Corruption TF Lover @corruptiongiver - Tumblr Blog

Made a telegram group if some of you is interested! I also drew but I’m also thinking on expanding this setting I got so if you wanna join stop on by.

And if you wanna talk one on one easier.

Tele: @One_Sucky is my name on there

Post of my work here too! Some kinky monster related stuff for a future project. Mostly involving Erotic Body Horror and Mutations! But also

biglugg

Nick Walker

simplyhotguys

prickklaude

nippleplaying big cylinders

beefparade

off-season fuck-meat

cellocunha

Caralho que delícia.

dommewitchybitch

Filling his pussy

crazykittycheesecake

antoine vailant

superiorstr8men

bigwishes

Ruin Yourself!

Become a muscle addicted slob today!!

Your only desirez should be getting as big as possible, dont worry how bad you reek, dont worry about the protein bar wrapper stuck to your ass, or the stains on your shirt.

Guys find it hot when you lazily belch mid sentence

FOCUS ON BECOMING A MUSCLE SLOB TODAY!!

rawtextsdev

The flashing text burns into your retinas: Ruin Yourself.

You try to look away from the screen, but a sudden, heavy heat pools in your gut, melting your frantic resistance into pure, helpless arousal. The seams of your grey sweatpants groan loudly as thick, dense slabs of muscle rapidly pack onto your thighs. A pungent wave of raw, unwashed jock musk hits the back of your throat; a thick, intoxicating cloud of stale sweat, heavy pheromones, and sour testosterone blooming directly from your expanding pores.

You gasp, horrified by how deeply your own sudden stench turns you on. Your fingers grow too meaty and clumsy to hold your phone, knocking a half-eaten protein bar onto the couch. As your massive, heavy glutes spread across the cushions, you feel the sticky foil wrapper plaster itself firmly against your sweaty, expanding ass.

Don't worry how bad you reek, the hypnotic programming drones in your emptying head.

You look down, watching your swelling pecs stretch a dark, greasy stain across your straining shirt. The panic fully evaporates, replaced by a mindless, throbbing need to just get bigger. Your traps rise to swallow your neck, and your jaw goes slack as a deep, rumbling belch erupts from your throat, leaving the sour taste of cheap whey and laziness on your tongue.

You don't even bother to cover your mouth. You just sit there, marinating in your own rank heat, stroking your swelling pecs, a perfectly ruined, brainless muscle slob.

alternate-real-ities

Bro... I reek... good...

fillthattank

Help, I overloaded my gym bro!

This story was written based on a chat with @growinghimbo, he’s the big guy in the pics!

***

I’d got my hands on some new supplements. Real strong stuff. Dangerous to take too much of it, and the shakes you make are so heavy on the tank, I’m not sure I’d be able to handle that much more than the recommended dose anyway. But, and that’s the key part, it works. In just a few weeks I hadn’t just put on 15 lbs of muscle, I was stronger, had more energy, and was eating more than before. “If that goes on, you might catch up to me,” my gym bro said.

He had to be at least partly joking. My gym bro was in a whole other league: at 260 lbs, he was the tallest, beefiest, bulkiest, strongest guy I knew, and his stomach capacity was massive. It could fit two gallons, something he liked to boast about. Even with my enhanced appetite, I wasn’t eating half as much as him. “Maybe you should start taking this stuff too,” I said. It was only meant as a joke, but it got me thinking: if I was getting these amazing results, what would happen if I gave my new supplements to an already big guy like him? Hell - what if I loaded all the stuff that could fit in his massive tank, recommended doses be damned? Just how big would he get? He agreed to take some, though I didn’t tell him we were going over the maximum recommended dose. Well, I didn’t tell him there was a maximum dose, I didn’t even calculate what it was in the first place. I just turned up at the gym the next day, with two gallons of my new shake. I didn’t even have to coax him on at first: he was the guy with the two-gallon stomach “Bro this is some heavy stuff,” he said, after finishing the first gallon. I put a hand on his big belly, feeling the heavy stomach under the layer of muscle and bulk. The shakes you made from those supplements were some real heavy stuff, and even for a big guy like him, this was a lot. But I really wanted to know what effect it would have on him. “Dude, your stomach shrunk or what?” My teasing was enough to get him to chug the rest, but it was not without struggle. With both gallons in his system, my gym bro had to sit down, his gut sticking far out. He moaned as we both rubbed his big belly. I’d given him a few belly rubs over the years, and I’d never felt it this full or heavy. I was starting to feel bad about pushing him this far, when he got up, stretched, and said: “Right, let’s go pump some iron.” What followed was the most intense workout I’d ever experienced. My bro was pushing himself way hard, and I in turn had to push my limits to keep up. Don’t get me wrong, it was awesome, but I was a bit worried about his belly, that looked way too full for comfort, let alone to go through intense exercise. “I’m so hungry bro,” he said, getting changed after. “How about we go to that all-you-can eat buffet down the road?” His belly had barely deflated, still looking fuller than usual. And this was the belly of someone who regularly ate large amounts. By now I’d grown familiar with my buddy’s belly, and at this level of bloat, he tended to lie down, with me maybe giving him some rubs. Clearly, my supplements were working. At the buffet, I watched in awe as he downed plate after plate, his belly sticking farther and farther out. I came in with an empty stomach, and my appetite had been boosted by the supplements, yet I couldn’t keep up with his frantic pace. My stomach maxed out at 4 plates, but he returned for a 5th. And a 6th. His seventh plate was a slog, with both of us having to rub his enormous belly between mouthfuls, and me regularly asking him if he was sure about pushing on. Both scared of how far he’d go, and wanting to see him push his limit even more.

“Bro, what’s happening to me?” he said, exhausted. “My stomach’s full. I’m gonna burst if I breathe in too hard. But I’m still hungry?” “C'mon bro” I said, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Think of all the gains you’re gonna make.” With my help, he forced the last of that plate into his already full stomach. He needed my help to walk back home after all that food, and his stomach was stretched so tight I was almost scared to touch it. I decided to spend the night at his place, just in case. A few times he needed belly rubs and moaned in his sleep, but he woke up the next morning only wanting three things: more supplements, another trip to the gym, and the biggest breakfast in the history of mankind.

The next few weeks were more of the same. I gave him his monster-shake, we’d have killer workouts, and he’d gorge on unreasonable amounts of food. My buddy had always been a big guy, but he was adding strength and muscle like nobody’s business. He soon reached 280 lbs, and the 300 lbs barrier was breached in no time. With every ounce of muscle he added, he supercharged his appetite even more. The constant overeating had started to stretch his stomach, to the point where the two gallon shakes I gave him now started to feel a bit light, yet he still managed to stuff himself close to bursting at each meal. We were both loving the ride, but he was still one of my best buddies, and I didn’t want him to get hurt. The more extreme his gains got, the hungrier he got, the more obsessed he got with his growth, the more I started to think I might have been giving him a bit too much. Often he asked me for bigger shakes, to better fill his expanded stomach,but I always refused. There was a maximum recommended dose, after all, and even factoring in his weight, two gallons was already way above that. How far above, I kept putting off calculating, first because I had better things to do, and later because I was scared of finding out. But one day, after yet again refusing to increase his doses, I finally dug into the numbers. When arriving at the gym, he weighed in at 329.4 lbs, though while he claimed to not have eaten before, his bloated gut suggested he had at least a dozen pounds left in him from previous meals. But, assuming it was all muscle. Per my calculations, that put the recommended dose at… …1.4 gallons per week. With two gallons a day, I was giving him some ten times the recommended dose. This had to stop. “Bro, I need to…” I froze. He had taken the entire tub, and was downing it all at once. Not even mixing it with water. BUUUUUUUURP He patted his bulging belly as the supplements started bubbling inside. I swear that thing looked like it was about to explode. “Bro are you okay?” “I want more,” he grunted. “Look bro, I should have told you right from the start, but I’ve been giving you way too much of this stuff. You’re only supposed to take a small dose, but, er, since you’re already so big and you can put so much food away, I wanted to know what happened if I loaded you up to the max. I’m sorry bro, I nev…” “I wanna BUUUURP get bigger,” he said. “C'mon bro, let’s hit some iron.” “Bro I don’t think it’s safe, with all that inside you.” He didn’t even put a shirt on, he just went to the weights. I’d seen him have to lie down in pain with a belly less bloated than this, but he was pumped up and pushing away. That workout, he broke every single one of his records. Barely bothering with rest times. All while looking like one wrong move could make his gut pop like a balloon. Over an hour after we’d typically be done, he was still pumping away. I was lying on the floor, breathless from having trained for so long. Even adjusting for our difference in size I hadn’t lifted half as much as him. “Let’s go eat. I’m hungry,” he said, pulling me back up on my feet. I drove him to an all you can eat buffet nearby, bracing for disaster. He was practically inhaling his food, plates piling up. I’d say he was eating like a bottomless pit, but it was very clear where all the food was going: his musclegut, already huge and bloated, was visibly expanding. My bro was eating so fast, it was like someone had hooked his belly up on a pump. I was worried about him, but there wasn’t much I could do, except give him the odd belly rub and ask him every 10 minutes if he was sure he wanted more. He took off his shirt at one point, probably in breach of establishment policy, but the staff were all too scared of the hulking and starving muscle beast to say anything. Not that his shirt had been hiding much anway, given how tight it was. “Hey big guy! you sure you’re still hungry? You’re starting to look pretty full,” the manager eventually said, clearly a bit nervous next to this guy over twice his size. All the food buffets had noticeably dipped, and they’d had to refill the meat section at least 3 times. He… got angry. Didn’t like having his appetite questioned, and I think the shake was so strong he was still genuinely starving. I had to step in before a fight broke out, and soon we were both kicked out. Back in my car, his stomach was taking up so much space. He was taking up so much space, his huge tall frame with so much muscle on it, he barely fit in the passenger seat anyway. But his belly stuck out so far forward, it was freakish. I very slowly brought a hand to his belly. It felt like a pressurised tank, fuller and tighter than I’d ever seen any belly be. “I want more bro,” he moaned. He sounded genuinely hungry. That was the scariest part. I drove him to a nearby drive-thru, and ordered a full meal. By the time he’d finished, we were already en route for the next place. We spent the night hopping from drive-thru to drive-thru, his belly taking up more and more room in the front of my car but his appetite remaining unsated. As I regularly gave him belly rubs, I could feel his stomach was full, or at least very close to, and that he was still fitting more food in there through brute force. I felt his stomach stretch, the pressure rise, his muscles work hard to prop up that extra weight and volume, even though he was sitting down in my car. As we went from drive-thru to drive-thru, I drove as slowly as I could. Worried that a sharp turn might make him burst. Regularly parking on the side to give him a rub, to check in on him. My gym buddy froze mid mouthful. Let out a muffled sound. Cocked back his head, using all the strength of his thick neck to force the food down into a stomach that had realistically maxed out a few meals ago. He’d been struggling for a while, but now, it was clear to him he couldn’t fit more food inside him if he tried. “I want my belly to be bigger,” he said, moaning in pain. “…dude, that thing is freaking huge!” It almost touched the counter, making a perfect ball. “Nah, bro. If my belly’s bigger, then I can eat even more,” he said. Despite the pain, the thought of more gains made him smile. He passed out not long after. I decided to spend the night in my car with him, he was too heavy to even try moving, and I did not want to leave him this full without supervision. A few times during the night, gas from digestion started to build up, and I had to rub his belly to make him burp it out. I battled with tiredness to stay awake as long as I could, worried I might fall asleep only for him to need my help, but eventually I passed out, resting my head against his massive pecs.

We were both woken up the next morning by a gigantic growl coming from his stomach. His belly had deflated a fair bit, but was still bloated, making a big round ball under his pecs. “Bro I’m so hungry,” he moaned, stretching as best as a huge guy could inside a car. “Dude how are you still hungry after all you ate last night?” “Bro my gut’s empty. I wanna be full when I go to the gym.” “Wasn’t today meant to be a rest day?” “No rest days for me. I gotta get these guns even bigger.” He flexed his biceps, by far the biggest I’d ever seen, on him or on anyone. “Bro, your guns look bigger than yesterday,” I said. I was still concerned for my buddy, yes, but damn if that wasn’t an impressive sight. “Have a feel,” he said, putting my hands on one of his biceps. “But I gotta eat more to get bigger.” He ate a gigantic breakfast after that, though this time he stopped when his stomach was full, rather than keep pushing on. I apologised multiple times for giving him so much supplement, for how I’d probably endangered his health pretty badly, but he could not have cared less. The only thing he wanted to talk about was food, the gym, his muscles and his belly. And of course, once fed, he insisted we go to the gym. I didn’t give him any more supplements - not that I had any left - but as days passed, his behaviour didn’t change. I’d overloaded him. Completely fried his system. He’d put on so much muscle mass, he’d stretched his stomach so much, his testosterone levels had gone up by so much, and I’d rather not think about what it had done to his brain. This was permanent.

It became a rhythm. The overeating, the lifting, more overeating, more lifting. The falling asleep on his pecs as I rubbed his overpacked stomach. The waking up to the sound of his grumbling belly. Watching him train, his muscles and belly grow as he inched closer and closer to 400 lbs, it was fun and exciting. Of course I couldn’t come close to keeping up with him, but from going to the gym and all-you-can-eat buffets so often, I started making faster and steadier progress myself. We’d always been close, but we were now inseparable, this huge hulking beast of a man and his “mini bro”.