depraved

@chubbychiquita's xwg/death feedist side blog. 18+

[cc-afterdark]

have gotten some asks abt bathroom stuff now that i'm so big, im still super embarrassed about it all, but i recently had to buy a "toilet aid" extender wand for ppl with limited mobility. kind of crazy i made myself so fat that i cant reach to properly clean myself. like, this should definitely be my wake up call

[fc-punk]

Mary took a deep breath and sat down.It took a while but the trampoline had been constructed. But it wasn't just any trampoline. This was a trampoline that had a 600 lb weight limit. For Mary was a girl of considerable corpulence, over 430 pounds of supple blubber that she had put on bite after delicious bite. It didn't come without it's prices: Mary was considerably unhealthy, with stage 2 hypertension at only 27 years of age. Not only that she had eaten herself into diabetes, she took her metformin medication like a good girl. Mary had told herself at the beginning of her weight gain journey she would take care of her body. It was amazing how well she had betrayed her initial vision. But Mary was a girl who loved pastries and would not be denied her indulgence in her own body. She suddenly farted and moaned, being reminded of how slovenly she was getting in her splendid isolation of obesity. She went weeks without showering and was often a bit rank. Assembling the trampoline had given her a work out, ironic considering the purpose of the trampoline. The cute doctor had been gentle with her and encourged her to get the tiniest bit of exercise, even from absurd sources. She took a deep breath and heaved herself up, waddling her flabby flaccid fluffy body to the trampoline, holding onto the bar as she heaved herself up. With a slight hestitation Mary gave an experimental jump and squealed when she did it again and felt her heft lift up. SHe felt her belly rolls lift and flosh. She could feel her fat wobble like a sack of liquid lard with every bounce she took. She could even feel her enormous double chin and jowls lift up with every bounce she took. It lasted shorter than she thought, but two minutes left her winded and apple cheeked. She could feel a headache coming on from her high blood pressure. She leaned on the bar and reflected just how out of shape she had become. She did this all to*Mary took a deep breath and sat down. It took a while but the trampoline had been constructed. But it wasn't just any trampoline. This was a trampoline that had a 600 lb weight limit. For Mary was a girl of considerable corpulence, over 430 pounds of supple blubber that she had put on bite after delicious bite. It didn't come without it's prices: Mary was considerably unhealthy, with stage 2 hypertension at only 27 years of age. Not only that she had eaten herself into diabetes, she took her metformin medication like a good girl. Mary had told herself at the begginning of her weight gain journey she would take care of her body. It was amazing how well she had betrayed her inititial vision. But Mary was a girl who loved pastries and would not be denied her indulgence in her own body. She suddenly farted and moaned, being reminded of how slovenly she was getting in her splendid isolation of obesity. She went weeks without showering and was often a bit rank. Assembling the trampoline had given her a work out, ironic considering the purpose of the trampoline. The cute doctor had been gentle with her and encourged her to get the tiniest bit of exercise, even from absurd sources. She took a deep breath and heaved herself up, waddling her flabby flaccid fluffy body to the trampoline, holding onto the bar as she heaved herself up. With hesitation Mary gave an experimental jump and squealed when she did it again and felt her heft lift up. SHe felt her belly rolls lift and flosh. She could feel her fat wobble like a sack of liquid lard with every bounce she took. She could even feel her enormous double chin and jowls lift up with every bounce she took. It lasted shorter than she thought, but two minutes left her winded and apple cheeked. She leaned on the bar and reflected just how out of shape she had become. She truly had betrayed whatever her intentions were one doordash at a time, but she loved it so. As she breathed she farted and thought of what next to eat ===== A short story written with permission by @chubbychiquita/@cc-afterdark

[cc-afterdark]

fuck, i told myself i was gonna shower and put on clean clothes for the first time in more than a week, but i just kept eating until i passed out on the couch. i have no self control at all anymore. laying around and eating is all i'm capable of

[epigstolary]

Date Night

Tw: Health issues, fat shaming, nonconsensual gaining

What’s the matter babe, something wrong with your food? It never takes you this long to polish off a family meal deal. Usually, I can’t even get to the next drive-thru before you’re tilting your head back to choke down the last of the fries. You know I love seeing those pudgy hands pouring the crumbs and salt and grease down that blubber-covered throat of yours. But we’re almost there and you’ve barely finished the second burger — what’s going on?

Ohh, the cashier at the last place really got to you, huh? Yeah, they don’t usually play along like he did when I try to fuck with them. It’s always funny to see how uncomfortable they get when I talk about how big you’re getting, how hard it is for you to get around when you’re fat enough to take up the entire backseat of a car, how all this fast food is the last thing in the world you need but I keep getting it for you anyway. But not him, though. He was ready to give you a lecture about what all these processed foods — the ones loaded with saturated fats and sugars and sodium — are doing to your body. Called you a fatass right to your face! From the drive thru window! Man, I wish I’d recorded it; your fans would have loved to see that, you getting redder and redder from blushing, shifting your flab around while he went on about diabetes and heart disease and fat, lazy customers.

You’ve got to admit there’s something to what he was saying, though. I mean, you didn’t used to have to take a break just getting into the car. It hasn’t been easy for you for a while now, but to already be out of breath and panting like a dog by the time you’ve barely gotten to the car, sitting on the edge of the backseat with your fat filling up the door frame? It’s obvious you’ve gotten a lot heavier and a lot more out of shape, really damn fast. You had to spend a good five minutes with one huge blubber-packed leg and a good foot and a half of belly and side roll hanging out of the car before you were ready to start scooting those hundreds of pounds into the middle of the seat. With all the rocking and jiggling and wobbling you had to do, I wasn’t sure what was going to give out first: you, or the suspension. I’m not looking forward to trying to get your fat ass out when we get back home, not after you’ve stuffed ten or fifteen thousand calories’ worth of greasy junk into your bloated gut.

It has to be obvious to you how you’re steadily ruining yourself. Wrecking your body. Sabotaging any chance you might have left of living a normal life. If you had even a little self-control, you could probably level off your gains here, come up with some kind of a fitness routine that even a fat cow like you could manage, and start getting back down to just being regular fat instead of reality-tv fat. But you can’t resist it, can you? However unsettled someone like that cashier makes you, however much they might make you stop and think about what you’re really doing to yourself, you’re going to have me drive us through our usual date night cycle of fast food, aren’t you? You’re going to stuff burgers and tacos and fried chicken and ice cream and donuts and chips and candy bars into that blubbery sack of fat in your lap, and wash it all down with sodas and milkshakes and slushies until you look like a tick ready to pop and you’re barely coherent anymore. And then I get to have my real fun.

So you may as well make your peace with all this. Know that you’re not going to be able to make your future anything more than an endless round of trips through the drive-thru until, finally, you’re too porked-up even to get hauled around for that anymore. Until you’re almost unrecognizable as a person under a belly that’s heavier than most people. Until your arms and legs are so heavy with lard and bloated by your indulgence that you can barely lift them without help, let alone use them. Until there’s not a car left anywhere that’s wide enough for you to cram your dump-truck ass into. Until just sitting upright and staying awake is a workout that leaves you out of breath.

That’s when the food will start coming to you. I’ll miss our little outings like this, but having a date night at home will be a different kind of fun. The endless parade of delivery drivers, showing up every half-hour or so with enough from your favorite fast-food stops to feed a small party. I’ll be there to help you through the food coma, keep you focused and eating, even as you can feel the grease starting to flood your arteries and your breathing slow and your eyelids droop. Giving you all the stimulation you need to keep choking down more garbage and make it that much more impossible for you to do anything on your own again. Isn’t that what dates are supposed to be for anyway? Bringing you closer together as a couple? I don’t know about you, but I think it’s romantic.

Because we’re a team, and there’s nothing sexier than knowing I’m feeding you into the fattest version of yourself. Whether you like it or not.

[cc-afterdark]

so turned on by the idea that im too fat for u to be seen with in public 🥵 that your friends are gonna make fun of you, and your family is gonna ask questions. the look of sheepishness on your face when u have to help me out of the booth, bc i ate so much i got stuck

I love this. Um, have you ever fantasized about uglication or other tf stuff?

i am super into ruination overall, the idea that i am so consumed by indulgence and thoughts of food that my hygiene and beauty maintenance entirely go out the window. greasy matted hair, oily skin, and the same oversized food stained muumuu every day 🥰

[cc-afterdark]

Wait I thought your main blog was already horny?

i feel like my main blog is like, cute horny, and this one is feral horny, ya know? my most earth shattering orgasms come from fantasizing about overworked breathing tubes and heart monitors 🫣

[hungry-and-hornyyyyy]

Thinking about how fat i truly want to become turns me on beyond belief, i need this hedonistic lifestyle so badly, i want a dominate feeder to just take control and fuck and feed me into immobility. I want to feel the struggle on my poor feet as i attempt to lift my enormous arse up from the sofa for yet another trip to the fridge to see what i can mindlessly stuff into my overworked body. I want to break a sweat trying to slide my way onto the edge of the sofa, my jiggling, swaying double belly pouring past my knees and raised almost above my head, im completely englufed in my own fat. The struggle becomes to much to bare and i come crashed back down into the sofa, a wheezing, furiously jiggling mess who cant even heave her fat body up on her own anymore. Just having to lie their waiting in anticipation for my feeder to return from work, i would be turned on beyond belief by this point, no point trying to reach my fat fupa though, i haven't been able to reach myself for a longgg time. Im becoming impatience, hungry and horny. All i can do is sit there, grabbing handfulls of my soft, growing body, imageing the look on my feeders face when he walks through the door and sees me pinned down to the sofa by my own gluttony. Suddenly i hear the lock on the door turn, my pussy tenses and i let out a senseless moan.

[toonpatriot94-deactivated202202]

Lexi was such a sexy woman! Literally a blob of fat! 😍😍😍

[waddlegirl]

#goals

[toonpatriot94-deactivated202202]

I want this to be you.

Immobilised by flesh.

A slave to your greed.

Machinery keeping you alive.

A bedbound, useless blob.

It’s your destiny pig, so let’s make it happen.

Lets feed you into the abyss.

[cc-afterdark]

ive read a lot about how hard it is to handle a super morbidly obese persons body after they die, and tbh, it all kind of turns me on 😳 thinking about how many ppl it would take to carry my extra wide reinforced coffin, or the grease fire i'd start in the crematorium

[softallover]

i know it’s embarrassing to gain sometimes. i know you might think you’re ruining yourself, pushing your body to its extremes, gorging yourself until you’re useless. 

but it’s okay. it’s not your fault. 

you’re a pig. pigs are meant to grow. pigs are meant to eat their fill and put on weight. pigs are meant to waddle. pigs are meant to care only about food and the feeling of eating. pigs are meant to be fed well and often, until they’re round and slow. 

it’s not your fault. it’s just who you are. don’t fight it. 

[thegreedyofficefatty]

I want you to make me unrecognizably fat. I want to see people staring at me as I waddle around grocery stores piling my cart high with junk food and desserts. If it’s unhealthy- it’s In my cart. I want people to be concerned about how fast I’m gaining. Feed me so much that my doctor is constantly lecturing me about the scale rising faster and faster. About how my diet is so horrifyingly bad. I want you to force me to stuff myself with fast food and butter and entire cakes in front of my family and friends, listen to them all discuss my size in disgust, or grab handfuls of my flab as they tell me about diet routines and exercise. I want you to tell them to try to get me to lose weight, I just don’t seem to listen...and then when we leave, drive me straight to a drive thru. I NEED to be that fat pig. 🐷🐽 the one strangers stare at and point at, barely fitting through doors and aisles, burping constantly in restaurant, getting humiliated and teased about her weight but still becoming a fatter and bigger blimp....

[allfattenedup]

I didn’t write this but it’s like it came directly out of my brain 😩😩

[peneloperouge]

There's no stopping now.

I'm far too fucking big.

I can't even go a few steps without being winded.

I'm so heavy... I just don't want to move anymore.

I need to be stuffed.

To be pushed.

Filled.

I need someone to help me reach my goal.

So I have an excuse. Someone to blame other than myself for my mindless gluttony.

Someone to fill me passed the turning point. I'm tired of moving.

My body is so heavy with fat already it's exhausting.

I just need to gain another hundred pounds or so to be done with it. Done with getting out of bed. To be purely immobile.

It's my dream to suck down food 24/7

To be a large, wobbling, pile of flesh.

Greedy and fat.

It's tiring walking even to the fridge to fill myself, which takes a lot now.

I need somebody to feed me. To force food into me so I'm bound to the bed by my own weight.

Held down my hundreds of pounds of sloshing fat. Only waiting to grow bigger.

I want to be propped up so I don't suffocate with so much weight on my chest.

Heart pounding with every slight adjustment.

Hell, I don't want to even be able to move my arms and legs. Just a huge blimp of a human, barely alive. Being stuffed to death without mercy.

So make sure you are dedicated to ruining me, it's for my own good. I'm too goddamn fat to turn back now.

I need this so badly. Rub me and use me as your big soft pillowy fuck toy.

Feed me and fuck me at the same time.

As long as I don't have to move anymore.

I just need to be filled for you.

.

.

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Love what I do? Feel free to drop a tip in my kofi linked at the top of my bio 💖

[epigstolary]

The Middle of Nowhere

Technically, I’m free to come and go as I please. My chaser doesn’t keep me under lock and key. There’s no gainer sex dungeon, no bed with handcuffs built into it, no livestock feeding machine with a harness he lashes me into. Anybody could come up and knock on the door, and there’s a decent chance my 800 pounds would even waddle up to the door to greet them. I’m not a captive. I’m not even hidden. I’m just… in the middle of nowhere.

At first, the idea of a farmhouse way out in the country seemed idyllic. Peace, quiet, privacy, and the miles of fields and plains stretching far away. It didn’t hurt that, in a rural place like where I was from, there was virtually nobody interested in feeding and growing someone — except for him, and he was surprisingly close. We met for the first time at the diner in town, but it didn’t take long for the discussion to turn to where he lived — miles away, miles down a dirt road cutting off from the already desolate rural route running along the edge of his land. Nobody around to spy or judge. Someplace where we could be ourselves.

I jumped at the chance to move in with him, and I started blowing up almost immediately. I had the opportunity to indulge myself, and I took it — while he’d be out at work, I’d be sitting around his farmhouse, always eating or snacking between meals, never having to stop and go anywhere. I went from my original fat body to morbidly obese in a matter of weeks, and in six months nearly doubled my weight. He bought me clothes with room to grow, but faster than either of us expected my belly was fully hanging out the bottom of my shirts, resting on the thighs that were stretching my formerly baggy pants to the bursting point. My newly flabbier arms bulged out of the sleeves, flexing the fabric as they lifted more food into my waiting mouth. I didn’t strictly need clothes, since I never went anywhere, but we both liked to keep up the pretense that I was living something of a normal life.

There was no question that he wanted to see me fatter; but he never forced me to eat, never got angry when I said I wanted to slow down or try to eat a little healthier. He just kept cooking, kept serving, kept making sure everything I couldn’t resist was always in reach. That was all it took. It wasn’t long before my belly and arms made me far too large to fit in the small cab of his old pickup. The discovery that I was now isolated here — completely under his power and dependent on him to leave, confined as effectually as if I were chained — took my breath away. Even if I could somehow squeeze behind the wheel, the fat bulging out around it was enough to keep me from turning it or reaching the pedals, however much I might push against that resistance. At that point, my only real means of leaving became tantalizingly close but forever out of reach. I could see it, touch it, get as close as I wanted; but I could never use it to save myself again.

I did try to walk away once. When I hit 500 pounds and he made an entire cake for me to finish to celebrate, I had a minor freak out at just how big I was getting and decided I had to get out. So I started walking in the middle of the night. But at a very sedentary quarter-ton, it didn’t take long before I had burned through the panic adrenaline and started getting winded hauling so much fat around. My back ached from holding up my juggling belly, my thighs burned from the unfamiliar friction of walking a long distance, and my chest clenched tight from exertion and the struggle to breathe. I collapsed about a half-mile toward the road, a sweaty, blubbery heap; and early in the morning I heard his pickup chugging up behind me. Without a word, with no reproach, he helped me up, hoisting my bulbous ass into the cab of the truck. He drove us both back toward the house, my body jiggling with every bump and dip. A pound of bacon and a plate of chocolate pancakes calmed me down just fine.

Things only accelerated from there. Early on, I’d been able to take a snack out to the yard and walk along the fence to get some fresh air. Now, I’m barely able to waddle out to the porch and plop down on the bench, my overhang bumping against my knees with each step. I’ll go out with a plate of food, my ass filling the two-seater bench in its entirety, and watch the occasional car glide by on the distant road, as remote and unreachable to me as the moon. Even if I really did want to leave — even if I thought I could go somewhere, ignore my hunger long enough to get down to a “normal” size, and go back to my life as it was — how would I do it? I’m not struggling for miles to the road carrying nearly a half-ton of blubber, if I could even make it down the driveway on my own without getting completely winded; and even if I did, nobody is picking up a hitchhiker who can barely fit into a pickup bed.

Who could I call for help, then? The police? And tell them what, that they should arrest my roommate because I ate myself to the size of a small elephant? This is the midwest; there’s a decent chance I wouldn’t even be the fattest person they’ve dealt with that week. And there’s nobody here driving for Uber, no cab company within a hundred miles, even if I could fit in their car. I could hire an ambulance, but with what money? And anyway, I’m not ready for the shame of being strapped into a gurney and bundled away by a troupe of men, all gawking at how much lard I’d been able to pack onto my frame and tut-tutting at the fat cow who let their indulgence and morbid obesity get so out of control. That might come whether I want it to or not someday, but not yet.

So here I sit — chewing, swallowing, consuming. Eating so much I can almost feel my body expanding with new fat every day. More weight pressing me down, making the distant road that much further away. My thighs and calves jiggling more, my pudge-filled arms swinging more to balance my weight, my belly hanging lower every day. And he sits here with me — smiling, complimenting, admiring my growing rolls and tighter clothes and slower steps and heavier breaths. Watching as I build my own prison, bite by bite.

It won’t be long before the dozen or so steps to the porch and the now-too-narrow front door are more trouble than they’re worth. Then more and more of my meals will be taken on the couch because it’s not worth my fat-laden frame hobbling over to the dining table. Then eventually, maybe, I stop getting up at all, and just let my fat swell and grow in place. How much bigger will I get then, I wonder.

He doesn’t have to keep me locked up, because I’m doing the job well enough on my own. And I know he’ll never stop wanting me bigger. I can see it in his eyes when he imagines my body under another hundred, five hundred, thousand pounds of fat, wobbling pitifully amidst a pile of unmoving lard and struggling desperately to function at all. What is he going to do to get me there? What’s going to happen to me when I’m too big to go anywhere and he has me, in the middle of nowhere, all to himself?

I guess all I can do is keep eating and find out.

[fatlifeshortlife]

Honestly if you don’t put in an effort to stop me, I’ll actively go out of my way to continue fattening you up. Until you’re nothing but a pretty face atop a monument to hedonism, too weak to do anything but eat and be taken care of.

[feederka]

I absolutely love death feedism. I love seeing the effects of gaining on your life.✨

Like - each time you stand, the weight presses down on your joints, forcing you to rely more on others. Making it harder and harder for you to move, or perform menial tasks.✨

You feel your heart working overtime, pumping harder and faster as the pounds pile on. Every beat feels heavy, like it's trying to keep up with the demands of your growing body, but it's a losing battle. You can feel it in your chest.✨

The slow, inevitable decline.✨

The decline of your fitness, the ability to have sex, to walk, to be independent…✨

And yet, it feels too good to stop. The idea of giving in, of letting go completely, feeds into the very desire that has overtaken your life. To grow bigger and bigger.✨

The thought of your heart eventually giving out no longer scares you-it's almost a part of the fantasy now…✨

A final surrender to this life you've chosen.🦋

The life where you’re being taken care of. A blissful existence full of food and sexual pleasures with nothing to worry about🦋

[chubbychiquita]

If there was no limit for you, what would be your ultimate fantasy? I know you can get into some pretty dark stuff and I was unbelievably curious!

oh man, if there were no limits, id want to live like the subject of a depraved xwg ussbbw erotica. pinned to a mattress beneath my own weight, wearing nothing but a bed sheet, w a team of smart dedicated feeders working around the clock to pamper me and test the limits of how much fat a human could pack on in an optimal environment. id have a breathing tube and a feeding tube, maybe a remote controlled vibrator, and all the mindless media & weed i could handle. we'd celebrate the lil milestones like my belly hanging off the bed and touching the floor, when my feet get totally enveloped by my calf fat, when my cheeks get so big & round its hard to even see past them anymore, when i cant move my arms anymore bc my side fat forces them out to 90 degrees, etc. ugh i wanna be room filling + 3000lbs so bad