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[growingboyblog]

The moment you realize...your belly touches the bed when you are sitting. You were convinced that you are not THAT fat yet, that you could close your legs. But no. Soft, sagging belly is in between them. That's the moment you will know that slowly but surely your penis is going to be buried under all your fat🐷

[gorges-georg]

Drew "describe a fantasy in detail" from @fayamn's gacha

I fantasize about magical weight gain that's just slow enough to keep me oblivious for a bit, like gaining a pound every hour while I'm awake:

My clothes fit me perfectly this morning, but now they're pressing into me. The instant I get home to my studio apartment and close the door, I strip completely. I shrug it off as being a bit bloated, and stay nude as I wind down for the evening. I don't notice the next four pounds pile on before I get to sleep.

I'm still "bloated" when I wake up the next morning, so I pick out something slightly loose to wear to work. By dinnertime, my loose outfit is starting to hug me. I'm too distracted to pay it any mind while I worry about my presentation tomorrow.

I'm starting to get concerned, but I'm on a deadline and don't have enough spare time to schedule a medical appointment right now. I pick out the loosest work-appropriate outfit I own, and find that it fits perfectly.

My late-afternoon project meeting has arrived, and my slow-growing gut has my shirt buttons straining. The podium and my binder full of notes can only do so much to hide me. When I return to my seat, and there's a gentle clatter as my shirt buttons surrender. My presentation is overshadowed by a lecture on professional attire and I'm sent home early.

I'm still drowning in embarrassment when I pull out my bathroom scale, and find out that I've gained 44 pounds since last week. As I look away to take in my fattened reflection, the scale ticks upward by another pound.

[fujotum]

i love shutting my brain off to eat because what if one day i can’t turn it back on? what if one day after being stuffed and lingering on a food coma my head just stays empty and docile, and i forget how to turn it back on. i forget i can turn it back on. something in there broke and now more is all there is. lazily opening my mouth for anything that’ll make my lard-coated brain feel so nice and fuzzy in the way i like it. constant chewing swallowing chugging. stretching my stomach more and more and more for reasons i don’t remember but it’s not like i remember any reason to stop either. hazily waddling around and passing by people who might know me, but who i don’t need to recognize anymore because they are not me growing. they are not more. i only need more.

[softerandsofter]

Its cute that you think you can hide what you are. You try to keep your appetite under wraps in public and to come off as self-aware and under control but everyone can see what you’re doing to yourself. When you’re eating lunch with friends you may even pretend that you’re full after your first entree but your body doesn’t lie. Your thick double chin, your puffy soft arms, your heavy belly straining your waist, and your plump thighs that force you to waddle. These are all the tell tale signs of a greedy piggy and you’re covered in them. It’s so easy to tell that every night, once you get home, the facade comes crashing down and you turn into the gluttonous fat ass you really are. How else would you have gotten this heavy and out of control? You can’t help but strip down and stuff yourself with empty calories until you pass out. Soon enough everyone will know though, it’s only a matter of time before all of your self awareness breaks down and you start bingeing like an obscene lard ass whenever possible without a second thought. Doesn’t that excite you piggy?

[femmebanquet]

it's so cute how getting fat can make you dumber...

the time you spend eating your days away? it simply becomes more energy spent digesting,, metabolizing,, turning into more weight your growing frame needs to adjust to.

those little moments of poor focus transform into hours of brain fog. a fog too heavy to think through, but not nearly enough to keep you away from the fridge.

and let's be honest. the only thing you've ever thought hard about is tomorrow's first meal. 🩷

[fluxes]

guy who obtains immortality and slowly gets really fat and keeps telling himself he'll lose the weight eventually but puts it off for centuries and just gradually keeps getting fatter and fatter

[fluxes]

am lowkey obsessed with this kind of ultra slow weight gain though like. you could gain a pound a year which is a nothing amount, barely noticeable even after a decade. but give it time. give it centuries. every few years you have the thought that you should stop, but then you brush it off, because you're barely gaining at all, and if it goes too far you have all the time in the world to lose it.

give it a few more centuries. you're still mobile, your muscles have had plenty of time to adjust, but...things are getting more difficult. maybe you should stop now, maybe you should try and lose it, but things aren't that bad. you can still walk, after all, even if doorways are becoming an issue.

give it a few more centuries.

[fatterbiggersofter]

A Pound a Day (BHM, Accelerated WG)

He's standing on the scale again, the thick slab of his fat belly and sides wobbling with his labored breaths as he leans forward enough to read the number. His mouth scrunches a little. Dissatisfaction atop his oversatisfied body.

"What is it?" his feeder asks, coming up behind him and resting a comforting hand on the shelf of fat made up by his love handles. "360! Oh my god, that's great! See, I told you those shakes were making a difference, that's up twelve pounds from last month."

"It's… not enough."

"Look, you've been literally drinking down as many liquid calories as you can. Every day. Three pounds a week is a lot! I know you want to be bigger, it's just—"

"I don't just want to be bigger," he says, his hands running soothing, longing lines along the stripes formed on his belly where the skin is already struggling to stretch over the fat being packed on, pound by pound. "I need to be bigger. So much bigger."

"We can try adding more fat. Cooking things in butter and maybe fitting another shake in before bed? I know you don't sleep as well on a full stomach, but…"

"It just won't be enough," he says, more than a little crestfallen. In the last half-year, he packed on sixty pounds. Ten additional pounds of fat was finding its way onto his body every month. His belly had widened and spilled out at his sides, started hanging lower and pushing out rounder against his shirts. His chest and face were fuller, swollen with fat.

But he needed more. And his feeder knew it.

"There is one thing we could try," his feeder says. His attention perks up immediately. "You remember my college roommate, the one that does that food science stuff? There's… something sort of experimental. But it's supposed to be pretty reliable…"

Not even a full second lingered before he could blurt out, "Yes. Please!"

His feeder goes into the kitchen and brings back a vial of liquid. He looks skeptical. "What is that some magic thing to make me gain a hundred pounds in an instant? Something out of one of those stories to blow me up?" he snorts.

"No, but it… you'll gain a pound a day. Every day that we add this into your food, if you really fill yourself with enough food, it's a metabolic—it doesn't matter, but you'll gain a pound a day with this. Should we try it out?"

He grabs one of his softened pints of ice cream from the counter, peeling off the lid and offering it to his feeder to as a vessel for the compound. "A pound a day, huh? Let's try it out."

True to the claim, when he stepped onto the scale the next day, he was exactly 361 pounds. This one pound felt more exciting than any of the previous sixty; it felt like it came with a near-certain promise of more. The compound made the shake sit heavier in his belly than normal, like his belly was somehow needing to stretch a little more into discomfort to accommodate that one single drop, but the next day brought another pound. And another the day after.

For the first week, he had fun searching for the extra pound on his body with his feeder.

"I think it was a tits pound yesterday, I can feel it," he laughs, waking up bloated on the seventh day and taking the blender into his hands to chug down the new day's shake, giggling through his greedy gulps as his feeder gropes at his swollen chest.

The first month brought thirty pounds as expected, bringing him to a heavy 390. His belly was rounder, his sides were thicker, his rolls and thighs visibly puffier with the as his body tried to allocate the weight around somewhat evenly. He was laying on the couch, his hands jostling his extra fat around, feeling for himself how much more of his belly rested against his widening thighs when his feeder brought the shake in.

"Are you sure we can't try more than a drop? It feels so good being able to tell I'm getting fatter like this…" he asks.

"If we pour the whole thing in, you'll still just gain a pound today, and then we'll be out," his feeder assures him, taking his belly in their hands and coaxing his mouth open to chug down his shake, watching as the creases on his neck bulge with his every swallow. His arms rested more against the swollen bulges of fat at his sides than against his torso. New, pink stretch marks were dappling his skin everywhere from his lower belly to his arms.

"What if I ate more?" he pleads, kneading his doughy fat with such intensity that it seemed he was expecting it to rise.

"I could spoonfeed you the most fattening thing you have in the kitchen, but you'd still gain a pound a day."

Grumbling a little, his plump face in a cute, eager pout, he goes back to tipping the blender against his mouth, making sure every drop slides down his throat.

By the end of the second month, things weren't fitting him well. His underwear waistbands had gotten tight, shirts clung to the roundness of his middle belly and let the bottom hang free. The warmth of the summer demanded shorts, but his thighs could barely squeeze into his biggest pair. His feeder shifted his wardrobe, everything elastic and forgiving and oversized as they continued dropping a pound per day into his swelling form. The 400 milestone had come and gone, the next day's pound always spurring him on.

"You could just not wear anything, you know," his feeder teasees, folding all of the once-oversized shirts that were now frayed and torn at the seams where his fattest parts strained them.

"I'd bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he grins, lifting handfuls of his belly fat to show that there wasn't much exposed at all beneath it, given how much his thighs pressed together and his underbelly sat heavy against them. His feeder's hands admired and soothed every inch of his swelling body.

"At this rate, you'll be too big for anything in your closet next month," his feeder smirks, always wanting more of him.

Halfway through the fourth month, he was starting to feel the extra weight adding up. He was breathless, panting and red in the face from carrying groceries from the car. The exertion needed to move his body these short distances was proving enticing to both of them; it didn't take long for him to be breathless and panting on the couch for entirely different reasons.

His feeder was straddling his lap, pressing against the mass of his belly, with their thumb on his chin to guide it open for his daily shake.

"It's not getting to be too much? A hundred extra pounds isn't enough for my big guy yet?" his feeder asks, dangling the first drops of shake at the blender's edge.

"More. I can take it. I want it. Please," he says, that same eagerness from when he was a meager 360 pounds holding steady in his voice and on his face, "please make me even fatter."

As he gained, every day felt like another opportunity to feel the excessive weight affecting his body in new ways. He felt huge, and knew he'd get even bigger the next day. The next week. The next month.

His feeder started to take care of some of the little things: tying his shoes; holding the blender up so his heavy arms wouldn't get tired during his daily shake; lifting his deliciously-inconvenient rolls out of the way when their mutual affection for his body demanded reaching and spreading to reward his indulgence with even more pleasure. The almost-anxious need he'd felt to push himself to grow and grow at any cost was softened into a blissful relishing of how much of his day was filled with thoughts and sensations of food and his own fat.

Five-hundred pounds seemed like a good point to reevaluate. The number seemed so far off, until it wasn't. His weight climbed by a pound a day, but the sheer size of his body was reaching the point where even a couple weeks' worth of pounds seemed to be lost in the swollen, blob-like mass of his belly or the spreading rolls of soft fat on his sides and thighs. Spaces around his body were closing rapidly: his chin brushed his chest; his side rolls folded onto his butt; his thighs pushed each other apart until his belly was resting on the couch, demanding more and more space.

The shake with the compound would earn him his pound, but he was finding more and more that his love for the immense amounts of food he could eat was retuning. Why, after all, if he was going to gain a pound anyways, wouldn't he want to cram himself full of as many sweet, greasy calories as his growing stomach could accommodate? His feeder delighted in feeding him as much as he could handle.

"You know, five-hundred pounds was last week," his feeder says, tracing small circles on his immense belly as they dipped a spoon to scoop another mouthful of ice cream-soaked cookies into his mouth.

"Really?" he says, shifting a little, his weight making the couch groan, the distance imposed by his belly between him and his feeder making his mind tingle. "How do you know? I haven't made it onto the scale recently…"

"Because I can count," his feeder says. "The number is practically tattooed on my brain, then I add one to it first thing in the morning. Plus, these are unmistakably the tits of a five-hundred pound guy," they add, lifting and letting his swollen roll of a moob flop onto his belly. "You're 506 pounds, in case you were wondering."

"Mmmm say the number again?" he says, breathing heavily as he struggled to lean forward against his own bulk for his mouth to meet the next bite.

"Five-hundred," his feeder says, tipping the shake into his mouth, listening to his growing moans as the shake filled him and his feeder's hands pressed against the bloat. "Six pounds."

Six-hundred, he admits to his feeder, was really the number he wanted to experience. Big enough that he could retain some shreds of independence and mobility, but enormous enough to struggle a little. The colder winter months were designed for him to lounge on the couch, his body swelling to take up the tiniest bit more of it each day. The warmth of blankets, baked goods, his feeder's touch, and his own soft fat keeping him happy and growing.

He didn't need the scale anymore. His feeder would write the new number on a small dry erase board on the other side of the room so he could see it ticking up. 525. 526. 527. He wondered when he would feel it again. When he would have one of those oh shit moments about how much bigger he'd gotten. But the couch's support and his feeder's care kept him growing with ease. 541. 542. 543. The holidays arrived, with many extra treats for the big guy.

Tracking his weight wasn't enough. His feeder documented the spread of his hips, the size of his arms, the weight of his moobs. He became obsessed with finding new ways to quantify his fatness, eating his way through more and more of his day, most pleased with himself when his jowls were wobbling against his chest fold mid-chew.

The food was the work and the food was the reward.

The compound upheld its part and he continued his growth into spring as the impossibly-big 600 pound milestone loomed.

The weather warmed and with his feeder's help he emerged into the blooming yard at 598 pounds, not daring to sit on any furniture that couldn't handle his weight, feeling the warm rays of sun hitting all of the new fat that had accumulated on him since hunkering down for such a cozy, caloric winter.

"There's not that much left," his feeder warns. He looks up, face smeared with frosting as he eats his "happy 600 pounds" cake by the handful. The vial had a little less than a quarter left. "I should've known you weren't going to spread this out."

He grins. "I am spreading out," he says, leaning back on the couch and letting his fat splay outwards towards the arms, hardly any room for his dedicated feeder to join him to sit without being on or tucking under his bulk.

"What if… we just used it up," he suggests. He was heavy, very heavy, but he could still manage to move. He'd get some more movement in. The depth of his belly threatened to spill past his knees when he sat, the fat folding into thick, biteable rolls for his feeder to admire and attend to.

"You know I can't say no to you," his feeder says, their mouth locking onto their favorite roll on his neck as their hands interlaced with his and they made a meal of feeding him his shake.

The days passed more quickly now, though he moved less and less. He would accept some help heaving himself up from the couch to take few wobbling, breathless steps to the other side of the room. He spent hours with his hands running across the vastness of his own fat, knowing each day and each shake meant one more pound and one fewer day remaining that he could unwaveringly count on growth.

His hips and thighs reached the sides of the couch at 640. For fun, he showed his feeder how he'd outgrown the entryway to their kitchen by 650. "I guess it's really up to you if I get fatter now, I literally can't get to the blender" he says. His feeder only grins in return and lifts the shake to his lips again, utterly devoted.

Soon he shifted to counting down the pounds he had left to gain before the vial ran out. He estimated 30 left. Then 20. Ten, probably. Was it the 697 that mattered more or the ten?

Everything about his body drove him wild. Every dimple. Every fold. Every spot his feeder touch felt electrically charged by the swelling fat expanding his area of perception. His feeder spared no teasing detail about how utterly cumbersome his body had become to navigate and the intensity of their shared pleasure at those inconveniences grew together, too.

The last drop made its way into his shake one morning, topping him out at 714 pounds. His body was enormously fat, every part of him overflowing with soft, heavy flab that cocooned him and his feeder in their embraces together.

"I'm so, so huge…" he hasps, like an exhalation from the unrelenting journey he'd taken over the last year. His soft arms rested against his front, chubby fingers kneading constantly on his belly as though he needed to physically verify the weight was still there.

"Does it feel like you'd hoped?" his feeder asks.

"Better," he admits, taking the time to feel how the weight encumbered his limbs and begged him to stay as sedentary as he and his feeder would allow. "I can't believe we used it all."

"I can," his feeder says, warmly, their hand patting the middle of his belly to ripple out across the few hundred extra pounds caked onto his increasingly-shapeless body.

"I guess this is it then…" he says, with a sigh. His eyes and hands moving along every inch of his body they could reach, trying to soak in the feeling of being this big, knowing the compound-assisted gravy train had come to an end. His feeder's hands wrapped around him, sinking into the mass of his body.

"What if you… maintained," his feeder suggests.

"You mean… stay this big?" he asks, turning over his hands to survey his arms, thinking about the potential of carrying around this weight for more time.

"Yeah," his feeder says. "It'll take a lot of eating, but I think you might just be ready for that," they said, playfully squeezing the bulk of his cheeks. "You might need to really pile on the sweets and stuff to keep the weight on, but what's a few extra desserts a day when you're seven-hundred gorgeous pounds?"

"Feed me as much as you want, being this big I don't ever need to gain another pound," he says, moving his hips to entice his feeder to return quickly with his vanilla shake, grateful for everything the compound had given him and determined with his feeder's help to sustain all the weight he'd grown during the year.

Every single pound felt like the most important one he'd gained.

~

this one goes out to the ever-inspiring @stonednsoft, whose greed for his next pound is unmatched :)

[chubwormz]

I’ve gotten soooooo fat lately. I can feel my belly creeping up my lap and my thighs touching ALL the time. I love mindless groping myself now, there’s so much to play with. I especially love my love handless, I can playing with them makes my gut move as well. I love the shame it brings me too, I sat on my ass and ate myself to the point where my clothes don’t fit. I lie to myself and tell myself my jeans still fit - they don’t I struggle to get them over this nice wobbly belly I’ve grown. I lie and tell myself I don’t want to gain more weight, I do. I adore not fitting into things and being soft, I especially love how horny I am all the time now and how easy it is to cum. I love giving into being fat.

[auroralovexx]

fat faces are so under appreciated like I love how soft and round someone’s face gets the fatter they get, their cheeks plumping up alongside their double chin getting thicker and hanging down lower just emphasizing how fat they’ve become

[feedeebyfate]

I couldn’t agree more. I love a fattened face. There’s something incredible about watching someone develop theirs over time, seeing them show up at different weights with a whole new softness each time. It’s wild how one person can hit 300 before their cheeks finally give in… while someone else at a measly 160 is already sporting double chins and those round, eager cheeks.

The face is where a weight gain really starts to matter. It’s the place that makes people double take because they can’t quite recognize you anymore. It’s where a new identity forms. Once that second chin settles in, no one ever imagines you were skinny. It rewrites your whole history right there on your face. A year ago you could’ve been living in the gym, but now you’re just another fatty and that feels fitting. All those calories that kept pouring in their face finally found a place to rest on it.

[little-bear-belly]

I feel so similarly on this… fattened faces are adorable and attractive and should be celebrated. I have a hard time with fat on MY face. I feel it makes me ugly.

Anyone have any thoughts on this?

[tumboodles]

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

[lardpunk]

imo a very under explored theme in feedism that i really enjoy is the effects of someone greedy becoming really well off.

theyre more powerful and richer than they ever expected—and the result of being able to pay for every single one of their desires really begins to transform them.

its a subtle realisation... everything they want is possible now. a little more here and there. theres more than enough in their wallet to get an expensive treat... and then another... and another...

then suddenly, the buttons of their work clothes are straining. theyre struggling to reach beyond their soft gut to the desk. but desire is all-consuming. why stop when it all tastes so good? when you can afford a change of clothes at any point? hell, why not just aim for more?

they can keep the food coming for as long as they desire. anywhere, anytime. as long as its available. its hopelessly addicting... this is who they are now. an obese, gluttonous pig. at first, theres a bit of denial... but it doesnt last long. at some point, they bounce back even prouder than before. until theyve nurtured a large, swaying mass in front of them.

their ego grows to match their size. huffing, puffing, and sweating profusely without a single hint of apology. packing away terrifying amounts of food by themselves at the fanciest restaurants. rubbing the crest of their stomach in too-tight dress shirts. burping while they do so--to make more room for dessert. and then struggling to un-wedge themselves out of the booth afterward.

by now theyre unrecognisable. in both form and personality. a once vain and innocent nobody morphed into a wealthy and remorseless obese pig. now if only someone would swear to serve them like the royalty they are... growing so massive takes the selfishness of a monarch after all.

[cookiegurl99-blog]

I love that moment when your T-shirt suddenly isn’t tight just because you’ve draped it that way - but because it has no other chance than to actually sit so tight.  Over the last few months, you’ve enjoyed your meals bigger and bigger, having snacks at hand all of the time, giving in to gluttony, stuffing yourself time and again until your tummy was so bloated you moaned I should rub it to give you some relief—which I love doing! But now it's not just bloat anymore - it's fat that softens your body. Your T-shirt fits snugly now over your belly. You are still able to cover your big round gut if you drag the shirt down, but it’s only a matter of weeks before this won’t help anymore. I love it when you outgrow your clothes. I like this phase of the tight T-shirt, when I can watch your belly move so beautifully - not just when you’re walking, but even when you’re breathing, laughing, talking, or singing. All this waves of life on your jiggly belly fat, your round ball of a tum moving up and down so gently. Oh, I love the soft fullness that’s gathered around your midsection.  Sure you're a little sad because it's one of your favorite shirts that won't fit anymore soon, but hey: We'll find a new favorite shirt, and maybe buy it a little bigger this time, just in case you're not done gaining weight yet. After all, your growing love handles have to fit in there too, don't they? I also see you struggling with your pants. It’s getting harder and harder to button them under your big belly—which is why you always unbutton them with relief as soon as you’re alone or with me. Even though I love to watch how relieved you are when the pressure eases up, and love to grab your freed soft underbelly teasingly: Maybe it’s time to buy more stretchy pants with elastic waistbands to give your hungry belly - and also your sweet round butt - the freedom to live comfortably. You deserve to be comfortable - and you want to keep feasting without holding back, right?  Don’t worry, I also like it when you push the elastic waistband all the way down under your belly at home to set your wobbly tummy completely free so I can play with it a bit, I can still stroke and knead your fat fullness. Come on, I’ll get you some snacks and feed them to you—because outgrowing a size can only be the beginning. 

[mxcake]

I must be slowly becoming a feeder because im so turned on right now at the thought of a conventionally attractive, desperate, entitled, watches manosphere dating advice videos type of guy wanting to get with me, but I tell him I'm only interested if he turns himself into a chud and he does it. Gains a bunch of weight, takes up nerdy hobbies, only wears graphic tees, doesn't shave properly and has a neck beard over his double chin, calls me "pwincess" and "kitten", spends all his time sitting in his gaming chair surrounded by lewd anime merch, eating and gaming and jacking off... I'm not into the smell so I wash his belly in the shower and tease him. "This belly wasn't here when we first met" "You used to work so hard on your six pack to impress girls, now look at you, giving it up just for the chance I'll pay any attention to you..." "This look suits guys like you a lot better, doesn't it?" His room is a mess and I make him clean it up while I watch him struggle to pick the trash up off the ground with his belly in the way...

[iloveglomp-deactivated20250826]

Getting so fat that you go from having slight love handles to them being a part of your massive side stomach. You can grab heaping handfuls of fat on each side and shake your massive gut and watch it ripple with lard. There is no small gut now, just a giant mass of fat and your own greed that got you here. Your belly button isn't even visible; it's buried under your upper stomach, which folds over the lower part. It hangs over your legs and stops you from pleasuring yourself. It pulls you down and makes it hard to walk when standing, and pins you to the couch when you sit down. You run out of breath shifting it around and getting comfortable. Forget finding clothes that fit over it; they all just ride up your huge gut so everyone can see how fat you are. Even baggy clothing won't stop the under hang from peeking out. There is no escaping the giant ball of flesh that you turned yourself into. You made yourself a fat, obese cow, and now you have to pay the price for being so gluttonous and horny.

[overstuffd]

Taking you out to a - unbeknownst to you - feeder cinema.

'It's amazing!' I tell you. 'They have waiter service right to the seats - and I got us a great deal. We're going to watch a marathon of classic stoner movies and we get dinner and unlimited snacks. Doesn't that sound perfect?'

Without thinking your hand goes to your growing pot belly. You kept saying you need to take it easy on indulging your appetite for greasy food - but your gut rumbles in response.

After a moment's hesitation, you agree that it sounds like fun. I smile, hungrily.

They're stoner comedies, so of course I get you stoned beforehand. Plenty of bong hits before we head out, encouraging you to hit my vape on the -thankfully- short walk to the movie theatre.

When we get there, the staff are so delighted to see you. They explain that you'll be served one course of dinner between each of the four movies and there'll be a midnight feast at the end. In the meantime, help yourself to the snack table.

Snack table hardly does it justice - there's a huge buffet set up with every kind of appetiser you can think of. I encourage you to go through to the theatre and get comfy in your seat while I fix you a plate.

The seats are really two person couches, with soft looking pillows to prop ourselves up on. They're pretty well sized, but with your thicker thighs you realise we'll be pressed close together.

You get settled, and I show up with your pre-dinner snack. If you weren't so stoned you'd say it seemed like a lot. Your plate is stacked with mozzarella sticks, garlic bread and mac and cheese, all of them geneorusly portioned out for you by me.

As it is though your munchies are kicking in hard, so you accept the plate and start eating. Before the film starts one of the attendents comes by and smiles as they place a bucket sized soda cup and extra large popcorn next to our seat, on your side naturally. I already let them know your favourite candies, and they're mixed through the popcorn, the chocolate gently melting in the still warm kernels.

The film starts, and soon you're snorting with laughter like a dumbass at the cheesy jokes and slap stick. Your mouth is dry from the smoking and all the salty food, so you end up chugging your soda hard, but whenever it starts running low one of the attentive staff is there with a replacement.

The same happens with your popcorn, you're only halfway through before your carton is replaced with a fresh batch. It makes it hard to keep track of what you're eating, but between the snack plate and the endlessly refilling bag you're pretty sure you've already had what most people would consider a meal.

It's hard to concentrate on that though, because the first movie is over and it's time for appetisers to be served. You almost don't believe me when I say you haven't even had the first course yet.

Before you put up too much of a fuss though I hand you my vape - no, the staff won't mind I promise - and you relax again, especially when I offer you a pair of gummy edibles to kick in during the movie.

I took the liberty of ordering for you, and you're already faded by the time your heaping pile of nachos arrive, loaded with cheese, guacamole, sour cream, hot salsa, jalapenos and brisket. The spiciness hits your sensitised pallet hard, but there's always more soda to soothe it.

The second movie has started now, and as it plays you polish off your nachos, and most of my order of onion rings once I pass it over.

At some point, your soda cup is replaced with an extra-large cold beer, but you chug that down just as happily, your mind getting floatier with every gulp.

At the end of the second movie the main courses arrive, and you try and tap out. The greasy, double-patty burger is huge, even ignoring the massive side of fries and slaw. The attendents have bought you mug sized tubs of spicy mayo, creamy burger sauce and barbecue to help everything slip down easily, but even so.

You turn to me, your eyes big as the third film starts to roll. I pretend to be sympathetic, but my words are the last thing you want to hear. 'Oh, poor thing! Are you too out of it to eat your dinner even though you're so hungry?'

You try to put together a protest but forming a whole sentence is beyond you at this point, so you flop backwards and let me slowly feed you the burger and sides, holding the dripping handfuls to your mouth until you take a bite and then pushing salty fries in afterwards. When you slow too much I push my vape into your mouth again and the new rush of haziness gives you another burst of energy.

You don't remember anything that happens in the third film, just the growing heat between your legs as your waistband presses harder and harder into your stomach.

The final break - dessert. I get up from our seat, and even if you'd been able to speak you didn't think to ask where I was going, your mind completely preoccupied with the pressure in your belly.

When I come back though, you've realised there's a sundae bar in the lobby that I've visited on your behalf. A huge bowl of softserve, another bucket really, smothered in caramel and chocolate sauce, peanuts, cookie crumb and whipped cream.

Your stoamch audibly groans when you see it, but you're so docile you let me push more than a few spoonfuls between your lips before you start turning your face away, struggling even to move that much.

You're expecting me to grow more forecful, but instead I set the icecream aside and pay attention to your straining gut, undoing your pants (you sigh in relief, they were moments away from bursting) and rubbing slow circles on your belly. My hand dips lower as I make lazy circles and you moan appreciatively, way too far gone to care about embarassing yourself in public.

The film is drawing to a close, the lovable losers have completed their stoner quest, and you're getting close to finishing too. Once you're frantically grinding against my fingers, though, I pull away, and suddenly the icecream bucket is back at your lips.

No spoon now, the softserve has melted into a thick and creamy shake mined with sweetness. I part your lips and tilt the bucket so it pours into your mouth. Youf flabby mind can think of only one defence against choking on it so you swallow, slowly, painfully, your overstretched stomach straining at the additional pressure.

The credits of the movie are rolling and you're almost finished with your shake - and my hand is back between your legs, rougher than before.

I've been training you to come when your stomach is straining, so I up the speed as you take your last mouthful and you finish over my fingers.

I ruffle your hair and wipe a little icecream off your cheek as I coo at what a good job you did for me.

The staff are in no rush for us to leave, which is good because you can't stand right now.

Instead they leave the lights low as I gently rub your eager belly, enjoying the deep rumbles as you start digesting your enormous meal.

When you've recovered a little I'll walk you to the car - and maybe if you're good we can get drive through on the way home.

[ffa18]

I wouldn’t even need the snak hoodie! (But again, no pot for me.)

[laaauraeve]

you’ve done it again: eaten yourself into a panting, moaning mess.

“you really overdid it tonight, piggy. those are looking pretty tight.” i watch you with hungry eyes. the way your overstuffed gut rises and falls with every shallow breath, dark red stretch marks peeking out from underneath your jeans.

those jeans, barely fitting even before you ate, now press tight into your middle, digging into your soft fat. you’re practically bursting out of them—i’m a little surprised they’re still buttoned.

“they are… so tight.” you whine, squirming in place.

“you can take them off, you know. we’re not in public anymore.” not that that stopped you before. you had undone your fly at some point during our dinner, and only that poor button still stands between your strained gut and the promise of freedom.

you whine and start fumbling at it, but the waistband is stretched so tight that your fat fingers aren’t quite able to unhook it.

i watch as you get more and more desperate to free yourself, breath growing more ragged as you grow more frantic.

“aww. poor piggy. you’re so helpless. look at you.” you whimper in response, fat face twisted in concentration and helplessness. “i can’t believe you did this to yourself again. how often do you end up like this? more than weekly now.” you try to suck in, give yourself more space to undo it, but you’ve packed on so much fat that it doesn’t do much. “so pathetic.”

when you finally free yourself your gut spills forward, fat spreading across your lap as you heave a sigh of relief. chubby fingers immediately find it, sinking in and playing with the soft fat, readjusting your bulk like it’s muscle memory.

“good piggy,” i purr, reaching out a hand towards you, playing with your softness. you tilt your head back and let out a soft moan at my touch. “those pants aren’t getting any looser, are they?“ i run a finger along the seam straining against your thick thigh. “poor thing. you just can’t help yourself, huh?” no reponse. just your pathetic, panted breathing. “might be time to size up.” with another pitying look and a kiss on the cheek, i stand up. “i’ll be right back. then i’ll help you with those pants. sound good?”

you really pushed yourself tonight, and hard work like that needs to be rewarded. a couple hundred, couple thousand extra calories coaxed down your eager throat to wrap up the night, and a little less space in those jeans tomorrow.

i make a mental note to place an order for a new pair of jeans in the morning.

~~~~~~~

inspired by a video of @thabigmiller — i wrote this well over a month ago, just never got around to posting it until now :p

[lardpunk]

i fear ive been extremely stereotypically fat lately without trying because "burger" and "pizza" were my major thoughts trying to sleep last night.

then i woke up today all sleepy and struggling to wake up even after my breakfast. yawning and telling my bf im hungry and want a nap. on top of being super dumb today. lots of "uhh..."s falling out of my mouth at things that should be obvious