#queer stuffing

[swollenframe]

Ladies! Is your gut pushing your tits apart to either side? Welcome to the hottest women alive club, gorgeous 😍❤️🥵✨!

[hush-writes-stuffing]

Raw Deal

Word count: 787 Summary: There's a reason you're not supposed to eat raw dough when you're baking, as you've quickly discovered.

Theme(s): Stuffing, bloating, stomach expansion, belly noises, discomfort

You knew better. The recipe said it plain: Do not consume raw dough. And yet, the moment you looked down at the batch of freshly-cut cinnamon buns, ready to be set aside to rise, the smell invaded your thoughts with the most alluring of temptations. The cinnamon's tantalizing spiciness contrasted perfectly with the tangy, malty scent of the yeast; the dough was heavy with enough butter and brown sugar to leave your mouth watering.

It couldn't hurt just to snag a taste of the end scraps, right?

But one taste led to another, then another. Almost before you realized it, you'd devoured half the batch of unrisen buns with as little shame as a toddler swiping icing from a birthday cake, washing them all down with a cool glass of milk.

Now you're sprawled in a kitchen chair with all the dignity of a salmon-stuffed bear in a food coma, clutching at the swollen dome of your stomach. You've suffered from bloating before, but this is on a whole other level, your form a monument to bad decisions and bodily rebellion. Wincing, you rub slow circles over the stretch of skin just above your navel. It's hot to the touch even through your shirt, and tight enough that the surface barely gives beneath your fingertips.

This whole debacle would be easier to soldier through if you were only dealing with a little well-deserved pain. But there's also the noise—your guts are letting out an impressive cacophony of gurgles, pops, and rumbles that seem to echo through your flesh. The yeast, it seems, is thriving within the confines of your body, fervently gobbling up sugars and spewing out CO₂ before your interior temperature rises too far and brings the whole process to an end.

That can't happen soon enough.

You try to shift your weight, but that proves to be a mistake. The bloat, momentarily constricted by your last position, returns to fill the newly freed space with a vengeance. You stifle a moan and gingerly lift the hem of your t-shirt, exposing an expanse of belly that has always been soft, but is now shockingly vast. It arches outward in an obscenely rounded curve, shiny with a faint patina of sweat.

Regret flickers through your brain, but it's not a sharp, preachy kind. It's more like, 'Next time, bake them first.' You've learned a valuable lesson, though kind of a dumb one. Still, even as your internal organs try to rearrange themselves around your distending innards, you can't help thinking about how good the dough was—cool, soft with a hint of grainy crunch, the rich creaminess of the butter, the rush of sugar… There are worse ways to go, you think.

You adjust again, spreading your legs wider to relieve some of the pressure at your waist. Your jeans, once comfortably snug, now cut into you like a cruel tourniquet. You fumble with the button and, with a pop, free yourself from their ruthless subjugation. There is a brief, blessed moment of relief; then the dough within you rises another inch, as if buoyed by your surrender.

You lean back and close your eyes, rubbing your palms firmly against your belly. There's a weird comfort to be found in the pressure, like you're holding yourself together. If you focus, it's almost like you can feel the dough fermenting, expanding, the consequences of your gluttony filling up your insides like you're a living, breathing blimp.

The noises have reached a new fever pitch. For a moment, you're pretty sure you can feel bubbles forming, rushing upward, then flattening themselves against the immovable ceiling of your stomach. Each one brings a new, sharper edge of discomfort. You whimper and contemplate your options: try to burp, track down a heating pad, or just let yourself explode in a shower of cinnamon-scented shrapnel.

You go for the burp. It's a desperate, full-body effort—shoulders hunched, chin tucked, hands digging into your bloated gut. The first few attempts die uselessly in your throat. Then something shifts, builds, and finally breaks loose. The embarrassingly resonant burp is long, tremulous, and tinged with the unmistakable flavor of raw dough. For a second, you feel lighter, almost euphoric, but then the void fills instantly with more gas and the pressure returns, doubled.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," you groan, both arms curling instinctively around your midsection. A bead of sweat traces a slow line down your temple. You try easing yourself into a new position, but your belly registers its protest immediately, a long, low gurgle that seems to travel the full circumference of your gut.

If this keeps up, you just might be spherical before the night is out.

Tip Jar ✨ My Stuffing Writing ✨ Commissions

[glutpuppy]

Ribs, cider, pizza, and a banana milkshake for dessert. This dog needs his stuffed belly rubbed

He / They

[swollenframe]

I want you to get so full for me all you can do is squirm and moan around your swollen bulging gut, I love seeing you so taken care of, your limit tested and unravelled into lust. That desperate that your body can only comply with the very literal weight of your desire ❤️. That you’re helpless to be teased or spoiled in this perfect state, moaning at any light touch, melting around a warm hand rubbing out any pressure and eyes wide when I say that you still look hungry 😜.

[swollenframe]

I NEED to be topping a feedee right now, I’ve woken up so horny and I could wake you up with breakfast, hand feeding you and gently rubbing you until you’re awake and full enough to feel my firm grip on your fat thighs, desperate to be grabbing your hips and love handles so I can pull you onto my cock. I want to see your chins, your gut, your chest jiggle and wobble as you find out just how divine you look to me this morning, how you moan as my hands grabs your bulging gut and the kind of face you make when I insist there’s seconds coming 🥵😘❤️

[swollenframe]

It’s the holidays, let me get you so stuffed with breakfast and have you sit your swollen plump ass in my lap, cockwarming me. I’ll rub out any soreness and grope all your blubber while I murmur into your ear about how fat and hot you’ve gotten ❤️. Moan enough and I might just fuck you 😘❤️

[swollenframe]

You can tell I’m a gut/belly person owing to everything on this blog but god fupas and fat pads, losing my mind thinking about sinking into them with my face and the hilt of my strap 🥵🥵🥵🥵

[swollenframe]

A bunch of you were interested in how I tie my workouts to goals for feedees!💪 Let me break down my process and also massive credit and thanks to @fatgumtum for inspiring this in the first place and helping it become fully formed ❤️

How to use your gains, for their weight gains 😉 (a guide)

So, you will see here below a screenshot of my workout tracking app from yesterday’s workout; the categories being total time worked out, total kilograms lifted and how many personal bests I achieved in the workout respectively 💪✨

This can be organised into a three tier eating/stuffing challenge based on feedee ability and capacity;

After every workout I share the screenshot of how it went.

Tier 1 (low difficulty) - Feedee eats/stuffs themself for total time worked out.

Tier 2 (medium difficulty)- Feedee has the total time worked out to eat a number of food items equal to the amount of personal bests achieved. Food items for example 5 burgers and 3 fries, 8 cake slices, etc. Scale them for ability.

Tier 3 (hard mode) - Feedee has until the next workout to eat the total kg lifted converted 1:1 into calories.

Additions and modifiers:

For a diabolical twist you can keep your workout regularity and schedule secret so they don’t know when the next challenge is coming (and tier 3 becomes fear inducing 😘, I tell tier 3 chooser when my next workout is so they can plan).

Tier 2 should be done whenever feedee has time but can be modified if you finish workout at meal times to be that their time starts on receipt on the screenshot.

You can add in a little bit of BDSM motivation into this by establishing that feedee does not get to cum until the challenge is completed

You can run this as either feedee chooses tier each time or as a feedee subscribes to a tier for a length of time

I use the Strong App for tracking workouts but you can do this for any app that gives you those three metrics at the end of every workout.

So from yesterdays workout feedee has the choice of;

Tier 1: Eat consistently for or stuff yourself for 1hr 18mins

Tier 2: Eat 8 food items of your choice within 1hr 18 mins.

Tier 3: You have until my next workout to eat 13,020 calories.

Sounds fun, right? 🥰 There’s a lot of ways to play with this method, and it motivates me to workout harder, more often and get more personal bests 💪 while giving feedee eating goals that get them fatter the more I work out 😘. Tier 1 also allows swimming, running and duration based workouts into the mix too ✨

If you like this method, feel free to use it (just credit me if you’re posting about it). I also can run my own workouts as a public challenge if you feedees following me would enjoy that (: ~let me know~❤️

EDIT: I now post my challenges, find the first one by clicking here 🎉