One of your favorite past times when you were lighter was having sex with your partner. They knew just how you liked to be touched, what you liked to hear while they brought you over the edge, sometimes you’d even get to eat sugary treats while they brought you to climax over and over again
But there came a certain point where some positions didn’t work anymore because of your size. You got out of breath when you were on top and riding your partner. When you were on your back your breasts would sometimes smack you in the face. So you were restricted to having sex on your hands and knees. Often while you shoved your face into greasy food in a makeshift trough.
Eventually you got so big that it became difficult to reach under all your fat rolls to find your genitals, so sex stopped becoming a two-way street. If your partner was horny, they simply had to settle for fucking one of your fat rolls while you sat on your lard-ridden ass and continued to glut yourself. Most often, they chose your belly button, since it was a hole that was much easier to access, but if they managed to roll you onto your huge belly, they’d fuck your ass cheeks or thighs.
And you didn’t really mind being essentially a cum-dump, you were much too distracted by constantly filling your belly and getting fatter by the day. If you really needed to cum, your partner would shove a vibrator under your huge fupa and turn it on the highest setting until you were satisfied, and then you’d go back to mindlessly guzzling down calories so you could get even more burdened by your own fat.
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….?”
So I did. Exactly one day of the feedist kinktober
Fic contains: immobility, health issues, dark feedism, sadistic feeder
————————————————————————
As a guardian angel, Michael takes his job very seriously. He has a perfect track record of keeping his charges on the straight and narrow, something not even the elder guardian angels could boast about! He’s perfected his method over the years, and now it’s time for him to visit his latest charge once again.
With a flash of light, Michael appears inside a small, dingy apartment. The air smells stale and vaguely of body odor. He snaps his fingers, making a platter full of burgers appear on the table, which he then picks up and carries into another room.
His charge is currently lying on his bed, wheezing faintly as oxygen flows into his nose through a tube. His body is overflowing with fat, some of it sagging off the mattress and touching the floor. His arms hang uselessly at his sides, his joints buried in fatty tissue, his fingers akin to sausages. His legs are likely somewhere under his behemoth-like belly, also buried in fat like his arms. His chins have melted into his neck, creating a ring of fatty tissue that supports his head. His eyes look glazed over, the only sign of life being his labored breathing and the occasional twitch of his useless fingers.
“It’s time for lunch!” Michael calls as he sets the platter of burgers down on a tray beside the table. He carefully crawls up the mountain of sweaty fat that is his charge’s gut, stopping only when he gets to the very peek of his swollen middle. He watches as his charge’s chest slowly rises and falls, with flabby moobs sagging down and making the task more difficult. He takes a burger off the tray and holds it up to his charge’s mouth.
“Eat up!” Michael commands, and his charge obediently opens his mouth. Michael stuffs the burger into his mouth, then another. The entire time, a satisfied smile is plastered on Michael’s face.
It’s impossible to sin if you’re too fat to do anything else, after all.
Chiaki does what she does best (gaming) while Hajime attends to her needs.
Tags: nudity, BBW, stuffing, unhealthy eating
Chiaki opened her mouth, and Hajime obediently stuffed another donut inside it. She’s been going at this game for hours now, and she doesn’t show any sign of stopping. Her clothes are covered in crumbs from today’s binge, with her swollen belly poking out from under her shirt.
“Finally,” Chiaki said with a heavy sigh, and placed her controller down on her belly. “Finally got the highest score in this level. Five minutes off my personal best.”
“That sounds amazing!” Hajime congratulated her as he placed a kiss on her chubby cheek. “Done with tonight’s session, then?”
Chiaki nodded and slowly rose from her extra large gaming chair. Her belly was taunt and full, yet still sagged a bit onto her thighs. She grabbed the band of her sweatpants and pulled them up with a faint grunt, forcing the fabric back over her wide ass. She brushed the crumbs off her clothes before looking over to Hajime.
“Can you get me a bag of chips and a soda?” she asked as she began to waddle toward their bed. “Still need my midnight snack before bed.”
Hajime nodded and quickly retrieved the family size bag of chips and a liter of soda. He turned to Chiaki, who was stripping herself of her clothes, letting her fat hang free before getting onto their bed. Once she was comfortable, he handed her the chips, and she immediately began devouring the contents of the bag. More crumbs fell in the cleavage of her triple D-cup breasts, and her fingers were covered in artificial cheese dust. Once the bag was empty, Hajime handed her the soda, and she began to guzzle it down. He watched as her belly grew even more taunt, a faint gurgling noise coming from it as it was filled with more junk. Once the bottle was empty, she burped and tossed the bottle aside.
Hajime leaned over to dust the crumbs off her body, letting himself feel the softness of her skin as he dutifully cleaned her up. She was half asleep by the time he was done, and he continued to rub her belly as she drifts into tonight’s food induced sleep.
Elliot has overindulged, and the farmer has a pie— stuffing ensues.
Weigh gain, belly kink, fat kink, stuffing kink, burping kink
CW: Bloating, stuffing, burping
“I think I- hic- overindulged at the festival…”
Elliott sits on your shared bed, gently massaging his stuffed middle. He’d definitely filled up, but you couldn’t blame him, it was the Feast of the Winter Star, after all. His routine had become rather sedentary after he moved in with you on the farm, so he’s definitely put on a few pounds. That, plus the fact his stomach is bloated, makes it clear that the buttons on his shirt are struggling to stay fastened.
You sit down beside him, running your fingers over his poor stomach. He sighs in relief, letting you massage his belly to relieve some of the pressure. You push down a little bit, and he suddenly lets out a loud burp. He immediately covers his mouth as his face turns to a shade of bright pink.
“E-Excuse me,” he mutters, and you can’t help but giggle to yourself. Even now, he’s still trying to be dignified. You press a kiss to his cheek, and as you do, a devilish thought enters your mind.
“Guess what Evelyn gave me this year?” you ask him, and he slightly shrugs his shoulders. “Oh, she gave me the most amazing pumpkin pie. I tried a few bites myself, it was delicious!” You pat his middle as you speak, feeling that he was now slightly less bloated due to the burping. “You should try it before we go to bed, it’s still warm after all.”
He seems to ponder the idea for a moment. Knowing him, he was asking himself a rather familiar question. Should he eat just a little more, or be done for the night? Evelyn’s baked goods are always so tasty, and he does have a strong sweet tooth…
“I suppose I can try a slice or two,” he finally says. You smile and get up from the bed.
“I’ll bring it here for you, okay?
—//—
Elliott moans as he swallows down another bite of pie. He’s long since abandoned his sophistication— he has crumbs covering his clothes, and his legs are spread wide open to make room for his now very large gut.
“I-I don’t know if I can—”
“Please just one more big bite, then we can call it a night?”
He’s yet again unable to say no. He opens his mouth, and you feed him one more bite of pie. He hesitates while chewing, but then swallows it down. He reaches over for the glass of milk you had gotten in and takes a few gulps to wash it down. He sets the now empty glass aside, and sits back a little.
“I haven’t felt this full since—”
*Snap!*
Suddenly, his pants button and shirt button fly off his clothes, just narrowly missing your head and hitting the wall behind you. His gut sags down, now touching the mattress of the bed. He stares at the wall with a surprised expression, his face one again turning a bright pink. You simply lean him and kiss him while you caress his belly.
“That was the last bite,” you say as you pull away. “Eating a nearly full pie, bursting out of your clothes… I might just have to put you in the barn with the rest of the cows and pigs.”
Elliott blushes at the comment. “I-I didn’t mean to—”
“But you enjoyed it, didn’t you?”
He hesitates before slowly nodding. You get to work removing the rest of his shirt and pants, tossing them away into a corner of the room.
“Now, let’s get you all comfy,” you say as you pull one of the blankets over his body. You then get up, taking the empty pie tin and glass to the kitchen. When you return, Elliott is already fast asleep, one hand sitting on top of his stomach. You smile and get in bed beside him, gently massaging his belly as you fall asleep.
Based on your last reblog,, maybe Shane from sdv and number 25,,,,, (ur writing is so v good I wish I could write stuff like this well T^T)
(Aww ty! I’m glad you like my writings so much!)
(Also I’m not very practiced when it comes to writing Shane so pls forgive me if this sounds weird at all)
Shane couldn’t remember a single day in the past several years where he didn’t put on his beloved blue jacket. Even during the summer, when things got warm and he spent more time outside tending to his chickens, he would wear it out of pure habit.
Which is why he felt so dismayed upon seeing that his jacket was finally too small for him to wear. It squeezed his arms uncomfortably, and he couldn’t pull the jacket far enough over his gut to zip it. And he was afraid to pull it too much, seeing how old the garment was.
He sighed as he shrugged the jacket off and put his hand on his belly. Years of drinking beer and eating junk food certainly hadn’t helped his waistline, and now that he lived with the farmer, who enjoyed taking care of their livestock, he was spending more of his time watching television and eating whatever meals the farmer happened to make for them. He was sure that always having seconds didn’t help anything either, but he couldn’t help it— they were such a good cook and always insisted he have seconds, sometimes even thirds!
“Guess it’s time to retire you just like my gridball jerseys,” Shane says as he makes his way over to the closet and places his jacket on a shelf in the back. Maybe he could convince Emily to make him a new one, she knew how to sew and was a pretty good seamstress, after all. Maybe the farmer wouldn’t mind helping him, too— he’d been learning from Emily and had even brought one of her sewing machines to their house.
He heard his stomach growl in a low tone, and he steps away from the closet. “Alright, alright, I know,” he mumbles as he goes back to his couch and sits down, his belly spreading out onto his lap. “I’ve got more than enough pizza and beer to keep you satisfied during the gridball game.” He turns the television on and picks up a slice of pizza. It was probably for the best his jacket didn’t fit now, since the food he loved tended to stain his clothes.
But that was a problem for future Shane. So he sits back and watches as the game begins.
A second person fic where the reader realizes that they can barely move.
Warnings: Weight gain, mobility issues, health issues, light slob, feeder/feedee relationship
You huff as you try desperately to push yourself up to your feet. You’ve been planted on the couch since this morning, like always, and the doorbell had rung to let you know your third delivery of food has arrived.
“I’m— coming—!” You wheeze between heavy breaths. You just finished off at least three of your two liter bottles of soda, and your gut was gurgling in protest due to your movements. Finally, you manage to haul yourself to your feet, your entire body wobbling with the effort it took to even breathe. You begin to waddle away from the couch, your chubby hand immediately grabbing the handle of your bariatric walker. Slowly, you haul your massive body across the small distance to the door— even this much movement is causing you to sweat profusely.
When you reach the door, you open it to greet the delivery driver standing outside your door. Their eyes bulge as they look at your massive body, more fat than muscle, barely clothed save for a tight shirt that stretches across your chest to hide your nipples. You wordlessly grab the food and shut the door in their face, groaning as you realize you now have to make the trek back to the couch.
Your fat-riddled thighs rub together uncomfortably as you slowly waddle back to the couch. Once you’re in front of your seat, you immediately sit down, the piece of furniture creaking dangerously under your weight. You open the bag and barely give yourself time to catch your breath before you begin scarfing down the greasy meal. Seven bacon cheeseburgers, two ten-piece chicken nuggets, three large fries, and two ice cream shakes. You barely give yourself enough time to swallow down one bite before you’re scarfing down more food, desperate to fill your huge gut as fast as you can.
Once the food is gone, you belch as you pat your food-swollen belly. Crumbs litter your stretch-mark covered skin, and all your wrappers have ended up on the floor, encircling your monument to obesity. Every single part of you feels huge, and you find your sex throbbing at the sensation. You haven’t been able to masturbate in a long time; instead, you begin jiggling your swollen middle, causing your fat pad to rub against your privates. Even this is enough to make you work up a sweat.
Belches leave your mouth as you slowly begin to get to your peak, your chubby face now red with exertion. You huff desperately, fighting against your own body to get to your pleasure. Finally, you hit your climax, and you groan as you feel cum under your fat pad. You release your gut, and it slaps against your tree-trunk sized thighs, making you groan. Your breathing is labored as you try to regain your composure— with how chubby your cheeks are, it’s difficult to do so.
You glance down to your phone sitting beside you. You grab it with your fat swollen hands and fight against your chubby fingers to work it. All this work has made you hungry.
Once upon a time, you would sit at the dinner table, endlessly stuffing yourself until your gut was tight and full, and then you’d sleep through the food coma that would inevitably come until you woke up to do it all again.
Now, you just guzzle down calorie-dense slop through a tube, your gut covering your lap and preventing you from moving, now cursed by your own gluttony to never really feel full.
