FancyPiglet

Hi guys! I'm Fancy Piglet🐷, I'm a 22F gainer that wants to become massive and morbidly obese. Height: 152 cm/5 feet SW: 130 lbs CW: 230 lbs GW: 400+ lbs. Curvage: https://curvage.org/forum/index.php?/profile/363369-fancypiglet/ Reddit: https://www.reddit.com/u/FancyPiglet_/s/h97taAHz2O

[fancypiglet]

About Me :)

Hi… Welcome to the show of the Fancy Piglet! I love to show myself like the pig I am and for you to tell me how much of a fat pig I am, don’t feel scared to interact!

I’m 22 years old.

I’m 152 cm tall.

I weigh 230 pounds.

I’m a Curvage model, and I’m still growing.

I’m new here on Tumblr, so please be gentle with me.

I won’t show my face. I like a little mystery. I like being seen… but not completely known.

I love makeup. I love sitting in front of the mirror, taking my time, brushing powder over my cheeks, lining my lips carefully, making myself look soft and pretty. I love feeling delicate and polished.

And then… I eat.

I don’t mean to lose control. It just happens.

The sweetness, the warmth, the comfort… it pulls at me. And I let it.

I’m very submissive. I like being guided. Encouraged. Watched. I like feeling small in willpower and big in body. There’s something dark and comforting about surrendering like that. About letting myself soften and expand.

The prettier I make myself, the heavier I feel underneath it.

The softer my smile, the rounder my waist becomes.

It’s such a strange, beautiful contrast.

I write about this a lot. Sometimes it feels like poetry. Sometimes like a confession whispered late at night. I’m fascinated by how desire changes the brain… how craving can feel so sweet and so overwhelming at the same time.

I study the mind. I love art. I adore music and dancing. I enjoy programming and learning how things work. But here… I let myself feel.

I enjoy the extreme edges of growth. The fullness. The slow surrender. The way appetite gets louder and discipline gets quieter.

What you’ll find here:

• Feedism (I’m a feedee, and I lean towards the darker side of feedism)

• Encouragement and teasing

• Pet themes (pig / hucow)

• Bondage

• Pregnancy themes

• Bellies

• Contrast

• Humiliation and praise

• Inflation

• ⁠Bimbo Girl

• ⁠Submissive

• ⁠Immobility

• ⁠Slob

• ⁠Praising

• ⁠Death Feederism

• ⁠And probably others, I am constantly discovering new stuff I love and enjoy.

I love being pretty.

I love being soft.

I love being bigger than I was before.

And I don’t really have control with food.

18+ only.

Please, no minors.

Other places you can find me:

feabie: FancyPiglet

reddit: u/FancyPiglet_

curvage: FancyPiglet

Feel free to DM but I don’t answer quickly! Please DO NOT send nudes without permission.

I also do customs, stuffings and much more.

I hope you enjoy this fat overfed pig, with more belly than anything, super submissive, who loves to be dominated and “used”, teased, humiliated… who loves to eat, and wants to be able to experience in real life stuff and to feel like what she wants to feel… a Fat overfed piggy.

[fancypiglet]

You told me it would be fun.

That's how it always starts.

Not with a plan. Not with rules.

Just you smiling at me from the other seat in the car while another dessert appears in front of me.

By then, my stomach is already full.

Heavy.

Warm.

The kind of fullness that settles deep inside your body and makes every movement feel slower.

But you know that.

You can see it in the way I shift in my seat.

In the way I let out a quiet sigh before taking another bite.

And you love it.

"Just one more."

That's what you always say.

As if there is such a thing.

As if one more bite has ever been enough.

The chocolate is everywhere now.

On my fingers.

On my lips.

A little on my cheeks because somewhere along the way I stopped caring about being neat.

You laugh when you notice.

I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling too.

The whipped cream comes next.

Cold.

Sweet.

Messy.

By now I'm too full to care.

Too happy to care.

Too caught up in the feeling of it all.

I can feel my stomach pressing against my clothes.

Stretching them.

Demanding more space.

Every breath reminds me of how much I've eaten.

How much I've become.

And somehow...

I keep going.

Because every time I look up, you're watching me.

Not judging.

Not stopping me.

Just watching with that look that says you already know exactly what's going to happen.

Eventually I lean back in my seat.

Defeated.

Chocolate on my face.

Whipped cream in places it was never supposed to end up.

My stomach round and obvious beneath my clothes.

I should probably feel embarrassed.

Instead I just start laughing.

And you laugh too.

Because the car is a disaster.

I am a disaster.

And somehow it's perfect.

You reach over and wipe a little chocolate from my cheek.

I can feel how full I am.

How heavy.

How impossible it would be to pretend this never happened.

And for a moment neither of us says anything.

We just sit there.

Me covered in the evidence of my own lack of self-control.

You looking far too pleased about it.

And honestly?

I don't think either of us would change a thing.

[fancypiglet]

Too Heavy for the Stairs

(I am sorry I have been missing, I had my phone stolen and lost my credentials... but I am back and fatter... hope you like this new fantasy)

You slow down halfway up the stairs just to look back at me.

I’m already struggling.

Only a few steps in and my breathing is uneven, heavy enough that I can hear it echoing in the stairwell. My thighs ache, my stomach feels dense and heavy pulling me forward, and I have to grip the railing because my legs already feel weak.

You notice immediately.

Of course you do.

A small smile pulls at your mouth while I try to pretend I’m fine, pretending I don’t need a break after barely making it up two flights.

“Already tired?” you ask softly.

I hate how warm my face gets.

I try to keep going anyway, forcing another step, then another… but my body feels too heavy now, too soft, too full of itself. My stomach presses against the fabric of my clothes with every breath, every movement slower than the last.

Then I stop.

I have to.

I bend forward slightly, trying to catch my breath, feeling embarrassingly out of shape while people walk past us effortlessly.

And you just watch me.

Amused.

“You can’t even make it up the stairs anymore,” you murmur.

Something about the way you say it makes my stomach twist harder than the exhaustion does.

Because you’re right.

I can feel how different my body is now. Heavier. Slower. Bigger in ways I can’t hide anymore.

You step closer, your hand resting against my side, feeling the softness there like you’re proud of it.

“All that weight" you tease quietly. “Poor thing… carrying all of that must be exhausting.”

I let out this pathetic little laugh between breaths, too embarrassed to answer.

But the worst part is…

you look like you’re enjoying this.

Like seeing me unable to keep up, unable to move properly, struggling under my own weight…

is exactly what you wanted.

[fancypiglet]

Look at you!? You used to be a model and now you are just a big bag of lard. How can a person let herself go like that? Just the lifestyle alone, wake up, eat, burp, fart, sleep and repeat. I know your burps and farts sound like someone who only eats greasy food. You really have the typical body of someone when you think of a fat person, and I know you are happy about it. You are probably the type of person who wants to be an real fat pig that burps and farts wherever it wants, and thrust me, if you keep going like this. You would be able to do this without people seeing the difference between a pig and you. Just pathetic. But what I wanna say with this message, Would you be willing to share not only burps but you fat farts aswell?? Thats it from me, you FAT PIG. :)

You say it like it’s supposed to embarrass me… but the worst part is that I can feel myself becoming exactly that.

Softer. Heavier. Slower.

Every day my body feels more indulgent, more excessive… like I’ve stopped pretending I want control back. My clothes fit tighter, my stomach hangs lower, and even simple things leave me out of breath now.

And honestly? I notice all of it.

The burps after eating too much, the way my belly shifts when I move, the embarrassing heaviness of my own body… it should feel humiliating.

But somewhere along the way, I stopped hating it.

So maybe you’re right. Maybe I really am becoming nothing but an overfed, greedy little pig.

And maybe that’s exactly why you can’t stop watching. :)

[fancypiglet]

Can someone farm me and treat me like a fat double bellied hog? 🤤

[skipperafterdark]

not to be a crazy sadistic feeder but I fucking looooove getting rough with a too-full belly - and yes, it’s because of the way the feedee reacts 🥵 jostling burps out of em rougher than you normally would, feeling them up where they’re the tightest and really pressing in your fingertips… doing anything you can to make them whine, squirm, moan, whimper, beg you to be gentler 🥵🥵

[fancypiglet]

Overfeed me and play rough with my belly while you make me pink from all the slaps and make me oink 🤤🤤

[sadapplex]

The quick brown fox steps on the fatass lazy cat :)

And it looks like she brought him food! Good thing he’s not completely full,, yet

[fancypiglet]

Am I crazy I want someone actually doing this to me? Like laying down on top of my belly or standing up on it?

[fancypiglet]

Can I plop my belly in your face and chest like this while you remind me what a fat overfed ruined animal I am? 🤤🐖

[fancypiglet]

I Am more belly than anything 🤤

[fancypiglet]

I may have gained a bit lol

[growingcutie]

A farmer with his pig 🩷

[fancypiglet]

I need this to become my reality so badly 🥺

[fancypiglet]

🙈🐖🔥

https://curvage.org/forum/index.php?/files/file/74687-i-can%E2%80%99t-stop-playing-with-my-belly-%F0%9F%A4%A4

[fancypiglet]

Overstuffed by you at the pool

You said it would be fun.

Just a day out, you told me… something simple.

The sun is warm against my skin when we get to the pool, but I already feel different.

Heavier. Slower.

You don’t let me think about it too much.

There’s food waiting.

Always more food.

You place it in front of me like it’s nothing… like it’s expected.

“Eat.”

And I do.

At first it feels normal… sitting there, the water shimmering nearby, people talking, laughing…

but then it builds.

Plate after plate.

Bite after bite.

I can feel my body changing as I sit there… my stomach growing heavy, pressing against me, making it harder to shift in the chair.

The fabric clings tighter.

My breathing slows.

I try to adjust myself, just a little

but even that feels like effort now.

And you’re watching.

Quiet.

Focused.

Like you’re waiting for this moment.

I can feel it before I even look up.

The stares.

People passing by… glancing, then looking again.

Their eyes lingering just a little too long.

I know what they see.

The way I sit.

The way my body spreads into the chair.

The way I keep eating even when it’s obvious I’m already full.

The way my belly is the biggest part of me and my mouth is full of food, my non existent neck…

Heat rises in my chest… but I don’t stop.

Because when I look at you

you’re smiling.

Aroused.

You pat my belly and it is so tight that it sounds like a drum.

You are obviously pleased.

Like this is exactly what you wanted.

“They are all thinking to themselves how much of a pig you look like” you murmur.

And something in me settles, I get so turned up by those words and the feelings.

Because I realize…

This isn’t about them seeing me, is about them noticing how much of a fat pig I am, noticing your fit body and comparing it to the blob of fat I am… Proving the word and showing those people how much of a prized hog I am.

But the most important part, is about you seeing me like this.

By the time I try to stand, I already know.

My body doesn’t move the same way.

There’s a heaviness that pulls me down, something dense and overwhelming that makes even pushing myself up from the chair feel slow… difficult… almost impossible.

I hesitate.

And you notice.

Of course you do.

Your hand steadies me, but you don’t rush it.

You let me feel it.

The weight.

The effort.

The way I struggle just to get up.

I can’t stand up, so you just give me more food…

“Don’t worry, you will eat until you fall into a food coma, I’ll take care of you piggy and help you get up when you are less stuffed after you wake up”

I smile at you, and mindlessly eat the food you give me, even though I know I am already full as well, everyone is looking at me…

I can still feel their eyes.

But you’re closer now.

Satisfied.

Like watching me become this…

was the whole point.

You are proud of the pig you own…

Aren’t you?

[fancypiglet]

24K Calories in One Day

(How having 24k calories inside of my belly all in one day for a curvage video felt)

https://curvage.org/forum/index.php?/files/file/74143-24k-calories-in-one-day-challenge-i-went-too-far/

I could feel it settling inside me… not just fullness, but weight… something dense and slow, pressing outward, downward, like my body was trying to hold more than it was ever meant to.

Every small movement made it shift… a quiet, heavy motion inside my belly, like everything I had eaten was still there, still moving, still present.

I laid back and just listened to it… that soft, liquid heaviness, the way it sloshed and settled with each breath I took, each tiny adjustment of my body.

My stomach felt stretched, tight in some places, soft and heavy in others… Like it had expanded into something bigger than me, something I had to carry instead of control.

Even breathing felt different.

Deeper. Slower.

Like my body was adapting in real time to the size of what I had become in that moment.

And I just stayed there…

feeling it all.

The fullness.

The weight.

The quiet, overwhelming presence of it inside me.

[fancypiglet]

A taste of immobility…

(Inspired by my curvage video)

It starts at night.

I haven’t eaten yet.

My stomach is empty… calm… quiet in a way that feels almost unfamiliar now.

You tell me to lie down.

Your voice is steady, like you’ve already planned everything out.

Like this isn’t a suggestion… it’s something that’s going to happen.

So I do.

The bed feels soft under me, my body still light, still mine…

but the way you look at me makes something shift.

“You’re not getting up for a while,” you say.

And then you explain it.

The whole day.

The meals.

The amount.

24,000 calories.

The number sits heavy in my chest before anything even touches my stomach.

I should laugh.

I should say no.

But I don’t.

Because there’s something in the way you say it…

like you already know I’ll go through with it.

You disappear for a moment…

and when you come back, it begins.

The first portion is warm.

Too much for a first meal… but not impossible.

“Start.”

I take the first bite slowly.

It tastes good.

Comforting.

Easy.

For a moment, it feels normal.

But you don’t leave.

You stay there, watching… making sure I don’t slow down.

“Don’t get comfortable,” you murmur.

And I don’t.

I keep eating.

The first plate becomes the second.

The second blends into the third.

Time starts to blur.

At some point, I’m not eating because I’m hungry anymore.

I’m eating because I’m supposed to.

Because you expect me to.

My stomach starts to fill… gently at first…

then faster.

I can feel it stretching, pressing outward, reacting to something it’s not used to handling this early.

“Drink.”

The soda is cold, sharp.

The bubbles expand inside me, pushing against the food already settling there…

and I feel it immediately.

Fuller.

Heavier.

But you don’t stop.

You bring more.

Again.

And again.

Each portion harder than the last.

My movements slow down.

My breathing changes.

The bed dips more under me now… or maybe it’s just me.

I try to shift, to sit up a little.

“No. Stay down.”

So I do.

And I keep eating.

Hours pass.

Or maybe they don’t.

At some point, my body gives in and I drift off…

heavy, full, barely able to think past the pressure building inside me.

And then

I feel you again.

Your hand on me, waking me up while slapping my hog belly

“Time.”

Another plate.

Another drink.

My stomach is already swollen, tight… but you don’t acknowledge it.

You just expect me to continue.

Every few hours.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Each time worse.

The fullness turns into weight.

The weight turns into something almost overwhelming… pressing into me from the inside out.

I can hear my own breathing now.

Feel how much space I take up against the bed.

And still

I don’t stop.

Because by now…

it’s not just about the food.

It’s about the way you look at me when I keep going.

By the end…

I can’t get up.

I don’t even try.

I’m just there…

completely full, completely heavy… my stomach rising and falling slowly, like it’s taken over everything else.

And you’re still watching.

Quiet.

Like this was always the plan.

Like you already knew…

I wouldn’t stop.

The day keeps going… and I don’t stop.

Meal after meal, whatever you place in my hands… I take it, I eat it, even when my body is already begging for a break I won’t give it.

At some point… I try to move.

Just to sit up.

And I can’t.

My body feels too heavy, my stomach too full, like everything inside me has settled into something dense… something that keeps me pressed down into the mattress.

You notice immediately.

Of course you do.

“Don’t fight it,” you say, calm… almost satisfied. “Get used to it.”

Your hand presses lightly against me, not forcing… just reminding me.

“This is just a taste of what’s coming.”

My breathing shifts, shallow, uneven…

and for the first time, I feel it.

The size.

The weight.

The way I fill the space now.

I try to look down… but I can’t even see past myself properly anymore.

“You’ll need help soon,” you murmur.

And when you pull me up slightly, guiding me just enough to sit… I feel it all at once.

How heavy I am.

How much effort it takes.

How my body resists the movement, dragging behind me like it doesn’t want to be lifted.

I’m already out of breath.

And you don’t say anything else.

You just let me feel it.

The weight.

The fullness.

The stillness settling into me.

And the quiet realization that…

this isn’t the limit.

Not even close.

this Is How big I already am, and I will sure depend on you for everything…

“Oh darling, please keep going” I say… because I like it, I like the idea of being completely in need of you.

[thatfatgoth]

Let me take you through the drive-through and stuff you full of greasy junk food immediately after your doctor’s appointment. Tell me between increasingly breathless bites how embarrassed you are, how much they scolded you, how despite every dire warning you just can’t stop eating.

[fancypiglet]

🥵

[garlicbrednmore]

Funnel feed me gainer shake every morning.

Tie me to the bed before I can even wake up and when i do shove the funnel in my mouth and make me drink 3000 calories of creamy, sweet, gluttonous lard.

Make sure I don’t even have a chance to stop or slow down what you’re doing to my body. You’ve decided I’m going to be a greedy, stuffed pig before I’ve even had the time to form a thought.

So what’s the point in slowing down if I’m just going to get fatter anyway.

Might as well just give in and get as fat as possible.