Thinking about good old stepbro Dabi who bends his pretty little sister over the counter, not giving a shit about whether or not anyone overheard or saw what he was doing to her as he dropped to his knees and ate her out to make her scream around his pierced tongue
A thought I had the other day that made me horny so here it is but with more words
Tags: weight gain, USSBBW, (nearly) immobile fat, female reader
TW: mobility issues, medical issues, light humiliation
Imagine one day, while living with your caring feeder partner, you wake up starving. Your partner is at work, so they can’t feed you. So, you realize, you need to feed yourself. But you quickly realize that this might be a problem: the last time you weighed yourself was when you were at the max for your scale, 650 lbs., and that was at least four months ago. You’d definitely gotten bigger since then. So this is going to be a challenge.
You first begin by shuffling your body along the mattress of your bed, slowly getting your fat-swollen legs off the side of the bed. Once you’re sitting, you pause to catch your breath. Even doing so much as sitting up takes tons of effort. Once you’ve caught your breath, you begin the new effort of getting to a standing position. It’s difficult to get enough momentum when you’re struggling with this much fat, but you manage to after nearly ten failed attempts. You can feel your gut slap against your blubbery legs as you stand up, and your boobs slap against your gut. You groan as you give yourself another moment to catch your breath. Getting winded this easily… you might want to invest in getting an oxygen tank.
You take hold of the cane that sits against the wall in front of you. These days, there was barely a chance that you could walk around without needing some kind of support. Unfortunately, your scooter didn’t fit into the bedroom, so until you got to the hall, your cane would suffice.
Now began the hard part: slowly taking steps toward the hallway. Well, it wasn’t really steps, it was more like a shuffled waddle forward. You only manage to get forward a few inches at a time, and your pudgy hand is holding onto your cane for dear life. The fat on your legs wobbles and slaps together, and the fat in your arms sways in time with them. The hunger in your stomach is slowly starting to worsen, especially now that you’re moving so much.
Sweat begins to bead and drop down your forehead as you continue your lumbering stride. You quietly whine to yourself, wishing that your partner was here to rush you back to the bed and get you food. But no such luck.
Finally, you reach the door, and you sigh with relief. The worst part of the journey is almost over. Knowing that there’s no way that you’d get through the door facing forward, you waddle around so that you’re exiting the door from the side. You shuffle slowly to the side into the hallway— and then you’re not moving.
You turn your head around as much as your fat neck and chin can manage to try to find the problem, and it’s immediately apparent. Your butt crack is wedged in the door. And since your stomach is already pushing into the doorframe ahead of you, it’s difficult now to move. You groan with irritation as you try to think of a plan forward. Something that’s definitely more difficult to do when you’re out of breath, sweating like a pig, and starving.
You take in as large of a breath as you can manage, and grab your belly as low as you can reach, lifting it up and back by just a few inches. But good news, it’s the few inches you need to finish getting through the door! Once you’re out on the other side, you sigh with relief. You let go of your huge gut, and it falls with a loud slap back to hanging over your legs.
Thankfully, getting into the scooter just requires you to sit in a seat and swivel to the controls. Once you’re sat down, you flick the button to the motorized scooter on.
Nothing happens.
You try again.
Nothing.
It’s still plugged in— did the battery die during the night?
At this realization, you nearly burst into tears. Just getting here was hard enough, and the distance to the kitchen isn’t that far at all! But the thought of walking more just makes your legs hurt even more. And as you contemplate your situation, your stomach gurgles to get your attention.
You’d have to just push through the pain. It was worth it to get something in your belly.
Thankfully, you still have your walker, which you used before switching over from the scooter. It’s sitting folded right next to you. With a heavy sigh, you heave yourself off of the scooter and back to your feet. You unfold the walker and set it in front of you. Your fat-swollen hands grip onto the handles for dear life, and you begin to trudge forward again.
This walk is still very similar to before— a very slow waddle forward. You can feel your hugeness with every step you take. Every part of you is constantly jiggling, constantly moving around. Sometimes you can feel your hips brush against the hallway walls, reminding you of just how much space you take up. The only sounds you can hear is your fat slapping together and your heavy, labored breathing.
Yeah, you definitely needed to invest in an oxygen tank.
After what feels like hours, you finally make it to your kitchen. You almost start crying from joy as you excitedly waddle toward the food-filled room. You stop right at the fridge, opening it and letting the cold air inside escape to cool off your skin. Your fridge is at least quadruple the size of any normal fridge, and in the door you see the holy grail: gallon tubs of ice cream.
Hastily, you grab a spoon, and you collect all the containers from the top half and drop them to the ground. You then slowly bend down and set yourself down on the cold tile floor. You pop the first lid off and begin to devour it like you haven’t eaten in days.
Time starts to go by in a blur. This ice cream is now the center of your attention. You greedily take in spoonful after spoonful, trying to get all of it in your stomach before it melts. The first tub is gone in mere minutes, though it looks like at least a third of it was covering your face and gut.
You keep eating and eating. You’ve never felt more happy to be filling your huge belly with food. The second container is finished off. Then the third. And then the fourth.
You start to come to your senses when you are halfway through your eighth tub. Discarded gallon tubs surround you, and there’s bits of ice cream smeared almost everywhere. Your stomach feels heavy, and you eat much slower than you did before.
When it’s finally empty, you simply drop the tub back onto the table. Your stomach feels more full than it has in a while; and a quick rub with your hand confirms your fullness. You couldn’t pack anything else in there even if you wanted to. You lean back in your chair, now almost in a haze. You feel your stomach gurgle, now protesting being this full so quickly.
As you wipe some of the leftover ice cream onto your hand to lick it off your fingers, a sudden belch erupts from your mouth. It gives your stomach a bit of a relief, though, so you barely pay it any mind.
Through your haze, you hear the sound of the front door opening and footsteps approach. With half-lidded eyes, you look up to your partner and manage to mumble, “when’s….. dinner….?”
