hi, my name is myth! i'm 22 and i use she/her. i'm a dom gainer, but i'm NOT in the market for feeders! just a little encouragement will do 💋 please note that this is a SIDEBLOG, so i won't be able to follow back, just interact.
THINGS YOU'RE LIKELY TO SEE ME REBLOG:
encouragement!
stuffing!
eructo! i'm into noisy bellies and burps 🥴
occasional eprocto!
writing prompts! i do a little fanfic on the side so i like to keep the prompts here for quick access.
weight gain in general!
fanfiction and imagines!
THINGS I WILL NOT ENGAGE WITH:
pre//gnancy!
v//ore!
sca//t!
death f//eederism!
h//ealthplay!
o//viposition!
i//nflation!
keep in mind i have nothing against any of the above, if you are into these things power to you! they just generally don't appeal to me, so i'm unlikely to ever engage with that content.
thanks for checking out my little corner of hornyposting 💖
ohhhh to grind my needy pussy on his taut, stuffed gut while he grabs me by my hair and burps in my face. bonus points if i can feel the vibrations from all the noises unf. swooooon..
I don't think there's anything hotter than a person who gets interrupted mid- sentence by their stomach. They'll be going on while their tummy churns in the background until - *gGGLLLuuuRRCCCHHH* - and the person stops. Stumbles over their words, brain clearly reeling from the sound their stomach made... obviously released out of a building cramp of achingly wet digestion or hunger.
It's so fucking hot to see them blue-screen in real time 🥵
car stuffings are sooo good. the privacy mixed with the thrill of being in public. especially in like the parking lot of a fast food place you ordered everything from through the drive-through.
first having to orally tell whoever is taking your massive order. then pulling up to take all of your food. and then not even going that far to cram all of that in your greedy, hungry belly. Bloating up in the drivers seat with greasy addictive food that's wiring your brain to want more and more. then having to go home with that stuffed gut, turned on, maybe even playing with yourself to keep the high going. waddling out of your car with your huge, heavy gut. walking through your door while you rub and pat your well-fed, taut belly.
content on this blog is probably gonna be super slow. unfortunately, due to the absolute surveillance state BS going on in the UK, and my refusal to upload a fuckin picture of my ID, every tag related to wg and stuffing is now totally age-gated and inaccessible to me here on tumblr.
i'll most likely be reblogging from a lot of the same people just by going to their blogs instead of being able to freely browse content. 💔 i will still try to keep as active as i can because god knows a girl's gotta get her kicks somewhere, but don't expect a whole lot outta me for the time being.
thanks for listening! and to all ye faithful who are trapped in the same "i'm not giving a fucking data company my personal info just to jack off" boat, start making noise! sign all the petitions you can get your hands on! contact your local government and tell them this is bullshit!!! i'm a fully grown woman i shouldn't have to risk being doxxed by a data leak just to look at wg content!!!!!!!!!
and for all the piggies who manage to find this post – every time you find yourself trying to look at the tag again out of habit, drink a whole carton of heavy cream 🥰
I love sitting next to you while you audibly try to suppress a burp. The kind of burp I can hear building in you long before you get a say in whether or not to let it up. I love pretending not to notice as you shift in your seat, hoping to quiet your body down. Knowing that you're trying (but failing) to spare me from the gross sounds of your digestion. Even if you never actually allow yourself to burp, you can't disguise the little wet blorps and glugs of a stomach being tasked with containing air that wants out. I love watching you try not to react as your belly gurgles like boiling water, freeing a stream of air that burbles up your chest. Listening as you flaccidly gulp it back down, and knowing you just narrowly avoided letting out a violent belch. A belch you probably really needed.
been feeling really normal lately about the concept of a miniaturisation ray or something which can zap food down to nothing more than a mouthful. picturing a feedee absolutely blowing up because eclairs and hotdogs and are now the size of jellybeans and a whole wedding cake is now the size of an apple, but with the same amount of calories as the real thing, and they can't stop filling themselves with hundres of tiny, unsatiating calorie bombs
Stuffed burps, but the kind where the person is so full there’s almost no distinguishing between the sounds that remain in their belly and the lucky few that push out of their mouth. The gaseous rumbles from their stomach, the bubbles glugging up their throat, the wet, strained belches, the tight, painful burps. It’s all one solid wall of continuous gastric distress.
Burps chained so tightly together it’s hard to tell when one stops and the next begins. In fact, they might never fully stop burping. Each time their mouth opens a little more air seems to desperately jostle out of them. Their stomach quite literally feels like it’s in their throat. Crowding up into their chest so that when a pocket of air manages to escape it’s practically already out of their mouth.
It is absolutely involuntary. If their life depended on it they could not stop their stomach from desperately belching up every last bit of air as it works to churn through the ridiculous amount of food they packed into it. Even when they aren’t burping, gas is gurgling in their throat through every sentence. There is no thought too urgent to pause if they feel the opportunity to let out some of the pressure bloating them full. No person too important to interrupt with a desperate stomach settling belch.
something sooo satisfying about watching the different parts of someone's stomach expand as they fill up. Watching them go from paunchy, to chubby, to ate too much; their sides filling out next & pressing out against their skin, then their upper belly creasing and bulging against their ribs, and more and more of them is rounded as they take more and more and start to run out of room...
imagining putting a feedee on a strict "diet plan" where you actually do make them eat less... however, after every meal, you get them to drink as much water as they possibly can. you say that it's a way to make them feel less hungry. every day, they drink a little more water. it barely helps them actually feel less hungry, but what it does do is stretch their stomach.
their body has trouble getting used to it. sure, they had struggles with overeating before, but they never really pushed their stomach too far when it told them to stop. despite that, your instructions were strict. no matter what, whenever they eat, they have to fill the rest of the space with water. even if it groans in protest, even if it starts to hurt, they drink. all day, their stomach audibly sloshes. and each day, they manage to drink a little more than they could last time. they hardly even notice it, but you do.
after a while, they've gotten completely used to the routine. they eat a small meal, and chug down practically a gallon of water afterwards. their stomach still groans from hunger, yet it's completely stretched out with water. if they refuse to drink it, you just make them. they don't ever get to skip it. after all, it's just part of the diet plan. their stomach gets used to it eventually too. it's nowhere near as hard to accommodate the water as it was at the start... in fact, it's almost like their stomach is starting to stay permanently stretched.
after a full month of the routine, you assess their progress. when their stomach is empty, they feel even hungrier than before. they barely get satisfied from the amount of food you've been giving them, only getting to feel some semblance of fullness when they're stretched with water. maybe they even HAVE lost some weight from the smaller portions... so you give them a cheat day.
you take them to an all-you-can eat restaurant and tell them they can have as much as they want. their stomach growls on the way there as they imagine all the types of food they're going to eat. you both arrive and they hastily pile a massive amount of food on their plate. this is the first time in weeks they've been able to eat anything unhealthy... and they go all out. they devour whats in front of them, and quickly go back for more. a month ago, they couldn't even imagine eating like this... but now they can hardly control themselves.
your feedee doesn't want to pass up on the opportunity to stuff themselves for as long as they can while they have the chance, so you're in the buffet for a couple hours. they only stop when they're absolutely sure they can't fit any more, with their belly jutting out under their shirt. you're sure they've got at least 10 pounds of food in their gut. you smile, knowing that your plan is working. they never could have fit this much before... you're sure this is the most they've eaten in their life.
now you say that you're going to take them off the diet plan, because of all the progress they've made... but in the process of the diet, you've made it almost impossible for them to control their hunger. their stomach got so used to being stretched every day that normal meals barely satisfy them anymore. their body always wants MORE. they only feel full when they're packed with as much food as they can possibly fit into their belly. it becomes rare for them to be seen without a noticeable gut, constantly snacking in order to fill up any possible space.
you don't even have to lift a finger anymore. every day they just gorge themselves. any pounds they actually managed to lose over the past month all come back within a week. the fact that they once couldn't stretch their stomach with ease almost feels like a distant memory at this point. eventually, they even get concerned and raise the idea of a diet again... but they give in to their newfound hunger immediately. who knows how long it would take for their stomach to get back to normal at this point...
congratulations! you've just managed to permanently ruin a feedee.
Those little gestures. When you lean back after a meal, your belly sticking out round as a ball, and you slide your waistband to the narrowest spot beneath that mountain of a belly to make yourself more comfortable. You say you’re so full. And I say, “Ice cream?” and your eyes light up and you say, “Of course, yes.” When I put a bag of chips next to you half an hour later and your hand immediately sinks into it until there isn’t a single chip left. Then you pull up your shirt, show me your stuffed belly, and look like a little puppy begging to have its belly rubbed. Nothing would make me happier, my good boy! Take that shirt off right now. My hands stroke and knead your fullness, and you look so happy and content it makes my heart sing. But once you’ve digested a bit, you could do me a favor and lie down on top of me, couldn’t you? I love feeling your weight, too. It calms me so much and is so cozy.
something about going "oh this has too many calories" while you're eating it with zero intent to stop anytime soon and also perhaps grabbing another one
Let me get way more drunk than I can handle. From the world being pleasantly warm and off-centre, to a giggling, slurring mess, barely able to sit upright.
I ordered food a while ago - two pizzas and some chicken tenders. Got distracted by drinking but I come back to it with gusto now. You intercept, telling me to close my eyes and focus on the taste, hand-feeding me. I'm so pissed that I don't notice when you slide more boxes onto the table, that the food seems to go on far longer than it should.
By the time I'm done with three of the pizzas and most of the chicken, my stomach is distended and I'm sprawled on the couch moaning. You just guide my cup to my mouth, encourage me to take another big swig where half of it sloshes down my double chin instead, and then keep feeding me. I'm clumsily rubbing my belly, pressing my hands into the soft layer of fat over my hard swollen stomach, moaning between bites. You give a quick pinch to my love handles, spilling out of my too-tight top and over the edge of my pants, and I moan again and wriggle into your touch. My t-dick is throbbing and I grind into my own thighs - your hand on my fat thigh holds me still as you push another slice toward my mouth when I'm not even done swallowing the last one.
Every slice, you help me wash down with another drink. The world is spinning, I barely know which way is up.
By the time you feed me the last chicken tender, I'm whimpering, eyes still closed - I've forgotten how to open them - and hands barely able to rub my own belly. You take over rubbing it for me and I sprawl back, burping and whimpering, boy-cunt wet and aching with need.
Gently, you kiss me, body pressing against my swollen belly as your hands massage the gas out of me. I'm too drunk to care, sloppily kissing you back, moaning and grinding my hips up pathetically toward yours.
"You're so fucking pissed," you smirk.
I can only giggle in reply, cut off a moment later by another moan as a wave of pleasure and need rocks through me. I try to beg you but the words won't find their order. I couldn't move my hands to my own boy-cunt if I wanted to.
But you know what to do. You kiss down the stains of spilled booze on my round chin and soft neck, down my fat chest, over my swollen belly, tongue darting for a moment into my bellybutton as you jiggle my fat, making me squirm and whimper as my boy-cunt throbs. You give my belly another gentle shake, dislodging another burp.
Then your hands settle into my love handles as your lips and tongue make their way down the lower swell of my belly, over my fatpad, and to the swollen t-dick almost buried in fat and curly hair.
Your tongue parts my lips with ease and you take my throbbing t-dick into your mouth. I'm so overwhelmed with drink and food and lust that I can only moan and rock. You suck on my hard t-dick for a few moments, then take a breath before your tongue fucks into my throbbing boy-cunt. As I shake, the massive dome of my stuffed belly wobbles above you. It's your turn to moan as you bury your face between my fat thighs and work your lips and tongue over my boy-cunt. When my thighs clench around your head, they could suffocate you.
It doesn't take long until I cum, flooding your mouth as I writhe, pinned under my own weight and the intoxication, overwhelmed by pleasure rocking my whole body.
By the time you surface, wiping your mouth and admiring what you've done, I'm unconscious, snoring and sprawled out on the couch. You can't hide a smile. You know I'll sleep well.
