This is what it looks like when somebody completely gives in and is taken over by their weight gain fetish… you end up looking like a fat blob Freak… and it’s what I always wanted 🫠🥵😵💫
Keep eating for me sweetie. Just keep stuffing more and more food in. Let your body fill up and swell with more and more fat. Keep indulging sweetie, always order more than you could possibly need, surround yourself with your favourite snacks, don't think about how much you're eating, how much you're growing. Just keep putting more in. Switch to sedentary hobbies. Anything that lets you stay on your flabby butt for as long as possible. Think of all the delicious foods. Make sure your social feeds are filled with pictures of greasy burgers, decadent cakes, the cheesiest pastas, fresh muffins and pastries. Anything to get you salivating and your stomach growling. Sign up to as many delivery apps as you can, getting discounts to encourage you to order even more food. Indulge in all of it. Never say no. Keep your bloated belly stretching out further and further. Whenever someone offers you food, always tell them you can eat. Even when you're struggling to waddle around don't slow down. Just keep eating. Keep indulging and enjoying and growing fatter and fatter. Give in to your gluttony. Keep eating sweetie. Eat for me.
Welcome to FAT GUY SATURDAY!! Yeah I was lazy yesterday, my bad. Anywho. This weeks video drop is me trying on some 10xl shorts. They are a tad snug. It'd be so terrible if I out grew them. I might have to swap to wearing mumu's cause we're maxed outta x's lol.
it's just really weird to look down at myself at all now,, especially when im eating. i used to have a flat tummy and now that's been completely drowned in fat, and it happened so fast
im full of food most of the time now tbh, so my tummy is usually rounded out,, but whenever I wake up from a long sleep, it softens up and i can see and feel the sheer amount of fat thats there and it shocks me sometiems,,,, this is getting to a point where it's gona be hard to lose all this weight if i ever decide to, there's just so much of me now
My dear pig, for years without even realizing it, your appetite grew little by little. You went from barely being able to finish a small meal from a fast-food chain to having to order two triple meals with extra sides just to feel relatively satisfied; from not being able to finish a canned soda to drinking a two-liter bottle with every meal; from eating a bowl of cereal and a small portion of fruit for breakfast to eating half a dozen eggs, bacon, and six donuts as your first breakfast—giving me the excuse that breakfast is the first meal of the day and that you need that energy to face your day.
Without realizing it, your mobility decreased and your food intake increased. You might believe this was your decision, that it was mere coincidence, but deep down you know that's not true. You know very well deep down that you wouldn't have reached this pitiful state on your own: going from being a valuable member of society to nothing more than a greasy, sweaty, fat mass that can barely move its fingers.
Your angry glare hides something else, I know it. I know that look disappears when the scent of the fried food and greasy meals I prepare floods the room with its delicious aroma—that intoxicating scent that makes you drool like the dumb, gluttonous pig you are. The only difference between a real pig and you is that the other one would end up on a plate and serve a purpose, whereas you will end up spending your life for my enjoyment. I would love to taste your greasy meat, to see how much bacon would come out of that massive belly, but I know that society—and more importantly, my guilt—wouldn't allow me to.
Calm down, pig. This bed, which at some point was ours, is now your personal feedlot. Don't worry, I won't stop fattening you up with the most delicious meals. It excites me to know how far your body will go, just how big you can get, my precious pig, my favorite pet, my personal pig to fatten up. Anyway, it's no time to fantasize; it's getting late and it's time to bring you your morning food, before it's time to order your lunch.
Rest, pig. We can't allow you to be hungry—a first-class fattened pig staying in his personal and final feedlot.
I can’t help but sit outside and imagine what it’d be like to have a 700-800lb husband, and just get to enjoy every delicious pound.
my boyfriends have all been close to 450-500lbs, but I want you to push yourself to MY husband territory. I want specially tailored clothes for you so you can grow comfortably. I want to watch you with a reinforced cane and walker shuffle slowly around the house, struggling the few feet to carry your weight.
I want to sit on the arm of your oversized recliner and curl into you as best as I could fit, kissing and your double chin that used to be a neck and rubbing your growing belly that’s down to your knees, telling you how perfect you are. How massive you are.
i want to sit in front of you kneeling and massage your aching, swollen legs that are cascading layers of fat. I want to barely se your face with your gut in the way.
when you lay down to take a nap I want to perfectly position your legs and belly so I can map out the soft cave of rolls and suck on your fat pad. Expose your hidden cock. I want you to feel me in the depths of you. Exploring you. Savoring you.
People will think our lives have changed, they may think our life has grown harder because of your weight gain. They can’t help but stare and think my god, what are they going to do?
First post in a while to kick things off!
Exactly a year ago today, I set off on my first journey out in the world which kick-started my gains after a few years struggling (for various reasons)
In the past 365 days, I have gained 120lbs, the most I've ever gained in a year
Force me to apologise for how big I’m getting. For how much space I’m starting to take up when we lay in bed. For how much I slow you down on walks.
Make me tell you I’m sorry when I break my first chair. Tell me I should be ashamed for how much I let my gluttony affect you. For how much food you “have to” cook for me every meal.
Tell me I need to ask forgiveness for every pair of jeans my belly starts to spill over, for every T-shirt that my growing mass turns into a crop top.
Once you’ve made me into a big, lardy ball of shame, punish me for every inconvenience - with a force feeding, obviously.
prompt: a man gains weight trying to get his ex-girlfriend back, but goes way too far and gets addicted to gaining
He hadn’t gone to the gym even once in ages.
After a year of singlehood, he wasn’t ashamed to admit anymore that he’d only really gone in the first place to impress women. Ironic, of course, since his ex had never been more than vaguely dissatisfied about his gym habit.
When they first started dating, he had love handles he hated and his thighs had been too thick. He assumed she dated him despite these flaws. Only after he lost weight to please her did he find out that it was his chub that caught her eye. It was bigger guys she was into. It was a lot of miscommunication. A lot of insecurity on his part, since what her preferences meant was that she wanted him to be a little heavy, and he couldn’t possibly accept that with his society-ingrained doctrines about attractiveness.
But those doctrines meant fuck-all now; he was eating a double cheeseburger in his car, helping it down with an orange soda, thinking about dessert. He was wondering if she’d be proud of him now that he’d gained thirty pounds. He wondered if she’d look at him with half-lidded eyes like she used to, if he put on another thirty. Fifty. Whatever.
His phone buzzes. He sits up straighter, belly swelling a little into his lap. It’s her.
Hey. My friend needs to sell her two tickets. I know it’s your favorite band. Interested?
The next text was a link to an information page about an upcoming concert. He’d been so disconnected lately, he hadn’t even heard about it.
Even though he wasn’t actually all that interested, he replied that he was, and they set a date to meet up the next week. Shit. He looked down at himself. If she were someone else, she might be repelled. But she wasn’t someone else…
He was hit with a brilliant, maybe brilliantly stupid, idea. It’s execution began with going right back through the drive thru.
In the days leading up to seeing his ex again, he ate almost constantly. Since he was only doing freelance online at the moment, his work didn’t get in the way of this. He let himself eat whatever he wanted, in amounts three times what his body craved. He pushed himself to a state of being constantly past full. She liked fat guys? Fine. Even if she still didn’t want anything to do with him, he wanted her to see what he could have been, if he hadn’t been such a gym-rat douchebag. If he’d let himself become a lazy, docile boyfriend like she wanted instead, weak and overweight.
It was hard, gaining a lot of weight in a week. The number on the scale didn’t go up as much as he expected, even though he’d eaten enough calories to gain twenty pounds at least. He compensated by showing up to their meeting spot wearing clothes that tightly hugged his body, which now had a good forty-ish pounds of fat clinging to it. Looking in the mirror before he left, he’d almost seen what she was into. His ass had gotten kind of wide and dumpy, but in a sexy way?
He was all nerves when she showed up looking healthy and cute and indifferent about him, holding the tickets in her hands. Almost indifferent. She definitely gave him a once-over, when she thought he wasn’t looking. He could tell she bit the inside of her lip.
“Well,” she said, meeting his eyes fearlessly. Were her cheeks a little red, or was that wishful thinking? “I’ll see you.”
“Really?” he blurted. “Kinda miss hanging out.”
She smiled and turned to leave. “Maybe.”
He went home and binged hard.
*
In contrast to how he grew too slowly in the week before meeting up with her, in the weeks afterward, he gained weight doubletime. Fat rounded him out as easy as if he were a swiftly filling water balloon, engorging his thighs and belly and ass and hips wide and heavy. He ate compulsively as his appetite skyrocketed, as cravings crushed his will to restrain himself. His budget was thrown out of whack as he spent his savings on pantry loads of unhealthy food. His clothes stretched and seams snapped as he struggled to fit in his largest clothes. He shopped in the plus sized section first for comfort, then by necessity.
All the while he could only think: I wished she was watching.
He started imagining her with him. In the car as he ate fast food. At the store as he bought new clothes. Walking beside him as he forced himself to get exercise.
“Slow down, big guy.” “No, I think you need one size bigger.” “Sweating already? You’re so out of shape.”
Why did he like it? Imagining her mocking him? Teasing him? Eyeing his body, fleshy and overfed.
The next time she texted, it was late at night, and his eyes were glazed watching television, eating huge spoonfuls of that miracle drug called Nutella. His belly swelled out of his shirt. His breasts and face were puffy. According to the numbers he punched into Google, he had long crossed the threshold of obesity.
How was the concert?
He stared at the words. This was it. Maybe his only chance. He replied: Didn’t go after all. Been feeling off lately.
To his (very manly) delight, this prompted more questions, and it became clear she wanted a real conversation. Was she thinking of him? Missing him like he missed her? He thought out every response with the careful focus of a rocket scientist. He wasn’t going to mess this up.
He didn’t seem to, and they texted into the early hours of the morning, catching up. Finally, finally she asked to meet up with him again, and - feeling more eager, a little reckless - he tapped out a disclaimer. Or to her, hopefully: motivation.
Just so you aren’t shocked when you see me, I’ve put on weight since I bought those tickets from you. I’m not sensitive about it or anything, but it’s a lot. So here’s a fair warning.
He held his breath as he waited for her reply. Held his breath. Held it…
Oh. Really?
Like before, they set a time the following week. This time, to get coffee. No big deal.
He knew he had more than fulfilled his little scheme of putting on weight to catch her attention, and he could push the breaks now, but he felt helpless against his inertia. At this point, he’d cultivated half a dozen habits that had his weight steadily rising, and he couldn’t just turn them off. If he so much as thought of eating less, his whole body seized up in fearful anticipation and unhappiness, and he found himself cramming a couple moonpies into his mouth just to calm down.
He gained another six pounds between their text conversation and their coffee date. He felt so out of control, so out of shape, so out of line with the standards of popular society that he felt oddly…free. In a way, he felt free of anxious self-consciousness as he heaved himself out of his car and waved at her through the coffee shop window. She was sitting in a corner at a table for two. Despite his warning, she looked a little shocked.
When he sat down across from her, his huge ass hanging off the ends of the seat, she appeared to inhale deeply. Her expression was inscrutable.
“You weren’t kidding,” she said.
Blushing, he supposed he deserved a bit of tactlessness, for the tactless way he broke up with her. “What? Oh. Yeah, no. I wasn’t.”
She sipped her coffee, eyes flicking between his flabby chest and his flabby face. In a low tone that no one else would hear, she said, “What happened? For you to get fat as fuck.”
He opened his mouth and closed it. This wasn’t how he was expecting this to go. “Well. I’ve been working from home, stressed out. I let myself go and…” He trailed off when he realized her eyes were cold. No - so hot they seemed cold, like his shower water when turned to the highest setting.
“Is this because of me?” she asked, cutting to the chase. She crossed her legs, now openly surveying him. “Did you decide it was okay to gain a hundred pounds because you thought I’d be into it?”
He was speechless. He swallowed.
“Well? Do you want me back that badly? Ever since I saw you last time, all chubbed out, I’ve been thinking maybe I should give you a second chance.”
“Um.”
“But I don’t know…” She shrugged, but a smirk was hiding just behind that indifferent frown, and he wanted. He wanted her forgiveness, whatever that meant. “How about you gain a hundred more and we’ll go on a real date? Sound good? You’re not the only fat guy out there.”
She was full-on grinning now, and he missed her little games like this. He could play them, too.
“Maybe, but I bet I’m the only guy who’s gotten this fat for you,” he said. She was immediately affected by this, and he licked his lips. “You really want to wait to see me a hundred pounds bigger than this, or do you want to stick around to watch?”
Even quieter, she said, “You saying you like gaining weight? How convenient.”
So she still doubted him. He put out his hands for her to see. “Just look. Look at how fat my hands are. I can’t…” And finally his composure cracked a little. “I can’t stop. I couldn’t stop if I wanted. Even if you never talk to me again, I’m gonna gain weight.”
Any playfulness was gone now from her. She looked like she wanted him, too. “Hmm. Maybe we should go before you break that poor chair, huh?”
He blushed again. God, he was getting docile. “I’m not that bad,” he muttered.
But she gave him a cruel grin. She hadn’t entirely forgiven him. “You will be.”
And he knew then: he was doomed. He was already a little bit into his own heaviness, and she was going to take that feeling and amplify it tenfold. She was going to enable every bad habit he had, watch him flounder under his increasing size and become weaker under layers and layers of fat until he could barely lift a two pound dumbbell.
He knew she wanted this to happen, and maybe he’d broken up with her before because he’d been afraid.
But he wasn’t anymore.
“Let’s go then,” he said.
*
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