A couple doctors said it would be good to keep a journal. So I guess, here’s me trying it out.
I’m waiting for my cab while I write this out. And I’m going to try to be as transparent and brutally honest as I can, because I can’t take smoothing things over for much longer.
It feels very wrong to be leaving home, our home, the home that I cared for every day, for such a long time. If you can call two weeks a long time. But I don’t think I’ve been away from Mark for longer than a day in the six years we’ve lived together. Such strange new territory.
I applied for the position I’m going to an out of state orientation for just after Thanksgiving. I realized I wasn’t entirely satisfied with how my life was going. I’m still feeling guilty for that; most people would kill to be in my position.
Mark works for a very powerful firm that deals with more or less the entire coast. He makes so much money that he could afford the large house we live in all on his own in no time at all. And he wanted me to be free to work on my writing and art, so he told me I didn’t have to work. It was a dream come true for both of us. We loved (and still love) each other so much that things like sharing the costs didn’t matter because he was blessed with enough for both of us.
I’ve been more or less the perfect house husband. And I kind of need to be, because Mark really has no concept of how to run a house, let alone take care of himself to be quite honest. I clean, do the laundry, iron his suits, polish his shoes. I cook, and I’ve been getting very good at it. I prep his meals and his outfits for the next day. And we make love every night. But everything is different from how it was in the beginning. My art has come to a crawl, and my writing has reduced itself to the odd weekly reaction article about a new film or installation that I don’t even leave the house to really honestly appraise.
When we first met, Mark was full of energy and wit and pretty intimidating overall. He remains one of the most beautiful people by every standard that I have ever seen. He worked out every day and got all his clothes tailored to perfection. He studied hard even though he was inheriting his board position the instant he was out of college. He was dominant and surprising in bed. A fair bit has changed since we moved in together though. He calmed down. He settled in. He doesn’t carry the same spark with him, the same motivation. Mark still works diligently, he still loves me with all his heart, and he’s still beautiful. He’s still a model of male physique and goes to the gym around four times a week. But he just isn’t a force like he used to be. I’ve even become the more domineering one in the bedroom, and he’s more passive these days. To be frank, I miss being taken by a majestic beast, instead of making my scrawny, smaller form take him down with no effort. I love him, and he loves me, but things aren’t the way they used to be.
Thanksgiving rolled around and I was getting fairly frustrated, even though I couldn’t place why. My creative juices had dried up. My usually impeccable home routine was slipping. I was waking up around two or three in the afternoon instead of with Mark. But with the holiday coming up, I threw myself into preparing a grand dinner for the two of us, because it was a special occasion and just about marked the fifth year we had lived in the gorgeous home he gifted to the both of us.
I think, no, I’m pretty sure I did what I did on purpose. I think I was being petty. I feel guilty over it.
I made a lavish presentation. Everything was dripping in sauces and dressings and gravies and toppings and butter and sugar. It was a feast fit for kings, and one could consider our splendid lives those of royalty. But I made all the food for him. He arrived home just as I had put everything into containers, and we snuggled up for a movie and crawled in bed together. I let him sleep in for all the work he did for us.
And then I put out the food before him. Knowing somewhere in my mind that he didn’t know how to really watch himself. Knowing he was more or less a big kid on the inside and would probably keep eating until it hurt. And I sat with my smaller plate, picking at the portions. Moving them around on my plate. But not really eating. We had good, if not vapid conversations all through the afternoon. We (he) finished the main course, and he went to watch some television and take a breather from overeating after I shooed him away so I could with the kitchen mess. And I brought him snacks. Cookies. Little things to nibble on. All the rest of the evening. His abs looked pained by the time we went to bed, and he was too groggy to engage in sex. But I felt good about it. After all, I was the perfect homemaker here.
I sent him to work with packaged leftovers for a long while. Mark didn’t complain about the repetitive meals; he used to get the same thing for breakfast, lunch, and dinner before I started helping with his variety. He only complained about two weeks later when he realized his perfectly tailored slacks didn’t require a belt anymore, and were in fact slightly digging in to his gently expanding waistline. He had skipped going to the gym to play post-holiday catchup at work, and all the extra glistening calories of a charged thanksgiving feast were just piling on his sculpted frame. I took the credit card and bought him a few new suits and regular clothes, and he stopped complaining. He was up twenty pounds by New Years. I had never felt more satisfied and guilty all at once.
I realized I had been intent on destroying a part of him then. The beauty that he had. I was gleaning pleasure from watching his hard work melt away, or rather, get buried. The intense remorse for trying to sabotage the love of my life overtook me, and I threw myself into finding distractions. I thought, perhaps, finding a job might alleviate some of my bitterness. And in the first weeks of this, our sixth year, I found a research position that would quell all my worries.
It was a small study position for a rather large biotech company that specialized in everything, from clean fuel models to medical supplements designed to assist starving populations. The training would be at one of their facilities a small flight away for two weeks, and then I would return home and type up full reports for them and arrange spreadsheets, both from their larger studies that they would mail me, and the ones I would personally oversee. More or less, I would be a secretary with an opinion. I didn’t mind. I just needed something to break up the monotony and shift my focus.
Mark was happy for me. He hugged and kissed me all over when he saw how relieved I looked when I told him I wanted to take the job, and he was admittedly grateful that I would still be at home, because he didn’t know what he would do without me.
So the day before my departure, yesterday, the pre-orientation package arrived. I read over all my materials and instructions diligently. I packaged all of Mark’s meals for the week, laid out some of his clothes for him. Made one last round of cleaning. And now I’m waiting on my car to the airport, to whisk me off to a slightly secret facility to discuss sensitive scientific research.
——
Coming home was a surprise. The house was suspiciously clean. It looked like Mark had done some work, as well as doing his own laundry. I thought he had forgotten how, to be fair. I felt light and fresh, aside from needing a shower. So I got dinner prepared, adding a few new interesting flavors, and then set to unpacking and cleaning myself up. I was just coming down the stairs as Mark arrived home. I was so happy I had bought a few sizes up in clothing for him.
Mark looked bigger. Everywhere. He no longer resembled a bulking athlete he was just before my diabolical Thanksgiving. He had a full rugby build happening now. A proper little gut, bigger pecs visible through his shirt, thicker, beefier arms, a definitively fuller ass, and the slightest softening of a jawline. He must have put on another twenty pounds, as incredulous as that sounds. Yet here he was in front of me. His eyes seemed to glint as he took me in, and charged me.
He just about pushed me against the wall with the force of his momentum, and immediately began kissing me. “I missed you so much,” he managed to pant, between running his hands against me and making out. I was taken off guard, but quickly succumbed to his advance. It was so cute. He slowed down and moved his head back a few inches, smiling coyly. He asked me how my trip was, continuing, seemingly unconsciously, with rubbing my body in his hands.
I told him how uneventful it really was. We spent a few days touring a handful of different facilities, had hours upon hours of briefings and confidentiality waiver-signings. I teased how I would never be able to tell him about what science-y things I was reading about and taking notes on. He pretended to pout, and quite unexpectedly hoisted me up and carried me to the sofa. He pulled me in and just about snuggled me to death. I talked more about the other people in the program, and about the company itself. He smiled at me and told me how proud he was of me doing my own thing.
I asked him about the two weeks while I was away. Work was the same, insanely busy, and the only thing that really kept him from feeling lonely and not calling me every five minutes. He was grateful for my preparations for while I was gone, he didn’t know if he could have survived without the pre-planning I did. I wrapped my arms around him, both because I had ached for him while I was away, and because I wanted to test just how big he apparently had become in the short amount of time.
I asked if he ate the meals, which he enthusiastically said yes, and then I asked him if he had eaten much else. He lowered his eyes, and was silent for a moment. He explained that he had also been stopping in to a couple restaurants and fast food places on breaks and on his way home. I suggested that maybe he missed me even more than he thought and was stress eating, and he grinned a big toothy grin and tackled me to the couch to kiss me again. The wind was knocked out of me as he did. Stress eating, that must be it.
——
Readjusting after my little vacation has been going fine. Typing up reports and trying to keep this journal have left me in a happy little haze. I’ve been waking up as Mark does, preparing us both coffee and giving him breakfast sandwiches, and then handing him his lunch and kissing him as he exits our home. This is really bliss. I’m so excited for how things are going.
I work on forms until lunch, then make myself something to eat and mull over what I’m going to do for dinner. This past week, I’ve had to head down to the market every day for newer ingredients for it; Mark seems to be sneaking snacks from just about every cabinet and fridge drawer. I’m pretty happy he doesn’t go for the things I like to snack on (yogurt, multigrain bars), just so I don’t starve while drowning in paperwork. Even most of the pre-seasoned sandwich meats and veggies have been disappearing. I’m not complaining. He’s coming home happy to see me so happy and it’s like the lights have been turned on again.
——
Yesterday was magnificent.
We had our morning routine as usual, and the day went by without a hitch. I cooked up a sizable dinner to celebrate a month of me being back and us seemingly happier than ever.
Mark gorged himself. I had never seen someone eat so frenetically, so focused on just getting another bite in, hands just moving utensils from plate to mouth as fast as possible. I barely ate any of my dinner, just watching him. He had to undo his pants after, and just leaned back in his chair, breathing ragged, hands rubbing his distended gut. Because he had a full on gut now, not just the little pooch I came home to. His shoulders looked wider, his arms had gotten so thick.
I think since Thanksgiving, he must be up 75 or so pounds. Which means his weight went from his shredded 170 pounds to a bulky 255. And it’s showing. He looks like a linebacker. He's got a lot of muscle, but also a lot of fat on top. I secretly went out and got him another set of clothes last week. Didn’t have them tailored. And now I’m glad I didn’t, because he’s filling them out quite well. This change is so interesting. He’s still handsome, if a bit softer around the edges, but he also seems to putting on muscle too... even though his belly seems to be growing faster. I’m kind of interested in how he feels about it, but I’m afraid to wound his pride by asking.
Anyways, after letting loose some larger than life burps, he turned his attention to me. He looked hungry. He basically hefted me up from my chair and took me against the counter. I could have sworn he growled when he did it. We were there for forty five minutes, I thought my legs were going to give out. But he was so passionate, so into it, so I was in turn into it. We both shakily sat on the floor, chests heaving, cuddling in our half discarded clothes. I was grateful for the line of hedges obscuring our back windows, because none of the shades were drawn.
We barely got in bed before passing out in bliss.
——
I think he’s getting close to 300 now. He’s still barely passing off the last set of clothes, belt with a hole hand punched all the way at the end, not even pretending it’s doing anything but squishing into him as he sits at his desk. I swear he’s a few inches taller now, too. We used to look eye to eye, but I think I’m at nose level, if not mouth.
And his cock.
Dear god. I know I sound crazy, but it’s bigger.
Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Because despite his new size he’s very agile and very energetic with using it. But it’s growing with the rest of him.
He’s taking breakfast and a snack now, lunch and a snack, and he gets a snack before and after dinner. I really should invest in a rewards card for how many groceries I’ve been buying.
Otherwise things are moving on just as happily. I’m glad I have this log to write this all out in otherwise I’d feel crazy only being able to think it.
——
It’s been almost six months. And I feel like we’re both glowing more brightly than we were even when I came home.
Mark is a veritable giant. He’s at least six inches taller than before, so I come up to just under his nose now. His gains have slowed for sure, but I still can barely get my arms around him. His dick must be as thick as my wrist, and it’s definitely longer. And his magnificent balls are enormous.
He comes home for lunch now. I make him a dinner sized meal, and then he pounds me either on the dining room table, against the counter if we make it that far, and some rare occasions on the couch. I’ve taken to drawing the blinds before he gets home. He’s practically insatiable. I love it.
To be honest, I’ve been able to come hands free from just how long and deep he’s in me. This is love right here.
——
Mark is a Goliath of a man: meaty and broad and solid. His fat barely squishes... like he's packed with brawn and chub in nearly equal measure. Thank god he kept gaining muscle, I don’t think he’d be able to move around much otherwise. Not that he needs to. He always had the ability to work from home, but he felt like he should always be at the office during working hours to help set a good example from the board. But now he’s actually co-inhabiting the office room at home with me. He outgrew a few more suits, and being hungry all the time at work just made him irritable, so he made the switch. Now I get up every couple of hours and bring him a meal sized snack. And then a dinner sized lunch. And then two dinner’s worth for our evening meal.
Plus it gives us more time to alleviate his constantly throbbing cock. The thing is massive, and he would surely look obscene dripping in his work pants all day. We make love two or three times a day now. Often, I’ll take a break from what I’m working on and just sit under his desk, head shoved under his big round gut, working his tool down. Pre just pours out of him, and sometimes I just skip my snacks because it literally fills me enough.
He asked me to start calling him Daddy a few weeks ago. I haven’t stopped. And he’s taken to nicknaming me “little guy” and things of the sort. I feel small and precious and loved.
——
The trial period is over. It’s been a year since I started with the company, and since I’ve been dosing Mark’s food with the designer drug they sent along in my prep pack.
He must be around 7 feet tall, and close to 500 pounds. He is a majestic beast. Enormous. His body radiates power and strength.
We’re both still working from home, suits would be too expensive to keep repairing from the stress his massive body would put on them. Not to mention having to customize the pants to accommodate his huge ass and gigantic package.
He’s my big, handsome, loving Daddy now. Hyper-Burly, manly, dominant. Strong and powerful. The aspects I fell in love with him for those years ago, now rekindled in him and reflected in his now massive form.
We couldn’t be happier.
In summary, I think this particular formula works perfectly for achieving an exceedingly large, beefy man. Clearly packs on a lot of fat and muscle. I would recommend the initial user continue to exercise to continue gaining muscle mass and keeping good mobility if desired. I think this will be very popular for those that want to become a big powerlifter, do strength sports, or be a bear of a person.
As a side note, I think sexual partners of the users should be aware that some side effects can occur. I believe I’ve put on about 25 pounds myself, just around my belly and posterior. My arms are little bigger too. These gains are probably from oral ingestion of dosed ejaculate. I’m personally not mad about it, and neither is Mark. He says he likes my butt bigger, and says I look more masculine "filled out". The doctors in this study said that the active components of the enhancer should wear off in about a month, so I don’t think another ten or so pounds, if the rate of my growth in concurrence with the most recently active part of my sexual activity, will be much of a problem. Just figured I should note.
Log Ended.