I canāt stop thinking about it anymore.
I want it so fucking bad. I need a feeder who doesnāt give a shit about limits, who sees how pathetic and greedy I already am and justā¦ keeps pushing.
I want to be trapped under hundreds and hundreds of pounds of my own soft, useless blubber. I want my belly to sag so heavy it pins me to the bed, rolls cascading over rolls, sweat pooling in every deep crease while I wheeze just from existing. I want stretch marks like lightning bolts splitting across my skin, red and angry at first, then turning silver as proof of how much Iāve surrendered.
I want to feel the tube shoved down my throat when my jaw gets too tired, thick calorie sludge pumping straight into me 24/7āshakes so dense they feel like cement, heavy cream, melted ice cream, oil slicking everything. I want my body to forget what hunger even feels like because Iām never empty. Ever. Just constantly bloated, aching, leaking, my heart hammering against layers of fat like itās trying to escape before it gives out.
I want my legs to fuse into useless pillows of cellulite, my arms too swollen to lift, my chins multiplying until I can barely turn my head. I want to be so immobile that the only movement is the jiggle when someone slaps my gut or forces another funnel session. I want my feederās hands sinking wrist-deep into my sides while they whisper how much prettier Iāll be when Iām closer to the edge, when every breath is a struggle, when my body is finally giving up exactly like I begged it to.
Iām already ruined for anything else. Normal life? Gone. Thin? Laughable. I donāt want escape. I want to sink deeper. I want to be their perfect, disgusting, dying pigāswollen, sweaty, horny and helpless, cumming from the pressure alone while my arteries clog and my organs drown in lard.
Make me so fat I canāt come back.
Make me so fat I stop breathing under my own weight.
Iām begging for it. Iām dripping just typing this.
Iām not leaving this path. Iām already too far gone. š·š¦š°
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