your fat, lazy pig
cw: nsfw, eructophilia, eproctophilia, immobility, slob, male feedee, piss (last few sentences)
this is pure self indulgent fa trash and excessive descriptions of sum Big Tumby™ please enjoy
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You truly love everything about your fat, lazy pig. You’ve grown his belly so big and round that it bursts out of all of his clothing, destroying buttons, bulging through torn seams and jiggling with even the slightest movement. His pant button pops, and the strain of his burgeoning gut against the zipper forces it down without him even having to touch it, allowing his stomach to spill forward onto his lap.
He always has food nearby, and has done away with manners inside the house. You absolutely love hearing the results of his gluttony, love hearing him shamelessly belch and fart to make room to be able to continue eating, love hearing his stuffed stomach groan in distress at the sheer quantity he manages to cram inside it. When he sits down his ample gut takes up his entire lap, sinking between his doughy thighs to rest heavily on the seat underneath. The size of his stomach forces him back in his seat, rounding out into a huge, distended dome, the top of it so taut full of food all the time that it pushes his swollen breasts sideways. He’s too obese to sit and eat at tables anymore, so instead he rests bowls and platters on the jutting shelf of his gut. He doesn’t mind. He says it’s better that he doesn’t have to reach so far, his arms don’t get tired as quickly.
On the lessening occasions that he walks, his corpulent belly sways and bounces with every waddling step he takes, slapping rhythmically against his blubbery thighs. You can’t resist the temptation the sight rouses, groping and jiggling it in your arms, because that’s how much of it there is; armfuls of fat, undulating lard that ripples endlessly when you smack it, rolls atop rolls of soft, hefty body. Your humungous pig pants and complains until you let him sit down again, groaning tiredly and having to support himself with a hand as he lowers himself. The force of his weight impacting on the seat below him causes his whole body to wobble alarmingly like a heap of quivering jelly.
As of recently, he stopped being able to see over his gut after you’ve sat him down and stuffed him to his limit. It’s a milestone you’re both very pleased about him reaching. To celebrate, you invite likeminded people over to admire and assist, because it’s simply better when there are multiple people pushing endless amounts of food into his mouth from every angle, lovingly rubbing thick belches out of his gut, slapping his expanded belly and watching it tremble and surge outwards as his clothes give out. It’s what he deserves, all the calories and praise he could wish for.
Watching him struggle to get up from sitting down is probably one of your favourite pastimes, the way he swings his flabby arms to gain momentum, sending his bingo wings swinging madly is a sight to behold. Well, maybe it’s your favourite pastime after seeing him try to get up in the morning. It’s remarkable, how long it takes him to roll his fat ass out of bed, his gelatinous stomach pooling out in front of him when he’s lying on his side, sloshing and rippling like a big water balloon. Of course, he can’t help but rip long, sloppy farts as he tries to stand, just as he does when doing anything even slightly strenuous. At first, he was embarrassed by his uncontrollable flatulence. Now, he pats his stomach with a pleased smile and proudly announces that he feels hungry again.
For a while now, he’s found it hard to lie on his back, his immense weight suffocating him. But sometimes, it’s all he can do after a particularly hedonistic day of gorging himself far past the point of excess. When he does, he’s nothing more than a mountain of fat. Helplessly splayed out and unable to move, completely overfed and incoherent. His rotund gut rises up high, sloping roundly even with gravity working against it. It’s on days like these when he shamelessly eats too much that he finds himself profusely aroused by his own lack of control. But there’s no way he could ever hope to reach around his absurd belly to his dick should he want to relieve himself. Even if he could, his body is encased in so much blubber that even lying flat his gut still spills between his thighs and over his sizeable hips, completely obstructing his crotch.
So, you’ll let him struggle and whine for help, coo teasingly as his pudgy cheeks turn red and he grunts with effort, trying to no avail to rock his mountainous stomach from side to side just to be able to reach himself. When he gives up, sweating and out of breath, you finally give him a hand. His lower belly is plump and heavy, and pushing it out the way is no easy feat. When you manage, his poor, useless cock underneath is already so hard it’s leaking precum, pink and throbbing from being rubbed all day between his thick thigh rolls. Even fully erect, only the the tip of his weeping cock is peaking out cutely from his pillowy fat pad. You tease him, fucking your fingers into his sensitive fat pad alongside his cock, admiring how soft and pliant he is. Taunting him for his obscene overindulgence, praising him for being such a fat, insatiable glutton. He loves all of it, you know he does. Most of all, he loves when you grab a handful of his full belly and shake it, sending his lard rolling decadently and disturbing the trapped gas inside, forcing deep, gurgling burps out of him. You can’t see his face over the crest of his stomach, but you can tell he’s close by the way he gasps exhaustedly, gut quaking and heaving with every strained breath and moan he puffs out. He doesn’t last long with your enticement, and you stare in awe at the way every inch of his obese body wobbles when he comes with a gasp, a cascade of jiggling adipose that doesn’t stop even after he’s spent and lax. Overcome by exhaustion and fullness, he lets you clean him up as he catches his breath. He’s normally asleep by the time you finish, tired from doing nothing but eating all day.
Obviously, there are times when you need to leave the house. He doesn’t love it because he’s started having a hard time getting around without help. However, you leave him with plenty of food to keep him satiated, and that silences any complaints he has. On those days, it’s easy for him to get so lost in the food on his own that he eats himself into a complete stupor in bed, on the couch or on the kitchen floor in front of the fridge. Take today, for example, you watch him on the house cameras you’d both agreed to install in the case that you were out and he got into any trouble due to his increasingly limited mobility. You can see that he’s planted himself on the reinforced bench made just for him in the kitchen, and it doesn’t look like he’ll be moving. You’re enraptured at the sight of him on your phone, unable to look away as you watch him eat so much that he physically can’t move, totally beached and burping piggishly, groaning in pleasure as he caresses his straining stomach and appreciates his immense size. While he gorges, he attempts to fuck his own underbelly and fat pad, weakly pressing down on his overfilled gut and twitching his hips until he climaxes, the strain of his orgasm forcing gas noisily out from both ends. He tries to get up from wherever he’s slumped, struggling helplessly to lift his bloated body and get himself to the bathroom to relieve himself after drinking litres and litres of fizzy drinks throughout the day. But however hard he tries he’s just too fat, too heavy to support his own weight, pinned down by his ballooned belly. In the end, he gives up and starts to squirm, wincing and trying to hold it in for as long as he can. But in the haze of a food coma and post orgasm drowsiness, he lets go and pisses himself where he’s sitting, hot liquid pouring down his legs and splattering on the floor. With a desperate moan he hefts his overflowing gut upwards, attempting to angle his fat-encased dick just to piss over himself. A literal pig, stuffed stupid and covered in his own mess, completely glutted out and too fat to move an inch.
