get weird with it

he/it - 21 - obligatory minors dni - this acc is mostly freaky performance art for my partner but interaction is welcome

[furflator]

more people should be forcibly inflating me tbh. Put me into a corner and overwhelm me with hands until theres a tube and a plug in me and someone somewhere is filling me up. Hold me down while my belly puffs up, let my shirt ride up in the struggle while I round out from underneath it. Don't stop except to tease me when my belly is shaking with the strain of holding together. Clamp hands over my mouth to keep it in. Make the plug bigger too. Just don't give me a choice, please

[wolf-feeder]

i wanna coax a tboy into getting fat.

i want to push him to eat for me. i want to feel like the devil in his ear, conditioning him to give in to pleasure. i want it to start with a cute, bulging little tummy, at first, as he moans helplessly from the struggle of digesting how much i made him eat. i want to spoil him with chocolates and sweets until his poor belly hurts, and hes still begging me for more with his eyes, wobbling his stuffed gut, showing off for me. quickly, it becomes more hands-off as his belly stretches, and all of a sudden hes eating enough for two, three people every meal. our friends look at him with shock when they see how much food he orders, when we're all going out after a concert, and i just laugh because they have no idea how much he can really pack away when i have him tied up and i wont let him cum until he finishes everything.

i want it to become obvious how much his stomach is growing as it sticks out in comparison to his flat chest. then i want him to widen, his stance shifting, legs further apart to support all that weight, or to allow his soft tummy to rest between his thighs. his belly aching and striped with stretch marks that i come up behind him to trace with my fingers. he moans at the delicate touch. hes oozing out of his jeans, his belly sticks out of all his t shirts. his sweaters all cling to his middle, making him look plush and perfect. i want his moobs to finally start coming in, still paling in comparison to his big, growing belly. i want to squeeze his fattened gut and tell him hes starting to look like a proper man, now. i want him obese, addicted to sugary sweets and rich home cooking and fatty junk food. i want him to insist hes still starving whenever he hasnt eaten himself to helpless, breathless pain. poor thing. doesnt know whats good for him. hes outgrown his wardrobe several times, now, and its more common to see him in too-small clothes tha not.

they can whisper about him like hes a cautionary tale, a warning that hormones make you fat, unaware of the fact that the only reason he looks like that is because i made him. im the one who packed hundreds of pounds onto his frame. he clutches the big, heavy gut i put on him and tells me so--its all my fault, he didnt mean to get this fat... but we both know how eager he is to let me do this to him. how much he loves being my fattened boytoy

[a-deed-without-a-name]

for last minute prompts u have given me a Vision: force feeding/rapid wg with statements. hearing it counts as getting the info right? can’t just. Stop hearing things.

You certainly can't, and I am extremely fond of this concept - I even put it in the first TMA WG fic I ever wrote (which this one mirrors, in a lot of ways).

I don't often write rapid WG, so I hope this came out okay!

“Obviously I understand your discomfort, Jon; and I would like to make it quite clear to you that this is the very last resort for me.”  Elias’s fingers trail from one of Jon’s shoulders to the other as he walks around him.  Jon wonders if the touch actually meant to be possessive or if it’s just his imagination, but he isn’t exactly inclined to be generous in his interpretation of Elias’s actions right now.

“Oh,” Jon spits out.  “Is it.”

Elias sighs disappointedly.  “You know, you could at least try to see things from my perspective.  You’ve become…difficult, in recent months.  From a management standpoint.”  Jon scoffs incredulously, but Elias does not allow him to break in.  “The paranoia, the rank insubordination.  Stalking your coworkers, entering the tunnels after being expressly forbidden to do so…”

“You gave me a key!”

“With the extraction of a promise from you that you would not explore them alone, due to the danger.  A promise you almost immediately broke.”  Elias has made his way around to Jon’s front, where he now stands with his hands behind his back.  “I’m afraid you’ve forced my hand, Jon; I’ve exhausted all my other options.”

“Oh, so then we’ve arrived at - tying me to a bloody chair in your office.”  Because that is indeed where they are, Jon’s wrists and ankles bound to a solid oaken construction, only the banker’s lamp on Elias’s desk on.  It’s after hours and the cleaners don’t come on this day of the week, so screaming will do no good.  “Your management style could use some work, Elias.”

Elias rolls his eyes, which does not improve Jon’s mood.  The motion catches the light of the lamp; briefly, his pale irises glow emerald.  “Don’t be so dramatic, Jon.  The restraints are nothing more than a temporary necessity.”  He bends at the waist to make level eye contact.  “You want to know everything.  Fine - that’s a trait I would very much like to encourage.  But the way you’re going about it, you’re going to get yourself killed, and you’re going to disrupt the mission of this Institute.”  Something about the eye contact is making Jon more uncomfortable than usual, more uncomfortable even than the current situation demands, but he can’t put a finger on exactly what it is.  “So I’m going to give you what you want.  And in the process, render you that much easier to keep an eye on.”

Jon stares at him.  Slowly, fear is beginning to eat through the anger that has, up to this point, cloaked it fully.  “And just how are you going to do that?”

Elias’s smile is faint, and yet still somehow smug.  “You’ll see.”

It’s not until he straightens and turns away to busy himself at his desk that Jon realizes what was bothering him about the eye contact: Elias hadn’t blinked once.  And Jon hadn’t actually felt the need to, either.

Before he can even begin to parse the implications there, Elias has returned.  In one hand, he holds a tape player, and in the other, plugged into it, a pair of over-the-ear headphones.

“You’ve been neglecting yourself in so many ways,” Elias tells Jon as he sets the player in his lap, not without sympathy.  “I honestly think you might enjoy this.”

Before Jon can demand to know just what it is he could possibly mean by that, Elias has slipped the cups of the headphones over his ears, and set the tape to playing.

The headphones are old, had probably been quite expensive new.  They’re heavy, bulky, the cups padded thick and soft.  Once they’re on, what little ambient noise had been present is gone, and Jon is sealed in with nothing but the soft rush of his own body.  Until Elias presses play, and the vaguely-familiar voice of Gertrude Robinson fills Jon’s ears.

Jon sits there, staring at nothing at all.  Just listening.  An awful lot of what she’s saying, he has no immediate context for, so he takes it, files it, connects what he can, and waits for the rest.  And slowly, the picture - so much larger and more terrible than he’d ever thought it might be - takes shape.

He barely notices when the tape ends and Elias swaps it out for one that has his voice on it, or when that ends and another Gertrude tape replaces it.  In fact, the first thing to bring Jon out of his stupor of revelation is the growing discomfort in his stomach.

For a while now, he’s noticed that there’s a certain…satiation that comes with reading a statement.  He’s assumed it was the glow of a job completed, although it seems a bit baffling, outsize satisfaction for a task so relatively small.  He’s also noticed, on the days he records, that he doesn’t much feel like having dinner when he gets home.

He’s never connected the two until now, looking down to see his belly visibly bloated against his jumper and trousers, waistband cutting into his middle.  Feeling himself filling further and further, every word a sip.

He can taste the knowledge he’s being fed, Jon realizes.  Clear and cool and sweet and rich.

Waistband growing tighter and tighter, the squeeze of it increasingly painful, Jon looked sharply up at Elias, who was standing there and watching him.  Elias smiles; he knows he’s realized.  Jon holds his gaze a moment, then breaks eye contact as he tries viciously to shake off the headphones.

Immediately Elias is there, both hands keeping the cups clamped firmly to his ears, forehead pressed to Jon’s.  Jon’s vision is nothing but Elias’s eyes, nacreous, bright in the dimness.  Jon strains, but Elias is strong, stronger than he would have thought to look at him, and he has leverage.

You’re going to hurt yourself, Jon.  He doesn’t know how he knows Elias says it.  He certainly can’t hear him.  But he does, and Elias needn’t have worried, it’s really not all that much longer he has to hold him before Jon slips back below the surface of the torrent of discovery.  He relaxes, and is only distantly aware of Elias releasing him.  When the tape ends, Elias is ready with another.

Jon’s trousers soon give up, button popping off, engorged belly surging free as they unzip themselves.  He belches.  As his jumper inches up, he spreads his legs as much as he can with bound ankles to accommodate the taut, swollen shape his middle has become.  The tape player falls, but Elias catches it before it can strike the floor, holds it securely.  The better to switch the tapes out.

Jon is fuller than he ever has been in his entire life.  His back arches; he feels his novel evert, a soft pop.  Surely, he thinks, some small, distant part of himself that is not enthralled by Elias-on-tape’s calm classification of Smirke’s Fourteen, he will burst.

But he doesn’t burst.  This is not food; its unique (read: impossible) properties enable Jon’s natural physical processes, too, to behave uniquely.  Though they really only deviate in speed.  Otherwise, his body does what it normally does when provided with an excess: it stores it.  All of it.

Jon has lost weight over the past year and change, much of it in the wake of the Jane Prentiss incident.  His clothes have come loose, nearly to the point of requiring replacement.  As a result, it takes some time for him to notice exactly what’s happening.  It’s only when his clothes begin to tighten in areas other than his belly.

It starts first in hips and thighs and ass, trousers squeezing, and when Jon looks down, there is an unfamiliar softness beneath his jaw that the motion comprises.  The very beginning of a second chin.  His belly has begun to sag, soft fat burying the shape even though he has not grown any less absurdly full, navel deepening.  His legs look like sausages in the casings, and even as he watches, a seam on the inside of his right thigh bursts.  A diamond of flesh swells through like rising dough, growing larger and larger as stitches stutter-pop on either side of it.  The same thing is happening on his other thigh, and over his hips, and he’s sure his trousers have torn in the seat, too.

His jumper has also grown tight, but the yarn is made of sterner stuff.  His arms strain against it and he hears it squeak and whine.  The size of his belly has forced it all the way up his chest, nearly bra-like, the effect only enhanced by the small, round, rapidly-growing tits he now has.

Jon’s trousers are all but gone.  He feels himself rise an inch, another, as his ass grows unrestricted; he spreads, until the sides of the chair pinch at his sides, his hips.  His love handles mound against his arms.

Elias swaps in another tape.  This one is just an ordinary statement.  The chair creaks.

Jon pants, whimpers, pained both with fullness and the grip of his jumper.  Elias strokes his hair tenderly, just past the band of the headphones.  Finally, first one arm of the jumper pops open, then the other.  And as even Jon’s wrists and ankles fatten, the cords holding him to the chair snap one by one, and he is unbound.

He makes no move to stand, even as the chair’s creaking grows more alarming.  He likely wouldn’t make it even if he felt any urge at all to try.  He is, by this point, wedged quite firmly between the arms of the chair.  At least until it finally gives, dumping him straight to the floor, and the impact knocks the headphones off him and a belch out of him.

Jon is on all fours.  His belly drags his back into a bow, nearly touches the floor.  Beneath the blubber, it is still crammed full, and the position puts uncomfortable pressure on it.  He is huge, and docile, and fat as he looks up at Eliast, dazzlingly haloed by the lamp behind him.

No, not Elias.  Jonah Magnus, in the stolen body of Elias Bouchard.  Who has now, in many ways, stolen Jon’s body.

Jonah sinks to one knee and puts a finger beneath Jon’s first chin, tilting his face up, once again locking eyes.  And it does feel like a lock, one Jon does not have the key for, and cannot hope to break.

“Do you want,” Jonah murmurs, near-tender, “to know more?”

“Yes,” Jon answers quietly, and quakes with a hiccup.

[plushefemme]

stuffing in jeans is soooo… you have to undo the button and unzip almost immediately as you start to eat, with a sigh of relief and a few burps, freed from the soft gut now spilling out onto your lap. you’re still aware of the friction on your hips and thighs, that tight, snug feeling. denim just doesn’t have enough give. you keep eating, and pretty soon even the pull of the opened zipper is digging into your soft underbelly, cold and sharp, forcing you to wiggle your jeans further down your hips, exposing your underwear. maybe you discard them completely as you continue to eat, but not without the nagging thought at the back of your mind that soon you won’t be able to button those jeans ever again.

[ivy-kidtits]

anyway, there's something about being seen, having private aspects of yourself noticed and called out. it's violating, but it's also a little comforting. when somebody can look at me and go "thats a dog," even when i think i'm carrying myself with the utmost professionalism, it makes me feel like i'm failing at pretending to be a normal human, at pretending to be a person. and having this failure noticed is incredibly hot, especially if it's like "awww, it's trying to be smart!"

[ivy-kidtits]

thinking about hanging out with a bunch of intellectuals who know what's going on all the time and are very smart. and i'm trying to fit in, pretending to be smart, but i make a stupid mistake in my intellectual discussion and suddenly all the real people are petting me and telling me i was doing such a good job pretending, but i don't have to pretend anymore, i can just be a dumb dog. and i lie down on one of their laps and let the smart conversation wash over me, not following the discussion anymore, just feeling her hand ruffle through my hair and thinking stupid, empty thoughts.

[micmacrobin]

*flirtingly* what if you didn't have to mask your autism because im not a person im just your plaything and there'sno need to mask if you're alone with your toy. and i didn't have to mask my autism because im not a person im just your plaything and you just do whatever you want with me

[micmacrobin]

(i'm lying, i wouldn't say anything flirtingly, flirting is outside of my abilities. on account of. the autism)

[sinningtamer]

what if there was a character who had a kink and then there was another character who kept obliviously and unknowingly doing things that ticked boxes for the first character. what then?

[microposting]

frozen in place, wide-eyed, shaking, the giant pinching you between delicate fingers. analyzing every twitch in its facial muscles, every narrowing of its eyes. its expression lights up. "you," it says, "you are just incredible"

[fishalivecaps2]

Your friends will realise you're being brainwashed, right?

They'll notice all the changes to your personality and see that something's obviously wrong and come riding to the rescue, won't they?

Oh, wait. No. They won't.

Because they like the new you.

Everyone agrees that you seem happier. You're always smiling, after all. So much nicer to be around and definitely prettier, now that you've finally updated your wardrobe. And they just love what you're being forced to do with your hair.

According to them, your new partner is the best thing that ever happened to you. They don't suspect a thing. They don't want to suspect a thing.

Which is for the best, really. I would find it so tedious if I had to brainwash all of them too.

[jabberfoxy]

hmmgghh... shrinking out of clothes........ hwouugghhh

[sodadenaranjaja]

Nu-uh

[not-really-lemonade]

Good friends give eachother gifts, today Kinito got an extra special gift.

[tooecto-toohazard]

what if human t3nna tf into tv head t3nna. and now he grows and shrinks and stuff and his body no longer feels organic at all.

Kind of a blockhead lmao

[suodelic]

sex with a guy who wants to hunt you for sport for 6-12 hours immediately beforehand

[suodelic]

sex with a guy who gave you a big head start and mocks you about it after he’s caught you anyway

[suodelic]

sex with a guy who wants to watch your brain kick down a few notches when he pins you down like you’re a prey animal that knows it’s done running

[mas-o-kissed]

Ummm martini that transforms you from one kind of hot (gorgeous, confident bombshell) to another kind of hot (pathetic, shy loser who is horny all the time and embarrassed about it)

[furflator]

any pooltoys or balloon animals wanna let me take big heaving lungfuls of air and blow them up reeeal big until they stop stretching and start creaking. Any of you want some small short cozy puffs and warmth with my breaths bloating you up. Anyone with a valve or a stem I can bite to hold in what I've filled you with while I suck in the next gulp of air. Rub my thumb up on the vinyl or rubber or whatever you're made of just to see how tight you've pulled. Anyone wanna squeak about it.

[furflator]

Thank you you get me

[pocket-watcher]

I enjoy men best when failing to resist hypnosis I think that’s very hot of them and they should do it more