The guy on the right couldnât believe his eyes when he saw his friendâs pudgy paunch peeking out from under his tight shirt and drooping over the straining waistband of his pants, wearing a belt he obviously didnât need anymore.
âI told you all those chocolate bars youâre gorging on all day would keep sticking to your waist one day, mate. You seem pretty relaxed with it though.â
âYeah, why not, bro? Gotta embrace the dad bod, I guess. I heard the girls like a soft cushion to place their head on nowadays. They wonât find it any softer, man. Iâve put a lot of work in this lard!â
This fatso really believes his own lies. At first he laughed out loud when his friend warned him about the consequences of his glutton, while being lazy as fuck. Now that he canât deny the chub anymore, he acts like itâs his personal chick magnet. Not to be rude or something, but I think the only things youâre attracting lately are pounds, chubbs.
Venezuelan influencer Adelsito starting to look chunky.
He started his "career" about two years ago, not with a sporty figure, though. He was already sporting a small belly.
He visibly started to gain last year. So he started working out, made some satyrical reels, but the motivation must have faded soon, resulting in a couple of extra layers on his frame.
He rounded out a lot after Christmass. As a matter of fact, he started outgrowing most of the clothes he was making his sketches in.
Changing clothes to black? Like that will help.
Nothing can hide this thickness anymore.
If this is what six months could do, imagine how he will look like in another six months!
I want to make you feel beautiful when youâre heavy with my baby. I want to slowly rub your massive belly and whisper in your ear how pretty you are carrying my child. I want to walk around with you, my hand on your bump, while I just beam at the world. I canât wait for us to think of names, get the nursery ready, and take the birthing classes together. I want to hold you and tell you what a good mommy youâll be when you feel tired or sad about your body. I want to pamper you like thereâs no tomorrow. Taking all the time in the world to rub and soothe your poor swollen feet, your aching back, and your gravid belly. I want you to know just how loved you are going through this.
But I also want moreâŠ.. I want to worship your growing body and absolutely destroy it. I want to treat you like my sexy fertility goddess come to life and also like my own swollen baby factory. I want to see you on your knees, giving me the sloppiest blowjob you can. With saliva all over your mouth and hands, running down your swollen tits and belly. I want you to take my throbbing cock in your tiny hand and rub it against your stretch marked belly. I want to watch you struggle to ride me and feel all of your weight bear down as you try to grind away on my dick. I want you to press my cock in between your engorged veiny breasts and watch you lick at the tip as you work. I want to feel you gush all over me when I make your swollen pussy cum. I want to see you lying there, rubbing your milk and my cum all over your belly and breasts.
And more than anything, I want to fill you again once youâve had this baby.
You thought you'd worked it out. You'd spent your early 20s managing to balance studying, partying, working, and regular gym sessions. You'd been smart with your limited funds, making sure you cooked small meals from scratch to keep that price low enough to keep a healthy budget for alcohol. But now, with your degree completed, you're ready for your first full time job. 40 hours should be easy compared to the hours you put in with lectures and studying. And you'd finally have money to treat yourself properly. No more living on the cheapest food you could batch cook.
You thought you'd be able to fill your days with plenty of fresh fruit, vegetables, and lean proteins. And you did, at first. Your muscles showing through more as your body fat dropped. You continued to go out and party over the weekends but kept to that strict gym routine you'd built up.
But then the work deadlines started to hit, and you stopped having time to fit your gym sessions in. You reasoned it would be fine, only a few weeks where you'd cut down on the exercise. But as the deadlines kept piling up, you quickly lost the habit or working out.
Your sleep started to suffer and you found yourself craving sweet caffeinated drinks in the morning , with a pastry on the side to help get you through.
You'd skip the canteen in favour of working lunches, finding the most convenient things to mindlessly eat whilst desperately trying to get your work done. Eventually the snacking sessions grew longer and longer before it was more of a constant snacking than a working lunch. Soon, the only exercise you were getting was walking to the work vending machine for more snacks to munch on.
And when you got home you were too exhausted and unmotivated to make food, so you opted instead of takeaways and food delivery apps for your meals and groceries. Ordering an obscene amount of convenience snacks next to your fast food order that got gradually larger each passing week.
And you stopped going out as much over the weekends, but you still wanted to treat yourself. So you'd spend your Saturday evenings beached out on the couch surrounded by beer and food wrappers instead. You catch glimpses of yourself in the mirror and barely recognise yourself any more. You'd been so determined to stay fit and lean, but now?
Now you could feel your body slowing down and growing larger. You could feel the jiggle in your hips and lower belly as you walked to your desk, large sweet coffee and a bag of cinnamon rolls in hand. You can hear your own breathing, heavy and laborious as you carry around the extra flesh. You could feel your waistband cutting into soft flesh when you sat down in your chair, hear the weak groan from it as it struggles to hold your weight. You can feel your belly sitting gently on thickened thighs. You can feel the tightness of your shirt straining against your belly, chest ,and softened arms as you lean forward to log in to your computer. You sigh, you already gave up and sized up clothing recently, how can it be that you are outgrowing clothes already? You thought had it all worked out.
But now you have no idea how to stop yourself falling further into obesity. All you really worked out was how to unintentionally become unrecognizably and irreversibly fat.
overdue passenger princess, struggling to pull the seatbelt over my bump. my sundress is all bunched up on my thighs, belly straining the delicate material. Iâm whining and shifting uncomfortably in the leather seats as I groan and demand the ac to be blasted. pouting and grabbing your hand and planting it on the big bump you gave me. flushing and biting my bottom lip shyly when you pat the heavy bump with a satisfied smirk.
you got me right where youâve always wanted me, huh? right by your side. in your car. ring on my finger. baby in my belly. <3
pregnancy weight gain is so hot i wish there were more comparisons of pre-pregnancy vs like right after giving birth out there because fuck the idea of outgrowing your whole wardrobe the whole time thinking you cant wait to go back to your pre-pregnancy clothing but then you give birth and literally none of it fits anyways. and then, not being able to write any of it off as baby weight because none of it goes away, you're just ending every pregnancy fatter and fatter
â ê cw: noncon, ruination, manipulation, psychological themes, generally dark fantasy
You're hired as a personal cleaner.
You were well known in local area. At first, your name was tossed around with praise. You were dutiful, seeking approval and doing the best you could.
Then you came in contact with someone a little far from town. You wouldn't usually agree, but you do when persuaded by extra money and a little sweet talk. Apparently, they're aching to meet you.
So, you meet. You clean. Easy enough.
You're handed a bag of treats in the name of generosity and good faith. You don't like to decline and truthfully, there's no reason to. Whatever was in that bag, alongside kind, encouraging gestures and more money; you're more than inclined to come back.
This time, small talk is made. You're asked about your work, the neighbourhood you live in and your hobbies on the side. You share what there is to know, that you're merely like everyone else trying to make a good living. Your appearance is praised. It isn't anything vulgar or suggestive, rather, your smile is sweet and your presence is welcoming. Like before, you're handed a bag of treats in thanks.
Needless to say, you arrive back again. The two of you talk a bit more about this self-started cleaning business of yours. You're asked if it's going well, which it is. You're asked if you're enjoying it and respond that you like making people happy. There's a lighthearted joke that you're simple minded; you're pleased easily and persuaded by little things. You don't question it, you take the cash and seemingly more treats than before along with it.
You arrive again, praising the treats you were given last time and making small talk about how it's too much for someone like you. You're treated with a visceral tut, as if what you're saying is blasphemy, then reminded how sweet you are. You give in easily to attention. You take more treats. They remind you of the feeling.
You show up again to no one's surprised. There's insistence on dinner as you've stayed so long, although you've stayed about as long as you usually have. Regardless, it's free food, there's no reason to pass it up. The dish you're presented with is rich, overwhelmingly sized. Albeit hesitant, you don't like to disappoint. You leave full, satisfied and, yet again, with more treats.
You typically see one another twice a week. That turns into three times, then four. Something about pets and the bothersome task of cleaning fur. No problem. You're insisted to let yourself at the fridge whilst cleaning and, as you're alone, you give in. There's a selection of food, notably the treats you're familiar with being handed and therefore, you eat. You leave an obvious space in the fridge, apologise profusely for it, only to be met with encouragement. Apparently, you could eat all the food in the fridge and there would be no complaints.
Some part of you takes that as a challenge. There seems to be a routine with it. You come around, clean, raid the fridge in the process.
As time passes, your work gets sloppy. People in the neighbourhood are complaining that you're leaving areas unfinished, counters half cleaned and floors soaked in 'dish water' with how bad you've gotten. People stop asking you to come.
You talk to the only person that doesn't seem to have any complaints. You're comforted quickly. You're burnt out, probably. People are asking too much and giving you too little. Your standards are fine, apparently.
In actuality, you get worse. You arrive at houses and expect the same treatment you get outside of town. You're hungry, so you need to eat. Not only do you leave houses barely clean, but you leave fridges empty. There's a name for you in the local area by now and contrary to before, it isn't a good one.
There's people saying you've gotten fat. It's not like you haven't noticed either, but it's not as bad as everyone's claiming. You only look fat because you haven't bought new clothes yet and obviously, cleaning exhausts everyone. It's normal to be winded.
Now that you've heard it though, you think about it. You start noticing that your shirt does ride up quite often. You're more conscious of your weight now, overtly aware that your arms jiggle whilst scrubbing counters. Your belly, especially, gets in the way often.
You don't count how often you need to readjust your clothes to keep yourself covered, because you've stopped doing that a while ago. You're alone, so why would you? You've gotten tired of fixating on your appearance. After all, it doesn't matter. You still have a nice smile and a welcoming presence.
You're sat in the most familiar house besides your own, the one that calls you far out of town. You're greeted by the usual presence of a thank you for your hardwork, handed a treat before the offering of dinner again. It's become a routine and, really, you need it. There's little income outside of this one house you supposedly clean.
You arrive each day now. There's a joke about how exhausting it must be for you to take the bus there, only there's a truth behind it. That walk from your house to the bus station, alongside the 'cleaning' you do, is essentially all you're doing and it shows.
Yet, despite the odds, you're comforted. You earn enough from such a menial job and have a free meal with food to take home each day. There's not much to complain about, besides the obvious.
You hate to disappoint.
There's one day where you don't finish your meal. The consequence of such is small, but it sits. There's talk about how the meal wasn't up to its usual standard and despite your desperate attempts to reassure, it falls flat. You learn not to leave your plate unfinished. It's impolite to do so.
It gets to a point where you're struggling. You have a designated seat in the house, but it creaks under your weight and seems to press against your hips now. You try to ignore it, but it's difficult. You're getting slower as the weeks progress, taking longer to finish your job and eventually staying for hours on end. Not only do you have one meal insisted upon you, but several. The routine continues.
You get to a point where hardly anything fits. You're left with shirts that leave your belly out, fabric that curls up your hip and sinks into your back rolls. The only items left that cover your lower half is sweatpants and underwear that's left on it's last seams.
It should be a sign to stop, but you can hardly remember where you've gone wrong. You've not been overeating, besides where you 'have' to. You're not ready to admit you're at fault and so the routine progresses.
You come over, sit, make an effort to clean and waddle around the house with something in your hand.
The coffee table digs into your belly, so you lift it just to reach all the way over. The sound that echos back seems louder these days and on today in particular, you've knocked something over again. It falls under the table, you groan.
Slowly, you move to your knees, getting on all fours and feeling your belly rub against the floor as you crawl underneath. Your breathing picks up. You can feel the fabric on your underwear pinch even more with the compromising position you're in. Your hip nudges against the table's leg, the entire thing shaking with the reminder to be aware of your own size.
You search for whatever has dropped, eventually finding a small, square device. You can't make it out at first. You focus on shuffling yourself out from underneath the table, getting to your knees with much needed effort and setting the device on the table.
You leave it there. You don't think about it, not until you notice a similar one placed atop the soil of a decorative plant. It takes you a lot of thought, mainly because your initial one seems to remind you how unfit you are.
You realise, suddenly, that's a camera. You make an attempt to pull your shirt down at the realisation before turning it away. You're embarrassed at the thought of being watched. Perhaps they're not active, but you're not yet dumb enough to consider why else they'd be here.
You keep it in mind as you clean. Terrifyingly, there's cameras everywhere. You're probably being monitored. Even in bathroom, one of the floors you've scrubbed whilst practically naked, there's cameras.
You're understandably furious and the confrontation comes consequently. Despite your agreeable nature, you're adamant that you're uncomfortable. For the first time, you're greeted with reality.
You're told how you've fattened up over the months. It's barely been a year, you're unrecognisable. You're reminded of your goals you spoke about that time, contrasted to now. You're stagnant. You're given the truth about how compliant you've gotten, far more than before only, right now, you're spoiled. You're reminded of all the times you've given in, all the times you've been unable to help yourself and each time you thought you were alone when you actually weren't.
Apparently, there's enough footage to make a whole documentary about you. A cautionary tale. There's a joke, or less of one, about releasing it; letting everyone know how and why their neighbourhood cleaner grew into someone completely different.
Your boundaries are pushed again with hands moving on either side of your body, gripping onto handfuls of fat that you believed wasn't there before. You knew you'd gained weight, but as it's said loud and clear, shown to you under the force of mocking hands, you realise how bad it is.
As you try to move away, you're ridiculed for the effort. The attempt. You have to give in, so you do. You ease into it, only to be greeted with contemptuous words about how indolent and pampered you are.
You don't stay the night, but you return the next day. Affectively, you have no choice.
Feeding is incredibly hot but there's also something really enticing about observing. Commentating, too.
That's more than before. Feeling daring, are we? You make a lot of noise when you're enjoying yourself. Mostly when you're alone, but even elsewhere too. You've picked a habit, didn't you notice?
You're getting messy again. Don't clean yourself. We're alone. There's no reason to act all polite when you're enjoying yourself.
It's really something else to watch someone else come undone before your eyes. That gradual dial from hesitance to hedonistic, you're brashfully eating with a vigor that's truly unmatched. Worst of all, you have no one to pass blame to besides the evident gaze of endorsement.
NEED a feeder that talks about me like a pet owner talks about their fat pets
âOh, heâs not overweight, heâs just fluffy.â
âOverfeed him? No, I just leave food out and he knows how much he needs.â
âHis health is fine, so what if he breaths a bit heavier and doesnât move as much.â
âYeah, he has to be careful on some of the furniture, TOTALLY not because heâs too heavy for them though, theyâre just really cheap and flimsy is all.â
âThe clothes I ordered for him are too tight, I guess the websiteâs sizes must be wrong.â
âHe gets stuck in things sometimes but thatâs just because they make everything smaller these days.â
âHe has been getting a little rounder lately, but thatâs just cause Iâve been too busy to take him out for walks as much.â
âWhen heâs a good boy, I give him extra treats, and my little angel is always a good boy.â
âWho cares if heâs fat, it just makes him cuter.â
just filled to the brim with good food, endorphins beaming from your little piggy brain and dopamine rewarding you for engorging and gobbling on anything edible within a radius of 2 meters from you... wondering what's for dinner.
you wake up at improbable hours, and then you eat, you hit up the pc and devote your hours to videogames, streamings, and food until you go to bed.
i don't even have to encourage you by now...
you're digging your own grave a bite after another.
you know, i see the posts you publish on your kinky socials.
you almost always say that it's me filling that ball of lard you have as a gut...
...but in reality, if I make you stuff once a week it's a lot. After all, I work full time and I'm often too tired to do much but cook for you a filling meal and then going to bed listening to some ASMR to fall asleep...
but you... you love to appoint the entire guilt on me.
you love to tell everyone that it's me rendering you so obese that you can't even walk anymore.
you love to make everyone think "boo hoo poor feedee, her wife is fattening her up!"...
...while in reality you panic if you don't eat for even an hour.
the other day you literally had a meltdown because we didn't have anymore cookies.
and two days before that, you begged me to find another job just so that you could order mcdonalds more often.
(i'm searching for it, of course...)
i'm watching your puffy body sink in the mattress and i can hardly recognize each body part as a human one...
you're deforming your meat vessel by adding so much lard it's becoming unrecognizable.
you're digging your own grave a bite after another...
i'll sleep all night, like always...
...and instead you, like every night, will wake up around 5 am and eat whatever you can fit in your mouth without having to cook it.
oh, my dear hog...
you are so lost in the folds of your own obesity...
so much lost that you fail to notice that, at this point, your own greatest feeder... is yourself.
How round can a belly actually get? Alexâs round gut looks like it gets more bloated everyday. âThis is the end.â The end of what? The end of Alanâs life as a skinny guy, âcause heâs obviously picking up the bad habits of his obese brother and packing on the pounds too.
Being the frat house cum dump made him cocky as fuck. He knew none of his brothers could say no to him when he walked into their rooms at any point wearing just his jock strap. His bubble butt giggling for them to see. When he announced he was stopping taking his birth control thatâs when it really got out of hand. Every single guy in the house wanted to be the one to knock him up. Of course he knew that would happen. The first night he left his bedroom door wide open and slept naked above the covers. He hadnât been in bed for more than 5 minutes when the first frat mate snuck in and woke him up by placing a hand on his hip pulling his ass towards his hard cock.
That night alone he mustâve taken upwards of 50 loads. They didnât stop there. Every night for a couple weeks they fill him with enough cum to get 100 people pregnant. When he inevitably started showing he could command the boys to do whatever he please. His belly was growing big and fast, and all the frat boys loved it. He used his belly like a weapon, getting the boys to do anything. There wasnât a moment in the day he wasnât being sucked or fucked, or having his belly rubbed and worshipped.
What was big last month is now even bigger this month. It would be unbelievable if I didnât have photo evidence. I already looked overdue and ready to pop. Now I can see peoples faces when they see me. Thereâs so much more of me to look at. And who has ever been able to turn away from watching a pregnant woman struggle?
Every breath I take has to be deep and slow now. Leaning back is the only way I can stand up because my pregnant belly is so heavy it pulls me forward. Iâm constantly rubbing my stomach absentmindedly or intentionally because I donât even feel like Iâm me. My steps are slow and wide. When my hands arenât on my stomach they are supporting my lower back. All my clothes is skin tight and whatâs not skin tight Iâm bursting out of. My stomach barely fits in anything. My belly button had popped out but now everything so stretched itâs flat again.
My stomach enters the room before I am able to slowly and awkwardly waddle in. I canât drive anymore because I no longer fit behind the wheel. The last time I drove was over a month ago, I had to awkwardly shuffle in and suck it in as much as I could. I canât sit without spreading my legs wide open. Sitting at tables has become a joke too. I canât do anything in th kitchen because my stomach makes it hard to me to bend over enough so I can reach things on the counter.
And yet the best part of my pregnancy is you. Youâre doing everything for me. You beg me every night to promise you weâll do this again. And the bigger I get the more you try to make life easier for me so I say yes. You kiss my belly, you lift it up so I feel relief. You drive me around. You make every craving. You patiently wait for me to waddle around. You do everything for me to be comfortable so that at night when Iâm propped upright in bed, trying to catch my breath while wearing no clothes, you love on me. You take in my naked body and ask what you can do to make me feel better. You kiss every inch of me. Including the parts I canât see. You tell me how much you want me when I tell you I feel so undesirable. You made sure to figure out what gets me off and how to get me off at every size. With every change and sensitivity in my body. Itâs hard for me to not feel worshipped. So when you ask me if we can do this again I havenât said yes but itâs very hard for me to not smile as you dote on me and cater to my every need.
take control of my sexual pleasure to manipulate me into gaining weight for you.
lock me up in a chastity cage and demand that i meet insane goals before youâll unlock it. 10,000 calories a day is completely unrealistic day to day, thereâs no way i could eat that much without feeling sick!
so day by day i keep stuffing myself for you more and more, slowing packing on the pounds. slowly expanding my stomach capacity.
by the time i finally hit 10,000 calories in a day iâve already gained 25lbs, and of course that makes you all the more willing to help me get off. but then you lock me back up until i reach the same goal.
so now i gorge myself with 10,000 calories of rich, creamy, fatty foods so youâll uncage me and let me release, pavlov-ing me into associated a full stomach with sexual pleasure.
i finally snap out of it when i realise you stopped putting on the cage. i start to think you must be an idiot, youâve gotten so caught up in the routine you forgot about my only motivator for eating so much for you. if i can get myself off anyway whatâs the point?
so i reach down to touch myself and⊠canât. i finally realise why you didnât bother to put the cage on. youâve made me so enormously fat that i cant even touch myself.
Hehe, having your gainer partner do the driving on a road trip, ordering them when to stop for food. Youâll lean over their protruding belly to bark off menu items theyâll be eating, canât help but feel them shift their legs together as it keeps coming.
Youâll be sat in the passenger seat unwrapping and feeding them every little food in the over stuffed bag, the small one is for you since you canât keep much down on a bumpy road. One hand rubbing their growing belly, shifting a little when they feel the steering wheel start digging into them while trying to drive still.
At the first rest stop you two hit, theyâre stuck in the driver seat. Top of their belly is distended and shining red while the rest of their belly sags between their chubby legs. Looking up at you with a begging puppy look in their eyes, they ask that you lower the seat and help them slide out. You wrap an arm as far around their waist as you could and help them to the passenger seat where they can finally recline and digest.
Getting back onto the road, and a grumble sounds off from the passenger while they snore away. Youâre pulling into a drive through again before they crack their eyes open. Waking up by the time you grab the first bag from the window and plop it on their lap and they dig in immediately, not even noticing the two others you put in the back seat.
Those three bags were enough to nearly send them back off to sleep but those damn bumps in the road are just dislodging burp after burp in them, you can see a bit of nausea in their face but you tell them to hold on as youâre just around the corner from the house
Thereâs just something so hot about the idea of heavy cream gaining. The fact that youâre consuming almost pure fat, simply for its rapidly fattening effect. At first, itâs a lot. You donât like the taste and it upsets your stomach. You got a little carried away and guzzled the whole pint, when you had intended to only have a few sips. It hits your stomach like a brick and you immediately have to lie down, feeling yourself expanding in real time as your body fights to digest the calorie overload and store away all those grams of fat. You wake up the next morning noticeably bigger. With that youâre hooked. You have another pint that night, and then the next. On top of all the eating, you manage to gain 5lbs in three days. Your tolerance builds. Now itâs time to level up to a quart a day. Next thing you know it, youâve gained 35lbs in a month. And now youâre addicted. It becomes a nightly ritual, chugging cream right before bed, knowing that itâs all going to straight into make you fatter and fatter. There might be no stopping youâŠ
discoholicmusic
ellievsbear
annaxmalina
stormborns
pixelskylines
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
