30s. Married. ENM. if you can see my header, it's by @Razzystim. Fat, pro-fat liberation. I occasionally reblog stuff related to that bc fat positivity, acceptance, and liberation are integral to real life experiences of fat people involved in this kink, and it's important to engage with unlearning the biases+prejudice towards fatness in society. I decided to go back to having a sideblog for all my kink/fetish/perverted stuff, so that's mainly what's here. bigbelliluva was my old handle for such things. feederism, pregnancy, mpreg, ovi, etc etc. Don't like, don't follow or interact. I'm not always fact checking when horny-reblogging so sometimes things get reblogged from fake accts. if you see it, lmk.
Are there any moments that you remember in particular where you realised just how unfit you have become?
There have been a few, increasing in severity, on my path to unfit morbid obesity.
1) First time in college I outgrew a pair of pants and had to go buy new ones. Sucking it in wasn't enough and it was too uncomfortable to continue wearing what I had.
2) First time I experienced chaffing, was walking around a festival and my thighs were rubbing together all day.
3) Trying to go for a run and realizing I just couldn't do it anymore, it hurt my knees and feet too much. I only made it a few yards down the street. I walked home and threw those running shoes away and called the gym and quit. I guess that was the day I fully committed to becoming morbidly obese.
4) Outgrowing another pair of pants to find out they didn't carry what I needed in store, I'm too fat for what they carry in the store.
5) Being unable to reach my shoes and tie them from a seated position, having to learn to put my foot over my knee and tie them sideways.
6) Going to the doctor for a cold and having her scold me for being obese (not yet morbid). She was really stern about it.
7) Having the dentist tell me she almost didn't recognize me and asking if I had been snacking a lot and eating a lot of sweets, because it looks like I've put on a lot of weight. She was the one that recommended I get CPAP because she could tell I was snoring and open mouth breathing from my teeth somehow. I remember her grabbing my double chin and telling me all the extra weight on my neck was causing my throat to narrow and me to snore. Never been so turned in a medical setting before or since.
8) Going to my CPAP appointment and seeing that all the seats in the presentation room for how to use the equipment were these huge double wide seats and I kinda realized... oh wow these seats are for people like ME. Then 20 other fatties trickled in to get fitted for CPAP and I realized I was one of them, awesome feeling.
Pleeeeeease can you show us more pics where you're clean shaven? 🙏 So hot seeing how that fat double chin has completely swallowed your neck, your face is totally sunk in lard now 🤤
He’s on top, tiring quickly, as his thrusts become more laboured. His eyes reveal that he won’t make it, but the desire still surges stronly through him as his hips begin to slow. You know he can’t hold himself above you much longer. His weight is pleasurably suffocating you. You couldn’t escape, even if you tried. You wrap your arms around him for purchase, to help him out, but it’s no use. He’s grown too big, too heavy, too fat. And he’s bigger than ever before. You bite your lip in ecstasy, trying to hold on, trying not to erupt too soon. His appetite has finally got the better of him. He’s now succumbed fully to your charms. But it’s the first time he’s completely failed to finish like this. You always knew this day would come - the way he ate. And as you delight at a new milestone reached, he grinds to a standstill above you, his full weight now crushing you, as his fattened body slows to a stop. You kiss him sweetly on the cheek, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” you whisper reassuringly in his ear as you stroke his hair. “Don’t worry about it, just roll over for me and I’ll take things from here.” Once freed, you straddle him. It shocks you how wide your thighs now have to part to contain him, when you remember how slim he was when he first met you. After pushing his belly upwards and lowering yourself onto him, you begin to rock your hips gently, feeling your gyrations echoed by his girth. You reach for the full pack of cookies you’ve kept religiously by the bedside for weeks and open it. You take the first and hover it temptingly by his mouth. You quicken your thrusts by way of temptation, as your other hand claws wildly at his softened chest. Unable to resist you, he takes a voracious bite of the fattening treat in your hand. He’s such a glutton. He’s never full, never satisfied, never fat enough, and always wanting more. You smile sweetly, but you can’t resist your darker thoughts. “Well at least you’re still good for something!” you giggle disdainfully, as you move your free hand lower to slap his generously plump belly until it glows. His fattened cheeks flush a deep, dark chrimson. It’s so sweet when he gets embarrassed like this. He knows that you love it, and so does he. But what he doesn’t yet know is that - if you can contain yourself right now - he won’t be allowed his big finish tonight, unless all his cookies are finished too.
Lena woke up to the pale gray light of her 25th birthday filtering through the blinds. For a moment, she forgot. Then she shifted in bed, and the familiar weight of her double belly—two soft rolls that folded over each other when she sat—pressed against her thighs.
She’d felt uncomfortable with it for years. The way clothes fit. The way she’d cross her arms over her middle in photos. The way her mother always said, “You have such a pretty face, Lena.”
But today, something snapped—not in anger, but in permission.
She grabbed her phone. Called her boss. “I’m so sick. Stomach is killing me. Can’t come in.” Her voice was flat and convincing. Then she called the office reception. Same lie. Then she turned off the ringer.
At 10 a.m., she pulled on loose gray sweatpants, an old hoodie with a stain she didn’t care about, no bra, and the sneakers she usually wore to take out trash. She didn’t brush her hair. Didn’t look in the mirror.
The McDonald’s order was so large the cashier blinked twice. Four Big Macs. Two 20-piece nuggets. Three large fries. Three double cheeseburgers. Two McChicken sandwiches. And from the supermarket next door: a family-size bag of sour cream & onion chips, a tub of nacho cheese dip, a box of mozzarella sticks, and a sleeve of savory biscuits. No sweets. No sugar. Just salt, fat, and crunch.
She carried two bulging plastic bags home like a secret.
By noon, she was on the couch, Netflix queued up—some mindless reality show. She ate without ceremony. Big Mac first, then nuggets dipped in cheese sauce. Fries gone cold but still perfect. The first double cheeseburger disappeared in six bites. She felt her double belly soften, then warm, then begin to push outward against the waistband of her sweatpants.
Her phone buzzed. Mom. She answered on speaker, mouth half-full.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart! Are you getting ready for tonight?”
“Yeah,” Lena said, reaching for another handful of chips. “Just resting.”
“Don’t eat too much before the party.”
Lena smiled, crumbs on her chin. “I won’t.”
By 3 p.m., her double belly had begun to merge. The upper roll swelled into the lower one, the crease between them growing shallow, then disappearing under a taut, round dome of skin. She untied her sweatpants and let the waistband fall below her belly. She ate the mozzarella sticks one after another, pulling long strings of cheese, wiping her greasy fingers on her hoodie.
By 6 p.m., she was a globe. A single, huge, round belly full of burgers and nuggets and fries and cheese and chips. Crumbs dotted her chest. A smear of burger sauce marked the highest peak of her stretched stomach. She leaned back into the couch, one hand resting on the mound, the other holding the last double cheeseburger.
Her phone buzzed again. Friends texting: “On our way! Party starts at 8!”
Lena looked down at herself. Her double belly was gone. In its place was one big, glorious, heavy mass—pale, tight, covered in the evidence of the whole day. She felt full to bursting. Happy. Rebellious.
She took a deep breath, then pulled up her hoodie all the way.
Let them see.
She was sick today, after all—sick of hiding. And the birthday party hadn’t even begun.
-Part 2-
The couch groaned in relief as Lena lifted herself off it. For a moment, she just stood there in the middle of the living room, swaying slightly—heavy, exhausted, and fuller than she’d ever been in her life. Her belly led the way now, a tight, warm globe that pulled her center of gravity forward. She cradled it instinctively with both hands as she waddled toward the bedroom.
On the way, she kicked off her sweatpants. They landed in a heap by the doorframe. Then she peeled off the stained hoodie, letting it fall to the floor behind her. The cool air of the hallway hit her bare skin—her swollen stomach, her flushed chest, her nipples tightening in the sudden draft. The soft breeze tickled her stretched belly button, which had popped from shallow to fully out sometime around the third Big Mac. She shivered, then smiled.
Her bedroom was dim. She dropped onto the edge of the bed with a slight moan—half discomfort, half satisfaction. The mattress dipped under her weight. She leaned back on her palms, let her belly rest in her lap, and then let out a long, low burp. It tasted like cheese and salt and freedom. She didn’t apologize to anyone.
Getting ready took effort. She found her bra—black, stretchy, forgiving—and squeezed into it. The underwire bit into the sides of her ribcage, and the front gaped slightly over the crest of her belly, but it would do. She stood in front of her closet, naked except for the bra and a pair of old underwear that rolled down under her gut.
She pulled out a loose black tunic—the kind that usually draped over her double belly without clinging. Tonight, it clung. The hem rode up in front, barely grazing the lower curve of her stomach. She tried a pair of high-waisted stretch pants next, but the waistband cut into her soft middle and made her wince. Instead, she found an old pair of maternity leggings from a friend’s joke gift two years ago. They fit perfectly.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was flushed, hair a tangled mess, lips shiny with grease. Her belly was unmistakable now—one big, round, stuffed drum, no hiding it. The tunic stretched tight across the top, and below it, the leggings cupped the heavy underside.
Lena turned sideways. Laughed.
Then she grabbed her phone, saw another text: “We’re 10 mins out!”
She brushed her teeth quickly. Splashed water on her face. Didn’t bother with makeup.
“Good enough,” she said to her reflection, patting her belly. It gurgled back at her.
She headed for the door, belly first, ready to answer it just as she was.
-Part 3-
The doorbell rang at exactly 8 p.m. Lena waddled to open it, her belly leading the way like the prow of a ship. Her aunt from Berlin was the first through the door—sharp-eyed, elegant, and holding a box of homemade German cookies.
"Lena, mein Schatz! Happy birthday!" They hugged carefully, Aunt Ursula's arms barely reaching around the circumference of Lena's middle. "Oh my," Ursula said, pulling back. Her eyes dropped to the stretched tunic, then back to Lena's face. "You're... glowing. Are you expecting?"
"No, Tante Ursula," Lena said, smiling wide. "Just well-fed and happy."
Ursula's eyebrows rose, but she said nothing more.
More guests trickled in. Cousins from Hamburg. An uncle from Munich. Old school friends who hadn't seen her since before the pandemic. Every single one of them looked at her belly. Every single one of them asked, either with words or with eyes, Are you pregnant?
And every single time, Lena answered the same way: "No. Just had a big lunch."
She didn't mention the four Big Macs. The nuggets. The fries. The chips. The mozzarella sticks. That was her secret. Her gift to herself.
The living room filled with laughter and chatter. Someone had decorated with silver balloons. A stack of presents sat on the coffee table. And on the kitchen counter—a sea of sweets. A three-layer chocolate cake with raspberry filling. Two dozen cupcakes with buttercream swirls. A plate of soft sugar cookies shaped like stars and hearts. Brownies dusted with powdered sugar. A bowl of vanilla pudding with caramel drizzle. Store-bought Danish pastries. Homemade rice pudding from her mother.
Lena's stomach gurgled. It was already packed to the brim—tight, heavy, a drum stretched over burgers and fries and cheese. But the sweets... she had avoided sugar all day. Denied herself. And now here it was, everywhere.
She took a plate.
The first cupcake vanished in three bites. The second followed. A slice of cake—thick, fudgy, with raspberry jam bleeding into the frosting. Three cookies. A brownie so rich it left chocolate on her fingers. Someone handed her a glass of champagne. She drank it and ate a Danish.
Her belly began to change again. Not just full now—distended. The tight globe pushed outward, upward, pressing against the underside of her ribs. Her tunic rode higher. The maternity leggings cut a red line into her lower belly. She sat down heavily on the couch, plate balanced on the peak of her stomach, and kept eating.
"Time for presents!" someone shouted.
Lena opened them one by one. A scarf. A candle. A gift card. A beautiful leather journal. But she could barely focus. Every time she leaned forward to tear wrapping paper, her belly compressed against her thighs, and she felt the pressure build inside her. A soft, internal creaking. The sense that she was a balloon being filled past its limit.
After the fifth present, she let out a small burp behind her hand. Her cousin Marie laughed. "Someone's full!"
"You have no idea," Lena said, and meant it.
Her mother brought over the last gift—a small box. Inside was a delicate gold necklace with a tiny charm. A little heart.
"For my birthday girl," her mother said, eyes soft. Then she patted Lena's belly. "Even if you keep telling everyone you're not pregnant."
"I'm not," Lena said, but her voice was thin. Because she could feel it now—the real danger. Not bursting. But the possibility that she might actually pop. Not explode, but simply... give way. The pressure was immense. The cake sat on top of the burgers. The cookies nestled against the nuggets. Her stomach was a single, seamless, overinflated sphere, and every bite pushed it closer to the edge.
She took another bite of cake anyway.
The room spun slightly. She leaned back into the couch, one hand on her belly, the other reaching for a cookie. Her family chatted around her. Someone put on music. Her uncle from Munich told a loud story about a broken car on the Autobahn.
Lena closed her eyes for a moment. Her belly rose and fell with each shallow breath. She felt like a planet. Like a drum about to split. Like the most beautiful, ridiculous, overstuffed birthday girl in the world.
She opened her eyes, smiled at no one in particular, and reached for another cupcake.
Howwww did I get so fat? My belly is so big it’s starting to dimple and so round I can barely see my knees anymore. The measuring tape keeps getting smaller… or else I just keep getting fatter. Piggy was deserving of every prize she got 💦💋🐷
I wanna see you on my six hundred pound life so bad . I would love to see America’s reaction to someone like you because they’ll probably be so confused.
I can fantasize about it all day, but I’d never purposely give feedism and myself that mainstream exposure bc it irks me when other people do lol. Normies opinions are hot to read but a little less when there are thousands of them attacking the community that I care about yk? Being on the news for getting so fat they have to break down the walls of my house to get me out would be cool, but beyond that I’ll stick to making my own vids. Still hot to think about though
I wish I could stop. I really do, but it feels like everyday I get heavier and everyday it takes more to fill me up, and the more it takes to fill me up the greater to uncontrollable desire to be filled becomes. It's like my own gravity pulls me in deeper with every ounce of fat layered on to my growing body.
It started out so cute and fun. Some water bloats to make my flat tummy round. But that didn't last. It couldn't have. Pretending was only going to last so long until the underlying desire forced itself into manifestation.
The first real stuffing also seems so cute and innocent looking back on it. Just a standard combo meal at the nearby fast food spot. It seemed like so much food back then, and it was to my petit frame, but in reality, it was no more than a normal person would eat. I was just a normal person back then with a weird desire. And I was certainly full from it, but I didn't necessarily push my capacity. I didn't eat until it hurt. I didn't eat until I physically couldn't take another bite. Just an innocent indulgence. A one off thing, only to be repeated on special occasions when I really needed it. When the desire was so unbearable that I had to. I didn't want to get fat, after all. Well, I mean I did. I wanted that more than anything. It's what I imagined with my cute little water bloats. It's what I imagined during that first stuffing. I imagined what it would be like if my belly was the size empty as it was when it was bloated. I imagined it bigger. And bigger. And bigger. The bloats were to make that imagining easier. Real. But that first stuffing was something different. Something more powerful. I wasn't just able to imagine myself bigger, I was able to feel what it would be like to make myself big. And it felt good. It felt so much better than the water too. The water filled me up, but it didn't make me full. Now I was full. And I revelled in it. I felt more than just full. I felt fulfilled.
The next one came a lot sooner than I thought it would. The desire was already feeling overwhelming, but I could still last a couple days back then. And I was able to hold off a couple days at a time for a while. Those might have been the glory days of it all when I did have the self control to hold myself back, just for a little bit. Then when I did release. It felt so good. I felt so bad finally letting loose. Allowing myself to get fat. And I knew I was going to get fat. I always knew, but now the time had finally come. The dam hadn't broken yet, but the cracks were there. I could see them grow.
I felt the very first pound. It sounds silly but I remember it. I remember spending a whole week pinching the tiniest bit on flab on my lower belly. That week I ate fast food most days and made myself cum holding onto that small pinch of flab after every meal.
The memories are the clearest from those early days. The more frequently and intensely I stuffed myself, the more each stuffing blended together. I remember milestones. I remember outgrowing my first pair of pants. I remember that first little red stretchmark growing under my rounding belly where I could barely see it. I remember when my double chin became permanent. I remember the first time stopping halfway up the stairs to my apartment because I needed to catch my breath. But I don't remember when I realized that the dam had fully broken. When it finally ceased to exist. I don't remember the first time hitting up two drive-thrus on the same day. I don't remember the first time I still felt hungry after a double cheeseburger and fries. I don't remember when my belly started resting on my lap. I don't remember when it started spilling between my thighs. I don't remember when I started having to lift it up to reach. I don't remember when it stopped being a desire and started being a need. When I had to eat until it hurt. When I had to end my days swollen and groaning.
That's how I ended last night. And the night before. And the night before that. That's how I'm going to end tonight. I'm almost there. I can feel it. My breath heavy. Each inhale fighting to lift the massive weight of all the fat and calories crammed in my enourmous belly. Each exhale pushed out by the very same force. I'm already past the point at which anyone else would stop, but I know myself. I've done this enough times by now. I know there's still room for a few more bites. A few more calories. And because I know, I know I have to keep going. I have to be filled. If I can just lift myself up one more time. Use the little strength in my round fat arms to push myself upright. Roll that massive distended gut and push it between my thighs on my way up. I can't see it, but I know it's just ove the horizon of the ball of fat pinning me down. There's two more brownies in the tray on the coffee table and half a glass of full-fat milk right next to them to wash them down. If I can just sit up, I can satify the thing keeping me down.
The first push comes to nothing. I barely budge myself. All I accomplish is angering my belly which is fully occupied struggling to digest the mass of calories forced into it again tonight. It doesn't want to be disturbed and it lets me know. I'm hot and out of breath, but the mental image of what I must look like lying here on this couch gets me worked up again. Nothing on but a sports bra and a tortured pair of stretch-out panties. Grease on my fat cheeks and double chin from way too many slices of pizza. Looking massive, bloated, and unbeleivably fat beached on the couch. Pudgy fingers resting on and stroking the protruding mound of fat, riddled with angry red stretchmarks etched into it by the unsustainable speed of its growth, and pinning me down into these cushions. The dominating force of my gluttony. I feel fat and disgusting. I feel unbearably horny and desparate for those last two brownies.
I'm tired, I'm weak, I'm out of breath, but all of it just makes me even hornier and even more motivated to sink deeper into it all. It takes everything to get my bloated body back to an upright position. I have to spread my rippling dimpled thighs as wide as they'll go to make room for the sloshing mass of my gut to rest inbetween them and sink onto the cushion of my couch - I can't remember when that started happening either, but I know it's been that way for a while. And I love it. I greedily shove the first brownie in my mouth. It's almost too much to it. Gooey bits of chocolate stick on my pudgy cheeks and crumbs bounce down the slope of my belly and onto the dirty carpet below. I sound like a hog trying to breathe through my full mouth. Chewing feels like a asphixiated enternity, but I finally make enough room for a gulp of cool creamy milk. Then do the same with the second. I shoudl have given myself a chance to catch my breath, but I'm not in control. The second one is even harder to finsh - almost impossible - and that's how I know I'm there. I chug the last few gulps of milk to be sure. Dribbles of cool liquid slide down my fat chin and onto the hot stretch out skin of my belly and it feels so good. If I could stand, I'd take a shower, but I'm fated to pass out here amongst the remains of my feast. A fat sweaty hog.
My night's over. I'm too painfully stuffed and exhausted to even mastrubate. I'm going to need someone to help me with that soon.
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