#mutual stuffing

[craving-cas]

I need to desperately make out with another fat boy, stuffing treats into each others mouths between kisses, humping and grinding on fat thighs, our bellies squished against each other

[bluebelly-cake]

Mutual stuffing ideas have been quiet because I've been offline for a bit, but I'd love to stuff you and be stuffed by you. Then cuddle and watch a movie with our hands all over each other bellies, maybe imagining some wlw made babies in there, growing big and strong. I'd love to get my hands all over your prefectly round bump, hold it, rub it, knead at it, pepper kisses on it as your digestion kicks in and lulls you to sleep. Although seeing both of our round bellies next to each other? The thought has me so hot, It'd take a long time for me to chill out and fall asleep beside you.

Anyways, lets be gay

hands all over each other bellies 🫠🫠 feeling taut skin and all the bubbling inside, comparing who got more bloated

I want so many artworks and stories about this, as much as possible 🥺 a full belly is nice BUT TWO!! why is this so underrated?

[chubbytransguy]

chat how do i ask all my moots if they’re around my area so we can meet up and gorge ourselves at a buffet

[stuffed-dyke]

Thinking back to my vacation to Cancun and how I waited last minute to get some new swim trunks. I accidentally ordered the wrong size and didn’t have time to return them, so only 1 out of the 3 pairs I had actually fit.

For most of the trip I was crammed into these tight trunks that hugged my legs like sausage casings. They dug into my hips and emphasized my little love handles as I spent my days drinking cocktails in the pool.

Every day, I was stuffing myself with amazing buffet and restaurant food. And every day I could feel my size small swimsuit get more strained while showing off my ever bloating belly.

I was so horny that entire trip and want to do it again some day with a sweet, encouraging feeder or mutual gainer.

[alphasunpup]

I don't know if it's the spring weather (which is BS if you live on the east coast. Feels like mother nature is punishing us for global warming. One week 90 degrees and my underwear sticks to my ass, next day 50s and my blood moves sluggishly through my body...anyway), the upcoming full moon, or the recent stress of transitioning from undergrad to professional and reapplying to PhD programs but I have been fucking starving recently.

Yesterday ordered Chicken Katsu curry rice plate with a taro boba and auntie anne's

Day before got a chicken sandwich and fries from a local area and them chicken sandiwches are the side of my wee head

Today I ordered 3 sushi rolls, shrimp tempura, miso soup, coke can, tempura cheesecake, and a salad came with my meal.

Ate.

It.

All.

I be forgetting I have an insatiable appetite when my funds allow for it. And of course I whined to my gf about her not being there to encourage by debauchery and she whined back over the phone and then we ended up stuffing ourselves over the phone. Fuck. Anyway, thought I'd at least give updates. I've been thinking about writing some kinky fan fiction or short fiction but I gotta figure my shit out first. Definitely growing more gluttonous as the weather gets warmer and the moon rises. I just feel hungrier, ya know?

All well, local werewolf/werebear tings. Till we meet again or I remember to stop lurking on my own damn account. Ta!

[thehighferal]

Ah, see, that's the trick with stuffing for an extended period of time, doing it with someone turns it into an event where you can keep teasing and encouraging each other

It doesn't just make the initial stuffing more enjoyable by keeping you excited and squirming, it helps the time pass too so that the hour or two it takes for your body to start emptying your stomach comes a lot sooner than you think. And, by then, you're already practically begging for more teasing and more food :P

Going solo takes a lot more energy, honestly, even when you're into it

I was thinking I'd need some just to remind me and make me eat, but i feel like that has a hint of mutual stuffing to it 😏🤤

[queercoshon]

I wrote another thing! This one has been in the works for a while. It is also posted on my deviantart. It's a little bit softer than the usual content I post. As always, please feel free to leave suggestions/ideas

‐------------

When I first moved into your spare room, I was definitely on the smaller side. Adult life had bulldozed me, and I learned quick meals and protein bars were the easiest way for me to eat. If I had to make something more complicated, chances are I would just forget to eat entirely.

You, on the other hand, loved to cook, bake, and create different cocktails. Every overindulgence in the past few years showed on your body, curves cascading down your back and flaring at your hips, and your belly often hanging over the waistband of your pants.

You quickly picked up on my food habits, and were quite frankly appalled.

"How can you not love food? Every flavour, every texture? Food is art to me. Have you had good food before?"

I shrugged, because, no, not really. My experience with food thus far had been boxed pastas, cans of soups and chilis, whatever frozen meals were on sale, and various boxed snacks. Eating them didn't bring me a fraction of the joy you got just from talking about food.

Thus began your mission of making me fall in love with at least one dish.

You really could have stopped at the first dish. The leek and potato stew blew my mind. I had never had leeks and found potatoes flavourless mush. But somehow you managed to make such mundane ingredients into a symphonious dish, tastes layering over one another. I could not get enough. The warmth spread from my stomach to encompass my body, and in my cozy bliss I just kept eating, chasing the high of this delectable experience.

I had eaten so much my stomach didn't even slosh when I painstakenly got up from the table.

Your first success spurred you into overdrive. You sought different flavour profiles and combinations, testing to see which ones would make me melt. Most of them did.

Most days I was coming home to the scent of dinner leading me down the hall, with an underlying sweetness hinting at dessert.

You tried a wide range of cuisines. Pot pies, various proteins with rice and veggies, curries from all around the world, and so many different types of pasta. Desserts include cobblers, doughnuts, pies, cakes, and a variety of pastries. I could not believe how much flavour was in everything, and was desperate to get as much of it as possible. Every meal ended with me breathing shallowly, hand caressing my overburdened gut, and you with a satisfied smirk on your face.

With your increase in cooking came your increase in eating. Slowly your body started to billow outward, filling out all your clothes, finally forcing you to look at specialty stores to restock.

My weight gain was not so slow. My body was so used to running on minimal to average calories, it didn't know what to do with the sudden influx, now having to process at least twice what I used to eat in a day.

The first place it was noticable was my gut. It only took a week or two before I had a cute little pot belly. It would push open the buttons on my shirt, and cause issues when buttoning my pants. The rest of my body followed suit. My thighs and ass started to swell, my arms felt constricted in my t-shirts, and a double chin was quickly noticable. I barely noticed. I was so caught up in a whirlwind of culinary pleasure that I paid no mind to my tightening waistbands and my gut starting to peak out of my shirt.

Soon you started cooking breakfast, too. The table would be covered in food, from pancakes to bacon, hashbrowns to quiche. Each day there was something different, and each day I gorged until nearly comatose.

Eating like this every day rapidly changed my body, I had put on 100lbs in 11 months, from the first time you made that stew. I had upgraded my wardrobe 4 times, and was needing to again soon.

And then is was December. The month of overindulgence. Holiday parties every weekend. Potlucks, cocktail parties, hearty meals, sometimes multiple events in the same day.

This was the first time I truly appreciated food; the tastes, the textures, and the stories behind each dish. I tried everything, and then I tried everything again. Most nights I struggled to waddle from the car to my bed. On the rare occasions I wasn't fit to burst, you sat me down on the couch and made me try your creations for the next party. On those nights, I was bound to pass out in the living room, eyes glazed over, gut too stuffed to think about getting up.

Despite all the socializing and gatherings, Christmas day was quiet, just the two of us. I didn't want to fly across the country to see my few relatives, and you were going to do a late holiday dinner with your family at the end of January, when work slowed down for your parents.

I received two sets of pajamas that year. One from you, plaid pants and a red flannel top. It was a little big, but we both knew that wouldn't be the case for long. The other pair I got was from a childhood friend I hadn't seen in person in over 2 years. The pants were baby blue with snowflakes, and the tank top had a cheesy graphic and the phrase "Let it Snow!"

When you went to go work on the feast planned for the day, I tried the second pair of pajamas on. Despite being incredibly stretchy, I could barely get the pants past my thighs. My ass was hanging out the back, and the drawstrings were instantly lost in the waistband. The graphic on the shirt was horrendously distorted, and I could feel a breeze on the bottom of my belly. I was about to change back into the first pair of pjs when you called me for Christmas meal. My mind now only focused on one thing, I stopped what I was doing and lumbered to the table.

You called it Christmas Meal, because it was past noon, but well before dinner time. With the amount of food you made though, we could be there well into the night. There was the traditional fixings; turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans, honey roasted carrots, sweet potato casserole, and dinner rolls, but you also added a baked ziti dish, homemade pizza rolls, and cottage pie. Bottles of wine, apple cider, and sparking water lined the middle of the table. There was enough food for 10 people, and we were just 2. I could smell desserts being baked to perfection in the other room.

"This looks amazing! I've never had anything like this. I'm sorry I couldn't help..."

You patted my stomach and laughed. "The only help I need is getting it all eaten. Load up and dig in!"

I piled my plate high with everything I could fit. It would take me at least 2 plates to try everything, probably 3 with the portion sizes I was taking. I looked over, and saw your plate faced the same overburdened fate as mine.

You ladled me a generous glass of mulled wine from the crock pot.

"Cheers!"

And then we fell into a frenzied silence, only the cacophony of two gluttons enjoying a sinfully indulgent feast, and the tv still playing Christmas special reruns in the other room made noise in our tiny apartment.

I still don't know how you did it, but every bite I took had me holding back a moan.

My family had attempted to make a turkey once in my life, and it resulted in a tasteless hunk of disappointment, the bird so dried out that the white meat was somehow pointy and sharp. The one you made was opposite to everything I expected. It was nearly falling apart in my mouth, the seasoning from the brine and rub made it to every bite. Different levels of flavours washed over me, and my eyes nearly rolled into the back of my head.

Every dish you made was like this. Some of them I had equally dismal expectations of, like the green beans, sweet potato casserole, mashed potatoes, and pizza rolls, all things my family had made sacrilege of once. Everything else I either hadn't had, or only had store bought. Even the best store bought ziti bake didn't come close to yours.

I was put into a trance. There was not a moment where I was still, constantly chewing, swallowing, and reaching for the next bite. Everything was washed down with copious amounts of wine and cider.

My shirt was pushed up by my rounding gut, bunched up under my chest by the end of the 3rd plate, my cheeks were warm, and every gurgle my belly let out just pushed me to eat more.

Your clothes had given up containing your belly. It sat naked on full display, hanging out of your defeated shirt, pushing your thighs apart as it sank further. You were absent-mindedly rubbing the crest of your gut as you shoved another role in your mouth. I poured the last of the 2nd bottle of wine in your glass, and popped open the 3rd to serve myself.

It wasn't until just after starting my 7th plate that I realised how overstuffed I was. It all hit me at once, the bottom of my belly itching as my skin stretched around my stomach swelling forward, my breathe shallow and pained, my lungs given no room to expand, pushing out a burp with every other gasp of air. I couldn't lean back without getting a stitch.

You were in a similar state. Hiccups jolting your body shaking out burps, your hands gingerly massaging your gut which was red and almost shiny.

I don't know how long we sat there, just rubbing our guts and moaning. There was still food left, but maybe enough for 1 averaged-sized meal for both of us. Everything else was crammed into our bellies.

Firmly drunk now, the sensation of rubbing my belly was sending sparks along all my nerves. Between that and riding the high of the first Christmas meal I had ever enjoyed, I was lost in my own little world of bliss.

A harsh timer bell going off in the kitchen jolted me out of my stupor, unleashing a string of burps and a new bout of hiccups. You groaned as you got up, supporting your back and belly like you were 9 months pregnant.

You looked at me with a wine-soaked grin.

"Ready for dessert?"

[pizzaatum]

officially an office piggy! working with my buttons undone while snacking hehehe