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[zewik7-2]

(BEST WITH AUDIO ON!)

With my great delight, I realized I can't quite fit in the balcony french window anymore when it's half closed... 🥴

And that simply going to it adds a nice layer of "dying breathless" to this hog right here 🫣

Next stop would be not quite fitting in the balcony french door when completely open... 🥵🐷✨

[porcelainbbw-deactivated2019041]

This is a picture my boyfriend took showing just how much I spill over our piddly 2 seater couch! Some serious lounging😂🐳

[bigcutiebonnie]

So incredibly CUTE!!! <3

[mmak001]

Sea of lard

[narafeedee]

just a pig and her 3kg bucket of biscoff spread 😋

[ssbbwsummeruk]

22inches of bliss 😉🐷

[gordisimo]

[asad-ali-amir]

[cute-fattie-deactivated20191215]

I may or may not have eaten four breakfast sandwiches

[fasociety]

Mz. Fluff looking hungry 😋

[gordisimo]

“The greatest thing in life is to see your feedee sprawled out before you. To see her mobility reduced to labored waddling. To see those who love her shocked and concerned, and to gather into your bosom her discarded food wrappers as you clear space in the bed she rarely leaves for the next course in her unending feast.”

-Genghis Khan

[gordisimo]

[zewik7-2]

Would you be able to slonk down an entire mass gainer (16 servings) for a custom vid?

Absolutely not!

My kidneys would go into failure and I kinda don't want to die so thin nor go for dialysis for the next years 😰😰

[chick-fill-er]

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

[nurseheartstopper]

Don't you think a nurse like yourself should make that physical appointment?~ make the call, wait in the office with anticipation, and feel your fat smothered heart race when they call your name? You know what comes first... Weigh-In.. do you think you could take seeing the number on the scale now? The raised eyebrows when the other nurse inputs your current weight into the computer and sees your previous weight listed right there? She won't say anything, you know nurses have bedside manner, but that doctor? I wonder what they'll be saying. "You should know.." "Aren't you a nurse yourself?" "Do you need a nutritionist referral?"

I know it'll make you flustered, the appointment, but you also know when you get through the front door, panting and heart pounding, you'll never feel more aroused.

I can't lie; this message is very convincing... Even with family recommending I go more and more often, and even thinking about how hot it'd be myself, it's been too daunting. I'm supposed to be a nurse, after all! I have lifestyle expectations that I'm greatly failing to meet. No matter how much I love what I've done to myself, it still gets hard to be judged for it. But when you word it like that, it becomes so... enticing.

[nurseheartstopper]

Do you keep a defibrilator on standby to keep your patients' hearts pumping despite it stopping?

Of course! While it's a wonderful thing when a piggy's heart finally gives out from their lifetime of ignoring self control and indulging every gluttonous, unhealthy desire... it'd be a shame to lose a one before they can really reach their true fatty potential, wouldn't it~?

[auxfeed]

Look, piggy, you received an email on your old email-account. It's from one of your former schoolmates. Should I read it for you? Yes? Well, it's adressed to all the people of your former class to meet for a ten-year-reunion in about six months. Oh piggy, isn't it adoreble that they think you still belong to them?

I remember when you told me how big you've already been back in your schooldays. That you easily doubled most of your classmates in weight. That you had problems sitting normally on the chairs and that you'd even broken some. You were always the biggest, weren't you? So just think about the current situation then...

Most of your former classmates live perfect lives, don't they. And while they do, nobody could even imagine what happened to you in these last ten years. There are people, who founded a family, for example. All while you submitted to me and fattened up for me like none of them could even imagine. At a gaining rate of nearly 70lbs per year, you added 700lbs of extra fat and blubber to your already big frame, weighing down now at an enormous and supersized 985lbs. And while all those now successful women and men out there work on their careers in good jobs everyday, your only job is to lay here naked in your bariatric, reinforced bed and eat your life away for my pleasure like the good pig you are. Like them you also achieved a lot of hoals in your life - just... different. They got married to their partners, you got owned by me, your feeder and master. They built houses, you trapped yourself inside your own body on purpose. They travel around the world, while you can't move a single finger nowadays.

So, imagine if we'd find a way to move you to the reunion. What would all these people, your former classmates, feel, when they saw you? Would they be embaressed? Would they feel sorry for you? Would they be disgusted? Would they laugh at you? Whould they tell you that they'd always knew how you would end up, you fat fuck? Well, probably all together, don't you think?

Let's face it, piggy: you won't go there anyway. Because you have a job to do, a very important job. There's still not enough fat hanging off your body. And you are still able to breathe way too good. We should change that, shouldn't we? And while all of your classmates will meet in a couple of month to celebrate their reunion, I'm pretty sure, you won't even make it until then, you fat, greedy hog. Here, piggy, eat something. Make me proud and eat yourself to death, fat pig!

[deathpigfeederalt]

Run, piggy, run

I’ve been watching for a while now. You always eagerly check for my messages on your phone, turgid cheeks flushing with an aroused warmth at my notification at the top of your screen. You sweat profusely, absentmindedly slipping a fleshy hand down your soaked shirt as you lustily gaze at the sugary sweet affirmations I pour into the chat, drowning you in my superficial adoration. You have a habit of fidgeting restlessly when I make you nervous, writhing in uncontainable anxiety with a tinge of horny excitement. Now is no exception to that. You’re visibly jittery, those piggish eyes glistening with a familiar craving I adore watching as they dart thirstily over my proposal to meet up. Without a lingering thought or doubt, you pounce on the opportunity, just like I knew you would. I watch you greedily fondle your greasy folds, so pathetically lost in romantic fantasies of your online feeder mommy. You’re such predictable prey, my piggy. Desperate, vulnerable, and so hopelessly addicted. You’ve made it so easy for me. Almost too easy.

Your bloated face glows with animalistic euphoria at the sight of me before you, a reaction I know far too well. You’re no different from the other victims, after all. Stupid, excited piggy. You’d do anything to lay those disgusting hands on my perfect body, anything at all. So naïvely entranced, you barely have time to shriek as I pierce your lard filled neck, pressing my syringe neatly into your skin. I stroke your cold forehead adoringly, watching the gleaming arousal drain from your porcine face as you feel yourself growing agonisingly limp and heavy. You can’t even fidget to comfort yourself now, poor little piglet.

You wake up, half drowsy, half terrified. I can almost inhale the gnawing fear you radiate. Powerless, plump prey. I drag your swollen, naked pink body upright, groping those sweet rolls as you squirm in discomfort. You make a pitiful embarrassment of yourself, stumbling comically and collapsing onto the wet ground, completely incapable of supporting yourself. Your mortified squeals and cries at the sight of your bloodied new trotters indicate a familiar truth to me; you never seriously wanted to become a pig. Such a shame I always take empty promises made in a lustful frenzy literally. You really are just like the others. Cowardly, too full of the will to live still. Your irritating lack of gratitude towards my hard work in mutilating your limbs justifies my next step with you, anyways. My favourite game to play with sobbing piggies.

I position your weakened body upright once more, grabbing a handful of your cheeks and forcing you to look me in the face. I’m met with same expression I always see; your sweat glazed face contorts with horror, dampened by tears you spill in vain. So predictable, it’s almost boring. I outline the rules of my sick little game to you, my speech now calculated, unobstructed by false promises and gentle reassurance. I occasionally find myself having to hold your gullet shut to muffle your stupid screams. I stroke your fresh rump as your feeble legs tremble, incapable of balance. Pigs don’t stand on two feet anyways, so it’s unsurprising those trotters I’d so lovingly carved into you don’t allow that kind of movement.

You have ten minutes to save yourself from me, piggy. We both know you won’t though. None have, so far. Though sometimes I like to believe that my victims would willingly hand themselves over to be fed to their death, I know you’ll make a hilariously desperate effort to escape your demise, like they all did. It’s so much fun watching pigs heaving their grotesque lard around on their new limbs, anyways. Let’s see how far you’ll get away from me. I know you’ll be mine either way.

“Run for your life” I purr into your ear, my voice drenched in twisted passion.

I smile at your hysterical wails.

“Run, piggy, run”

[futurebedboundnerd]

(cw: heavy breathing)

I promise that I have good videos coming soon but this is the extreme account so you can also have 20 seconds of me wheezing underneath the heavy load of my gut.