Yes indeed I do!

★
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

#extradirty

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@german-gainer
Yes indeed I do!
Reblog if you want to be spammed with anonymous asks
Pleassee ill answer any question
I sit there on the edge of my bed, feeling the slight coolness of the room after a long day. My feet are propped up in front of me, still in my socks—black and worn from days of hard work. I lean back casually, glancing at you with a smirk that I can't help but let slip. You've noticed them, haven’t you? The way they catch the light just slightly. You can practically see how much those socks have been through, but there’s more than just a visual story here.
"Look at them," I murmur, drawing your attention down. "Can you see how they shine in the light?" My toes wiggle just slightly under the tight fabric, and I stretch my legs out, making the view impossible to ignore. These socks, two pairs layered on top of each other, are like a badge of hard work. Days in boots, working, sweating—filling every fiber with my effort. And now, here they are, barely holding it all together.
"I’ve been wearing these for over a week now," I tease, my voice low but playful. "Can you imagine what that must be like? Day in and day out, stuffed inside those boots." I pause, letting the thought linger between us, watching your reaction. "I bet you can smell them already… or maybe you shouldn't," I chuckle softly, a laugh that dances in the air just like the musky scent that must be starting to settle in the room.
I reach down slowly, one hand casually tugging at the edge of my sock. I don’t rush—no, that wouldn’t be any fun, would it? My fingers grip the thin fabric, feeling how damp it is from all the wear. The black fabric clings stubbornly to my foot, almost like it doesn’t want to leave, and I’m careful to take my time. I know you’re watching.
"These socks have clearly seen better days," I say, half to myself, half to you, as I tug a little more, revealing just a sliver of my ankle. The fabric peels back with a soft stretch, and I grin at how intently you’re focused on it. "It's amazing how much sweat one pair of socks can absorb, let alone two," I continue, teasing. "These have been soaking it up for days, just working hard, keeping everything locked in tight."
I give the sock another gentle tug, pulling it just past my heel, exposing more of my foot. The contrast between my skin and the sock is sharp—the fabric almost glued to me from the sweat, sticking slightly as I pull it away. "You see that?" I ask, letting my voice drop a little lower. "How the fabric just clings to my skin? That’s what happens after days of wearing the same socks. They practically become a part of you."
I pause for a moment, leaving the sock halfway off my foot, and glance up at you with a knowing look. "I’m only taking one off for now," I add with a teasing smile. "Gotta keep you wondering what the other one’s like, right?"
The air feels heavy now, the scent of hard work lingering a little more strongly with each passing second. I can’t help but notice how your gaze flickers between my foot and the sock still hanging on. I wiggle my toes again, still trapped inside the second sock. "Oh, I know what you’re thinking," I tease. "But I’m not done yet."
With a slow, deliberate motion, I pull the sock the rest of the way off, revealing my bare foot. The sock drops to the floor with a soft thud, and I stretch out my toes, flexing them in the cool air. "Finally free," I sigh dramatically, as if the relief is overwhelming, though I can still feel the weight of the other sock pressing against my skin.
I pick up the sock I just removed, holding it loosely in my hand. "It's seen a lot, hasn’t it?" I muse, turning it over, inspecting it like some kind of relic from a long, hard journey. The black fabric looks even more worn now that it's off my foot, the threads stretched and tired. "But hey, it did its job. It kept my feet nice and cozy, even when they were stuck in those boots all day long."
I toss the sock aside, letting it land wherever it may, and turn my attention back to you. "Now, I bet you're wondering what the other one feels like, huh?" I lift my remaining sock-clad foot, propping it up casually, giving you a clear view. "Still tight, still sweaty. This one’s been working overtime." I flex my toes again, feeling the way the fabric hugs them tightly, trapping the heat and moisture inside. "You can just imagine how it feels, can’t you?"
There’s a playful glint in my eye as I lean back a little further, crossing my arms behind my head, perfectly at ease. "But I think I’ll leave this one on for a bit longer. Just to keep things interesting," I add with a wink, letting the moment hang between us.
The room is quiet, except for the sound of fabric rustling as I shift slightly on the bed, still fully aware of your attention. I give my foot another wiggle, the sock clinging to my skin, clearly damp from the long week it’s been through. "Maybe later, I’ll think about taking it off. But for now, it stays."
I chuckle again, that low, teasing laugh that fills the air between us, as I relax back onto the bed, my foot still outstretched, one sock off, and the other still firmly in place. The scent of days of work lingers in the air, a reminder of everything that these socks have been through—and you’re left wondering when, or if, that second sock will ever come off.
I sit there on the edge of my bed, feeling the slight coolness of the room after a long day. My feet are propped up in front of me, still in my socks—black and worn from days of hard work. I lean back casually, glancing at you with a smirk that I can't help but let slip. You've noticed them, haven’t you? The way they catch the light just slightly. You can practically see how much those socks have been through, but there’s more than just a visual story here.
"Look at them," I murmur, drawing your attention down. "Can you see how they shine in the light?" My toes wiggle just slightly under the tight fabric, and I stretch my legs out, making the view impossible to ignore. These socks, two pairs layered on top of each other, are like a badge of hard work. Days in boots, working, sweating—filling every fiber with my effort. And now, here they are, barely holding it all together.
"I’ve been wearing these for over a week now," I tease, my voice low but playful. "Can you imagine what that must be like? Day in and day out, stuffed inside those boots." I pause, letting the thought linger between us, watching your reaction. "I bet you can smell them already… or maybe you shouldn't," I chuckle softly, a laugh that dances in the air just like the musky scent that must be starting to settle in the room.
I reach down slowly, one hand casually tugging at the edge of my sock. I don’t rush—no, that wouldn’t be any fun, would it? My fingers grip the thin fabric, feeling how damp it is from all the wear. The black fabric clings stubbornly to my foot, almost like it doesn’t want to leave, and I’m careful to take my time. I know you’re watching.
"These socks have clearly seen better days," I say, half to myself, half to you, as I tug a little more, revealing just a sliver of my ankle. The fabric peels back with a soft stretch, and I grin at how intently you’re focused on it. "It's amazing how much sweat one pair of socks can absorb, let alone two," I continue, teasing. "These have been soaking it up for days, just working hard, keeping everything locked in tight."
I give the sock another gentle tug, pulling it just past my heel, exposing more of my foot. The contrast between my skin and the sock is sharp—the fabric almost glued to me from the sweat, sticking slightly as I pull it away. "You see that?" I ask, letting my voice drop a little lower. "How the fabric just clings to my skin? That’s what happens after days of wearing the same socks. They practically become a part of you."
I pause for a moment, leaving the sock halfway off my foot, and glance up at you with a knowing look. "I’m only taking one off for now," I add with a teasing smile. "Gotta keep you wondering what the other one’s like, right?"
The air feels heavy now, the scent of hard work lingering a little more strongly with each passing second. I can’t help but notice how your gaze flickers between my foot and the sock still hanging on. I wiggle my toes again, still trapped inside the second sock. "Oh, I know what you’re thinking," I tease. "But I’m not done yet."
With a slow, deliberate motion, I pull the sock the rest of the way off, revealing my bare foot. The sock drops to the floor with a soft thud, and I stretch out my toes, flexing them in the cool air. "Finally free," I sigh dramatically, as if the relief is overwhelming, though I can still feel the weight of the other sock pressing against my skin.
I pick up the sock I just removed, holding it loosely in my hand. "It's seen a lot, hasn’t it?" I muse, turning it over, inspecting it like some kind of relic from a long, hard journey. The black fabric looks even more worn now that it's off my foot, the threads stretched and tired. "But hey, it did its job. It kept my feet nice and cozy, even when they were stuck in those boots all day long."
I toss the sock aside, letting it land wherever it may, and turn my attention back to you. "Now, I bet you're wondering what the other one feels like, huh?" I lift my remaining sock-clad foot, propping it up casually, giving you a clear view. "Still tight, still sweaty. This one’s been working overtime." I flex my toes again, feeling the way the fabric hugs them tightly, trapping the heat and moisture inside. "You can just imagine how it feels, can’t you?"
There’s a playful glint in my eye as I lean back a little further, crossing my arms behind my head, perfectly at ease. "But I think I’ll leave this one on for a bit longer. Just to keep things interesting," I add with a wink, letting the moment hang between us.
The room is quiet, except for the sound of fabric rustling as I shift slightly on the bed, still fully aware of your attention. I give my foot another wiggle, the sock clinging to my skin, clearly damp from the long week it’s been through. "Maybe later, I’ll think about taking it off. But for now, it stays."
I chuckle again, that low, teasing laugh that fills the air between us, as I relax back onto the bed, my foot still outstretched, one sock off, and the other still firmly in place. The scent of days of work lingers in the air, a reminder of everything that these socks have been through—and you’re left wondering when, or if, that second sock will ever come off.
Immobility is hot, but what really gets me going is a seriously slow, heavy, lumbering waddle of a fat man that is well past the point of no return from severe obesity. The sweating, the huffing and puffing, the awkward gait, puffy lardy arms hanging by the sides, red faced, attention grabbing, exhausted from the sheer effort of waddling from the car to the McDonald’s counter. Because once you’re that fat, you don’t walk anymore - you just waddle and you always will now.
Reblog if you’re into XWG (extreme weight gain)
Good Boy
I slid into the booth across from you, the vinyl seat creaking under the sudden shift of weight. The smell of greasy fries and sizzling burgers hung heavy in the air, mixing with the low hum of the restaurant’s neon lights. My eyes flicked up to meet yours, just as you shoved another handful of fries into your mouth. Your cheeks bulged like a chipmunk’s, and I couldn’t help but smirk.
“Enjoying yourself?” I teased, watching as your gaze dropped to the tray in front of you, piled high with burgers, fries, and more wrappers than I could count.
You nodded, cheeks still full, a small drop of ketchup sliding down the corner of your mouth. You looked almost embarrassed, but I knew you well enough by now. I leaned back, taking in the sight of you. All 500 pounds of you, squished into that booth, the table pressed tightly against your belly. The fabric of your shirt stretched taut, the logo barely visible under the strain. It wasn’t the first time we’d done this, and it wouldn’t be the last.
“Seems like you’re making progress,” I said, voice low, just for you. I could see the way your breath hitched at the words, your eyes flicking back up to mine before you quickly looked away.
You reached for another burger, fumbling with the wrapper, and I watched, amused, as you struggled with it. “Need some help?” I offered, though I knew you wouldn’t ask. You never did. But that didn’t stop you from squirming in your seat, that shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.
“Come on, you’re not done yet,” I urged, my tone light but firm. There was something almost thrilling about watching you, knowing exactly what you wanted, even if you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. The way you looked at the food, then at me, almost like you were waiting for permission.
You took a deep breath, finally managing to unwrap the burger, and took a bite. Messy, as always. A bit of sauce smeared across your cheek, and I leaned in, swiping it away with my thumb. Your face flushed, and I chuckled, sitting back. “You’re a mess, you know that?”
You nodded again, swallowing hard. The booth creaked as you shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, though I knew that was nearly impossible at your size. You were so big now, almost larger than life, and I could see how it both excited and embarrassed you.
“Gonna finish that?” I asked, nodding towards the last of the fries. You hesitated for a second, but then, with a soft sigh, you reached for them. Your hands were shaking, just a little, and I knew you were close to your limit. But that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? To push just a bit further, to stuff yourself until you could barely move, until you were so full it hurt.
“Good boy,” I murmured, watching you finish the fries, your breath coming in short, labored puffs. I could see the strain in your eyes, the way you were struggling to keep up, but you were so close. Just a bit more.
When you finally set the empty tray aside, your hands rested on your swollen belly, rising and falling with each heavy breath. I reached across the table, placing my hand over yours, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath mine. “How do you feel?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
You looked up at me, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. “Full,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but I caught every word.
“Good,” I said, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “You did well. But next time…” I trailed off, letting the words hang in the air. You knew what was coming. “Next time, I want to see you go further. Can you do that for me?”
You nodded, your breath hitching again, and I smiled, leaning back in the booth, satisfied. “That’s what I like to hear.”
It's been a while. Unfortunately I lost a lot of weight. Any tips do gain it back, quickly ?
I love dropping this heavy gut! I love hearing the slap it makes when I drop it on things as well. ☺️
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Reblog this post if you are interested in morbid / death feedism and are okay getting flirty DMs / asks about it!
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REBLOG if you are utterly and hopelessly ADDICTED feedism lifestyle 💦🍰🍬
Reblog if:
You're 100% serious about becoming immobilized by your own fat. You gluttonous pig.
You've got a nice chubby round belly which needs to be fully stuffed and bloated till your belly touches the ground while standing if that is okay with you
I want nothing more than this, I want to grow absolutely huge and see what a human body can take