Thicc Ho

Female 26 Just a typical Chonky bitch. Here for a good time not a long time. Feed me snacks and tell me I’m pretty. Gay af and always dtf.(;

[notfatweeb]

have YOU ever wanted to read a story where Melony and Bea meet in a luxurious remote resort (and frisky things happen)? well you're in luck

[babymae7]

more on here

[notfatweeb]

[narafeedee]

gluttony

noun

glut·​tony / glə-tə-nē  

1.

: excess in eating or drinking

2.

: greedy or excessive indulgence

3.

: this video

[himbeaubimbeau]

2 ex jocks part 1, preview

OnlyFans is the social platform revolutionizing creator and fan connections. The site is inclusive of artists and content creators from all

[pettyheft]

I HAVE DIED AND AM IN HEAVEN 🥵

[babymae7]

milky girl 🐮

[babymae7]

how every feedee should be handled

[bbwbonnie123]

Could you handle me on top?😈

[gordisimo]

eat fast food and desserts til ur belly is visibly distended and it hurts to move, then sleep and do it again. Ninjah

[tianastummy]

degenerate, chocolate-covered fatty 🍫

[fatbellyboysstuff]

On Humiliation Pt. 1

You watch the swirl of heavy cream get mixed in with the chocolate milk. your belly is resting on your countertop, a t-shirt that used to fit clinging to every roll and fold on your body. you already ate dinner- a large pizza, an order of chicken wings, a couple of pizza rolls- and you can feel your stomach pushing your belly out even further than usual.

~

your shake is done. you pour the heavy liquid into a big cup and shuffle over to your couch. you sit down, thighs spread out, leaning back as much as possible- giving your belly as much room as you can. you put the cup to your lips and start pouring the dense, creamy shake into your mouth. you moan around every gulp. you can feel the cold drink pouring into your stomach, making your belly swell up more and more. you can feel the liquid fill up every last inch of space in your belly. your hand, the one not holding the shake, found its way to your gut, rubbing frantic circles over the vast amount of fat, desperately trying to make more room. you manage to drink about half the shake before you have to set the cup down, immediately letting out a huge burp. your breathing is shallow and fast, your overstretched stomach is restricting your lungs. you lift the cup back against your lips. you know you're too full, your body is screaming at you to stop, to give it some time to digest at least some of the food you forced into it tonight. but you almost feel high from all that sugar and grease and calories you consumed so you start drinking again.

~

you set the cup down somewhere next to you. your head falls against the backrest of your couch, both of your hands have found their spot on your belly. a burp turns into a hiccup turns into a gag. you're moaning and panting, your hands wandering over every inch of your overstuffed gut. you try to reach beneath your gut, desperate for some relief, and even in your frantic state you notice how much harder it has become to touch yourself in the way you need it.

~

you cum with a scream, one hand tightly holding your belly, feeling like you'll never come down from this high.

~

you open your eyes. you must have passed out after you came. it's dark and quiet in your apartment, your TV must have turned off on its own. you struggle to reach up to turn on the light. it's too bright. it shows you exactly what you turned into. you take in the empty pizza box on the floor, soaked with grease. the chicken wing container with the little pool of fat in the corner. the empty soda bottle next to you on the couch. the empty cup with a dried streak of chocolate milk down its side. and you in the middle of this scene- grease on your face, chocolate milk on your lips, your t-shirt rolled up, your belly sticking out further than ever. you try to get up but you can barely move, your greed pinning you to the couch. it takes you four tries to finally stand up.

~

standing up makes you feel even bigger. you try to pull down your shirt but it won't even go past your belly button. the skin on your belly is stretched tight and you automatically arch your back to counteract the added weight. you want to clean up, but there is no way you'll be able to pick something up from the floor right now, so you just grab the empty soda bottle and your cup. you slowly make your way over to the kitchen. the movement makes you uncomfortably aware of every inch of fat you added to your body lately. every step makes your belly jiggle, your thighs are rubbing together, your back rolls feel deeper than ever with the way you're leaning back. you put the soda bottle in the recycling bin, the cup goes in the sink. you routinely go to wash out the cup but you can't. it takes you a second to realize that your extended belly makes it impossible to reach the sink. your mind is flooded with images of every angle of yourself in this moment- your greasy face, your double (triple?) chin, your firmly bloated gut hanging out of your stained shirt, your overhang almost completely hiding your underwear, your thighs pushing apart your legs... you are the embodiment of the word "obese".

~

while the reality of what you have become sinks in, you grab a bag of chips and another soda, your body moving on autopilot while your brain tries to catch up. you make the difficult trip to your bedroom, avoiding to look in the mirror when you pass it. you put your snack down on your nightstand, right next to the empty bag of chips from last night. your pillows are arranged perfectly to elevate your upper body just enough to make eating and drinking comfortable and you sink down onto your bed. you get yourself situated, struggling to shift your body around, and without thinking you open the bag of chips. your hands are shoveling handful after handful of chips into your mouth while you're doing your best to not think about what you look like right now. the bag is empty before you know it and you can feel yourself slip back into sleep. right before you drift off you catch yourself thinking about the breakfast you want to make tomorrow.

~

[iloveglomp-deactivated20250826]

A Good Girl

You’re such a greedy cow, I can’t believe how fat you’ve gotten. Letting yourself go this far means there’s no going back. You’re sitting at a very compact three hundred and fifteen pounds. Your short frame exaggerates every curve you have, and widens it drastically. I think you look so fucking sexy I can’t wait to fill you up every second of the day. Your huge, overfed gut spilling out between your legs as you lie on the couch. It touches the edge of the sofa as your fat thighs splay open, morphing their soft, blubbery mass to whatever they touch, spreading farther and farther outwards as you get even heavier. Your arms are fat now, too, upper arms filled with fat like a fluffy pillow, jiggling when you move them. I love watching your fat arms shake and your tits bounce when you give me a handjob, your soft, plush fingers gripping my rock hard dick. Your boobs are swollen with fat, tender and sensitive as your areolas grow puffy and delicate. I love squeezing them and watching you moan uncontrollably, too much pleasure coursing through your body to protest my teasing. I love to feel every inch of your fat, to kiss and leave hickies, claiming your body as mine. Your juicy, round calves and abundant, swelling thighs are so soft and plush. You love admiring your ass in the mirror, it’s exaggerated shape and huge canvas of cellulite wiggling at the slightest movement. Even after you stop moving, your ass lags, uncontrollable shaking from how much fat you’ve packed into each cheek. I love to place my firm, strong hands on those globes of fat and watch as they become easier and easier to grab a handful of, my fingers squeezing as your flab spews from between them. Your clothes never fit, your ass always spills out of your pants, showcasing your well-fed body as it bubbles up, spilling out of your waistband. You gave up on going up a size, now you pre-order clothes a few sizes too big, excited to turn them from slightly baggy to another trophy to saunter around in, bragging to me how it’s too tight and you’ve done such a good job filling out for me. 

[kodeeffa-deactivated20250509]

What Are You Eating?

I suppose the question really is “what aren’t you eating?” These days you really have become such a greedy whale. You so badly want to impress me. My approval and list for your growing body drives that gluttonous appetite of yours. You see how feral I can become at the sight of you surrendering your body to my desires as you surround yourself with more and more fat. Each pound you gain is another piece of you that is offered up to me and my control. You wouldn’t want it any other way. You get endless meals, constant pleasure, and to do nothing all day but lay around gaming or watching shows. Sure, you may be taking some medications now or unable to really operate independently on some things but it’s a fair trade off. It’s actually become quite hot to you to see how much you’re struggling and you can definitely see me becoming aroused by it. You’ve come such a long way. You thought maybe at most you’d gain 30-50lbs. You would have never guessed it to be more like 300-500lbs. We’ve had to retire a few scales a long the way. We put them up on the shelf of accomplishments for you. Right along with small souvenir pieces of broken chairs, progress pictures of you, a few ripped clothes, popped buttons, and any other memorable items from moments of your gluttonous journey. It’s right off to the side of your favorite place to be, your bariatric bed. It’s where most of your time is spent eating, lounging, being bathed by hand, and being pleasured. You used to have so much room in it, these days though it’s just inches that separate the rails from your encroaching blubber. Just another milestone. The only way to get there though is to figure out what you’re eating next.

[gain-stuff-eat]

"You did this to me," you complain as you sit down for your third meal in only a few hours.

The shirt you're wearing rides up and you tug it back down.

I laugh.

"You can't put down the fork and that's supposed to be my fault?"

You don't say anything because you're already too busy taking a huge bite. Your eyes close in bliss. You lean back in your chair and let out a pleased sigh as you chew. Your belly peeks out from under your shirt again at the movement but this time your hand goes to caress and squeeze the revealed pudge.

You make a little satisfied noise as you take a second bite, because you know I like it and because you just can't help yourself anymore. Before you even finish swallowing you take another bite, knowing that I won't be able to stop from teasing you.

"So greedy."

You smirk, patting your side so your soft fat wobbles despite already be so full.

"You made me this way."

I did. We both know it. With every praise and tease, pushing bite after bite past your lips. Teaching you gradually to associate this lifestyle with pleasure until you were craving it. But you were the one who wanted to go further, hooked on the hedonism and gluttony. Needing it all the time, even when I wasn't around, then begging me to unbutton your straining pants, all while desperately moaning for me to bring you more.

Your fingers drag and scrape lightly at the stretchmarks on your belly. You're teasing me. and it's working.

"Blaming me again?" My eyes haven't left your paunch, the way you're playing with it. All with one hand. You're still eating with the other. "With a full mouth, no less?"

You swallow, a little embarrassed. It's cute that you can still get flustered shamelessly eating as much as you do. But it's only a second before you're back to stuffing your face because when there's food in front of you all you can think about is needing to finish it.

"You just can't believe that you've done this to yourself," I continue, enjoying how insatiable you've become, "that you've slipped this far after what supposed to only be a little experiment? All that sitting around and constant eating while kneading palmfuls of your overtaxed tummy has turned you into this. It's so hot to see you lose control. How it makes you crave more of all it, more food, more fat..."

With the hand you've been fondling your fat, you slip a finger into your navel and whimper audibly.

You've admitted it a few times but every time I say it, I can tell it immediately makes you throb.

"You can't stop can you?"

You moan low and needy. Your nipples harden against the fabric of your shirt.

"You want more."

You nod, rubbing and hefting your tender tummy. A small burp escapes and you sigh.

"Always," you say breathlessly, "all the time, I'm so heavy now and it feels so good."

"Remember when realized you wanted this? And now you can't get enough."

Your hand moves lower at my words, and you begin to rut in your seat, panting intensifying, whimpering helplessly.

"Look what it's turned you into."

"Fuck," you whisper right at the edge, voice tight, until you stop, and for awhile, it's like you've snapped, as you focus ravenously on your meal. When you come up for air, you're groaning, an overfull stupor coming on in your half-lidded eyes.

I smile:

"We've conditioned you well, hm?"

You nod and rub your glutted stomach in wide circles, so full now your shirt can no longer cover all you, your earlier attempt at decency long gone. You stifle a burp, sucking in air.

"I'm so fat," you groan like you can't get enough of it. And you haven't been able to for months now, your entire wardrobe shows it. You'll need to size up again soon.

"Keep making me bigger."

I assess the damage of empty containers but I can hear you fine. I just want you to say it again.

"What was that?"

I want you to hear yourself. How you're begging and desperate to be fattened.

"Please keep making me bigger. I love getting fatter for you. I love what you've done to me."

You squirm when I pull a container from the delivery bag. A slice of pie you had added to the order when you were so hungry earlier and feeling confident about being able to finish everything with how insatiable you've been lately. Now you look at it and groan.

"You don't have to eat it."

"No.. I want to.. fuck, I really want to." You slap your stomach, then jiggling it slightly, leaning back. "I can't help myself anymore. I don't want to stop."

You lick your lips, biting the bottom one, your eyes full of lust and focused only on the food in my hand. A low impatient whine starts in your throat when you realize I'm taking my time.

"Letting go eating whatever you want, giving into decadence has made you so spoiled and demanding. Clearly," I tease taking the dessert from the container. "Maybe I should make it worse and feed you this last bit, hm?"

You make a desperate, excited sound as you squeeze your softened chest in anticipation.

I place a knee between your spread thighs and against your pudgy groin, for just a bit of teasing pressure. This is the first time I've touched you since your last meal. Your hips immediately respond despite your fullness and your hands go to the sides of your taut belly as I simultaneously press the treat to your lips. You open your mouth so willingly and greedily.

"Mmm, that's good," you say, mouth full, sluggishly grinding against my knee and squeezing your belly fat.

"You're eating so well for me," I praise. My cool fingers skim over and along your tender, heated skin. You tense in pleasure at the sensation. "Maybe I'll reward you later."

"Please," you beg, "I want to keep eating for you."

"Such a good pet."

I'm amazed how much you've changed since we started. Your body, of course, but also your mind.

"More," you demand and I oblige.

Your eyes are closed, head thrown back in ecstasy. You're lost in the pleasure, thinking of nothing else as you wrap your mouth another bite, the very picture of hedonism, thick thighs spread and your hands massaging your gut, plopping it docilely in your lap, double chin prominent as you eagerly and greedily accept another mouthful.

You've been eating all day with no signs of stopping.

And you know what?

Go ahead, blame me.

It's too late anyway.

[purgatorylayby]

It doesn't stop

You don't stop

You don't get to stop

You can't stop

You won't stop

Those are the words that flow through your head every time the funnel touches your lips and you are filled with that soft creamy fattening liquid you've become so used to. It's become a basic need at this point. It doesn't matter what it is, so long as that funnels in your mouth you suckle it down. It's almost as if you've been trained to do it, well I guess you have in a way but I can't blame you. I made sure there was always an incentive. You always finished it, one way or another.

Now it doesn't matter, the damage has been done as you associate that sensation with a deep primal pleasure. You used to get excited just seeing the funnel appear, the tube placed carefully between your lips and just that slight hint of danger as you started. Knowing what you are doing to yourself by accepting this, thinking how much damage you are doing to your poor figure - and the excitement of feeling like you can't turn back.

Well now you can't, you're addicted. Not as in you are addicted to other things, like your silly little videos you melt your brain with or the thrill of buying yourself 'little' treats to snack on. I mean truly addicted. It consumes your every waking moment, that feeling. It encompasses your whole being, it's part of you. That deep animalistic desire to grow, no matter what. Whatever it takes, I used to tell you and you would greedily suck away and nod, as if it were some kind of game. But this is it piggy, there's no going back from this. It's consumed you. You'll beg and writhe and moan if you don't get your fix, conditioned like a little pet who is more than eager to sacrifice everything for just another taste. Your figure,your social life your mobility and even your health just to give in to your deepest, aching desire.

That's why you won't stop. Because you've lost all control. It's a crippling wanton need to grow more soft lard that controls every thought in that fat addled brain of yours, if there's even a thought in there more than just 'more'. Stuck in a constant mix of pleasure and regret as you slowly sink further into morbid obesity.

You never want to stop

[batty-bratty-belly]

My belly feels like it’s going to burst, heavy and stretched beyond its limit, and I can barely catch my breath. I sit here, my body straining under the weight of my tight, overstuffed belly, the weight pressing down on my lap. The food has been good—too good, but now it’s suffocating. Each movement is making my belly slosh with every tiny shift. I press my hands against my swollen gut, as though I can will myself to handle more. My eyes flick to the plate in front of me.

“Please,” I whimper, my voice hoarse.

“Just one more bite… I need it. Make me bigger, rounder, heavier. I can take it, I need to feel so full… Please.” My words were a desperate plea, the weight of my belly making it almost impossible to sit up. I don’t care, the thought of being even more stuffed consumes me, and the ache in my gut is only a reminder of how much I crave it.

I let out a needy whine and struggled to push myself up in the chair, belly wobbling and sloshing with the effort. It feels like the world is pressing against me as I try to reach the plate. My massive gut sits tight on my lap, protruding in front of me and making me heavy and slow. I gasp for air, the tightness in my belly taking up all the space, but it isn’t enough. I need more.

“Please,” I beg again, my voice breaking.

“I want to be bigger, fuller… I can’t move. But I just… need more.” Every breath feels harder, but my hunger—no, my need to be even more full—overpowers it all. I can feel the weight of my body shifting as I slowly lower myself back down, my belly aching but hungry for just one more bite.

“I wanna be even bigger,” I whine, unable to stop the burning desire to be utterly stuffed.

[peneloperouge]

Heavy

Heavy is where I want you.

The type of heavy that fills your mind with worry.

Heaviness that makes you groan when you move and sigh in relief when you are finally off your feet.

When moving becomes a painstaking chore so your choices become less healthier by the day.

That's the starting point. The gradual descent to an addiction of pleasure. Pleasure when you eat. The pleasure you get from me as a reward. And the pleasure of being comfortable around the clock.

When you walk, I need to see every inch of your body swaying and jiggling with you slowing day by day. Leaning to catch your breath, reaching for more snacks in the fridge, and filling yourself between what I feed you.

I want to sit atop your softened lap and let my hands sink into your corpulence. While my fingertips trace every stretchmark earned, you'll suck down countless pastries and cakes fueling your addiction to sugar and carbs. I'll kiss you between bites and praise your insatiable appetite.

You'll smile and give into every temptation I put in front of you, living in gluttony with an uncontrollable voracious desire for more. More food, more sex, more of me.

While you worship my contrastingly fit body, I'll wrap my arms around every inch of your abundant frame and let my mind run wild with the possibilities.

The possibility that you will become heavier from my giving hands. You'll grow from my generosity, tainted with lust to see more of you.

And while your belly rounds and sinks towards your pudgy thickened thighs; my hand will rest between them as I salivate to watch you expand and take up more and more space.

Maybe I'm the greedy one. To watch you get oh so...

Heavy.