post racism, misogyny, queerphobia, zionism, antisemitism, saneism, ableism, classism, terf content, swerf content, etc. any sort of bigotry is not welcome.
post about real, non-fictional abuse in a positive light. this includes predatory posts about real living animals or real living children, alongside all other types of abuse.
post shblr or edblr content.
kinkshame or police others.
harass others, including for posting taboo or dark content.
before you follow
i post and reblog nsft content.
i will often post about taboo kinks, as well as fictional depictions of taboo topics such as incest or abuse. i do not by any means condone these in real life. i will tag my posts accordingly, so topics can be avoided.
fub free; please feel free to unfollow or block me if you don't want to see my content, i will not take it personally.
i block freely; if you got blocked, it probably wasn't personal.
if sending me asks or dms, please treat me as an equal person, and not as your dom or sub.
kinks not mentioned in this post are typically somewhere in neutral territory for me, ranging from a slight interest to slight disinterest.
my preferences
gay. attracted to men, man/masc aligned people, and occasionally agender/third gender/multi gender/gender neutral people.
some of my kinks i'm interested in regardless of gender. i may reblog content just for the kink.
dom names i like: my lord, sir, owner.
sub names i like: bear, little bear, cub, good boy, prince, boytoy, dumb boy, bladder slut, pain slut.
(if you post about these regularly you can absolutely still interact, but i most likely won't follow back or interact with your posts)
scat, farting*
vomit/emeto**
pregnancy/birthing***
snuff, necro
vore
live insertions
insect play
prolapse
findom
lolisho
tickling
detrans
parent x child incest/fauxcest
blackmail
smegma
*i am interested in the idea of extreme/prolonged holding of gas or stool in the context of stuffing, but not the desperation or release of it, and not irl.
**i am interested in implied emeto/mentions of "might not be able to keep it down" in stuffing scenarios, but not actual vomiting.
***i am into eggpreg/birthing and ovipos, but not any other preg or birthing scenarios.
Pet play omo where your pet has to wait for you to come home from work to get their relief. They want to be a good pet, so they always hold it. By the time you walk in the door they're whining and shaking, and you let them outside to relieve themselves like a good pet.
But today they need to be punished, and you know exactly how you want to do that. you have them drink an extra doggy bowl of water before you even leave, and then you add a full liter of fluids to their daily supply. "This better all be finished by the time Master gets home, pet."
They whine and whimper, knowing what this means, but they don't argue. Little do they know, that's only half the punishment. After work ends, you got out with a few coworkers for drinks. By the time you're home, instead of 5:30, it's 7pm.
You come inside and your pet is already at the door, having heard you come in. They're whimpering and whining, cheeks wet with tears. "Why aren't you on all fours, pet?" You taunt.
They're crying, hands digging into their crotch, desperately trying to hang on. They can't crawl on all fours because they need their hands to hold, and you know it. But you play dumb. "Get on your paws, pet."
Crying and begging, apologizing for being a bad pet and promising they'll never ever be bad again, they slowly pry their hands away. They gingerly and tenderly get up on their hands and knees. Their knees are pressed tightly together, hips wriggling and bouncing.
"Show me your belly."
They collapse down and show you their tummy. Their swollen, bulging bladder protruding out between their hips. You reach down and start petting them there.
"What is it, pet? I thought you loved belly rubs?"
ofc! reading about how your bladder hurt so much was lovely <3
i was actually the one who sent the ask telling you to press your bladder into a dresser or desk, it's one of my favorite things to do when i'm super full - the pain is exquisite :3
Werewolves/Alphas/Wolfmen who usually only knot during sex, except if they get really riled up — and if they knot while they’re not inside someone, the knot swells too far and blocks their urethra. And usually it’s not a problem because the knots don’t just stay for longer than a few minutes. But sometimes, if they’re dosed with a specific aphrodisiac, or they are going through a rut alone, it just… stays blocked.
Like… a guy whose knot just won’t go down, and he’s in the middle of his rut, he needs to cum, and now he really needs to pee… but he can’t do either. He’s completely blocked. Can’t cum, can’t pee. And he’s trying desperately to apply just the right kind of pressure to the knot. Pushing on it with his hands. Stuffing it into toys. Nothing works.
He knows that a sure way to solve this problem would be to ask for help. Maybe he has a roommate. Or a crush. If he could just find someone who will take pity and let him stuff his knot into them, the release would be instant. But that would mean one of two things:
1) He has to hold it for several minutes, waiting for the knot to fully deflate so he can untangle himself from his partner and excuse himself to the bathroom.
2) He would just lose it inside them.
Option 1 is becoming increasingly unlikely, but option 2 is so humiliating that he can’t bring himself to ask anyone… until all he can think about is peeing. It gets to a point where he spends a day just humping every surface in his house — not even because he hopes it will unblock him, but just because at this point he’s so horny and so desperate that humping things is the only thing that brings him some momentary relief. But the pressure only gets worse. At some point he needs it so badly, it overrides any embarrassment. He would do anything to just be able to pee. And so when he does pick up the phone and asks for help, he doesn’t even think to hide the state he’s in. He’s just begging them to help him pee. Please. The knot. Nothing is coming out. He needs it all to come out.
Imagine the moment his saviour lets him enter them. The moment he pushes in the knot and it just unblocks. His balls and his bladder, both full to bursting, pushing out liquid at full pressure. He’s not even thrusting, he just pushes himself in as deep as he can go, eyes glazed over, moaning, panting as he empties himself. It takes so long his partner asks if he’s done yet.
“Not done. Can’t stop”, he manages, breathless. “Please… fuck, please don’t make me stop.”
OR
The knot being a permanent thing, during ruts at least, so the wolfmen are basically dependent on a partner or some other kind of help to relieve themselves during ruts. Maybe there are some toys that help, but they don’t always work. Imagine your colleague is a wolfman who up until now has tried to live a normal life by human standards. But now he’s going through a divorce. You’re friends, so every once and again he stops by your office for a chat. And one day, he’s just super fidgety, obviously uncomfortable. And suddenly he breaks down. He’s so desperate he might even start humping your leg, rambling about how “I’m sorry. It’s been days. Days. I can’t get it out. I just… I can’t… I can’t pee, I need to pee…”
And you’re left with a choice. Do you help him? And if so, do you do it right there at the office? People could walk in. The safer option would be to help him up and take him to your place. You’d have to walk him out of the office. You’d probably have to support him because he’s having trouble walking at this point. You could get him to your apartment, coaxing him onwards. Telling him it’s ok, he can do this, you’re almost there, it’s just a few more minutes. Gently pulling his hands away when he can’t help holding himself, even though there’s no danger of leaks. All the while he’s given up all pretense that he’s ok. He’s groaning in desperation. Panting. He keeps thanking you. And begging you to hurry.
And when you’re at your place, imagine how difficult it would be for him to not ram his knot into you as fast as possible. He wants to. So badly. But you’re already doing so much for him. He doesn’t want to hurt you. So he works himself into you inch by inch, whimpering with need the whole time. When the knot finally slips in, you both freeze, staring at each other for a moment. Then you feel it: Piss starts thundering out of him, like a garden hose on high pressure. His expression still pained, he grabs your hips, anchoring himself as if he’s scared that he’ll somehow slip out of you. For a few moments, he stays like that, his body tense, pissing at full force, hands clawing into your skin. Then he exhales with a shaky sigh, a first sign that he is finally getting relief. His body starts going slack. He’s still pissing, but now he collapses against you, boneless, moaning. He won’t stop peeing for a good few minutes after. The noises he makes are absolutely orgasmic. He’s moaning, sighing, sobbing with relief. He’s still holding on to you for dear life.
When he’s finally emptied out, he starts rocking into you. Small movements, like he can’t help himself. And now you have another choice: Do you allow him to drain his balls next, or do you make him pull out still horny and needy?
“fuck, ma.. you’re killing me. keep doing that. right there.” he threw his head back, muscles straining as he continued to thrust against your lips. his heart raced at the thought of being tasted like this — of you feasting on him like he was your only meal.
"shit, shit, shit—" he hissed through clenched teeth, his free hand shoving down against your head, forcing you deep—deeper. the sight of your throat swallowing him was almost too much. "don't look at me like that, baby... you're gonna make me lose it."
his breath hitched as you pulled back, staring up at him.
"thought I told you not to look at me." he breathed out, voice wrecked, grip tightening in your hair. "don't stop." he pulled you back down, watching his cock disappear between your lips again. his hips stuttered, fucking up into your mouth in short, desperate thrusts. "that's it, ma. that's it. just like—"
he yelped, his body convulsing as you bit down harder. a mix of pleasure and pain shot through him, making his cock leak more. he gripped your hair tighter, knowing he should stop you but also knowing he couldn't resist this anymore.
god he’s such a sadomasochist. but he loves it.
the pain radiating from his tip was electric, shooting straight to his core and making him shudder. "do it again, princess. please— bite it again." his voice was wrecked, needy, completely at your mercy. he was so hard it hurt, and he wanted you to hurt him more.
you bit down again, catching the sensitive slit of his tip between your teeth. he let out a strangled moan, hips bucking involuntarily. his fingers tightened in your hair—not pushing you off, but pulling you closer. "shit, shit, fuck—" he whined, his cock swelling and leaking heavily around your teeth. "that's it... bite harder..."
you sank your teeth into his base, right where his cock met his body. he screamed, his back arching off the couch as pleasure and pain blended together so perfectly he saw stars. "i'm gonna fucking cum.." he yelled, hips pumping wildly into your mouth.
then his entire body shaking as he came harder than ever before, shooting load after load down your throat as you kept your teeth sunk into his base. you swallowed, as you pulled away giggled, kissing the tip afterwards.
he melted instantly. one second he was falling apart from an explosive orgasm, and the next, he was completely soft, looking down at you like you were the most holy thing on earth. the sloppy kiss to his sensitive, abused tip made him jolt and whine, eyes rolling back.
"ma..." he tapped your nose gently, absolutely ruined. "you’re evil."
(Contains: weight gain as healing, mild hunger, stuffing, mild intox, burst mention, hand-feeding)
Aspen frowns down at the soft curve of his belly, protruding from his narrow human torso in that still-unfamiliar way, as he kneels to throw a bundle of herbs into the pot of boiling water over the fire. Pan will be by this afternoon to check his “progress,” though it baffles Aspen that he didn’t pass muster last month. Since his transformation from goat to satyr five months ago, he’s slowly been gaining weight in order to fit Pan’s aesthetic. His “appalling thinness” as a goat is the reason for his curse in the first place.
Pan is particular about beauty standards, and anything scrawny or bony repulses him. He gave Aspen repeated warnings that if he didn’t fatten up like the other young goats, he’d curse him with a new form. “You’re giving my realm a bad image,” Pan complained. “What will the other gods think when they see an underfed little thing like you running around? They’ll assume I don’t take proper care of my subjects.” Aspen hadn’t taken the god seriously; he saw no reason to force himself to eat more than the little he wanted, had no motivation to stuff himself on the rich grasses, fruits, and flowers of the Meadow like the other goats in his herd. It didn’t take long for Pan to carry out his threat.
Now a satyr, Aspen has the stomach of a human, but the appetite of an animal three times his size. And if he doesn’t reach a point of health that satisfies Pan within six months, he risks banishment from the Meadow.
Aspen has had a great deal of difficulty adjusting to his half-human form, and he is fairly certain that in the last month, he’s gone from healthy to plump. His appetite is shocking; even now, his belly rumbles as he stands, scanning his small home for the vial of mint leaves he gathered earlier in the week. He’s tried to make the most of his new form, abandoning his herd to live alone in a hollow formed by the gnarled roots of an enormous tree. With new limbs and language abilities, he’s decided to study medicine. Within a few weeks, he’d made a practice for himself, mixing herbs and plants into tinctures and creams that he uses to tend wounded animals.
Aspen’s stomach growls again, and he presses a hand to it. He’s still unused to the naked feeling of human skin, though he’s hairy enough, and presses his fingers into the soft, pliable flesh. “I just fed you,” he mutters, kneading the pocket of fat around his navel. He rubs absently at his belly as he clomps around his home, searching for the mint leaves he needs to finish this particular tincture. His belly trembles and wobbles against his hand with every step, another thing he’s unaccustomed to, and he’s so distracted by the muddle of sensations that he doesn’t hear the knock at his door. Finally, he finds the vial of mint, and when he spins around to add it to the pot, he’s spooked by the appearance of a guest—a small badger he’d seen as one of his very first patients.
“Oh!” Aspen gasps, nearly dropping the vial. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Apologies,” the badger says, lifting a paw to scratch at her snout. “But that ache in my ear is back.”
Aspen nods, collecting himself. “Did the mixture I made you last time help?”
“It did.”
“I’ll make another batch.”
The badger’s eyes scan Aspen, lingering a little too long on his belly, his arms, his thighs. He braces himself for a comment, turning his back to peruse the shelf of dried herbs.
Finally, as he putzes around, it comes: “You’re looking well.”
Aspen pulls in a breath through his nose, hoping that will be the end of it. “Thanks.”
“I mean it,” the badger insists. “Last time I saw you, I could count every one of your ribs.”
Aspen finds the herbs he’s looking for and tries to quell the shake in his hand as he retrieves them from the shelf. He isn’t sure what to say, so he keeps silent.
“It’s good to see you taking care of yourself.”
Aspen’s nose twitches. He wasn’t expecting positivity. He was anticipating scorn or ridicule, a comment about how he’d let himself go, become a blimp of a creature—not loving approval. He swallows, then turns to face the badger with an embarrassed, breathy laugh. “Pan insists on it.”
The badge looks up at him with shiny black eyes. “Pan is right.”
Aspen pinches a roll of fat, frowning. “You don’t think I’m getting too big?”
The badger chuffs. “Hardly.” She gives herself a shake, sending her own ample belly swaying, and adds, “The weight suits you. You’re a lot nicer to look at now.”
Aspen has his doubts, but he doesn’t voice them. Instead, he drops his hand and turns back to the pot boiling over the fire. “It’ll take a few hours to make the ointment, and I’m in the middle of another order. But if you come back tomorrow, I’ll have it ready by noon.”
“Works for me,” the badger says.
“Is the pain manageable in the meantime?” Aspen asks.
“It’s more irritating than painful, to be honest. I’ll be alright until tomorrow.”
Aspen nods, relieved. He doesn’t like the thought of other creatures in pain, especially if he’s capable of doing something about it. “Good. I’ll see you then.”
If the badger’s eyes linger on him again before she leaves, Aspen doesn’t notice. He picks up a thick towel to protect his fragile human hands and removes the pot from the fire, setting it aside to cool while he gathers the supplies he needs for the earache ointment. His stomach snarls as he reaches for his mortar and pestle, and he sighs in defeat. Better to greet Pan with a full belly, he supposes, and abandons his task in favor of poking through the remains of the cornucopia Pan has provided for him this month. He’s supposed to eat everything inside it before Pan gets here, but with each visit, the cornucopias have gotten bigger, and the contents richer: fruits and cakes, nuts and bread, cheeses and vegetables and even some sweet wine—all of it enchanted with a preservation spell.
Aspen wasn’t able to make it through everything this time, in spite of an honest effort to keep up with his new appetite, and he hopes Pan won’t punish him for it. He pulls out the remains of a loaf of nut bread and some cheese, then sits against one of the many roots making up the walls of his home to eat. The spell has kept the bread as fresh and warm as if it has just emerged from the hearth, and his stomach gurgles excitedly as he bites into it. The cheese is equally fresh, and its smoothness pairs perfectly with grainy texture of the bread.
Aspen lets his hunger take over, chewing quickly even though he’d like to savor the meal. He finishes the loaf and the cheese in only a few minutes, then returns to the cornucopia. There isn’t that much left, really: half a carrot cake, a bunch of grapes, three-quarters of a bottle of wine, two apples, a head of broccoli, a leather pouch full of sunflower seeds, and half a batch of cookies. It’s more than he can comfortably fit in his stomach at once, but he can at least make a dent in it before Pan arrives.
Aspen pulls out the broccoli. He eats it standing, still chewing eagerly, but not at the same pace with which he finished the bread and cheese. The growling from his stomach has changed to contented gurgling, little bubbles of pressure he feels bursting against his skin as he washes the broccoli down with some water. He is halfway through the bag of sunflower seeds when a slight wind pulls at his fur, and the distant notes of a flute announce Pan’s arrival.
Aspen stands, wiping a hand over his mouth as the god materializes in a whirlwind of flower petals and golden light. Pan is a bit taller than Aspen, bulky with muscle and a plentiful layer of fat. His golden eyes glimmer with mischief as he scans Aspen head to hoof. “Evening,” he purrs, his expression halfway between a laugh and a sneer.
“Good evening,” Aspen says. His tone is both stiff and wobbly from nerves, and even though the god has already spotted the bag of seeds, he draws it behind his back.
Pan notes the crumbs scattered over the light dusting of hair on Aspen’s belly, and his expression shifts. “Hungry?”
“Just—just a bit,” Aspen admits.
Pan’s eyes soften, and he strides up to the newly transformed satyr, bringing with him the smell of fresh hay and sunlight on roses. He stops an inch or two away, eyes roving. “May I touch you?”
Aspen, heart thumping, nods.
Pan reaches out to gently brush the crumbs from Aspen’s belly. “You’re not much bigger than last time,” he muses, giving Aspen’s stomach a slight pat.
Aspen flushes as the surface of his belly ripples, confused by the wave of pleasure the feeling brings.
“You’re not full yet,” Pan notes, pressing into Aspen’s soft, upper belly.
Aspen chokes down what he’s afraid could only be a moan as Pan’s hand moves lower, tracing a gentle circle around his navel. A quiet growl vibrates through him, and Aspen cringes.
“Can I help with that?” Pan’s other hand reaches behind Aspen and takes hold of the sunflower seeds. Embarrassed, Aspen nods and releases the pouch.
Pan hums, dipping his fingers into the bag and retrieving a seed. He pushes it past Aspen’s lips, gazing down at him with something like admiration as he chews. “You didn’t finish the food I brought you.”
Aspen swallows. “I’m sorry, I tried. I really—”
“Shh.” Pan pushes another seed into Aspen’s mouth. “No matter. I’ll help you.”
Aspen chews, and Pan waves a hand, conjuring a thick, pillowy cushion big enough for the two of them.
“Get comfy,” Pan says, stepping back and manifesting several plump pillows atop the cushion. “Let me see what we’re working with here.”
Aspen sinks into the cushion’s velvety embrace, propping himself up with a few of the luxurious pillows. A sigh escapes him as he eases back. Despite his hunger, his belly looks round, spilling into his lap a little more than he’s used to. He places a hand against the side of it, nervous about how much Pan might force into him, how much bigger it might look when the cornucopia is emptied. But he’s more comfortable than he’s ever felt in his life—warm and soft—and there’s something soothing, too, about the prospect of being fed.
Pan brings the cornucopia over and pulls the carrot cake out with a soft smile. “Open up,” he purrs.
Aspen lets his lips part, and a generous bite of sweet, warm cake fills his mouth. He’s pleased by the flavor, and chews slowly, savoring it. His eyes drift shut as he takes in the next bite, thick and creamy with icing.
“You’ve got a sweet tooth,” Pan notes. “I’ll have to take that into account next month.”
Aspen flushes as he swallows.
At first, the cake goes down easy, but it gets harder as the repetitive flavor and texture overwhelms Aspen’s palate. He is past satiety now, and his belly swells with each bite of the thick dessert. He wriggles a little, trying to find a comfortable position to accommodate the new heaviness building at his center. His overtaxed belly stretches, grumbling softly as he forces down the last bite of cake. He pants when it’s gone, and falls back against the pillows with a groan.
“You’re doing so well,” Pan says, rubbing his palm in a small circle around Aspen’s upper belly. “But you’ve got to finish your food, little goat. We made a deal.”
Aspen hiccups, his tummy jolting with the effort.
“Poor thing,” Pan coos, reaching for the wine. “Here. Have a sip.”
Aspen drinks from the bottle, and the slight burn warms his throat, spreading with a tingly pleasure through his full stomach.
“Better?”
Aspen nods, sighing in contentment as the fuzzy glow of the wine wraps a warm halo around his head.
“Grapes next,” Pan says, popping one into Aspen’s mouth.
Aspen chews and swallows obediently, taking drinks from the bottle whenever Pan offers it. Every once in a while, the god will break up the barrage of grapes with a bite of apple. Hazy with wine, Aspen doesn’t notice that the same grape regenerates several times before Pan moves on to the next, or that the same apple regrows its flesh after every other bite.
Aspen’s stomach gurgles and whines as the fruit swells it even further, drawing his belly button into a taut line. When it gets difficult to breathe, he slits his eyes open and gazes up at Pan, cheeks flushed and lips parted. “How—how much more?”
“Just the cookies now, little goat,” Pan says, waving the skeleton of the grape bunch. “Are you still comfy?”
Aspen tries to sit up further, but the weight of his belly feels like a boulder pressing against his lungs. He falls back against the pillows, grunting as his belly sloshes.
“Oh dear,” Pan clucks. “Pinned down by your own stuffed tummy?”
Aspen whimpers.
“Well, that’s what happens when you get too scrawny,” Pan teases, leaning down to place a cookie against Aspen’s lower lip. “We have to feed you up.”
Aspen is certain he doesn’t have room for the cookie—let alone the half-dozen remaining—but he bites into it anyway, letting the gooey, crumbly mess of it flood his mouth with flavor before he forces it down. His belly gurgles unhappily at the addition, and Aspen’s hand finds the center of it. His skin is stretched and sensitive; even the soft fat around his belly button is pulled taut. He presses the pads of his fingertips against it in amazement.
“Do you like how big you’re getting?” Pan asks, placing his own hand on the apex of Aspen’s tummy. “Oh, you are tight.” He pats Aspen’s painfully bloated middle, and the satyr lets out a yelp.
“Eat up.” Pan hushes him with another cookie, then rubs a soothing hand over the plump curve of his lower belly. He pinches, frowning when only a small sliver of fat appears between his fingers. “You’re still much too thin.”
Aspen, struggling to swallow the sugary pastry, gazes at his distended belly, bulging out so far he can’t see past it to his hooves, and wonders how anyone with a pair of functional eyes could consider him thin.
Pan brings the wine over again, and Aspen swallows the mess in his mouth, chasing it with the stupefying liquid until the bottle is emptied. He melts into the pillows, unable to summon the will to resist as Pan feeds him the last of the cookies.
“That’s it, little goat,” Pan says, sweeping his hand over the balloon of Aspen’s engorged belly. “Keep eating for me. You’ll be nice and plump by the time I’m done with you.”
Pan continues to rub Aspen’s stretched skin, lightly and with his palms at first, then adding pressure, kneading gently at the sides of his stomach with his fingertips. Aspen moans at the touch, clutching the fabric of the cushion in his fists. His back arches, pushing his belly so far forward he gasps in pain, afraid for a moment he might split down the middle.
Pan slips a pillow under the small of Aspen’s back, his eyes glittering at the sight of the satyr’s overstuffed belly swelling out from his ribs. He watches with approval as it heaves, drum-tight and so full it’s blushing pink at the center. He traces the line of Aspen’s belly button, then dips a finger in, grinning as the goat-boy shudders in a weak attempt to buck. “You like how this feels, don’t you?”
Aspen is too stuffed for words, but he huffs and sighs as Pan rubs broad circles over his tummy. His hairy goat legs kick involuntarily under the light, soothing pressure of the god’s hands. Eventually, the pressure in his belly melts into a heavy, comforting warmth, and he feels his whole body relaxing.
“There we go,” Pan murmurs, patting the softening center of Aspen’s belly. “You sleep this off, and you’ll be ready for a nice, big breakfast in the morning.”
I want to watch someone stuff themselves shamelessly. Eat until their belly is full and rounded out. So full that they’ve had to unbutton their pants, or even remove them. I want them to moan about how bloated their belly is, how much it aches and how badly they need comfort. I want them to hold their belly with both hands, rubbing gently, trying hard to soothe their discomfort. I’ll praise them for how much they stuffed themselves. They did it for me. I’ll rub their big, stuffed belly until they feel less achy. Kissing them, telling them how proud I am. I want them to feel safe with me, comfortable. I want them to know how good it makes me feel to watch them overindulge. Of course a little teasing won’t hurt. I’ll pat their full belly, reminding them how good they feel when they stuff themself. How embarrassed they’d be if anyone else ever saw them groan over how satisfied a stuffed belly makes them feel. How happily full they are, how much they love rounding out their belly for me.
I want your belly to feel tight, absolutely packed with food. I want to spend a night in just slowly feeding you until your stomach is nice and round, glutted until it’s an almost perfect orb in front of you stuffed full with 5 peoples worth of food. Wouldn’t you like that? Having me slowly coerce bite after bite into your hungry belly until you’re practically a ball for my hands to play with?
not “a little bloated.” I want your gut to be hard to the touch. i want it to sound solid when I slap it. I want to feel your skin stretching under the pressure from inside. I want your upper belly protruding out of you like you swallowed a brick. I want your lower belly soft but filling itself up as your body strains to process what i’ve given you. I want you panting as your stomach presses on your lungs and your heart races as you try and digest. I want you moaning in discomfort with every little movement that shifts something around inside you. I want you begging me to stop when I press more to your lips. I want you to choke it down anyways and whine and writhe as your beach ball of a belly strains and distends even more. I want to press myself into your bulging body and grind on you while making you moan with pain. I want to take my time pressing my hands into your gut where it looks like it hurts the most and pushhhhh. I want to watch your face fill with agony masochistic delight.
then you’ll get a break, you’ve been so good for me anyways. I might even let you watch me please myself in front of you while you lie there unable to move, pinned down by the anvil in your gut. maybe i’ll rub your poor belly a little nicer. see if I can’t get it moving down through your system. that’ll provide you some relief as the pressure spreads itself out from your upper gut. but then your lower belly will start to grow. slowly it’ll all settle in, shepherded along by regular, firm but gentle rubs of my hands on your belly.
once I hear your panting and whining subside, I know you’re ready to go again. this time, I put a tube in your mouth. you turn your head and see it attached to a large tank. I smile and tell you this’ll help wash it down ;) I open the valve and liquid fills your mouth. it’s a slow, steady stream. the liquid is bubbly and you can taste the sting of alcohol in it. it’s sweet and the bubbles feel kinda nice in your belly, so you swallow it down steadily in big slow gulps every time your mouth fills with it.
“you like that, babe?” I ask, carefully wiping a small drip from your chin after pausing the flow to check on you.
you finish what’s in the tube then open your mouth. you moan, this time more with pleasure than pain as you feel the food I fed you earlier settling deep in your guts. your upper belly is filling with this sparkly liquid. it feels warm inside you and the bubbles seem to dislodge some of the food stuck in there. let let out a long, deep belch and sigh with blissful relief.
“yessss….. ughhh” you manage to get out as you pat your belly to shake out some more gas. “more, babe. please.” you beg.
“of course, love”
I stick the tube back in your mouth and open the valve again. this time, though, the liquid rushes in faster, harder. you can’t get it swallowed in time and it splashes all over you. I stop the flow, help you put it back in place, and we try again. this time, you open your throat more. you let the liquid flow straight into you. you can feel it landing in your belly like filling a barrel from a spout. the pressure of the gas builds as more gets in. I let this run until the liquid spills out of your mouth again. by this point, your lower gut is packed tight with food, your upper gut looks like a massive water balloon, and I can see on your face that the alcohol is taking its effect….
You did so good, baby, ordering all of these things. And I know you say you’re already full. So beautiful… so round. What a beautiful gut you’ve made, all stuffed and fattened up, soft, round thing.
Run your hand over it. Feel it, baby. Good. Doesn’t that feel good? The way you’re all stretched and heavy.
Yeah? You’re full? You’re sure? We’ll see.
Push a little for me, baby. Feel that hand sinking in? Yeah? Can you say yes for me, baby.
Good. Good boy. See? You can still talk. Do you know what that means, baby.
Mh… that means you still got space, doesn’t it? Yes it does. Yes. Say that there’s still space. Say it.
Good boy. Beautiful. You’re doing so good, baby. So well. Been filling up this gut. It’s such a hard task, isn’t it? But it’s right, what you said. That there’s still space. You said that. You feel that.
It’s okay. We’re in this together, aren’t we? You got this. We got this. We’ll get you all good and as full as you need to be. You need to be full, don’t you?
Good boy. That’s right. You’re right.
You know what to do, then. What you need to do. Spread those legs some more. Recline if you need to - it’s alright, if you need more space. I know. If you need to lay down, that’s alright. I need you to be comfortable, baby. In whatever way you can.
All good? Good.
Take your food, baby. You don’t need to worry about anything else. I got you. Go on. Eat up.
For the first few days he’s starving. The chocolate nutrient sludge trickles through the ng tube and into him just barely faster than his body can digest. His stomach howls for more through all hours, twisting in its emptiness, and he whines and wiggles where he hangs in the straps until he runs out of energy. Hungry, and tired.
The first day he wakes satisfied is glorious. Content for the first time in days, he relaxes and sways. He’s getting used to the bondage by now; he asked for it after all. It’s a nice while, enjoying the feeling of a satisfied stomach. The organ grumbles as its finally filled with just barely enough. At some point it crosses to full, and it’s even more joyful.
By the time his stomach feels happily feasted, he spends his time as a blissed out sloth hanging in his bondage vines. He barely moves, mind barely working. He’s so happy to be full, to have been given a feast that fills his stomach to full and then a little. Vague memories of holidays drift through his brain and he giggles at the reminders of family and fun. His stomach gurgles and glorps as it digests a feast for the first time in months, still getting used to being properly filled again. The noises never cease, his stomach never empties, and the constant digestion leaves him lazy and sleepy.
Arousal sparks in him when his stomach lets out the first groan of being truly stuffed. It’s loud now, constant with the churning, rumbling, squeaking. The memory of the endless days spent empty and begging for more is still sharp in his mind, and he gleefully watches the small bump of his belly grow visible. It’s not large, but it’s a beautiful sign of the stuffed organ beneath beginning to stretch in its fullness. He wishes he could stroke it, feel it grow, but he contents himself with watching it creep outward. The heat in his groin remains a low simmer, waiting to grow.
He burps more now, little breathy things. He’s not swallowing air, and the addition of new sludge is so slow his body doesn’t produce much gas at a time, but his taxed gut is running out of space for it. It churns hard and deep, struggling fruitlessly to empty itself and relieve the growing pressure. He can feel the pockets release from where they were trapped, bubbling up against tight stomach walls and into his throat. His belly is a gentle curve now, soft but the full length of his abdomen. The fire at his dick burns constantly, but his dick only twitches when an especially satisfying ripple runs across his gut. It’s not designed to take things this slow, where time nearly ceases, and that annoys him more.
His stomach grows. Tightens, stretches, pushes outward, tightens, stretches, pushes, tightens, stretches, bigger. He’s so excited to be bigger. It’s a true potbelly now. No longer a gentle curve it has a sharp arc and round form. His stomach sits inside: bloated, churning, and heavy. He wriggles when it calls out with loud moans that reverberate through his flesh, cock half hardening in and endless loop. Hardens, grows, relaxes, hardens, grows, relaxes. He tries desperately to give it any stimulation he can, struggling against the bonds, but all he succeeds in is tossing his heavy gut around and sending its contents sloshing against sensitive walls. It only makes him chub up more, but no where near enough.
For all its complaining, his stomach accepts what it’s given. The addition of more and more and more is so slow that all it can do is stretch and grow. It doesn’t quite register being too full, being full enough it should revolt, it just grows. He has no idea how long he’s been here, how long his bellybutton has been growing further and further from him. The groans are a constant, deafening white noise. They drown out even the ever present churning, which has slowed as tired muscles struggle to turn its crushing load. Gravity pulls him downwards, skin pulling at his ribs under the weight. His dick is hard under the huge ball of his belly, thumping against the hot flesh sinking towards it. The day the tip disappears under his bloated form is the first day he cums untouched. He only continues to grow.
He cums again when the visible lines of his bulging stomach disappear into the complete roundness of a belly stuffed spherical, but it’s no longer a unique occurrence. His releases happen almost as soon as they can, trapping him in an endless cycle of overstimulation and pleasure. His dick is still hidden, but his heavy gut has freed it slightly for a short time. It is so full it no longer has the stretch to obey gravity, sticking straight out from him in a grotesque orb of pink flesh pulled thin. Any pretense he had in paying attention to time, to growth, to change is lost to orgasms, the weight in his middle, and the constant screaming tightness inside. His muscles flutter weakly, barely digesting, barely clenching in his climax, barely able to rock his body and the bloated belly growing from him. At some point his belly button was pulled flat and disappeared. He never noticed.
His skin felt paper-thin and pink with heat when his belly stopped growing. Skin is white with stretch where it connects his body to the enormous mass before him, pulled at sharp angles outwards and up. His gut has long grown silent, muscles helpless against the solid block inside. His own moans and shrieks substitute for his stomach, mind only consumed with the mounting pressure. His body has reached its limit, stretching into a inhuman shape reaching feet before him, widening beyond him. But still the flow continues.
Already intense pressure grows, no option to grow but only condense tighter, tighter, tighter. His struggles grow wilder, stronger, but weak muscles are unable to even shift the massiveness of his belly in the air. As much as the pressure, the pain, the fear builds, his brain can’t help but writhe in the ecstasy of being full. Full to every inch, stretched to every inch, huge and heavy and with no room for anything more. He’s not even sure he’s orgasming or if he’s just so caught in gluttony and he no longer cares, he just cares about the tightening. His body has given up but he’s still being filled, more and more and more pushing inside. More food than man. Even the pain aflame in every inch of skin only intensifies his pleasure, and he screams as he feels himself reach the end. He can’t take any more, the pressure is too much, he’s too full, too big, too heavy and tight and every cell of him feels stuffed. His body convulses as it starts to fail.
solo "oops! two dinners" scenarios bc the trope often relies on extra characters. a lot of them are pretty similar but there's only so many situations out there😭
(DISCLAIMER: some of these do involve purchasing food from another party, which is technically an additional character, but the obtaining and eating of food comes down to your character's actions alone)
🍲 Your character is starving and grabs dinner on the way home, only to get back and remember they had something going in the crockpot, which is now ready and waiting for them. They're already full, but it smells so good, and it would be silly not to enjoy some while it's hot and fresh.
🚕 Your character has been hoping to visit a specific restaurant in an area they're visiting, but after being unable to find it, they decide to just eat somewhere else. Of course, after they eat, they come across the restaurant they wanted to try so badly, and they know they won't have the chance to stop in again for some time.
🍕 Your character eats dinner and goes to put away the leftovers, only to be met with the leftovers from a few days ago that they intended to eat today, because they're about to go bad. Knowing the old food should neither be left nor wasted, the only option is to take care of it.
😴 Your character dozes off after eating, dreams about food, and wakes up craving something. In their sleepy daze, they forget that they've already eaten until they're sitting down with another meal.
🥡 Your character has two coupons for delivery from two different restaurants, and they realize both of them expire after today. Maybe they intend to save some for another day, but whether it's a lack of fridge space, a food that won't be as good tomorrow, or because it's all just too good to stop, they wind up eating both orders at once.
🧑🍳 Your character plans ahead and portions out dinner for the week, but one day they forget about it and make something else. Worried about how long the meals will keep, they decide to eat the designated dinner for the day as well.
💻 Your character is an internet presence who has just finished dinner when they remember they were supposed to record a mukbang tonight. Not wanting to leave their followers hanging, they follow through with their obligation even on a full stomach.
🌯 Your character orders takeout, but when the delivery guy comes, they've brought the wrong food. Already starving, your character decides to just eat it, not knowing that the restaurant, realizing their mistake, is now sending out the correct order free of charge.
🥬 Your character has just finished dinner when they realize they have ingredients that are about to go bad. Not wanting to put off using them for fear it will be too late, they throw together another meal, and, given the iffy expiration dates, they go ahead and eat it right away. Hopefully cooking gave them some time to digest.
🥤 Your character has been keeping hydrated while traveling, and they stop into a couple restaurants along the way to use the bathroom. The bathrooms are only open to customers who order at least an appetizer, though, and with stops being few and far between on the road, your character has to power through at least a couple quick meals before reaching their destination.
🍱 Your character cooks enough for two meals, intending to eat the other half tomorrow. When they go to put away the rest, though, they find that they don't have anything to store it in.
wanna put on big combat boots and pace, making them thud loudly against the floor, then press it into my poor pups bladder. maybe make them piss themselves just for the hell of it
i have a fantasy/goal of one day cumming handsfree from pain
bladder torture, overfeeding, spanking, scratching, biting, burning, cutting, oversized and bumpy cunt/ass plugs (but no movement allowed), stinging paste on my dick, chaffing and vibration on my wrists, breathholding/choking, painful belly bondage, etc. but no touching my tdick or fucking myself
i'd definitely need an irl dom or play partner due to riskiness, and i might need a week or so of denial and/or edging beforehand, but i think i could do it eventually
currently it's just a fantasy but it is one i'd like to fulfill someday
thinking about doing a hold later... really wanna get my bladder huge and hurting... but i'm so tired today, idk if i'll be able to or not :(
someone should plug me and force me to hold it no matter what, that way i don't have to put in any effort and my bladder can still be massive <3 then give me a deep, hard belly massage while i'm full of piss and don't let me go even when i'm crying from the pain <3 with any luck i'll fall asleep from the exhaustion of crying and wake up with an even fuller bladder... if you keep me plugged long enough, maybe my bladder will be visible despite my belly... just step on the huge distended bladder with liters of piss inside with your full weight and watch me scream in pain, i'm sure i'll cum from it as long as my bladder doesn't rupture first :3
i'm fat. i also naturally have larger outer labia & a larger mons. so my tdick is totally hidden even when i'm hard.
i've found that it's really gender affirming to me and really hot that i can trim (not fully shave tho bc of a skin condition) my hair at the front around my labia and mons for easier access to my dick, and then keep the area round both my holes hairy <3
idk what it is but it's just super cute to me... it makes me want to have my cock sucked and makes me want to get fucked :3
i also love that my vulva looks a bit like balls from behind/in between my legs sometimes
