hello, call me prince 💜 this blog is the result of a fantasy gone a little too far and that’s just fine. I’m transmasc, genderfluid, & nonbinary. i am extraordinarily bisexual & polyam :-)
this blog is 18+. minors and blank blogs do not interact.
this blog will include the following:
royalty kink / regency kink
feedism / food kink / weight gain (and occasional related hedonistic kinks)
dom + sub aspects
lots of scenarios, text posts, etc.
enjoy your stay and if you ever want me to take down a post, dm me here. thanks lovelies 👑💜
it falls to me to teach you to defend yourself. i'll always be there to protect you, but our future majesty must be studied in all forms of combat. the king has hired the best in the kingdom for you, even the best from other kingdoms, but none of them have had the success that i've had with you.
of course it's because i understand you - i know you. i know your strengths and your weak points, i know your habits and your traits, negative and positive. i know how you think, i know what you wish for. i know what you look like when you're nervous, even when you hide it well. i know you, almost completely.
and as i teach you, i get to know you better. i train you in fencing, archery, horsemanship. you're a quick study and dedicated to doing your best, but you do struggle specifically in hand-to-hand combat.
something about the intimacy of an enemy putting their hands on you, the vulnerability of fighting without a weapon to separate you from your opponent, the brutality of using your bare hands to fight them off - it stalls you. you panic every time. the couple of seconds you hesitate could mean your death someday.
one day i accidentally discover a new, and very effective, training strategy.
its critical that i teach you to never let yourself be pinned down. if the opponent manages to restrain you, you're as good as dead - especially a delicate thing like you. but you don't seem to be taking that concept as seriously as you should. nothing i say or do drives the point home. we're only in a lesson, and you can't seem to get past that mental block. deep down you feel safe, so you won't put in your true best effort.
one day towards the end of a lesson, i throw you to the ground, once again pinning you easily with my weight. i watch as you grit your teeth, gasping and struggling, helpless against my strength. at first i see you mentally review what you've learned, but you rush it and it doesn't work. as you begin to panic your technique gets messier and messier, and your strength is no match for mine, let alone enough to force your way to freedom.
as i wonder how i'm supposed to teach you this and let you find a way out on your own without coddling you, my thigh settles between your legs and suddenly, i see your pretty eyes go wide.
my lips curl in a smirk. i press a little closer, my grip on your wrists tightening. don't panic now, i warn you, my voice heavy with false innocence. you seem flustered.
slowly, i settle my thigh more firmly between yours, my knee driving gently against you through the layers of fabric separating us.
the friction of your clothed cunt on my thigh has an instant effect. you fall still as if frozen in panic. a slight blush warms your cheeks.
go on, i encourage you. you think i'm gonna let you go so easily? at least try to escape.
you bite your lip, staring down at the space between us, your eyes still wide with panic. i nudge my thigh into you, earning a little flinch.
"sir..." you breathe, your chest rising and falling with shuddering breath.
what is it, your Highness? i ask, feigning concern. something the matter? do you give up?
your eyes shift up to mine. you suck in a breath, trying to steady yourself. "no, sir."
perfect. then keep going.
slowly, you obey, shifting under me, but with a hitching breath you quickly realize that any struggling will drive you instantly against me again, the friction hot in your core. the urge to rock your hips and grind against me makes you twitch. confused, you lay there helplessly.
do you really plan to lay there and take it? i taunt. there's a way out if you keep trying.
your pretty lips part to complain, but your words die on your tongue. you glance down and back up to me, and you realize. you know i'm doing it on purpose.
now your gaze is hot, with equal parts horror and desire. "let me go," you demand, but your heart's not in it. just like your heart isn't in any of your attempts to escape my hold.
i smirk down at you. what kind of a teacher would that make me? i ask. if you want freedom, you'll have to work for it, sweet prince.
your eyes are wide in a silent plea. your blush deepens as i press into you, earning more friction. you release a little gasp and involuntarily grind against me, your hips rolling. then you suck in a breath, trying again to focus yourself.
the more you struggle, the harder you're forced against me, the better it feels. you could, of course, admit defeat, as you sometimes do when i've got you hopelessly caught in my stronger grip. but that would be too serious a blow to your pride, especially considering the humiliation you're already enduring.
you rock into me, panting as your cunt throbs against my thigh, whining low in your throat. my grip on your wrists tightens and you flinch.
"i'll report you to the guard," you threaten halfheartedly. your voice trembles with pleasure.
i smirk down at you. we're pressed so close i can feel your heart slam against my ribs. for what? beating you in a fight?
face flaming with embarrassment, you rock against me again, tentatively. you release a little sigh of bliss. you build a slow, careful pace, which i match by pressing my thigh into you, and soon you're trembling, pleasure pulsing through you in waves, not intensely enough to get you off, but enough to make you sweat and whimper.
i lean down, whispering in your ear as if to give you a hint. just like that, pretty boy. that's exactly right. keep going and i might release you after all.
you whimper into my chest, rocking harder against me. finally shamelessly pleasuring yourself in my thigh. i know it's mortifying, but you can't seem to stop, you're so desperate for it. i'm tempted to flip us over and let you hump my leg if that's what it takes to satisfy you, but i know that would be all too embarrassing.
finally your little whimpers rise into whines and moans that you muffle in my chest, and i mutter in your ear as you fall into the monotonous rhythm that means you're so close, you'll cum soon if you keep going like that. that's a good boy, i say. a sweet thing like you would win every fight. no one could stand to hurt you.
with a gasping moan, you gush in your trousers, soaking your boxers with cum. your lashes flutter, your chest rising and falling frantically against mine with stuttering breaths.
i nuzzle my nose in your neck as you recover, my grip on you softening. good boy, i say again. my pretty prince.
after that first time, you fight better than ever. you don't let yourself get pinned even once over the next month. obviously it's an effective teaching method - i can't say you're any better at fighting me off when you're pinned, but if you don't get caught in the first place, i can't complain. so next time you're trapped beneath me, i make sure to once again, for your education's sake, trap you helplessly under me, bury my face in your neck, and remind you to be a good boy for me and earn your release.
thinking about being the personal guard to a prince who likes to over indulge and watching him go from a slim thing to chubby within a few months, hiding my blush when i greet him only to see his belly rounding out further and further by the day
he acts all coy about it like he “hasn’t even noticed” and can “definitely lose it” if he wants to but he’s already asking his servants to fetch him a tray of cakes before noon
one day when the prince is unmistakably fat, i walk in on him too stuffed to move but still asking for more because he’s such a spoiled sweet thing, i’m so turned on i can’t even hide it and from the way he’s moaning as he rubs his swollen belly, he clearly is too
he begs me to come over and feed him the rest of his treats and well… who am i to say no? he’s the prince after all
I really am just addicted to the fat helpless noble fantasy. Something about being born into fortune and power, only to grow soft and weak and fat and at the mercy of your knights and servents who just keep feeding you and doting on you like a pet (*´▽｀*)
tonight i leave you with the prince all drunk and stuffed to the gills one night laying down in his bed immobilized by his gluttony, by copious amounts of food and wine stuffed into his massive gut, looking up at his guard with stars in his eyes and whimpering something like ‘you’re so pretty…… fuck’ and then immediately burp afterwards, groan, and clutch the blubber on his belly in the hopes to quell his stomach ache
Introducing King George IV, Prince Regent during the later reign of King George III, and later crowned monarch of the United Kingdom.
His appetite for women, food, and luxury was notorious. He had amounted an extraordinary amount of debt, £630,000 (equivalent to £59,733,000 today) in 1795, which Parliament had to help bail him out of by annual contributions.
“While still Prince of Wales, he had become obese through his huge banquets and copious consumption of alcohol, making him the target of ridicule on the rare occasions that he appeared in public; by 1797 (39 years old) his weight had reached 17 stone 7 pounds (111 kg; 245 lb). By 1824, his corset was made for a waist of 50 inches (130 cm).”
His doctor made the following remark: “His Majesty’s constitution is a gigantic one, and his elasticity under the most severe pressure exceeds what I have ever witnessed in thirty-eight years’ experience.”
All paintings and drawings of him by royal court artists, such as Sir Thomas Lawrence, painter of the portrait above, concealed his vast size and painted him looking more youthful than his age.
He was 53 and reportedly 300lbs at the time of this painting:
However, printed tabloids of the 18th and early 19th century that were renowned for their cartoons that poked viscous fun at the upper echelons of society were not so flattering to the reigning monarch.
Sadly, the indulgent, nutrient deficient lifestyle of the very wealthy and the lack of modern medical care in those times lead to a particularly grisly end for George IV, who suffered from gout and dropsy amongst other ailments, so reading further on our plump prince isn’t advised for kink purposes.
Honourable mention: King Henry VIII
This monarch, infamous for his 6 wives, one of whom he detested so much that he actually reformed and appointed himself head of the Church Of England to go against the Vatican’s papal decree that be no be allowed to annul his marriage to his first wife in order to marry his second, was also a man of considerable size.
Injured in a jousting accident, the formerly athletic royal “late in life, (Henry) became obese, with a waist measurement of 54 inches (140 cm), and had to be moved about with the help of mechanical inventions”.
Here’s a painting of him, based on an original master work by Hans Holbein the Younger that was lost to fire, that is housed at Petworth House in West Sussex, England.
I’ve hijacked an adorable chubby prince post and made it about fat Kings of English history, sorry about that. As a young English child, hearing about these obese monarchs gave me an uncomfortable, and wholly familiar, feeling that I can now identity as a massive fucking fat kink. I can only hope that my obsessive childhood interest in this tyrant was misconstrued for a love of history.
If ever in London, I’d highly recommend visiting Hampton Court Palace in the beautiful borough of Richmond, worth a visit itself, which is one of King Henry VIII’s residences still around and open to the public today.
That National Portrait gallery, to the north of Trafalgar Square, houses some of our best portraits of our Tudor and Hanoverian monarchs and court nobility - and it’s free to visit!
a witch cursing a prince for being too mean to the village folk by making his appetite ten times stronger and each meal having the same amount of calories as three meals. but the weight doesn’t just instantly pile on, it starts off as a small bloated belly, but within a few weeks the belly doesn’t go down, it continues to grow fatter than the day before. soon enough, his royal robes no longer fit, belly hanging low, chin tripling, even growing tits at that point.
he’s still just as rude as before, but too focused on his food now to realise his lesson
There’s something really cute about rich, spoiled fat boys. Just having all of their whims and desires taken care of for their whole lives, and having the bodies to show for it
Agreed! They’re waited on hand and foot by maids and butlers, never having to do anything but grow fat off their family’s wealth. They should be a handsome, refined gentleman but they’re just cute butterballs that keep bursting out of their fancy 3-piece suits and struggle to waddle around their mansion.
oh to be a pretty little prince who deliberately teases his knight all day while they have to maintain composure, knowing damn well that the second we get back to my chambers they're going to make me pay for every second of it
Imagine a fat royal in complete denial and everyone's too scared to try to tell them they've gained any weight. They insist nothing's changed and theyre perfectly thin even as they need 3-4 servants to help them sit up in bed as another keeps feeding them
and no one ever dares to say anything, they just go along with it.
of course, our dear royal would still wear their old clothing, which rips all the time and they pretend not to hear anything, they even waddle. feasts are also highly frequent
