Dadbod Getting Fatter

Just a 48yo exjock fattening up… grommr: dadbod77 … dm open

[doctorjewbear]

The butcher just got a new pig. Won't me long before he will be able to fill his shop.

[abyssalfeeder]

Pigs just want to be fed, fattened, and doted on. They deserve to be pampered as long as they accept their place, if they try to rise above being a larder? Remind them of their place, a funnel and some gainer shakes usually fix any attitude problems.

[deathpigfeeder]

Cry

“Cry”

I breathe into your ear, my voice low, twisted.

Blazing, flushed, swollen. Clammy, shivering, pinkish, your hilariously turgid cheeks quiver with every half muffled, discordant squeal of horror you choke out of that abused, slobbering gullet.

God, just the pitiful sight of you makes me fucking laugh, my dying slaughter pig.

They’re intoxicating, your syrupy tears that sear your burning, engorged face. I can almost lick off the saccharine terror that oozes through your dulled down stare, drenching your absurdly chilling yelps in a viscous, sweet veil. A shard of raw emotion and buried conscience desperately claws out through the cries, melting into the suffocating darkness of the room.

I teasingly trace down your cold forehead, pinching your face and you attempt to wince, your sugary tears sinking into my hands as I smile down at you perversely. I feel your bruised, rotting, sludge filled flesh, dragging a finger along your freshly branded title ‘Pig’, caressing the darkened blood stains that linger around those shameful letters. I’m met with discordant sobs diluted by inhumane snorts, soaking in the despair you decay in.

You lie there, pitiful, smothered in tubs of cheap white frosting, thickened grease that hisses on your jolting chest, sticky dollops of chocolate smeared around, all glazed with your hollow pig tears. The casing of the bariatric casket gnaws at your raw, blistering adipose, the gleaming wooden casing silken to the touch.

You really do look ridiculous, pleading and choking on your own gelatinous tears, waiting, crying. Profound agony strangles you, squeezing your slop filled, engorged little heart. Too bad, piggy. It’s time.

So cry for me.

Cry, you helpless pig.

[dadbod77]

[dadbod77]

[dadbod77]

[jbelly24]

The two growing pigs part 1.

The farmer had always taken pride in his "special projects," but the two men he found were his most ambitious yet. He moved them into the quietest part of the farm, away from prying eyes, and began a strict regimen of indulgence.

The Feeding Phase

Every morning, the air in the barn was thick with the scent of sugar and lard. The farmer didn't just feed them; he curated their growth with a meticulousness usually reserved for prize-winning livestock.

Constant Monitoring: The farmer used a large industrial scale to track every pound gained, documenting the progress on a chalkboard hanging from the barn's timber beams.

Gourmet Fattening: Fresh blueberry pies were a staple of their diet, delivered warm by the farmer who watched with a satisfied grin as they ate.

Physical Checks: To ensure the quality of the "marbling," the farmer would often poke and prod their expanding midsections, even applying oils to keep the skin supple as it stretched to accommodate their growing bellies.

The Growth Profile

As their bellies began to protrude further, the farmer became obsessed with their side profiles. He developed a custom "profile growth chart," using it to trace the curve of their stomachs against a clipboard to visualize exactly how far they had progressed toward his ideal. Soon, they were so large they could stand belly-to-belly, their massive, oiled midsections pressing firmly against each other.

The Butcher's Inspection

[jbelly24]

The two growing pigs part 2

When the farmer decided they had reached peak weight, he contacted a local butcher who specialized in "specialty cuts". The men were taken to the sterile back room of the butcher shop, a stark contrast to the rustic barn.

The Final Appraisal: The butcher, donning a white apron, joined the farmer in a professional inspection, measuring the circumference of their bellies with a tape measure.

Mapping the Meat: The men were instructed to lie on their backs atop cold, stainless steel processing counters.

Marking the Cuts: With the precision of a surgeon, the butcher and his assistants used black markers to draw dotted lines across the men’s bare, oiled skin, labeling different sections of their bellies as "Sirloin," "Flank," and "T-Bone".

The farmer stood by with his clipboard, checking off the final "Fat-to-Rupture Index" as the butcher prepared his tools, surrounded by the heavy, hanging carcasses of the day's more conventional stock.

[industrialfatteningfacilitiesllc]

As you may have guessed, we really love our memes, and use them to inspire and recruit patients. We also like to tailor them specifically to recruit feeders as well. We *may* have gone a bit overboard with the caption but we just wanted to create a visceral expression that would grab the attention of feeders from their other hobbies.

[industrialfatteningfacilitiesllc]

Since it's been a while since we've discussed our high-efficiency subsidiary, BlobSite, I thought I'd give you a taste of the fun, themed rooms available for patients pursuing the most extreme levels of obesity. Many blob sites also feed *actual* pigs on site to help with food waste management. We find it's very therapeutic for patients pursuing the most extreme levels of obesity to chug ultra-high calorie slop where they can see live pigs getting fattened.

[garlicbrednmore]

Getting blackmailed into becoming somebody’s fattening pet.

Being manipulated into becoming somebody’s fattening pet.

Being kidnapped and forced into becoming somebody’s fattening pet.

Being paid to become somebody’s fattening pet.

Voluntarily becoming somebody’s fattening pet.

[jbelly24]

[twunkletoesofficial]

When Big 🏋️💪 meets Big 🐷🍰

These huge muscle men love a fatboy on the side 😌

[wagyufeedee]

Am I still fat? You tell me!

I’m fatter than ever!

[gaineraiart]

Gainerr Hypno - Healthh Play

[dadbod77]

[deathpigfeeder]

Watching the literal decay of a pathetic dying lard pig as you force is to glut itself closer and closer to the grave. Laughing at its quivering, revolting ruddy cheeks bulge as you pinch its snout and push down more buttery slop to drown out its desperate squeals for help. Slapping its swollen, ripping flesh as you smear buttercream frosting on its unrecognisable face. Making it snort and eat from a trough as its weak knees snap and useless rotting arms collapse under its trembling adipose rolls. Putting it into a diaper as its pitiful muscles atrophy beyond return. Stroking its clammy forehead and whispering that it’s a shame it can’t get away now as you scroll through a catalogue of monstrous bariatric coffins to dump its obscene carcass in, forcing it to watch. Pushing sticks of greasy butter down its weak little gullet as it cries in pain in its blubbery chest. Watching its helpless little sunken eyes dart around for salvation as its collapsing cholesterol-ridden heart tears at its shuddering, buried ribs. Squeezing and twisting its lard as it squirms in agony and terror, its unidentifiable limbs numb, vision darkened. Lulling it to organ failure before 20 whilst cramming in the final droplets of sugar and lard into its warm pig gullet.