Fat Gainer Boy

My DMs dont work on here so message me on telegram or discord: @chiefkeef925 21, he /him, bi, SW:150 CW:330 GW:1000 Encouraging Obesity

[growingcutie]

What was going through my fat obsessed brain this morning… There is no better feeling than reclining after absolutely glutting yourself, belly packed full, and just relishing in the feeling of enormity. So many layers of fat weighing you down. Sitting back and seeing a huge expanse of round stomach. Somewhere in there is a set of bones but all you can feel is a big blob of blubber. It’s hard to exactly describe what it feels like to be so encased by a huge amount of fat…. The heaviness of being a literal pile of fat. I’m a mountain of jello and I just keep sinking deeper. My neck and face are drowning in fat, obscuring my pretty features. I grow more and more demanding, wanting food brought to me more often than ever. All I want is more food and more fat.

[fatgainerboy150]

Love being so stuffed that i get pinned to the bed, its so embarrassing but so hot.

[teddy-bear-lover]

It's just so hot how much of a slippery slope weight gain is. Once you start to gain some weight, your appetite increases making you hungrier and able to eat more food. As you sate your appetite you gain more weight, increasing your capacity more. If you try to ignore your growing appetite, you start getting cravings for high calorie foods, a rumbling belly constantly pushing you to eat more. And so you gain more weight. Then, as your body softens with a layer of fat it becomes ever so slightly more difficult to move around. It's almost impossible to notice, but your breathing starts to get heavy on the stairs when it never would before. You start getting hungrier and hungrier trying to maintain the same level of movement as before. And you grow slightly bigger. Eventually, you'll hit a point where you become lazier, and opt out of high energy tasks like taking the stairs if you can avoid it. And suddenly, you're less active and still satisfying that growing appetite. So you get fatter still. It's such a beautiful inevitability that you'll just keep growing fatter and hungrier and lazier and fatter and hungrier and lazier and before you even realise what's happened you'll have gone from the fit muscular man I met to an obese wobbling blob. All because I helped you start to gain a little bit of weight. A sweet smile pushed you to eat a few extra snacks to start the spiral. And there's no way back from here. You're just destined to keep getting fatter.

[peachy-ffa]

I wonder what will break first, the chair you're sitting on or all restrain you try to keep up because "you don't want to gain this fast", yet even with the ginormous effort of holding back your impulses and gluttony, you still keep gaining, maybe it is because you don't have as much control as you think you do, or perhaps it is because such a sedentary life is bound to have consequences, darling. Your habits and choices aren't really the ones of someone who is trying to stop the weight from piling up, sweet treats just because, avoiding the gym or any excercise like the plague and fast food multiple times a week because it is far more convenient are not really helping you or your ever growing waistline, that's for sure.

Either way, I can see the strain on both the chair and your will power, it is clear to me that you're getting tired of this game where no matter how much you "try" to control yourself, you still end up "losing", so I propose a deal. Want me to push you and see which one we can break first? Is it gonna be your already weak will? Or the creaking chair against your many accumulated pounds of fat? Are you gonna allow me to help you lose that control? Or an even better question is, are you gonna give said control to me so you're all mine to spoil and fatten up?

This isn't really a matter of "will you get fatter or not" it's more like "how fast and in what way are you gonna pack those pounds". The choice is all yours, sweetheart, but it doesn't really matter that much, because one way or another you'll end up in a very fat future 💖

[shrubberylogistic]

Zero Self Control

Heavy night. The twist of your underwear, snaked round your thighs. Thick sweat. Dry sheen. That swirling, groaning thump in your head, flush in the crash zone. Body splayed, pasty and warm, left for the sun to bless.

New year. New you…

1pm. Too goddamn early. You bunker in deeper, cushions caressing your face. Dead leg. You’re too lazy to roll off the couch. Scrape your body from the leather, grease slickening your weighty limbs, a bed of a dozen burger wrappers gracing your grip on the armrest. You sigh.

So much effort.

Woozy, your eyelids dip, narrowed on the box of cookies, garish purple and red melding your senses. Crumbs linger on your tongue as you reach across, tilt your head, and let the last slither of chocolate speckled dust tumble down your ashen throat. God - you need a drink. You slough a hammy hand free, pawing for the nearest half-empty can.

Flat, full-fat Coke. You flick the tab. Whatever.

Eyes on the numbers, the taste runs sticky. A hundred and thirty nine calories. Forty grams of sugar. Caramel, sweeteners, brightening your addled brain, flowing through your system, juicing up your muscles, all the strength you need to…

Unfff.

Fuck. Your abs throb, gummed in your mass. You’re not getting up in a hurry. You palm your big, bloated stomach, scratching your side. The topmost pizza box totters loose, sending the pile tumbling. Shaven donner crawls out the cardboard. Maybe, just maybe…

You claw in, liberating a hardened slice of pepperoni. Gritty, but good. Shadows cross your smirk, widening your mouth, forcing the tasty triangle further in, gut grumbling in approval. You crunch the crust, eager for every last morsel. The box weighs heavy on your wrist. Plenty more. You shirk your backrolls, bulk sinking back into a state of blissful slumber. Guess you don’t have to get off your arse for breakfast…

Or lunch.

Or much else, really. The can crinkles in your moistening fingers. The link in the chain, earth to the factory, factory to the store, store to your heaving grocery bag, to the car, to the kitchen, to the stack burying your coffee table. You ponder the odds of recycling it, feeding that link, watching work its way round the outside world to wind up next to the starchy ready meals in your fridge, full again.

But that’d mean throwing it away first. Getting up. Bending down. Moving. Everything you’ve been struggling to do lately, as you’ve grown and grown. You let out a belch. That cycle of you started, all on your own. Getting hungrier. Eating more than you should. Getting heavier. Moving less than you’re suppose to. Getting lazier. Sleeping on a gut full of fast food, napping and snacking, stoking a greedy sweet tooth, working up an appetite…

Plumper. Every round, flaking off a flicker of discipline, seconds and thirds, fourths and fifths, excusing yourself, letting your memberships lapse, tucking your gains under longer, looser shirts, shying away from your family, watching your fit friends tour the world on your smeared touchscreen, takeout on another tab. Munching in your dressing gown. Feeling the pounds pile on under your beltloops, your fitness stumbling, your knees throbbing, your walks covering less and less distance before you have to stop for breath. More excuses. More embarrassment. More eating, to orgasmic excess…

You glance around your living room – if living’s what it is. More like damage control. Door locked. Curtains closed. Sealing yourself in musky walks, over layers of trash, over straining clothes, over layers of gluttony, frailing while you fatten up – swinging, grunting – perspiring as you find your feet at last, huffing and puffing, rolling to the bathroom, gut brushing the door, hip knocking the towel from the rail. Something else to grab on your hands and knees…

A pale, quaking blob meets you in the mirror. You gulp, detached, finger trembling, feeling where your jawline used to be. Your skinny ribs, swallowed in gelatinous flab. Your shoulders – wider, curving where they once stood firm, collared by obesity, spelt in the hang of your huge, soft underbelly…

You’re shaking as you step on, sucking in. Tiles punch your squeal from the walls as the digits shoot up, the number on the display striking twice, three times the size you entered your adult life, slender and unblemished; poles apart from the unsated drool, dripping down a naked body from a shocked, hanging mouth.

Zero self control. Link in the chain. Shackle to your predilections. Biting into your stretchmarked skin.

You can get off the couch.

You can get off the scale.

But your belly’s gurgling, dense and jiggly.  You’ll never get off the ride.

[livestockprincess]

lol this vid is like perfect fetish material… just ate dominos while watching

[kallietell]

You Knew (A Weight Gain POV)

*You've been lying to yourself. You knew that once you tried feederism you wouldn't be able to stop. You knew you wouldn't be able to regain control. You knew all along, and refusing to admit it won't make you any less of a bloated, overstuffed pig.*

This is what you wanted, isn't it? What you were so excited about, what turned you on so much at the beginning of all this? You said you just wanted to try it, to gain a couple pounds, but even then you knew. At the back of your mind, buried deep enough in your subconscious that you’ll never admit it, you knew you’d lose control. You knew you’d get addicted to the feeling of your bloated gut leaving you beached on the bed, unable to even sit up. 

You knew that 5 pounds would become 10, 10 would become 20, and 20 would become 40 before you could even blink. You knew that you’d outgrow your clothes, that you’d be squeezing yourself into too-tight t-shirts that grip your growing belly and love handles, that show off just how much you’ve let yourself go. You knew you’d be bursting buttons off your outsized pants until the only thing you can comfortably wear is sweats. 

You said you just wanted to do one or two stuffings, to know what it was going to feel like, but you knew from the second you took your first bite that unrestricted gluttony makes you dangerously horny. That filling yourself up with all that food would leave you so worked up, so full, that all you could do was touch yourself while you groaned from the pressure in your middle, your stomach so tight and hard that even a light pat would make you yelp. 

You knew that your little feasts would become a more and more common event. You knew they would grow, right alongside your body, in both frequency and volume until you were taking down enough fast food for four on a nightly basis. You knew you wouldn't be able to control yourself. That the price of your order would continue to rise, that you’d soon grow embarrassed at how often the same pizza guys and food delivery drivers came to your door. You knew that soon you’d be heaving yourself off the couch with effort, grunting as your flabby body fought gravity. 

Speaking of gravity, you knew your belly would eventually succumb to it. That you would pack pound after pound onto your swelling gut as it got rounder and rounder, harder and harder to hide underneath your too-small clothes. You knew it would eventually look like you were attempting to smuggle a beach ball underneath your top, that your belly would be the first thing to enter the room. But you also knew that wasn't the end. You knew you were gonna get even fatter than that. You knew that eventually your pudge would hang out of the bottoms of all your shirts, jiggling incessantly with every step you take. That one day you’d struggle to reach both arms around the swell of your fat. 

You knew that your entire life would be taken over by your drive to get fatter. That it would control all your thoughts, be at the forefront of all your choices. You knew how embarrassing it would be to be larger every time anyone saw you, to return home for family reunions only for your cousins not to recognize you. 

You knew your friends would be polite at first, would watch you eat triple the amount anyone else did and avert their gaze without saying a word, but you also knew there would be a breaking point. That eventually they’d be poking and prodding and shaking your gut, offering to go to take you to the gym, asking what happened, and teasing you about your newfound gluttony and your inability to put down the fork. You knew you’d be embarrassed in the moment but deep down you’d love it, that you’d be thinking about their concerned faces and gentle teasing that night when you stuffed yourself.

You knew you’d outgrown your furniture. That your office chair would finally reach its weight limit and creak underneath your mass every time you moved. You knew you would have to get a screwdriver to remove the chair’s arms when you got too fat to comfortably squeeze between them. You knew the overtaxed chair would eventually collapse, that its legs would crack and buckle after a particularly greedy stuffing. You knew you’d lie flat on your widening back there on the floor, the remains of the demolished chair still underneath you, and struggle to get back up because of how much you ate. 

You knew you would get greedier and greedier, that you wouldn't be able to control your thoughts or your appetite. That food would become your main focus and getting fatter would become your main priority. 

You knew just how much you’d love it. That you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from fondling your fatty rolls while you played with yourself, that you’d be in a near-constant state of arousal from the feeling of being covered in mounds of fat. You knew your arms would get flabby and your thighs would get concerningly thick, that when you waddle around every part of you would shake. You knew that your cheeks would get chubby, that you’d sprout a prominent double chin, that even your tubby fingers would get too fat for your rings. 

You knew that you’d promise yourself you were done a million times. That every time you stepped on the scale and saw how much the number jumped up, you’d vow to be done with feederism. You knew you’d look in the mirror and be shocked by how enormous you got, that you step back to analyze the situation and run your hands down your bloated, unrecognizable body. You knew that you’d promise to go on a diet, that you’d look up gyms in your area, only to be stuffing yourself again the same night. 

You knew that when you finally booked a doctor's appointment she would be horrified, that she’d call you obese and help you make a plan to drop at least 50 pounds. You knew you’d stop at a drive-through on the way home anyway, guiltily avoiding eye contact with the healthy eating brochures on your passenger seat. 

You knew you’d lose sight of your toes, that you’d have to buy bigger and bigger sizes only for your swelling body to make them seem small. You knew you’d burst out of clothes in public, that you’d humiliate yourself with how fat you got. You knew that when you reached the 300-pound weight limit on the scale you’d swear you were done, swear you were going to drop a few, but you also knew that literally breaking the scale would get you so excited that you’d stuff yourself till you were panting. 

You knew that food and sex would become interchangeable for you, that food meant pleasure and vice versa. You knew you’d get off on all the feeders leaving comments on your page, that the teasing and humiliation would make you feel even better than the encouragement. 

You knew just what a swollen pig you'd turn into. You knew it for a fact, even when you pretended it was just a one-time thing. You knew exactly how this would go. And you know you won't be able to stop.

I hope you enjoyed! You can find more at my patreon, patreon.com/KallieTell Thanks for reading:)

[tarqeqthemoon]

I really cannot wrap my head arround the fact that there are people sitting and bursting out of their cloths thinking 'yes 3000 calories of mcdonalds is exaclty what my body needs right now.' What do you mean, your belly is laying on your matress between your theighs while you sit and stuff yourself. You are breathing like an athlete after a two mile sprint or something just from trying to get that one last burger, slightly out of your reach. Keep it up.

[epigstolary]

Signs

You know you’ve gotten fatter by the way your belly and chest and rump move when you try to jog now — resisting the pull of gravity just a moment longer than the rest of you at the apex of your stride, pulling down and bringing their excess weight to bear an instant after your foot touches back on the ground. It never used to do that when you were leaner and thinner and tighter all over. In a word, you jiggle now. And it’s obvious.

You know you’ve gotten fatter by the way your thighs get so warm from your belly resting on them for too long. This wasn’t a problem back when you had a lap — which I suppose you technically still do, but it’s so thoroughly buried by that sack of blubber hanging off your midsection that it doesn’t really count anymore. You have to lift that thick flab roll any time you want to let your thighs and fatpad cool off, and you notice that’s getting harder and harder to do by the day.

You know you’ve gotten fatter by the way you get out of breath by the end of your walk to the bus now. It’s not that far — a few dozen steps to the end of your street — but by the end of it, you’re having to work to get your breaths in and out, and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks and the perspiration beginning to seep out under your arm fat and down your back rolls. The hunger, too, is telling; the sugary treat you used to save for your first cup of coffee at work now disappears by the second stop, a sacrifice to the rumbling in your stomach that inevitably follows this briefest of workouts. The crumbs of sugar and pastry, and sometimes daubs of icing, trickle down over the rolls and belly filling your lap and spilling over into the necessarily empty seat next to you. None of your fellow riders are surprised to see them there.

You know you’ve gotten fatter when you go to stand up from your office chair, and the chair comes with you. You’d tried to ignore all the splitting seams, the periodic blowouts in your pants seat, the groaning chairs, the growing inertia of all the weight sloshing around on your rump. But ignoring it is no longer an option, not now that you have to squeeze yourself out from between the armrests of this XL roller. Your hips and ass may not be the widest part of you, but there’s no disguising the state you’re in now that they’re bigger around than even most beer bellies. You’re not gracefully squeezing past anyone on the way to the lunchroom — they’re getting out of your way, fast.

You know you’ve gotten fatter when clothes that can fully cover your body simply don’t exist anymore. When your thigh rolls bulge and sag out of the biggest pair of shorts you can find, tumbling over one another in a shapeless cascade past where your knees would be, if you could still point them out. When you have to cut the sleeves off of your 8XL tee to make room for your massive doughball arms and the sideboob rolls that hang over what’s left of the seam. When your belly hangs too low and wobbles too much with every minor movement to stay covered by your circus tent of an outfit. On the rare occasions when you still go out, you can’t help but put on a mutually unwanted show for everyone in the vicinity, who try with greater or lesser success to hide how horrified they are at the sight of your unmanageable obesity. Fortunately, there are plenty of chasers and feeders out there happy to fill in for you on the grocery or takeout run.

You know you’ve gotten fatter when you can’t even manage to shuffle into the shower without getting stuck. You always thought the shower seat you started using, once it became impossible to hold your shameful bulk up for the pathetically short duration of a shower, was going to be the failure point. Instead, it’s the cold, rigid stainless steel of the shower doorframe pinching the unreachable extremity of your belly on one side and the stacks of lard-filled back rolls on the other. You can already feel the burn in your leg muscles, underneath the shapeless lumps of fat disguising them as useable extremities, that tells you you’re rapidly reaching your limit for physical exertion. The same burning spreads to your overworked lungs, fighting against the weight of your blubber-packed tits to keep you breathing, as you struggle in vain to get yourself free. Good thing your feeder is there to extract you and bring you a couple dozen cookies to help you calm down.

You know you’ve gotten fatter when the slight pressure of your feeder’s touch against your blubbery chest is enough to make getting up from the couch impossible. You can still just throw your weight forward with enough force to tip forward onto your feet, pushing your hundreds of excess pounds up from a squat until you’re in a standing position. But not when he doesn’t want you to. It takes you so much effort, fighting against the flab smothering your body, that his halfhearted push is enough to send you rolling backward, out of breath and stuck in your divot on the couch. The perfect spot for him to caress your triple chins as he feeds you something greasy and fatty and soporific enough that you can’t even consider trying to get up again. You were probably too big to try it in the first place anyway, or so you try to convince yourself.

You know you’ve gotten fatter. You know you’re getting fatter. You know you’re never going to stop getting fatter. And you still have so much more growing to do.

[stuffingkitt-deactivated2026050]

If you’re seeing this, it’s because you love squishy arms~

[sleepyfa]

Dom feedee/sub feeder ideas :

(because there should be more dominant feedees and subby feeders scenarios)

• tease me for wanting to fatten you up, whisper in my ear about how fat you feel, and how its all my fault, call me a pervert under your breath when I'm unable to look away as you stuff yourself while getting fast food after our restaurant dinner date

• get me a pretty collar and lead to pull me around with while you're sat stuffed full, unable or unwilling to move as you direct me with sharp tugs to get you more food to feed your insatiable appetite with, reel me into you so I can't escape your orbit

• riding you while I funnel feed you shakes after a big stuffing, your hold tightening on me as you move help move me up and down, your rounding belly bullies me off your lap, fighting me for the space, so I have to hold on to your bulging love handles tight with one hand and keep the funnel up with the other best I can

• bend me over and use me as a table for your food, warm your cock in me, pinch my ass and thighs if I start to squirm too much, praise me when I stay still and tell me you won't fuck me properly until you've finished your dinner, and how I better not drop any of it

• mark me up with hickeys and bites and scratch marks and take me out showing them all off, in your smallest just outgrown clothes, belly bouncing in front of you and thick thighs rubbing together as we show off what we've done to each other, call me baby or bunny as I order another beer and sides plate for you at the bar, thanking me with a warm kiss and very public ass grab

• let me feed you chocolates or little pastries and biscuits, and the total number of treats is number of spanks I get once you're done, so the more you eat, the more bruised and red my ass will get once you're filled up and I've been bent over your lap, my sides squished up against your warm tummy

• tie me up and eat food of my body, praise me for staying so still as I feel your tongue and mouth all over me as you eat, needing to feel more of you than just your lips against me, and feel your lips in different places, but needing you to eat more and more off of me too

• pull my hair while I kneel in front of you, dragging me where you want my touch, press my face into your chest, and belly and thighs, my hands wandering and grabbing and shaking everything they can reach, while you keep your grip tightly wound in my hair to direct me where you need me

• hold my hands behind my back make me beg to touch you, plead with you to let me go so I can kiss you and worship you like you deserve, make me say every part of your fattening body that I love, bite my neck while I stutter through all the places I want to touch you

• fuck me in pro bone, pressing all your weight onto me as you push me down into the mattress, unable to escape or pull away from you as you keep nailing me over and over until I'm left breathless, only capable of whining out for more

[listentoace]

Pump yourself full with fat and lard. Pump out as much intense feederism content as possible. Inspire others as you trade health for pleasure. Let people sponsor your stuffings and buy your content until you financially depend on it. Then you'll have no other option but to keep gaining to make a living, inspiring others along the way ~

You want a life of hedonism, food, and not worry about a thing? Turn on the camera and stuff yourself into morbid obesity. You know you want it ~

[excessdoctrine]

high calorie and huge portions and low nutritional value mmmmhm 🤤🤤🤤 gluttony and hedonism and degradation of your own health 😮‍💨😮‍💨

[eternalenabling]

I don’t hear muscle atrophy being talked about enough and that’s a damn shame. Regardless of your current weight, it’s never too early to start degrading your muscles to nothing. Don’t just be obese, be fucking useless for anything but pleasure.

Nothing better than asking your pet to flex and seeing no difference. To grope their arm fat and detect nothing but useless blubber then bone. To truly know this thing that used to be a person will never retake control of it’s life.

Don’t care if you’re 500lbs, 350lbs, or 180lbs. If you need help getting up, can waddle around comfortably, or can run a mile. You need to stay in bed or on the couch. Limit your movement to the bare minimum. I want you tracking your daily steps and keeping them below 1000 a day at the absolute maximum. Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, that number will decrease until it reaches zero. Permanently.

No lifting anything except junk food to shove down your throat. Fruits and veggies are out along with lean proteins. Starve your muscles and glut yourself on simple carbs that fill you with calories but leave you starving again in an hour without actually giving any nutrition. Overfed and undernourished.

There are some really huge but quite fit and active fatties out there. That’s not what I want for you. I want you gasping for breath, red in the face, legs burning walking up the stairs at only 250lbs. Unable to meaningfully participate in sex without almost passing out at 350. Immobilized hundreds of pounds earlier than your peers not from sheer weight alone, but crippling weakness.

Start today. Drive instead of walk to the store. Switch to remote work or give it up entirely to be a dependent pet. Make yourself so useless you can never recover and only spiral further.

[fatgainerboy150]

Fuck!!!😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[gravity-of-the-stars]

Mass Mutual Weight Gain

Something I really don’t see too much of but absolutely love is mass mutual weight gain or society wide weight gain. Stories where everyone one just starts getting fatter everywhere.

Like maybe it’s some new invention, maybe it’s corporate advertising, or maybe people just start giving into gluttony and hedonism because they just love it.

Like imagine you’re chilling and one night your roommate comes home with way more food than they normally do. You ask and they say they got a killer deal on it, one that was almost too good to be true! Over the course of the night the two of you shock yourselves by eating everything and spend the night blissed out and bloated on the couch.

The next morning as you take the bus to work, nursing your still full and sloshing belly digesting last nights feast, you notice others seemingly doing the same. Trying to rub gas out of their stomachs subtly while others who look like they’ve already put on some weight caring less about subtly.

You start finding great deals on food practically everywhere you good, leading to overindulgence becoming more of the norm. You end most nights passed out next to your roommate, the remnants of your feast surrounding you. The next morning your roommate comes to breakfast wearing practically nothing saying “it’s so much of a hassle especially since I’ll just outgrow it soon” you realize that’s pretty valid and start doing the same.

You notice a lot more changes in your everyday life, with influencers and celebrities gaining weight as part of a new social media trend. News casters discussing rising weights with a burger barely off screen waiting for them. More and more folks opting to work from home so they can spend more time relaxing and eating. You notice your neighbors pumping up as well and occasionally catch glimpses of their fattened bodies in the hall or through windows.

Your morning commute has changed too. There are more people practically spilling out of their work clothes and uniforms, many still eating the end of their large breakfasts. Two women across from you have are chatting with their morning coffee, which you’ve watched go from a small to go cup to an xxl cup that’s basically just a milkshake with coffee at this point. Mid sip, one of the women’s shirt buttons finally give and rather than me mortified at all her hat surging forward, free from its constraints, she actually moans a little and says “oh thank god that feels soooo much better”.

This incident seemingly unlocks a switch in your brain and suddenly food and pleasure are much closer together than you thought they’d be. It’s why two nights later your roommate is standing over you with a funnel in their hand teasingly praising your weight gain and asking if you want more. “Fuck yes” you say in a daze and as the funnel goes in your mouth the only thing you can think of is “more”.

[prize-pig-collection]

“You’re so fucking fat, like honestly, how are you still alive??!” (affectionate)

[wannabtubby-deactivated20260124]

When you don’t live alone as a feedist, finding time to get stuffed and really eat like you want to at home can be difficult.

If you have a vehicle however, things get a bit easier.

Cars are freedom machines and for us moreso than most. Think of it as your own private stuffing cubicle that you can take *anywhere.* You wanna pack your belly full of fattening fast food? No better place to do it than the driver’s seat!

Making multiple stops and then escaping off into less crowded places to gorge is becoming a habit that I’m not so sure I can stop anymore!

Just think of all the little things to look forward to: Feeling your belly tighten and bulge over the seatbelt with each burger or handful of fries, belching as loud as you want because no one can hear you, watching your belly inch closer and closer to the steering wheel the fatter you grow, being able to rub, slap, and squeeze that growing paunch without fear of being seen because *you control where you go.*

You can keep a hoodie or blanket in the car to cover that overstuffed belly when you do waddle back home, and the trash from your gorging can be discreetly tossed without your friends, family, roommates, etc. ever knowing. Just make sure to wipe that little bit of mustard off of your face chubby.

And as for when your belly gets big enough to push into the wheel?

Pigs that big should be kept in the house anyways 😈