You love gluttony. You need it not to be forced, not put on for your benefit, but to be its own kind of unignorable compulsion.
You’re good at spotting this quality in people, this certain insatiability… and you’ve come to need it.
You first noticed he had this essential quality about him on your first date. You replayed the image of how quickly he scarfed down his carbonara over and over again as you lay in bed that night.
Feeling the heat swell in between your legs as you remember how he smirked at you as he walked you home; he tilted his head and asked “So you like chubby guys, huh?”
You blush in embarrassment at your own over-enthused reply, “Yes, actually I prefer them!”
He has no idea just how deep it goes…
In reality, you need hunger that can be likened to lust — innate and animalistic.
For him, it’s an irresistible instinct. He may try his hardest to fight against it, but it overtakes him anyway
He always cleans his plate and wishes for more. He devours what’s in front of him with so much delight that he overlooks the quantity.
One time, you two were sitting on a park bench when he admitted to you that he was once “as heavy as 290.” You blacked out after that, you simply don’t remember the rest of the conversation. All there was after that was 290. 290. 290. You hope your reaction wasn’t too incredulous.
Usually after a hearty meal, he’ll slowly rise from his chair and place a hand on his soft, protruding belly. Sometimes he’ll even let out a sigh of both contentment and resignation as he says, “Oof, I’m actually really full.” Or “I ate that way too quickly.” You wonder if he’s saying this just for you, if he secretly knows. You hope that he does.
You love to see his t-shirt pucker out at the hem, his belly pressing the fabric away from him. Your eyes can’t help but linger over the straining fabric around his soft center. After all, with any slight movement there’s a chance that you could see a doughy crescent of pudge peak out.
As you lie in bed together, you try your hardest to be casual as your breath hitches in your chest. It feels as though you’re conducting advanced calculations — if you drape your hand around the curve of his bulging mass will he notice? What if you place your arm directly underneath his plush overhang, is that more discreet? Will he notice how your pulse quickens? If you press the full plane of your palm against his taut yet supple midsection when he’s this full, will he be embarrassed? Does he realize how desperately you want him? How transfixed you are by his bulk?
When he turns over to envelope you in a hug, and you feel all of him pressed against every inch of you — can he sense your desperation for his flesh? Does he realize that no matter how much of him you get — no matter if you get to grab every fold, explore every cushy crevice — that it will never be enough? When you look at him, all you can think is squeeze, bite, taste, devour. Surely your eyes betray you. That’s why it’s so hard to meet his gaze.
He may be the one eating, but you are the one that’s always hungry.
You ache for his heavy thrusts. You thank some unnamed ancient god for his powerful shoulders and robust arms that allow him to enter you so forcefully. The brawn that lies just beneath his delectable, velvety layer of chub is a reminder of just how formidable he is.
And lastly, as he finally unleashes his load, as if to give you a parting gift, the muscles he was using to hold himself up and hold himself back relax. A heavy mound of roundness crashes against you. For a fleeting moment, you get to be pinned down by the weight of your own unmentionable desire. You don’t have to deny, you don’t have to evade, you don’t have to pretend. You can just be.
This is your own private, fat-fetishizing, chubby-chasing, adipose-admiring rapture.
I think the purest form of love is just wanting someone to notice life with you. "taste this. look at that. hear this song." again and again. until you can't imagine noticing life without them.
ideal kind of wg scenario is having them go from a little nervous and embarrassed about the new gains to actively enjoying being bigger and barely even noticing when their buttons come undone
This kink is diabolical cus why am I googling how long the average towel is to determine whether the way my boyfriend refuses to tuck it around his waist when he gets out of the shower is cus of Big Tummy or not
Like girl get a grip!!
It’s 54 inches btw, and you need 6-8 inches of extra for a proper tuck
And he fits 2X which is like a 44-46 inch waist so… just barely enough to tuck
Stretch marks feel like a reward as a feeder. Have I been fattening them up so nicely that their body can't keep up? Are these little scars here because my presence is plumping them this bad? I've probably been indulging them and their bigger appetite as of late, no wonder they're getting so fat 💖
I love a put-together fat man with good street style. A leather watch wrapped around his chubby wrist, sausage fingers stacked with rings, maybe a chain or two decorating the collar of lard around his neck. Strong cologne that’s woody and addictive, so when I wear his shirts as nightgowns I’m bundled in his scent. Funky patterned button-ups straining across his stomach, layered textures hugging every curve. Hair in perfect waves, clean shaven, shoes polished. A walking (or waddling) thirst trap.
Until I get him home.
Until all that style is in a heap on my floor and he’s naked, flushed, and gasping for air between mouthfuls. Stuffing his face like he hasn’t eaten in days. Sauce on his chin, cream dribbling down the curve of his belly and settling into his rolls. Moaning through every greasy bite. His body jiggling with constant guttural belches he doesn’t even try to suppress. Rubbing his poor gut with cheese-dust covered fingers just so he can make room for more slop. Sweaty and sticky and gassy, a picture of pure hedonism.
“You should bake because it’s fun” or “You should bake because it’s such a useful skill” well have you ever considered baking because it’s going to make someone really fat
i want to watch TV while you eat cookie after cookie until you're heavy with my baking and absentmindedly rubbing your bloated belly and I can't possibly pay attention to anything other than the blush on your cheeks and small gasps you make when you realize you need to unbutton your jeans and have to reach around that gut you've grown - blushing harder when you notice my eyes have been glued to your belly
any chubby boy want to come over and let me slide food down your throat until your belly gets sooo tight... until you're so full that you're moaning in pain and pleasure while I go down on you, rubbing you're overstuffed belly, fed and indulged like the good boy you are ☺️❤️
