Inactive Chance Carmichael / AFatChance / 600goingon700 / 700goingon800 / idontwantthisbutok - Fat dead retard who got off on being a fat retard and made people mad

A Skeleton said:

lmao only retards pick team instinct

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RedneckQuadFeed said:

So does this mean that he won't be changing his name to "800goingon900"?

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Purple People Eater said:

I've got an image in my head of Chance being the next Jared Fogle

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Dog Prom 3D said:

And even more horrible things our noses aren't meant to smell.

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Too Many Crooks said:

I am so thankful that we cannot smell anything through it.

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ShiningPokeStar said:

Steve has been eager to gain for quite some time. He watches from afar as all his favorite gainers grow fatter, but he has no luck. Until one day he answers an ad from two very strange people looking for “GAINERS”.

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ShiningPokeStar said:

Spoiler: Ayy lardmayo

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Long overdue update here hahaha. The 8th part of The Fattening Festival is now available. I am very proud of this entry. It was a lot of fun doing a send-up to all the great SCIFI gaining stories I’ve read, and although I’m not the biggest vore guy I had fun writing a little dude eating in there too.
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Steve has been eager to gain for quite some time. He watches from afar as all his favorite gainers grow fatter, but he has no luck. Until one day he answers an ad from two very strange people looking for “GAINERS”.

EXCERPT

I rested my hand on my distended gut. It was just round and full enough to begin peeking out of the XL shirt I was wearing. I glared hard at it trying to will it to suddenly magically explode with hundreds of pounds of fat. Alas, I was not magic. But my metabolism was.

I slouched on my parents’ leather couch – my shirt slowly sliding down the slippery upholstery taking me deeper into the crevices of the couch. I wanted so badly to melt away. I had spent another night stuffing myself with as much greasy fast food as I could muster before feeling sick, and my body wasn’t showing any progress.

I lazily pulled my phone out of my pocket and I began scrolling through the pictures in my “inspiration” folder. Honestly, most of the pictures were of three mega chub gainers that I followed on various social media platforms who I admired from afar. I wanted to be in their skin – to feel all that fat pushing down on me, to be able to eat 15,000 calories a day like a greedy hog. I spent a lot of time watching their videos and browsing their photos – imagining I was them huffing and puffing as they tried to roll their hugely fat bodies over on their beds or when they were stuffing themselves with mayo covered hamburgers.

There was fatfuck89 who had been hovering around 650 pounds for years now. He would often post photos of the humongous pad of fat that had engulfed his penis. I marveled at the short videos he posted of himself batting it around like a squishy plaything. He often posted about how he could not reach into his fat pad to physically make contact with his dick anymore, and that thought alone had gotten me off more than a few times. He would masturbate by pushing down on this fat pad and working his buried dick through the layer of fat suffocating it. Watching his mush his lard into his dick was transcendental for me. It was like he had a completely different sex organ – one stuffed with fat.

My second favorite was Pig_Full. He was over 800 pounds of rolls of billowy fat. Every part of him jiggled as he slowly waddled across the floor in his videos wearing tents of clothing pieces that were already inadequate at covering his ever-growing form. Yards and yards of fabric sewn into the shapes of shirts and pants just to barely fit his roll-covered mountain of a body. I envied the fact that he had a dedicated encourager who made sure that all of his needs were met so that he could work his way to immobility. He and his boyfriend were versatile. Often Pig_Full would be submissive – wearing a fake pig nose and ears and eating from a trough full of fatty foods. But sometimes he would force his feeder to find his buried penis and suck it no matter how suffocated he become. In one of my favorite videos, he leaned on his walker for a moment before falling back on his feeder and collapsing their old, nearly broken bed. He was able to roll off his feeder just in time for him to not be smothered to death by Pig_Full’s enormous body.

My third, GluttonGod, was 500 pounds, so he wasn’t quite as huge as the first two, but he made up for this in the displays of unchallengeable gluttony in his videos. He would slather everything he ate (and I mean everything) in mayonnaise or ranch, and he would messily eat it while belching and slathering his stretch mark covered gut in grease and sauce. The other thing I loved about GluttonGod is that he was a guy my starting size only a few years ago. He went from a skinny twig of a guy to a slightly pudgy guy to an undeniably chubby guy to a fat guy to a really fat guy to a super obese guy right before my eyes. I had been watching in great envy as he filled with pounds of gloopy fat the last few years, and it fueled my fruitless gaining attempts. I had been “gaining” far longer than he had and I had plateaued after the first year with scarcely a gut.

I spent so much time every day just staring at these three and wishing so much that I could be like them. They were all way better than I had ever been at gaining weight. I had been trying to grow myself fatter every day since high school, but after ten years I had only managed this doughy little gut that pushed pitifully against my shirt

It was at this time that my brother Wayman entered the room. Wayman was a piece of shit. There is just no other way to describe Wayman. He was a competitive body builder and he regularly used steroids. He had achieved with muscles what I had only dreamt of achieving with fat. His shiny, hard lumps of muscle shined brightly as he blocked my view of the TV. The veins on various muscles twitched as he crossed his arms. He stood there for a moment like a smug statue. He had always been more conventionally good looking than I was: he was blond, tanner, and taller. The fact that he was covered in 300 pounds of beefy muscle made me look like a puny, ugly weakling next to him. Wayman was an obnoxious jock through and through. For instance, “Wayman” is our last name, but he insisted even Mom and Dad and I not call him by his first name the day he wrote it on his gym shirts in middle school. His real name was Percy, and I hadn’t uttered it since he choked me out for saying it when I was a freshman in high school.

Wayman had moved out of Mom and Dad’s house a few years back after his body building career took off. He lived with another meathead who I also despised the few times I met him. The only name I ever heard his roommate called was “Shark”. Shark was just as terrifyingly ripped as Wayman was. I never really heard him say a word until a commercial came on for an MMA fight came on, and in it one of the fighters claimed he was “the buffest guy in the world”. Shark growled and muttered, “Yeah, we’ll show you, you fat piece of shit.” Even though Wayman was a douchey muscle-bro with a weird roommate my parents still adored him way more than they did me.

Wayman had moved out and stopped sapping Mom and Dad’s resources, which made him the favored son. However, he would return often to do laundry and torment me.

He constantly walked up and forcibly poked me in my gut with a loud annoying snicker. Then he would always inevitably say, “Just messin’ with ya, bro!”

Apparently “just messin’ with ya” is a long way to continually admit to somebody that you are just abusing them.

“Jesus, man, get up and do something. You look 8 months pregnant,” Wayman said still towering and hulking over me on the couch.

“Oh yeah?” I said. I actually liked getting fat comments. Wayman didn’t know that one of his new favorite ways of insulting me (re: my weight) turned me on so much. I looked forward to the day I surpassed a weight even he couldn’t lift, and I would bury him alive in my lard as he insulted me one last time.

“Yeah, man, why don’t you come to the gym with me? I could really pump you up… That is if you don’t get crushed by a 20 pounder on your first lift,” Wayman said, his muscles flexing in symphony with his annoying laugh.

I rolled my eyes and pushed myself up off the couch with a grunt. This caused Wayman to imitate me in an exaggerated manner. If Wayman was going to be at the house for the next several hours doing laundry I was going to go on a fast food run.

Even though my belly was still achingly full I made my way to a burger joint a few blocks away. I slowly sauntered inside and stared up at the menu – my eyes glazing over as they scanned the combos. I was so full. None of this food sounded appetizing.

“Burger Brothers, what can I get you?” the cashier said in an uninterested tone. I stuttered for a few moments – nothing sounded appetizing. I clutched my small gut, and my eyes darted from cheeseburger to chicken to ice cream. None of it sounded good, but I was determined to push myself. Always.

Finally I decided on a large double cheeseburger combo. Slowly forcing it down over the next couple of hours would kill time until Wayman left the house. When my number was called I was staring, possibly a little obviously, at a middle-aged guy’s substantial McBelly, and it took a repeat of it for my attention to fully turn to the food. I longed to have even this 300-pound random guy’s body. I took a deep breath and carried my tray over to one of the booths.

I sat there for the next hour gnawing at the food as it grew colder and colder wishing so badly that I had the capacity to eat more. I watched one video once where GluttonGod stuffed himself with seven double cheeseburgers. Seven in 2 hours! I could barely make it through my third for the day. As I munched I didn’t notice a huge glob of mayo had fallen onto my faded tight shirt.

There was a woman in a booth adjacent to me who glared at the mess and leaned in to whisper to her friend about me. I sighed and reached for a napkin to wipe the sauce off my shirt. I was not as confident in my public displays of gluttony as my heroes were.

My hand grabbed something papery nearby as I daydreamed about being so fat my belly broke the bolted down booth apart. I realized that I had not grabbed a napkin, but somebody’s old newspaper. Too despondent and full to get up and retrieve a napkin I crumpled the pages and dabbed at the stain on my shirt. The paper was not the greatest method of stain absorption, but it mostly did the job.

When I was finished I threw the used paper on the table. As it landed a emboldened word caught my eye in the middle of one of the classified pages: “GAINERS”. I immediately grabbed the paper and squinted at the section where I had seen the word.

“GAINERS WANTED. CALL H AND P. 555-397-2379”

I sat there for a moment pondering if they meant my kind of gainer or my brother’s kind of gainer or quite possibly neither at all. After a few more moments of consideration I saved the number in my phone, and I made my way out to my beat up little car.

I got in and instinctively looked around to make sure I was alone. Then I dialed.

Bizarrely, the phone immediately connected instead of ringing. There was some static and a very strange, deep voice said, “HELLO. GAINERS WANTED.”

“Yes, I… I think I may be interested…” I stammered while my sweaty palm clutched my steering wheel.

“YOU WANT TO BE A FATTER MAN?” the voice said.

My eyes darted around, again, instinctively, and I whispered, “Uh… yeah…I do.”

“VERY WELL. MEET US AT OLD TOWN BUFFET ON EAST 19TH AT 8 O’CLOCK CENTRAL STANDARD TIME.”

Then there was a click and the call was disconnected.

This was decidedly odd. I should have been skeptical or at the very least scared, but all I could feel was an intense giddiness at the thought that this could be the beginning of my great gaining story. I was thinking maybe these mysterious encouragers would be the ones who would turn me into a mindless eating machine unable to move any of my fat coated limbs, slowly drowning in my own expanding fat cells.

I headed back home to put on my tightest clothes. On my way inside, Wayman shoved a huge basket of his clothes into my chest and said, “Put these in my car, shrimp. You need the exercise.”

I grumbled as I complied with my brother’s whim. I couldn’t wait until I was so fat I could smother him in my enormous rolls of fat. Imagining being so mega obese that even my meathead brother couldn’t lift my gut off his suffocating body turned me on as I slowly made my way to his truck. As I lifted the basket into the bed of the truck I noticed a large grocery bag in the corner. Curious, I peeked into the bag and found two giant tubs of GAIN IT 5,000 – a weight gain powder.

I had never heard Wayman talk about using creatine, and the even more curious thing was that I had heard of GAIN IT 5,000. It was supposedly the worst bulk gaining powder out there. Well, I guess you’d say that if you weren’t aiming to gain as much fat as possible. It had actually been banned a few years ago after a few teenagers ended up morbidly obese after overdoing it on the stuff. Without thinking I snatched the bag up and rushed back in around the back of the house to hide it in my room for later.

I managed to sneak by my parents who were loudly laughing at some joke Wayman was telling about a fat guy he was training at work. It would have been worth listening to for spank bank material if I weren’t in such a hurry to head to the buffet.

I did get one tidbit. I heard him say, “So, I said Zachary, you’re as big as house, do you really think the treadmill could hold you?”

I jiggled my key until my clunky old car sputtered on, and I eagerly sped in the direction of the buffet.

Upon arriving I realized I wasn’t quite sure who I was looking for, so when the hostess asked me, “How many?” I looked around nervously.

“Are there any others here expecting another person?” I finally spat out, and she nodded.

“Yeah, those two in the corner. They’ve been here for an hour and haven’t eaten a thing,” she said pointing to a tall, unusually slender couple sitting in the corner politely scanning through with eerie smiles on their faces.

“Do you know them? They said they were waiting on ‘Gainer’. Is that your last name?” she said.

“Uh… yes… Steve, uh, Gainer. Thank you,” I said as I awkwardly made my way past her and toward the strange couple in the corner.

Upon my arrival they both stood and put out their hands for me to shake. They towered over me in two of the longest trench coats I had ever seen. Their faces were thin and pointy, caked in make-up, and they both had the same creepy smiles. They could have been brother and sister – in fact the only difference between them was their dark, thick hair’s length.

“HANK,” the male looking one said in the deep voice I heard on the phone earlier.

“PEGGY,” the female one said in a strangely high pitch voice. It almost sounded like they were using those goofy voice modulators kids like to play with.

Those names furthered the immense absurdity of the day, but I ignored how oddly out of place these people possibly named after cartoon characters looked.

I quickly shook their hands and slid into the booth across from them. They sat shoulder to shoulder with their hands grasped together on the table in front of them as they surveyed my body. They whispered to each other for a moment before Peggy said, “YOU ARE NOT FAT.”

I frowned. “No,” I said, “But I’ve always wanted to be.”

“IT IS FINE. OUR TECHNIQUE SHOULD WORK ON ANY HUMAN,” Hank said before blurting, “I MEAN, PERSON.”

They sat for a few moments staring at me as I looked around uncomfortably. A waitress approached the table with three waters, and I took this as a cue to get up and go get some food. I waited a moment for Hank and Peggy to follow suit, but they remained at the table still staring forward with the same unchanging expression.

I wanted to impress them, so I grabbed two plates and I began piling food on each one. I loaded up on some fried chicken and Mac and cheese. As I was shoveling mashed potatoes and gravy onto the second plate I glanced back at Hank and Peggy who I was startled to see now watching me from afar. I smiled politely and continued loading up on carbs. I knew I should be worried about these two odd birds’ motives, but I was just excited to see if they did have some super secret method to make me weigh a ton.

I returned and put my plates on the table. “Aren’t you guys gonna… Eat?”

“WE ARE FINE THANK YOU,” they said in an eerily perfect unison, “PLEASE EAT.”

Their expressions changed into curiosity and wonder as I began to eat. As my first plate was cleared I could feel my small gut pushing the XL shirt I was wearing up over my navel. I knew I wouldn’t impress them by eating only one plate, but I was so full. I slowly pushed through and ate most of the potatoes, gravy, and rolls that covered my second plate. I was absolutely stuffed though. Wearing my tightest clothes started to feel like it was a bad idea.

I sat there for a moment rubbing my gut. Hank looked puzzled. “WHY DID YOU STOP? WHY DON’T YOU EAT MORE FOOD?”

“I’m… Full…” I said with a sigh and a burp.

Hank and Peggy exchanged a look. Peggy reached into her shirt and pulled a small container of gelatin – it looked like an orange Jell-O shot with a small red pill stuck in the center of it. She offered it to me. “APPETITE HELP,” she said.

There were so many red flags, but these two just seemed odd enough to be legitimate. I took the small cylinder and pushed it up to my mouth. I squeezed the orange goop onto my tongue. It felt a little like Pop Rocks as it sizzled and snapped across my tongue all the way down my throat. I seemed to slither down my esophagus – almost as if it was alive and propelling itself. It tasted sweet like some sort of artificial fruit flavor I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

I felt it hit my stomach, and with its arrival came a symphony of gurgles. I started to breathe heavy and drool began slipping out of my mouth. I was hungrier than I’d ever been in my life. I looked at Hank and Peggy frantically and croaked, “What… Did you… Do to me?”

They both continued smiling vacantly at me. I finally pushed myself up and sprinted to the buffet grabbing three plates and loading them with mountains of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, meatloaf, pasta, ham, rolls, macaroni and cheese, and fried shrimp. I rushed back over to the table – bits and pieces of food falling on the ground behind me.

Before my plates could even hit the table I began stuffing in handful after handful of whatever food I could grab into my greedy gullet. I could barely breathe through the feeding frenzy. Luckily I adapted early by breathing through my nose.

I was finished with the plates in no time. Hank and Peggy lightly clapped as I licked my third plate clean. Nearby tables started watching as I went back for thirds then fourths then fifths and so on. I was beginning to feel like one of my fictional gaining inspirations Mr. Creosote in every possible way except that I didn’t appear to be close at all to exploding.

As I waddled my way up to the buffet for sixths I looked down and realized my belly was now a huge ball of fat that stuck out a good foot in front of me wobbling with every move I made. It looked lumpy and it hung low against my extremely tight jeans. I was covered in food stains and I made my way around the various foods cutting people and taking tongs from their hands as I growled at them.

When I got back to the table I found I was unable to properly bend myself down into my spot, because my pants were just too tight. I plopped back onto the chair that now creaked under my weight. As I leaned forward to grab some food I found my enlarged belly had nowhere to shift to with my pants so tight. I desperately reached for the mountain of food I had just gotten, but it was just out of my reach. Finally I leaned hard forward and the button on my jeans popped off immediately forcing the fly down. My belly surged forward and I grabbed another handful of food. I could feel the skin of my belly rubbing against the denim of my jeans near my knees.

I was able to fill up a few more times before my pants and shirt were not adequately covering my body. I was a wild naked fat man whose tits and overstuffed gut swung back and forth as I shimmied across the buffet collecting more food to endlessly consume. The manager told me he was calling the police. I couldn’t stop eating though. I just stared at him shoving overly buttered roll after overly buttered roll into my stained mouth. I don’t even remember chewing. It was as if I was swallowing food whole.

Spoiler: Good to know he treats Pokémon Gyms like Planet Fitness gyms

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DrainRedRain said:

Sorry for double posting, but I found a video of young Chance being an exceptional individual. I wonder if he already thought about selling himself on the internet to fetishists.

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DrainRedRain said:

Sorry for double posting, but I found a video of young Chance being an exceptional individual. I wonder if he already thought about selling himself on the internet to fetishists.

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