They placed a final raspberry on the immaculate tart they were making for dessert and looked up to find their girlfriend standing in the doorway. She only wore pants and a bra, but they were both digging into her. Her boobs were overflowing like overfilled muffin cups. Her body had become pudgy lately, that much was true. Very different from the toned and lean woman that they had started dating.
"Like... right now? Or in general?" They said.
"In general," she snapped, "Look at me."
"I am," they said, "You look hot."
She snorted and unzipped her pants, her belly rounded out and wobbled. They tried desperately not to make an indecent noise, feigning nonchalance and going back to decorating the tart.
"Look at me," she repeated. She picked up her gut and dropped it, the fat bouncing, "Your food is too good and I keep eating it, so stop cooking."
They smirked, "Baby, I make the food to be eaten, so it makes sense that you, you know, eat it?"
"My pants are getting a holes worn in between the thighs," she said, "That's never happened before. I'm outgrowing my bra-" she gripped her breasts and then snapped the band of her bra, showing the grooves where it was digging into her.
"Just more to grab," they said, wiping their hands on a dish rag and then walking to her. They grabbed the unbuttoned flap of her pants and pulled her as close as her belly would allow. They brushed their fingers up her side, feeling the divots of fresh stretch marks on the new curves on her side. Her breath hitched, her eyes wide as they roamed over their face.
They traced along the edge of her bra, poking the fat that bulged out. She tried to bite back a whimper, but it escaped and they felt a small smile twitch the corner of their mouth. Finally they placed a soft hand to the side of her face and she melted into their touch, her fat on her face made her look like a doll. Her small double chin covered what used to be an impressive jawline.
You think you’re gaining now? Think you’re fat now? Oh, just wait till I get my hands on you.
I’ll push your stomach to stretch out more than it ever has. You do a great job of gorging yourself.. but it’s just not going to compare to when I tie you to a chair and feed you. That moment when you’d stop, thinking you’re so full you can’t possibly take another bite, is going to be replaced by my fingers pushing more food into your already full mouth. You won’t even be able to protest with all the chewing you have to do before you can talk. You’re just gonna have to sit there, probably way too bloated and full to even squirm, and accept what’s happening, accept that I’m going to push you to grow.
And when you finally finish all the food that I set out, and you tell me that you’re so full you can’t possibly take another bite, I’ll reassure you and tell you it’s okay. That you’ve done so good being a proper fatty for me, that watching you consume all that junk and seeing your belly get so stuffed and swollen is so, so hot. As I grab a pint of heavy cream and start mixing it with some chocolate milk, I’ll tell you it’s okay, you don’t have to bite or chew; you just have to swallow.
Good girls funnel weight gain shakes after they stuff their guts. You wanna be good, right?
Don’t complain. Don’t fight it. Be a properly docile cow and get ready to blow up another 50 pounds.
There’s nothing more emasculating than when your cock is buried under fat. Especially when your wife is responsible for it and doesn’t hesitate to remind you.
I thought it would have been the last thing she wanted. I can’t fuck her anymore. Even when she’s on stop. My cock is almost completely submerged. “Burying your dick under your own fat is better than sex” My wife said this to me last night. Then she grabbed my massive tits and said, “Poor guy, I’ve completely emasculated you.”
I think it’s the sadist in her. Turning my own fat into bondage. My fat pad into a cock cage. She loves when I waddle naked in front of her. How out of breath I get. How all my fat slaps together.
I’ve been her sub/slave for nearly 15 years. I knew she was a feeder when we first met online. She would send me weight gain fiction stories where submissive men were fattened to the point of being confined at home. And now it’s happening to me. I should have seen it coming.
I’ve been obsessing over the word “spilling” lately. My fat filled breasts spilling out of my bra. My overfed belly spilling onto the bed when I turn on my side. My fattened thighs spilling over the edge of my chair. My waist spilling over the straps of my thong. My plump neck spilling over the cute collar you got me.
(wg story about being secretly turned into the office piggy)
You weren't worried about gaining weight at your new job, even if it did involve sitting behind a desk all day.
One of the first things you'd noticed when you'd come in for your interview was that everyone was in great shape.
No wonder, either, with all the ammenities the company offered. Free food - 3 meals and a day and as many snacks as you want, prepared by the in house chefs.
Fancy coffee machines, fridges stocked with kombucha and seltzer, a gym and spa on site, massages, a nap room - this place took employee wellbeing seriously.
You could already see yourself getting lean, putting on some muscle. Clearly the office culture was one of discipline, and you were ready to slot right in.
☕
Okay - maybe the first few weeks hadn't gone quite as planned. Your workload was heavier than you expected, so there was less time to hit the gym. The chef prepared meals were delicious - so delicious you found it almost impossible to opt for the healthier options over rich, indulgent dishes.
You were drinking a lot coffee to stay focused, at least the machines dispensed endless skinny cappuccinos, but even with that you found yourself craving a sugar hit for attention. The break room might be stocked with almonds and sawdust-tasting protein bars, but you found yourself grabbing a big scoop of m and ms several times a day.
The truth was, you weren't getting any fitter. Instead, you were feeling a little softer all over - especially at the top of your thighs which were spreading wider and wider in your plush office chair.
Meanwhile, your colleagues looked as good as ever. The guy in the next office keeps stopping by to see how you're settling in and every time you swear his grip is a little stronger as he jostles your shoulder.
You vow to double down on keeping in shape - though looks like you'll be working till ten tonight, so you're going to need to fuel up before then.
☕
The friday that marks six months at the company for you is also the night of the office hoilday party before you closed till new year.
Last year, you owned a cozy, baggy, oversized christmas jumper. Now, you own a just-about-covers-your-swelling-gut christmas jumper.
Still, the boss had insisted everyone wear something festive so you don't have much choice.
The party is lavish - specialty cocktails, a huge buffet and tuxedoed waiters circling with hors d'oeuvres and champagne to make sure there's always something within reach.
You mean to keep control of yourself, but all your coworkers keep pressing drinks on you, and pretty soon it's hard to say no. They keep reocmmending food as well, and then the tall girl from accounts you always though was cute is pushing a chocolate coated straberry between your lips. Soon everyone is taking it inturns to feed you, and as confused as you are you can't help but admit you're enjoying it - maybe too much.
That night, after you get home, you spend an hour touching yourself to the feeling of everyone's eyes on you as your over-tight jumper rode up over your rounded stomach.
The next morning though, you're embarassed. How can you have gotten so out of shape so fast? Sure the job is stressful, and there always seems to be food to hand, but everyone else in the office seems to have no problem.
When you're back in the office after new years you're going to turn things around. There's no point starting a diet during the holidays, but in a few weeks you're going to be on the track to dropping the pounds.
☕
Of course, it's not really your fault you can't seem to keep the weight off. Your colleagues all know a few things you don't.
They know that the coffee machine in your break room might offer sinny lattes, but they pour cream-thickened coffees filled with sugary syrups and enough caffeine to keep you craving six cups a day.
They know that the chef - infuses - certain dishes, and makes sure you grab those plates, leaving you dozing and snacking through the afternoon.
They know that your supervisor lets the canteen know to prepare extra large desserts right after assigning you a new pile of work, so you have something to help you deal with the stress.
And they know that one of the perks of the job - for them at, least - is getting to take their stress out on the office piggy. Once the workload gets too much for your struggling brain and your body is properly swollen you'll be gently offered a new role in the company, one more suited to your skill set.
You'll be so tired of the stress, and so eager to please you manager, you sign without reading the job description. That's why you're surprised when you're delivered to your new office and find nothing but a bed with thick straps at each corner and a cart loaded with food - and when your old office-neighbour comes in and grabs a box of doughnuts as he pulls down his suit pants.
I love telling my fattening fuckboy to enjoy playing with his cock "while he still can" and knowing that deep down we both know this is a genuine threat... one day he'll wake up and the last of his pathetic little dick will be forever encased in his own gluttonous lard, swallowed by his fupa.
I love knowing the stages of this loss, that there will be so many warnings before he gets there...
First, he'll stard feeling his arms sink into his softness when he plays with himself, but he'll keep eating.
Then he'll notice he's losing length to his puffy fat pad, but his appetite will continue to grow.
Then he'll have to start pushing his belly out of the way just to access whats left of himself, but it'll just make him eat even more like an embarrassing piggy
Then he'll start losing grip, sad, struggling attempts to get off will end in so much sweaty, wheezy frustration... and an uncontrollably ravenous appetite.
But even losing access to his own cock wont be enough, he'll keep going, consuming more and more and more... and more, until there's nothing left, until not even I can play with him, until the only way he'll feel pleasure is when he fills himself to the brim with fattening junk and feels the pressure of his overfilled body pressing on his fully flab encased dick and the jiggle of even the slightest movement of his fleshy body will make him involuntarily cum...
Can you imagine him leaving an all you can eat buffet, whimpering on his way out, a pathetic stream of jizz dripping down his fupa... luckily his ridiculous belly hang hides the stain, but he still has to feel it and be reminded of what a perverted hog he is 🥵.
Call me crazy, but I just dont think Fuckboys deserve access to their cocks 🤷♀️ the world will be better off without it! Lol
Fat pet play oml mmmfpffppgfhhfh. Outgrow your dog bed for me. Outgrow your collar with pudge. Outgrow being on all fours because of your lack of muscle mass and heft. Outgrow being shy about food around me and beg for seconds, thirds, and fourths. Outgrow your clothes so I can pet your exposed tummy easier. I need you turned into my outgrown pet
The way she grabs your belly and feeds you and talks to you makes me melt and squirt at the same time. No wonder you're getting turnedinto such a fatboy 🥵🍩
You’re telling me! She has a way with her hands (and her words) that always makes me wanna take another bite 🥵
More stuffing and belly play with @rainyyyydayssss here!
You’re a confident and successful office manger. Fit, and sexy with a whole lot of potential in the company. Of course, this is bound to cause some jealousy among those who are “lesser” than you. Little do you know.. one of those jealous woman is a witch. She believes your position, your confidence, and your allure should all be hers. So one night she decides to put a curse on you to take you down a peg. “May her downfall be swift and hard, make her body fill with lard. An appetite of a pig she shall own, make her girth only known. Beauty gone and siphoned to me, she’s a big fat pig now, forever be!!”
Soon you start slipping up in your work and you just can’t seem to focus like you used too. All this stress starts to makes you eat more than usual and you notice how good it makes you feel. So you subconsciously start to sneak in more snacks and slowly neglect your important new work protect. After only a few days of this, the weight starts to pile on and people notice and whisper about it. Your belly is pressing against your button up shirt, your waistband is tighter than usual and you feel a slight jiggle in your middle when you walk. But you pay it little mind, you can loose the weight after this new project is done. You’ve started snacking at your desk more often and those calories are adding up! And everyone is noticing, they’re starting to loose the respect they once had for you as a manager, and as the office hottie.
Your superior takes notice in your inferior performance. He gives you the choice to be let go, or to be demoted to a lower paying position with less responsibilities. Since you still got bills to pay, you accept the lower position with defeat. It seems the Witch has been promoted in your place. You congratulate her and be a good sport about it since shes your boss now. “…Has she lost weight?” You think to yourself. “Well she’s looking good lately, really good!” Just then your stomach growls angrily. She giggles and offers to buy you lunch today to “make you feel better”, and you eagerly accept. All this stress has made you so hungry! Now that the jealous witch is your boss, she always makes sure to give you an extra 10 minutes for lunch everyday, which you take advantage of! How generous of her!!
Day after day… more pounds are added to you frame, and you have to go up multiple sizes every few weeks. To afford this new wardrobe, you need to cancel your old gym membership… it was only gathering dust anyway. But it seems all the bigger sizes only come in shades of pink! You sigh as you don’t have a choice. All the fattening, unhealthy foods you’ve been consuming has really taken a toll on your appearance too! You start sleeping in your makeup after binge eating the stress away, and you start neglecting your previous beauty routines. Your once chiseled face is now bloated, resting on a padded double chin, your once flawless skin is now broken out with all the sugars and fats eat, and your delicate features have turned dull and piggish with the way the fat is settling in your face. Your hair is greasy and unkept, so you wear it in a messy bun all the time (even that only emphasizes your round face and fatty neck) You’ve gone from confident to meek and weak-willed.
Your once hourglass figure is long gone and buried under 200+lbs of blubber. The only shape you resemble now is a sphere. Your flat tummy has expanded into a massive jiggly mess that eagerly peaks out of any shirt you wear. Your once tight butt is now massive and dimpled with cellulite and you’ve got a nice secretary spread going on too. Your once elegant gait is now a slow lazy waddle with your wide hips and your chubby feet that ooze out of the black designer heels you refuse to let go of. People talk about your transformation openly, even within earshot. But I mean, can you blame them? The whole office can hear your heavy steps from a mile away, the sounds of you opening another bag of snacks is deafening, you make a little struggle grunt every time you need to get up from your chair (that can barely contain you now)… you’re practically unrecognizable from your former hotter self!
And the witch? Well… she’s the new office babe. Admired and respected by all. Confident, sexy, and achieving her full potential! All words that once described YOU. Now the only worlds that can describe your new form are… obese, pathetic and pig. The Witch enjoys her new status, but always keeps an eye on you to make sure you never rise up from the pig she cursed you to be... in her mind she’s won! But in your mind, you’ve discovered something new about yourself…and you secretly enjoy it.
i see a lot of "princess fed until she's too fat to lift a finger" type stuff lately and whilst i do very much enjoy it as a concept, it's usually very medieval-y in my mind, and there's been some modern royal feedist concepts i've been enjoying lately:
princess keeps growing out of her designer clothes between being fitted for an outfit and the actual event. she actively seeks to outgrow her outfits
doesn't want to be in line to the throne or attend any events, so is desperate to become immobile so she doesn't have to. the sooner the better
her equerry is her feeder. it's not a sexual thing for him, he just does as she says - and she frequently says to buy enough mcdonalds to feed an army and litres of ice cream to funnel her. he's required by duty/job description to fetch all the food she asks for without commentary
alternatively, she's not a willing feedee. although she loves food and how it feels gorging herself, she doesn't want to be fat - she's just naturally too gluttonous and addicted to food at her core, and too lacking in discipline to reject the equerry's encouragement
she's mortified every time she outgrows her clothes and has to withdraw from some royal event because nothing can contain her. practically in tears at the tailors, because the tape measure can't wrap around her middle, and despite the best efforts of all of the staff, they can't squeeze her into her tailor-made outfits if it's been more than a week
she tries desperately to diet in between times and always fails when her resolve dwindles, and ends up gorging herself, so much fatter than before
things that work in both scenarios, and she either loves or hates it depending on which one i'm in the mood for:
paparazzi are all over her. newspapers publish close-ups of her clothes straining at the seams, the princess struggling to get into cars, bets on her weight, comparisons with her slimmer sister, which events she's not able to attend bc of her weight/clothes etc, and generally are very tabloid-y about it
there's a dedicated reddit thread which tracks her weight and size
in the scenario where she loves it, she follows the thread and sometimes posts as a 'cosplayer'; in the darker version, the equerry posts videos of her post-stuffing, in a food coma, pinned down by her bloated belly with grease dripping down her chins, just to humiliate her
the equerry takes her to the kitchens on the eve of a massive event (e.g. sister's royal wedding). unable to control herself she eats everything that's been prepared. she's found post-stuffing, in a food coma, pinned down by her bloated belly, coated in the frosted remains of an entire wedding cake (and everything else besides)
Some evil feeder making me gain weight just to make me feel embarrassed.
Forcing me to pack on the pounds and refusing to let me buy new clothes. Now I constantly have to worry about whether my belly is hanging out under my shirt, or how obvious my love handles are pushing out over my tight jeans.
Taking measurements of my office chair and waiting with glee for the day I come home crying about outgrowing it and having to ask for a new one in front of my coworkers.
Taking me on long walks with our friends and acting confused about why I can’t keep up with anyone. Making sure everyone knows that I’m the reason we have to slow down and stop all the time.
Drawing attention to how much I’m stuffing my face when we all go out to dinner, despite their strict rules demanding I eat that much.
My wife has fattened the masculinity out of me. When I waddle the fat on my hips shakes up and down and my belly apron swings from side to side. My moobs bounce and jiggle. My ass has developed a shelf. I have bingo wings. My cock is submerged in fatpad. I might as well be a eunuch. All this fat has feminized me. In a few years I’ll be confined to the house. A true house hubby.
i know it’s embarrassing to gain sometimes. i know you might think you’re ruining yourself, pushing your body to its extremes, gorging yourself until you’re useless.
but it’s okay. it’s not your fault.
you’re a pig. pigs are meant to grow. pigs are meant to eat their fill and put on weight. pigs are meant to waddle. pigs are meant to care only about food and the feeling of eating. pigs are meant to be fed well and often, until they’re round and slow.
it’s not your fault. it’s just who you are. don’t fight it.
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