I’m so addicted to food and cream. Please, give me some weed and feed me more so I can be fatter tomorrow.
I need this oink

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@justholdon1718
I’m so addicted to food and cream. Please, give me some weed and feed me more so I can be fatter tomorrow.
I need this oink
Gonna pop the button of those pants? It looks like you’re gonna explode out of the with how tight they are.
I popped those pants already …
All this for a kink. All of the cream chugging, stuffing your fat gut until you’ve packed all you can in there, having to go up clothes sizes as you burst out of your old ones. Breaking furniture as it struggles to hold your increasing weight. Your belly’s stretch marks increasing in number as you ballon at a rate too rapid to keep up. Burping and farting like the slobby pig you are. But it turns you on, huh? You want to keep getting fatter, keep getting bigger. Break more furniture, outgrow more clothes, add more stretch marks to your growing belly as it spills into your lap. It continues to hang each day as you wake up fatter. The consequences of and endless cycle of packing your gut the night before. But it feels so good right? Your family looks at you in shame and embarrassment, making comments about how much fatter you’ve gotten so quickly, but it’s so hot to hear huh? Just keep filling that gut with fattening calories. Surely at some point you’ll want to stop…
Its cool that i broke my second chair so now i could boy something stronger
Is it just me or am i looking even fatter?
“there are people you haven’t met yet who will love you”
— Unknown
I stuffed myself so bad I’m a leaving obese girl now
Amusement Park Pounds
When Carly accidentally purchases a nonrefundable dining pass for a full year at a local amusement park, she vows not to let her money go to waste...no matter how big she gets.
“But it was your mistake! Why should I have to pay for it?” Carly demanded, the circular nature of the argument beginning to drive her mad.
“I don’t know, dude,” the shaggy-haired, hazy-eyed teenager answered. He was protected by the glass enclosure of the amusement park's ticket booth, once overkill in Carly's opinion, but now almost insufficient security in the face of the anger the likely stoned attendant was bringing forth within her.
She took a deep breath, attempting to keep her volume low, and repeated herself for what felt like the tenth time.
“I didn't ask for an annual dining package, I asked for a daily one. You selected annual, did you or did you not?
The teen shrugged and Carly pressed her lips together, stifling a scream.
“That’s my bad,” he acquiesced. “But then you clicked accept before you swiped your card, so…”
“I clicked accept because I thought it was the meal plan I asked for. I thought you were doing your job!”
He shrugged again.
“I’m new.”
After a lengthy wait for a manager who informed her that all sales are final and refunds for annual packages aren't a possibility, Carly found herself $2,000 poorer and in no mood to enjoy her nephew's birthday party.
Silver Wave was the largest amusement park in the state, nearly an hour's drive from her house, and filled to the brim with overly sugared, sticky-faced children, tired, sunburnt adults, and the competing aromas of the overwhelming number of fair food carts hawking their deep-fried wares. The noise, the heat, the smells, it was enough to give the typically refined Carly a splitting headache upon entry, but she would do anything for her nephew, hence her appearance and her current predicament.
In an attempt to save a few bucks on chicken fingers she’d paid over a month’s rent for an annual food pass she could never use, and its non-refundable, non-transferable policy meant unless she herself came to the park to eat, the money would go to waste.
She passed the day attempting to mask her mounting frustration, the time she’d spent on the phone with Silver Wave corporate as ineffectual as the time she’d spent speaking to their glazed-over teenage attendant, and ended the day in her car, her phone open to the calculator application.
Carly was by no means a rich woman, which meant that losing $2,000 unexpectedly would put a significant dent in her finances. She didn't just have that money to throw around, although she was surprised to discover what a deal the annual pass really was. Just $2,000 meant unlimited meals at the park for a full day, and the pass also provided a gold-tier membership, meaning she could enter the park at a discounted rate. Compared to what she’d normally spend on food in a year, the park's meal plan was an absolute steal.
Carly was extremely practical, a practicality that shone through in every detail of her well-ordered life, but more than practical, she was petty. The vindictive type, over issues small and large. Her anger at Silver Wave’s corporate policy wouldn't subside. She knew that about herself. Her ability to hold a grudge was second to none, and she still involuntarily clenched her jaw in anger when thinking of the big box store that refused her return because of a slightly crumpled recipe or the restaurant that had charged her for wine the waiter had spilled on her cream sweater. She simply couldn't stand injustices, couldn't stand corporate greed, and more than anything, couldn't stand losing money. Ruining her own budget because a drugged-out shaggy look-alike couldn't be bothered to press the right button?
She set her phone down, biting her lip. The only way the meal plan could be priced that low was if the team who'd done the calculations assumed the buyer would only attend the park a certain amount of times in a year. People drove and flew from all over the country to visit Silver Wave, and that meant recurring visits had to be less common than the pricing on the meal plan anticipated, given that the food in the park was as overpriced as any tourist attraction. A large meal with a side, drink, and dessert was almost $40. The meal plan afforded its user three meals and two snacks a day, meaning that in a day, one could reasonably spend $150 dollars on food alone. The annual pass was good for 364 days from the day of purchase and the park remained open on holidays, all the better to lure in parents with nothing for their children to do, which meant that the only blackout day was Christmas itself.
At $150 a day, Carly would reach her break-even after just 13 visits, an unreasonable amount for any average person but a fraction of what a woman as petty as Carly was willing to subject herself to. She would come to the park every day and spend as much money on food as possible. In a year's time, if she was ambitious, she could spend well over $50,000 in amusement park food, making the initial $2,000 she’d spent look like nothing.
She was going to make those people beg her to accept a refund.
The next day, Carly arrived at the park bright and early, her laptop in tow. As loud and rambunctious as the park’s typical attendees were, there were several quieter cafes and restaurants where she could work remotely during the day, meaning she wouldn't miss one of her overpriced meals. She‘d gone from a commute of a few feet to one of an hour, but again, waking up early and fighting through traffic was nothing when compared to well-earned revenge.
She entered Cowabunga Coffee, a surf-themed breakfast burrito spot that she hoped lacked the enticement of the park's range of sugary early morning options, and stepped into the line, her eyes already scanning the LED-powered digital menu for the dining plan section. The only limitation of the plan surrounded what meals the user could buy but she had been guaranteed that, for the most part, all menu meals would be available.
“It's just the premium options that require an additional fee,” the manager had assured her, the assurance doing little to dissuade her annoyance.
Scanning the menu, Carly was able to quickly discern that the majority of items she would've ordered or prepared for herself on any other day were considered ‘premium options’. The fresh fruit acacia bowl, the steel-cut oats, the green smoothie. All at full price, and it was a price that Carly was less than interested in paying. Coughing up another 16 bucks for a green juice after paying $2,000 for the silver wave meal plan seemed ludicrous, and after a beat of consideration and a glance at her watch that informed her she was due online is 6 minutes, Carly ordered a number 1 combo, a loaded carne asada breakfast burrito with an order of crispy mini hash browns and a blended latte. Not her typical start of day fare in any sense, but perfectly acceptable for a rushed morning. During her lunch break, she’d have time to explore the park a bit more thoroughly and determine which restaurants serve the kind of food she would actually eat on a daily basis.
Her breakfast was carried out to her in short order given she was one of only two parties in the beach accessory adorned cafe, and after the previous days near outlandish portion sizes, she was less than surprised to be served a burrito so large it required a two handed hold on a platter in which every available space was filled with golden brown, crispy wedges of fried potato. The blended latte was also more than Carly had been expecting, both in size and in content. The plastic cup, already slick with condensation from the melting coffee slush within, was the length of Carly's forearm, providing her with more coffee than she would typically consume in a single day, much less a single sitting. The drink was dripping in caramel syrup from every available vantage point in the clear plastic and piled with a dollop of whipped cream so generous it was oozing out of the to-go cup's circular straw hole.
She took a small sip, pleasantly surprised at the obvious quality of the coffee beans underneath the mess of sugary toppings she’d never typically request, and got to work on her first email of the day, already sighing at the necessity to repeat herself to a director who made triple her salary.
Her work morning was as frustrating as it was lengthy, and as she muddled through reports and emails, she steadily put away bite after bite of the shockingly delectable oversized burrito, originally using the plastic fork and knife provided, but eventually switching to a handheld method of attack once the mound of food was diminished enough for her to reasonably grapple. The hashbrowns were as delicious as the meal's main, and she failed to notice just how full she was growing between the two salty, irresistible, and unreasonably large portions.
She licked a blob of excess chipotle ranch from her index finger and pressed send, finally submitting the report due by midday with only a few minutes to spare.
She reached for her plate, intent on crunching down on another battered potato square, and was surprised to find she’d cleared it. The entire comically large portion, save for a few bites of leftover tortilla, had made its way into her stomach over the course of a few hours and she lifted her eyebrows in mild disbelief, wanting to laugh at herself for the unexpected bout of gluttony. Her work was as distracting as it was critical to her team and she often found herself in a trance while at her laptop, hours (or entire meals) passing by without her notice.
She was uncomfortably full from the mountain of food she’d methodically devoured over the course of the morning, and resolved to take a brisk walk around the park with a dual purpose. Get some steps in, and find her target for lunch. A healthier option, a restaurant where she could find something similar to her typical lunchtime fare of tuna salad sandwiches or grilled chicken lettuce wraps.
A brief glance at a park map directly outside of Cowabunga Coffee revealed a tucked-away eatery labeled Herbivore's Hovel and she headed left, certain she’d be able to find a nutritious, plant-based option at a restaurant specifically labeled for herbivores. As full as she was, the meal plan's lunch window was nearing, and in order to make Silver Wave regret their mistake, she needed to buy the most expensive option at every meal. No opportunity to eat would be wasted.
After discovering that Herbivore’s Hovel was actually a prehistoric-themed restaurant that specialized in dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets, Carly put away another comically large fast food meal, the pterodactyl combo with fries, a coke, and the most expensive dessert option, a double chocolate shake. Carlry had rolled her eyes while ordering the Megalosaurus Mudslide, but she had to admit that the treat, so thick she could barely suck it through the straw, was one of the best ice cream concoctions she’d ever had.
She lingered in the small, mostly empty restaurant for a few hours, attempting to get more work done but primarily focused on digesting enough of the day's food to wander the park again in search of more. She felt crammed full, unsurprising considering she’d eaten more food before 1pm than she normally did in a full day, but she was determined to order the largest possible meal at every given opportunity, determined to make the park wonder where all that extra money they were losing was really going.
She was still stifling burps of overfullness when she finally packed her laptop bag and readied herself to head out in search of an afternoon snack. The schedule she’d planned to follow included a snack earlier in the day, but Carly had been too full to even move from the Hovel’s comfortable chair, much less force down any more calories.
She was still struggling to find the healthier options she was certain would be readily available at each restaurant, and for her midday snack settled on a funnel cake, the tantalizing scent of fried dough and sugar irresistible after spending the day inhaling it. The funnel cake was large, messy, and delicious, and Carly finished it in short order, leaving both her hands and her face covered in a fine dusting of powdered sugar.
She sat in a sugar-induced stupor afterwards, groaning lightly to herself and promising to find an equally expensive but significantly lighter option for her dinner that evening. She sat rubbing her bloated middle and halfheartedly going over reports until 5pm, the hour her dining plan renewed for dinner, then hauled herself to the nearest park map, searching for a truly tenable dinner option. After several moments of consideration, she finally settled on a Down Home Diner, certain that American fare would feature a salad or two.
After getting settled with a menu in the sit-down restaurant whose cloth napkins surprised Carly, she scoured the menu to discover that while the Americana-dotted restaurant did feature a Cobb and Caesar salad, neither choice was available under her unlimited dining plan. Nothing in the restaurant could reasonably be considered light, and after watching a waiter make his way to a hungry family burdened under four glistening cheeseburgers piled with toppings, she sighed and mentally selected the BBQ Bacon Big Boy, a choice smothered with not only cheese, but also a sweet and spicy barbecue sauce and a layer of crispy onion rings.
As the burger made its way to her after just a few moments of an orange soda-accompanied wait, she eyed it nervously, stifling yet another unfortunately timed burp as the daunting meal was set in front of her. She was absolutely stuffed, fuller than she’d ever been in fact, but she still had a meal and a snack to get through. As she lifted half of the massive portion towards her lips, both hands now covered in sauce, she promised herself that her evening would consist of researching the park more thoroughly. She would find her healthy options, and this whole process would become much, much easier.
After her investigation into the park's more balanced food options turned up basically empty-handed, Carly was discouraged, but not dissuaded. The park seemingly refused to include traditional health food in the meal plans, in Carly's opinion based on the logic that those health-minded enough to buy a fruit smoothie or a garden salad at an amusement park known for its deep-fried, butter-slathered, sugar-coated junk would pay whatever price to avoid the extra calories. While the logic was theoretically sound, Carly had already paid whatever price, and she refused to pay more on top of the meal plan she was already attempting to seek vengeance for.
She was instead armed with a new plan, one she’d realized would be the only way to avoid a repeat of the gorging she’d been all but forced to undergo the day before. She entered Cowabunga Cafe and flashed the cashier a smile, then began her convoluted, calorie-cutting order.
“Can I do the breakfast burrito, but can I have a half portion of the meat, cheese, and eggs? And no bacon please. And no tortilla. And for the eggs, can you not fry them in butter? Actually, can I get them boiled? And a black coffee, please.”
The cashier blinked at her.
“No substitutions, ma'am.”
Carly threw up her hands, the frustration of communication with the Silver Wave staff apparently never-ending.
“No substitutions?” she demanded.
“No?” the cashier confirmed uncertainly. “I mean, yeah. We can't change anything. And we don't have black coffee.”
“Well, just…” Carly paused, letting out another disquieted sigh.
Of course. Thwarted by Silver Wave’s corporate policies once more.
“Just give me the coffee you make before you put all the stuff in it.”
“It comes blended,” the cashier replied with a shrug.
“Fine!” Carly snapped, irritated with the same apathy that landed her in this situation in the first place. “Fine. Just a number one combo then. With the blended coffee.”
“Coming right up,” the cashier promised as Carly scanned her digital meal pass. “Oh, nice,” the cashier noted. “The annual. So it's free.”
“It is very much not free,” Carly corrected. “I paid $2000 for this, it was the furthest thing from free.”
The cashier blinked again and Carly fought not to roll her eyes, certain the cashier was smoking whatever the ticket attendant had been on.
“The food is free,” the attendant clarified slowly as if Carly hadn't understood what she meant. “You pay for the pass, and then the food is free.”
“Oh my god,” Carly breathed, turning to grab a table without acknowledging her last statement.
Despite her anger at the lack of flexibility surrounding the food’s preparation, she couldn't deny the quality and put away her breakfast much more quickly than she was anticipating, just as she had the morning before. Her lunch consisted of a ten tender combo at Wing-a-Ding, her afternoon snack a nacho platter that, in her opinion, truly should have been categorized as an entree, her dinner a personal pan pizza that could’ve easily fed three, and her evening snack another visit to Down Home Diner for a second experience with the shake she hadn't been able to stop thinking about since the evening before.
She lumbered off to her car with her laptop bag in tow at the end of the night, barely able to hold back her burps or quiet her low moans. Targeting the most expensive items on the menu was going to be a bigger challenge than she thought, but it would all be worth it. The second the park noticed that she’d made more than 13 visits and swiped for all 5 meals on each one, they’d have their eye on her. Carlrly just knew that by 20 visits maximum, they’d be calling her into their offices to negotiate. She’d get her money back, and she’d get her regular diet back. A win-win, even if it required her to eat a little more than she was used to for a while.
Seven days after the onset of Carly's plot for vengeance, she stood in front of the mirror, frowning at her reflection and poking the quickly developing softness that was pressing between the open flap of her favorite work slacks. She’d been stuffing herself silly at the park for a week straight, and combining that with her typical two hours of gym time being swallowed by her new commute, Carly swore she could feel her body swelling beneath her clothes. She told herself there was no possibility she could be getting bigger so quickly, but the fit of her pants didn't lie. She was struggling to button slacks she’d been wearing for years, and she couldn't solely blame the bloat-swollen middle she staggered through the door each night cradling.
She took a deep breath, trying to center herself in her mission. The pants still fit, as long as she sucked in to button them. She was being dramatic. A little weight gain was reversible, but if she didn't follow through on this plan, the money she’d spent wasn't.
Part two
Everything felt tight. She was just one day away from her twenty-day goal, one day away from what had to be the park’s limit on lost revenue, but Carly could barely make it from her priority parking spot to the entrance. Her everyday clothes had grown so constricting of late that she hardly had access to her full range of motion, and every step, every breath, left her certain she’d split another seam. Getting dressed in the morning was becoming a more and more difficult task and she cursed herself for always wearing her clothes as tight as she did, no problem in the days before she’d committed herself to a refund at all costs, but now, leaving her all but bursting out of her button-ups.
She could feel the new heft in her tits, feel the way they spilled out of the tops of the bras that were growing more and more difficult to fasten. She could feel the newly developed jiggle in her thighs and ass, feel the way her lower half spread out further than it ever had when she sat down. Her gut was getting rounder and rounder as she filled it over the course of the day, and it was getting harder to contain the growing ball within her ever-shrinking clothes. Her button-ups were lifting to reveal a slim silver of flesh just beginning to jiggle, while the waistband of her practical slacks had to be pushed below her growing belly the second she began to stuff herself with one of Silver Wave’s generously portioned meals.
Despite being entirely alone, she’d grown red that morning feeling the fresh layer of fat now coating her entire body jiggle as she’d jumped up and down to try and work her thick ass into her slacks, and she was tired of packing on weight this quickly just to prove a point. She was going to get her money back, and then it was nothing but celery sticks and jogs around the neighborhood.
She made her way over to Smiles, a pancake restaurant she’d been frequenting the past few days, and ordered the.....
*I hope you enjoyed this preview of Amusement Park Pounds! To read the full 11,309 word story, you can check out my Patreon! Part 1, 2, and 3, are available to all fiction tiers, and parts 4 and 5 have been early released for the audiophiles tiers and above (and will be released to all fiction tiers in the next few weeks). This story was really fun to write, and it's a story that focuses much more on gaining vs plot, which was an interesting departure for me! Thank you so much for reading:)
(P.S. Looking for new chapters of Campus Pigs? You can find them on my Substack! )
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Buffet Slut(s)
*I am so excited to share a mid chapter snippet of my reimagining of TheSpookyEnd's absolutely fantastic original story, Buffet Slut! The story was first brought to my attention by a reader who was looking to commission the original author for a sequel/spinoff, but after finding out that the author's commissions weren't open, they asked if I was able to read the story and create another narrative within the same world (and featuring some of the same characters!). I had so much fun creating this piece and loved experimenting with a lot of tropes I don't always write about, including rapid weight gain, intox, extreme weight gain, immobility, and more. The story is a bit NSWF so proceed with caution lol, but I truly hope you enjoy this mid chapter snippet! The full story is 10,800+ words, and I've included about 3,700 below:)*
“Ready?” Sable asked with a smile, and suddenly Lyla found herself on the other side of the curtain, the scene before her unlike anything she’d ever witnessed.
The restaurant was somehow even larger than it had appeared from the outside, and seemed to stretch further in each direction that Lyla could actually discern. Just steps from the entrance row after row of booths began, and in each booth, an oversized, panting fatty in a collar was wedged as they gorged themselves, literal piles of food in front of them. Living up to its moniker, an enormous buffet snaked through the room like a river, and while some patrons were waddling towards it with empty plates, others had parked themselves right in front of a particular station, stuffing handfuls of greasy food directly from the pans and into their greedy, double-chinned faces. Each patron was accompanied by a notably large, scantily dressed woman clearly serving the same role as Sable, and many of the well-fed patrons were actually being fed by their assigned waitress, their faces becoming coated in sticky sauces, cheese, and frosting as they devoured bite after bite, seemingly desperate for more despite how much they’d clearly already put away.
While not every customer was the same size, there was no one Sable could see that weighed a pound less than 250, and the more she took in, the more she noticed blobs of fat so blubbery and enormous that they’d literally eaten themselves helpless, their fat swollen arms now too stubby to reach past the wobbling mountains of fat that made up their middles and access their plates. More than one of those supersized tubs had a funnel down their throat, and Lyla watched in horror as another waitress poured gallon after gallon of ice cream down the funnel of a pile of lard so oversized that even completely naked, Lyla struggled to discern their gender.
There was so much to take in it was almost overwhelming, and Lyla had to focus on individuals instead of the room at large in order to steady herself enough to remain standing. First, a woman with a belly so large and swollen that she genuinely looked ready to burst, moaning as her waitress crammed burger after burger into her mouth, barely giving her time to chew before forcing in the next bite. Then another woman laying flat on her back in her booth as her waitress, another well-endowed, barely dressed tubster, was actually sitting atop the table, forcing her customer to eat more and more from above as her own belly forced her fat thighs apart and hung just above the table's surface, jiggling with every one of the waitress's movement's.
Another woman waddled by and Lyla almost gasped, the woman’s ass so unbelievably massive that Lyla was genuinely unsure how she was walking on her own accord. The woman was moving as slow as molasses, giving Lyla plenty of time to observe the way her fatty, wobbling cheeks bounced as her rounded hips swayed side to side, the roll comprising her love handles sitting heavily upon the shelf of her ass and still somehow giving her a prominent muffin top although she was entirely bottomless, her only remaining clothing a tattered button up shirt that had apparently burst open quite some time ago based on the volume of dried food stains that spattered it.
As she watched the pear-shaped obese woman lumber on, Lyla noticed more and more. A man so fat and helpless he could no longer exit the booth of his own accord being helped by a team of waitresses, all of them puffing, panting, and struggling as they attempted the wedge the unrecognizable lump of blubber out of the booth and onto what appeared to be a mobile scale, a heavily reinforced medical device featuring a handle with which whoever was pushing the wheeled fatty-mobile could steer. A woman resting her massive, bare breasts on the table as she scarfed down cherry pies with both hands, the red filling dripping from her sausage fingers and down her third chin almost reminiscent of a crime scene. A girl that couldn't have been more than 20 testing the limits of an oversized college sweatshirt, her face buried in a sheet of cake by the hand of her waitress and her unbuttoned jeans split right up the backside, exposing her toneless, cellulite dimpled ass.
Every single person in the building, even a few stray waitresses, were fat, glutted messes of lard, most of them panting and gasping between bites but still continuing to fill themselves like their lives depended on it. Most were feeding themselves, but a significant number seemed to be reliant entirely on their waitress to pack them full.
Lyla took a step back, frightened by the almost cult-like scene. She watched as a woman devoured a massive slice of pepperoni in just a few bites, coated her rounding face with grease, then smacked her belly while she burped heavily, apparently much to the delight of the pregnant-looking waitress beside her. The waitress smacked the woman's belly again then once more, each time producing a loud, unrestrained burp. In fact, Lyla was beginning to notice that the room was a cacophony of gluttonous onomatopoeia, and besides the groans, moans, and grunting from the restaurant's oversized clientele, there was a loud burp every few seconds, the sounds often overlapping to the point that it was difficult to trace their origin.
Lyla continued to watch as the woman picked up another slice and devoured it with the same ferocity, lifting her belly in two hands and shaking it to produce further burps and make more room, and Lyla felt that strange, almost dizzying feeling rise within her once again, much more difficult to ignore this time.
“I think I need to sit down,” she whispered, and Sable smiled, eyeing her closely.
“Well, let's sit down then,” she said, reaching up once more and adjusting the fastener on
Lyla’s collar.
As they walked through the buffet to an open booth, Sable shook her head as if attempting to clear it and scanned the room, looking for May. If she was really here that meant she’d likely allowed this place to fatten her up for some inexplicable reason, and Lyla felt her heart tense with worry. She was sighing in a small measure of relief, pleased to not see May in her cursory scan but now more concerned with her actual whereabouts, when Sable pushed her down into a booth, the pleather surprisingly cushiony and comfortable despite its appearance.
“No,” Lyla protested, forgetting that just moments ago she’d been the one to request a seat. “No, no I told you, I'm not eating.”
“You’re not?” Sable repeated, no hint of a true question in her tone. “Why not? Wait, wait,” Sable said, pausing Lyla's response before it began. “Wait. Let me guess. All of this is strange, isn't it? It's weird. It's gross, it's disgusting. And you’re not into it. Are you?”
Lyla shook her head, aware that this line of questioning likely wasn't working in her best interest but unsure as to why.
“So, that means you’re not hungry right now,” Sable reasoned. “Right?”
Lyla nodded quickly but immediately stopped, realizing for the first time in her stupor that she was, in fact, starving. She hadn't eaten breakfast that day, hadn't even had her morning coffee in fact, and although she wasn't sure exactly what time it was, her stomach felt like it was gnawing at itself, a deep seeded, pleading hunger that actually ached in the pit of her. She resumed her nodding but suddenly found herself unable to look away from the portion of the buffet that curved nearest to the booth where she and Sable sat, the same pizza that the ample-chested woman had been gorging herself on right before Lyla was led to her seat just feet away.
She realized that beyond the auditory experience in the room there was another; the overwhelming olfactory experience. The food at the buffet smelled terrific, better than any Sable had ever had the privilege of sniffing in her life. The scents wafted towards her almost aggressively and it was as if she could feel herself lifted out of her seat like a cartoon, the alluring aroma ready to carry her away.
She licked her lips, unable to pull her eyes from the rows and rows of pizza options.
“Right?” Sable teased again, and Lyla snapped back to attention. ‘
“Right,” she affirmed weakly, already biting her lip with the clear intention of adding to her statement.
She opened her mouth then paused, wanting nothing more than to find May and get out, but it was as if her mind was playing tricks on her. Things in this place weren't what they seemed, and as she grew more and more achingly ravenous, as the temptation of the buffet grew harder and harder to resist, Lyla could almost swear that the fattened pigs around her were growing larger in real-time, right in front of her eyes. She watched a woman's shirt split up the middle while she chugged from what appeared to be a mini trough of milkshakes, and the woman barely even paused, giving her gut a quick rub without even removing the straw from her mouth. Lyla could’ve sworn that woman wasn’t quite that large when Lyla had first been directed to this booth only moments ago, but that wasn't possible. Her mind was playing tricks on her, it had to be.
She glanced back toward the buffet then looked across the booth at Sable, suddenly acutely aware she was being observed.
“Have you,” Lyla croaked out, feeling almost weak with hunger. “Have you seen a woman named May? Long brown hair, green eyes? She would’ve come here around dinner yesterday?”
“May,” Sable mused, slowly leaning back in the booth and jostling her barely covered tits, leaving them wobbling for several distracting seconds. “May…” she repeated, seemingly deep in thought. “You know, I think there was a May here yesterday, right around dinner time.”
“There was?” Lyla gasped, thrilled to make her first progress of the situation.
“Yea, yea,” Sable confirmed. “Drove a green car, right? Green hoodie?”
“Yes, that's her!” Lyla cried, so excited she sat up more fully despite the way her strength was quickly leaching away. “Do you know where she is?”
“I’ll have someone go her,” Sable assured with a smile. “But before I go, are you sure you’re feeling alright?”
Lyla swallowed, her lips dry and pinpricks of sweat breaking out on her forehead.
“I just, I-” she stammered, realizing her physical state was more serious than she’d thought. “I think I have low blood sugar or something,” she murmured. “I feel so so hungry and so weak, I can barely move and my stomach hurts so badly, I-”
She paused, suddenly aware she was rambling.
“Well, low blood sugar is pretty serious love,” Sable answered earnestly. “We don't want you passing out. Are you sure you don't want anything?”
Lyla shook her head no, feeling almost too devoid of energy to answer.
“Whatever you want, love!” Sable chirped cheerily, scooching herself out of the booth with much effort and an equal amount of jiggling. “I’ll be right back with May.”
Lyla dropped her head into her hands the second Sable stepped away, only to hear her heavy footfalls returning much more quickly than Lyla had anticipated.
“May?” she groaned, lifting her head as quickly as she could muster.
Sable had returned alone but not unaccompanied, and set an enormous platter of pizza on the table in front of Lyla, the smell enough to literally make Lyla drool.
“I don't want it,” she breathed, feeling as if she were second from a loss of consciousness.
“Of course you don't love,” Sable agreed. “Just in case.”
She waddled away again, leaving Lyla alone with the assorted pizza platter, and she’d barely turned her back before Lyla fell on the platter with animalistic veracity, snatching an oversized piece and shoving it down her gullet so quickly she barely tasted it. She grabbed another piece and another, her hunger only growing as she stuffed her face with the grease-laden triangles of cheese and dough, and she found herself licking her slick fingers after each bite, her face already shiny with grease entirely unbeknownst to her. She’d been able to hold her composure for only a fraction of a second, and the levels of dopamine that flooded her body as she ate like a madman nearly made her moan in ecstasy. She’d never done anything like this before, never once acted this way around food, but she grabbed a fourth piece without pause or questions, no longer concerned with anything that had been said to her, or signed by her, earlier in this befuddling process.
A deep burp worked its way out of her mouth, surprising her greatly, but the pressure in her middle wasn't enough to make her slow down, each slice equating to at least three average-sized pieces and dripping with so much fatty oil it was like they’d been dunked. As she demolished the 4th slice she swore she heard Sable, who’d barely had time to make it out of earshot of the table, laugh, but she couldn't be concerned with anyone or anything else in the moment.
The pizza had been exactly as good as she had hoped, and each bite was somehow more flavorful than the last. She burped again, reaching down to rub her belly like she’d seen a countless number of other patrons do. She was surprised to find her hand landed not on a slightly bloated, firm middle that she typically expected on the rare occasions she overindulged, but instead on a soft, squishy protrusion that hadn't been there just moments before.
She looked down, hoping not to visually confirm what her hands had already explored, and found that while she was in fact bloated, a plump little roll was beginning to develop on her formerly flat middle. She grabbed it in disbelief, giving it a shake, and found that the extra meat on her bones was no illusion, no mirage.
The food, she thought absently, already eyeing another slice and licking her lips. It's the food, it's making me fatter. I have to stop, I have to-
She relinquished the thought as sound as it appeared and grabbed a fifth slice despite the effect of the previous one, taking it down in just a few bites and going for more, and more, and more. She was covering herself in sauce and grease, burping nonstop as she crammed down bite after bite, but she truly couldn't control herself. She was like a woman possessed, driven only by the desire to pack her growing stomach tighter and tighter with more of the best pizza she’d ever tasted in her life.
She moaned as she started in on her 11th piece, the taste somehow still surprisingly exceptional despite her familiarity with it, and polished it off in three bites, her fewest of the binge so far. She knew what she was doing wasn't right, wasn't normal, but it was like all rationale had taken the backseat and allowed her hunger to drive. It was an all-encompassing, almost terrifying hunger, and Lyla attempted to satiate it any way she could.
She burped, dropping a hand back down to her middle, and was startled to discover that the formerly unassuming rolls developing on her lower stomach had morphed into a round, lard-swollen belly that shook at the lightest touch and protruded far into the lap. Her shirt had grown tighter much more quickly than she realized, and as she lifted it she was forced to admit that the ball-like swell wasn't just bloat, the fat already pliable and soft to the touch. She was beginning to spill over the waistband over her jeans and was startled to discover they were growing tight as well, the button now digging into her quickly plumping belly.
She burped again, hesitated for a fraction of a moment, and grabbed another piece, feeling almost drunken in her need to consume more and more and more. She ate steadily for what seemed like just a few moments, the platter of pizza slices quickly disappearing one by one, and as she gorged herself she could feel her clothes continuing to tighten around her body, feel herself swelling up with juicy new pounds of grippable, squeezable fat.
Just as she crammed down the last piece Sable returned as if by magic, sidling up to the table and giving Lyla a smirk.
“Well. Looks like somebody was hungry after all, weren't you piggy?”
Lyla looked down, ashamed, but Sable grabbed her face tightly in one hand, forcing her to look up into the nearly naked woman's plump face and cunning eyes.
“I said, it looks like someone was hungry. And what do you say?” Sable prompted.
Lyla, her hunger once again mounting with the completion of the pizza platter that amounted to at least 4 full boxes, nodded her head quickly, her denial still strong enough to pretend that this would all end soon.
“Sable released her face, stepped back, and smacked Lyla directly in the center of her newly fattened gut, leaving a bright red handprint on her belly that many of the other patrons were also sporting.
“I said, what do you say?” Sable corrected, running her hands across the comparatively diminutive expanse of Lyla's gut and giving her newly developed love handles a squeeze. “Use your words. Do you want more piggy?”
Lyla nodded again then held up her hands as Sable reared back to smack her once more.
“I do, I do,” she rushed, finding herself as desperately ravenous as she had been only a handful of minutes before. “I want more.”
“Good pig,” Sable praised, and she was off, Lyla watching her back and mentally hurrying her slight waddle along. Sable moved pretty quickly for a woman of her size, and she navigated through the other lumbering fatties deftly, clearly much more accustomed to the blubber coating her frame than the newly chunked-up customers who’d had no time to develop the muscle required to lug around all their extra heft.
Lyla watched as another woman became stuck in her booth, moaning, squealing like a pig, and all the while refusing to put down the literal basket of pastries she was cramming into her mouth two at a time while a team of waitresses buttered her rolls in an effort to help her slide out. As Lyla observed, unable to look away, the trapped, near immobile lump grabbed one of the sticks of butter from a team member closest to her, placed it between two chocolate eclairs like a sandwich, and devoured it in a single bite, the team member only laughing and giving the closest available roll what appeared to be a congratulatory jiggle.
“Here,” Sable announced from her left, startling her. “Time to eat.”
She set down three trays piled high with various cuisines, the first featuring orange, teriyaki, and sesame chicken on a bed of fried rice and lo mein noodles, and a veritable mountain of deep-fried egg rolls, heavy cream crab rangoons, and double butter shrimp toast points. The second was clearly a dessert tray, and an entire cake, a dozen or so doughnuts, a gallon of ice cream, 6 chocolate muffins, and what appeared to be an entire tray of brownies fought for space. The third tray didn’t contain a single plate and was instead entirely covered in creamy, buttery fettuccine alfredo, the amount of pasta enough for more than 10 servings. The pasta was topped with garlic bread so fresh that peals of steam still curled from it, and Lyla found her mouth-watering once more, the scene in front of her too much to take.
“Wait,” Sable cautioned, grabbing her hand as she reached for a loaf of the tantalizing, garlicky carb. “I wouldn't want you to do anything you don't wanna do Lyla. That wouldn't be right, now would it?”
“C’mon,” Lyla pleaded, shocking herself with the desperation in her own voice. “C’mon, please? I’m so, so hungry.”
“But you said you weren't into this, right? Disrespected Mama Vale right to her face?”
“No,” Lyla begged. “No, I didn't mean-
“Oh, you meant it all right,” Sable interjected. “That's why I had to make all those adjustments to your collar. You were a tough nut to crack Lyla. But we broke you.”
Lyla nodded at the offensive assertion, ready to agree with anything if it meant stuffing her face with more of the addictively delicious fare on offer.
“What did I say about using your words,” Sable instructed. “I need you to tell me you want this. Tell me you want to eat until you get stuck in the booth like the rest of these pigs. Tell me you want to be my good, fat little pet piggy.”
There was a silence, and Sable gripped her by the collar once more.
“Say it, or I turn up your collar's hormone release until you can only feel full with a funnel down your throat.”
“I do,” Lyla blurted. “I do want it. I wanna eat, I wanna be your fat little pig.”
“My fat little pet pig,” Sable corrected.
“Your fat little pet pig,” Lyla repeated breathlessly. “Please, just let me eat, let me-”
Her words were muffled then dampened completely by Sable shoving an entire fist-sized muffin into Lyla's greedy mouth and she moaned, chomping it down faster than even Sable had expected.
“There you go,” she encouraged. “Good girl. I wanna see you finish all your food just like that, alright?”
Lyla crammed down another muffin then suddenly found herself in a frenzy, a muffin in both hands as she attempted to feed herself faster and faster. She wiped out the muffins and began on the doughnuts, making quick work of them, and as she swallowed the last glazed circle she dropped her hand back to the bugle of her growing belly, realizing that she could rest a hand atop it now with plenty of room to spare. Her shirt had grown skintight and her pants were now painful, cutting into her and making her feel as if she were split in half. She grabbed a fistful of cake with her bare hands and shoved it in, then gasped in relief as her belly finally burst the antagonizing button of her now undersized legwear……
I hope you enjoyed! To read the full 10,800+ word story, you can check out my Patreon! I have a ton of tier options for whatever you may be looking for, and you can find more weight gain stories, weight gain series, weight gain POVs from both feedee and feeder perspectives, Fat Chat, and more! Thanks so much for reading:)
Started out my day with half a liter of cake shake with .5L water, then had 3 chicken quesadillas with rice and beans for lunch. Then immediately followed it up with an additional 1.5L cake shake and 4L water in me total, plus a few margaritas with soda. Im swelling so bad it hurts so much, but I still have 1L of shake left... god it's just so tiring slapping this tight ball, can someone pls do it for me??
Painfully swollen itchy tight belly full of cake sludge
Full pics n vids will be posted here!🎈🎈🎈
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“We are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love.”
— Sigmund Freud
gf stuffed me FULLLLL,,,, she kept stuffing me even after I felt like it was enough and made me alternate between drinking cream and eating leftovers,,😵💫😵💫 my stomach feels full to the touch and lost any jiggle it had before we started eating,,, lord help please
genuine writers getting wrongly accused of using ai because of witch hunt and proper grammar/structure in their works must be what being a woman in the 1600s who is wrongly accused of being a witch because she can read and is intelligent feels like
“I still haven’t figured out how to sit across from you, and not be madly in love with everything you do.”
— William C. Hannan
“I think people spend too much time staring into screens and not enough time drinking wine, tongue kissing, and dancing und the moon.”
— Rachel Wolchin
genuine writers getting wrongly accused of using ai because of witch hunt and proper grammar/structure in their works must be what being a woman in the 1600s who is wrongly accused of being a witch because she can read and is intelligent feels like
“It is easy to love people in memory; the hard thing is to love them when they are there in front of you.”
— John Updike, My Father’s Tears and Other Stories
“Never judge people by their past. People learn. People change. People move on.”
— Unknown