.

He looked enormous.

His belly spread heavily across his lap while seated, thick and undeniably soft.

Rachel stopped dead in the doorway.

"Oh my God."

Tommy immediately pulled his shirt toward himself, but it snagged against his stomach halfway down.

The silence that followed felt unbearable.

Rachel stared at him with open disbelief.

"What happened to you?"

Tommy swallowed hard.

"I don't know."

But he did know.

Rachel's expression hardened slowly.

"You don't even care anymore."

"That's not true."

"You've become a fat, lazy hog."

The words landed like a slap.

Tommy's face burned crimson.

Part humiliation.
Part devastation.
Part something darker he refused to examine.

Rachel grabbed her purse from the counter.

"I can't do this anymore."

Tommy stood abruptly.

"Rachel-"

" No." Her eyes filled with frustration. "You used to have ambition. Now all you do is eat and sit around feeling sorry for yourself."

He wanted to tell her the truth.

That he didn't feel sorry for himself at all.

That beneath the shame and embarrassment, part of him had never felt more alive.

But he couldn't say it aloud.

Because hearing it spoken would make it real.

Rachel shook her head.

"You disgust me."

Then she walked out.

Tommy stood frozen in the kitchen long after the door slammed shut.

The apartment felt impossibly quiet.

Eventually he looked down at himself.

His stomach hung over the waistband of his shorts now. Deep stretch marks lined his sides. His chest had softened noticeably. His thighs pressed heavily together.

Rachel was right.

He looked fat.

Objectively, undeniably fat.

Tommy expected grief to consume him.

Instead, after several minutes, he slowly sat back down at the table.

Then he pulled the pie closer.

And kept eating.

Weeks passed after Rachel left.

Tommy spiraled deeper into isolation and indulgence simultaneously. Without anyone monitoring him, his routines dissolved entirely. He stopped pretending to diet. Stopped weighing himself. Stopped caring about appearances.

Food became comfort, entertainment, reward, and obsession all at once.

Entire weekends disappeared into cycles of eating and sleeping.

The heavier Tommy became, the stranger his emotions grew. Public humiliation intensified sharply. Walking through grocery stores made him self-conscious. He noticed people glance at his stomach. Teenagers smirked occasionally.

Yet privately, every new inconvenience fascinated him.

The first time he struggled to button a pair of pants, he nearly panicked.

Then later that night, alone in bed, he replayed the moment repeatedly in his mind.

At work, physical tasks exhausted him faster now. Sweat soaked through his uniform. His belly brushed countertops when he squeezed through narrow spaces.

Coworkers started making comments more openly.

"You really packed it on, man."

"Living good these days, huh?"

Tommy laughed weakly every time.

Inside, shame twisted together with undeniable excitement.

One afternoon he caught his reflection unexpectedly in a warehouse security mirror and physically stopped walking.

The man staring back barely resembled the lean gym enthusiast he once had been.

His face looked broad and soft.
His neck thicker.
His stomach massive beneath his uniform shirt.

Tommy stared at himself for nearly a full minute.

Then quietly, almost involuntarily, he whispered:

"God."

Not in horror.

In awe.

That realization scared him enough to finally attempt changing.

For three days, Tommy tried dieting again. He bought salads. Forced himself onto a treadmill. Threw away junk food.

By the fourth night, he sat shaking in his kitchen from cravings so intense they bordered on desperation.

He ordered enough takeout for four people.

While eating, Tommy realized something uncomfortable.

He no longer fantasized about being fat someday.

He already was fat.

And instead of curing the desire, reality had intensified it.

The more weight he gained, the more he wanted.

More softness.
More heaviness.
More surrender.

It was no longer just attraction.

It had become identity.

Autumn arrived brutally hot in Phoenix that year, and Tommy's body made the heat nearly unbearable. He sweated constantly. Walking across parking lots left him flushed and breathless.

Yet he continued eating compulsively.

Fast food workers began recognizing him. Delivery drivers joked about seeing him daily. Tommy should have been mortified.

Sometimes he was.

But there were moments-terrible, secret moments-when being visibly known as "the fat guy" thrilled him.

One night he attended a coworker's birthday party at a sports bar. It was the first social event he had accepted in months.

As Tommy squeezed into the booth, his stomach pressed painfully against the table edge.

"You good there, big man?" someone joked.

Laughter rippled around the table.

Tommy forced a smile while heat crawled across his cheeks.

Then the waitress arrived.

"What can I get you?"

Tommy ordered wings.

Then nachos.

Then extra fries.

Then dessert later.

He noticed people staring subtly as plate after plate disappeared.

Embarrassment gnawed at him.

Yet underneath it pulsed dark satisfaction.

For years he had fantasized about becoming visibly gluttonous. Now he was living it openly.

After the party, Tommy drove home feeling sick from overeating. His stomach strained against his seatbelt. His thighs ached from rubbing together.

He should have felt miserable.

Instead, he found himself resting one hand atop his swollen belly during red lights, almost affectionately.

By winter, Tommy weighed over three hundred pounds.

The number stunned him when he finally stepped onto a scale at a pharmacy.

Three hundred and twelve.

He stared downward in disbelief.

More than a hundred pounds gained.

A decade earlier, the number would have horrified him.

Now it made his knees weak.

Tommy sat in his truck afterward gripping the steering wheel while complicated emotions crashed through him. Fear for his health mixed with exhilaration so intense he could barely breathe.

He had actually done it.

He had become the kind of man he once secretly stared at from afar.

Big.
Soft.
Fat.

And there was no hiding it anymore.

Daily life transformed accordingly.

He needed larger chairs.
Larger shirts.
Elastic waistbands.

Simple tasks exhausted him quickly now. He moved slower without intending to. Stairs became strategic decisions rather than inconveniences.

His body felt permanently heavy.

Tommy loved it.

And hated that he loved it.

That contradiction defined every moment of his existence.

One afternoon while shopping for clothes at a big-and-tall store, Tommy caught another customer glancing sympathetically toward the pile of oversized shirts in his cart.

"You'll be more comfortable in those," the older man said kindly.

Comfortable.

The word lingered strangely.

Because Tommy realized discomfort had defined most of his earlier life. Constant restriction. Constant pressure to remain disciplined.

Now his body was undeniably unhealthy, undeniably excessive, undeniably judged.

Yet emotionally, he felt freer than ever before.

Not happier exactly.

But honest.

For the first time in his life, his outer appearance matched the desires he had hidden internally for years.

Late one night, Tommy found old photos of himself stored on his phone.

Lean.
Sharp-jawed.
Muscular.
Rachel smiled beside him in many of them.

Tommy studied the images for a long time.

He remembered how desperately unhappy he had been back then despite looking "better." Every calorie tracked. Every indulgence punished. Every pound feared.

Now he lived in the opposite extreme.

His apartment was cluttered.
His habits terrible.
His body enormous.

Yet there was strange peace in no longer pretending.

The phone buzzed suddenly.

A text from Rachel.

He hadn't heard from her in months.

"Hope you're doing okay."

Tommy stared at the message silently.

Then another appeared.

"Honestly I still don't understand what happened."

Neither did he fully.

How could he explain that her insults had hurt because they were true-but also because they touched desires he barely understood himself?

How could he admit that being called fat and lazy had humiliated him publicly while secretly validating something deep inside him?

Tommy typed several responses before deleting them all.

Finally he wrote:

"I'm figuring things out."

Rachel responded almost immediately.

"You should take care of yourself."

Tommy looked down at the empty pizza box resting on his stomach.

For a moment guilt surged through him sharply enough to hurt.

Then, slowly, he rested his hand across the curve of his belly again.

Warm.
Heavy.
Real.

Mayb e he was taking care of himself.

Just not in the way the world expected.

Months later, Tommy sat alone at a diner booth on a rainy evening, finishing his second plate of pancakes while thunder rattled the windows outside.

The waitress refilled his coffee without asking.

"You're my favorite customer," she joked warmly. "You always appreciate the food."

Tommy laughed softly.

He had learned something important over the past year.

Most people assumed fatness came from fail

Contemporary Fiction Punishing/Forcing/Hypnosis Addictive Male Bisexual Immobility Slave/Master/Servant First person X-rated Illustrated novel

1 chapter, created 2 weeks , updated 1 day

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