Pig
I want to make you too fat to get off on your own, whining and begging for it.
Pathetically grinding your fatass on the couch to hump your own lard to seek some relief. Out of breath, gasping and giving up after 1 min.
And when your fatpad is big enough just waddling to the fridge to get more food would get you off feeling you fat massage your buried cock Cumming halfway between the couch and fridge, wheezing, snorting and grunting, needing some support from the nearest surface, trying to catch your breath. Barely a patch on your tight sweatpants because your cock is buried so deep between your fupa, belly and thighs rolls, your balls so crushed by it, that all you manage is only a pitiful dollop of cum. Still when you see me in the kitchen, you ask between two moan and snort, that I help you to the living room, that you’re too tired and need your couch, as if you just run a marathon.



















