BigBelliedBro🐽

i want you bigger

i want to see how much you can eat, glut yourself, having so much you can barely move

so much that you surprise yourself

i want you insatiable, gorging and mindless, feeling how heavy you're becoming with every bite and swallow you cram in

i mean it, feel yourself

how fucking fat you are.

the way your belly curves and bends, the way your pudge gives beneath your chubby fingers. don't stop eating while you do this, keep stuffing yourself as you explore your body and what you're doing to it, to yourself, squeeze where you've grown, where you want to grow more

it's intoxicating, letting go, isn't it?

no longer holding yourself back from desire and pleasure, embracing softness and wobbling fat, edging and expanding your concept of fullness until it takes so much to satisfy you

making all those noises. can you hear yourself? the moaning, the panting, the pleased sighs, the grunting, the burps and the overfull groaning. greedy, needy sounds. all coming out shamelessly as you put more and more in

i want you to get fatter

be good, keep eating

until fullness and pleasure, just the thought of food, makes you wet and wanting and desperate

until you're spilling out of all your clothes. until they're ill-fitting, your navel indent obvious and deep. until pulling and tugging and readjusting is futile. your body barely contained by straining fabric and struggling buttons, your gaining undeniable with every riiiip and pop

i want to see the aftermath of your hedonism

you struggling to sit up. short breaths and satisfied exhales as you rub your overtaxed tummy. the only evidence of your gargantuan meal being empty containers and cleared plates. you, shocked at your uncontrollable appetite, that you ate all of this by yourself, that you're clearly so submissive to being filled and only slipping deeper into gluttony

barely able to process how turned on you are, pinned back in your seat, slapping and jiggling your fat as you get off to how tender and sensitive and fucking heavy you are

and after all that?

Your weight is out of control, like seriously.

I didn’t wanna say anything cause I know I played a part in it, but this is insane. At first, I didn’t think about it cause everyone gains weight sometimes, yknow? It’s normal. But you’ve blown up so quickly, it’s almost like you’re doing it on purpose.

I can admit that it all started after that treacherous group project- even though you weren’t that small back then, but whatever. I didn’t see the harm in a hotbox followed by some fast food after every session. I thought it would be a nice treat after we put in all that work.

And when the project was over our group saw it right to celebrate. So we went even bigger; edibles at the buffet. Again, I can admit that we all ate more than we could usually handle, but you? You made a spectacle of yourself. You carried two packed plates each time you got up and it sounded like you were out of breath each time you had to get up. I don’t know if you realized, but when we were leaving your shirt rode up and everybody could see your belly and the top of your ass crack. Oh, and your shirt was clinging to your belly. You even said you looked pregnant, then you started rubbing your gut like you were. We thought it was funny and a couple other people even joined in. But I digress.

Even after the project when we really became friends, we would do the same thing. Get high and eat, get drunk and eat, get cross faded and eat. I noticed you pudging up, but I thought you would bounce back like I do. But you didn’t, and I think it might be too late for that anyway.

You know what else I noticed? You have like, no more stamina. Everybody has to climb the same flight of stairs to get to my room, but you be huffing and puffing when you get here and it lasts for at least five minutes. And it’s getting worst. Like fuck, I’m only on the second floor.

I mean, we can’t even go out anymore cause when you’re always complaining about how all of your clothes are too tight. I mean they are, sometimes when you’re reaching for stuff your belly peeks out… and your shorts ride up a lot. But it’s so obvious why they don’t fit. So we end up staying in, getting faded, and ordering a bunch of food.

And I’m sorry, but going to the mall with you is so draining. I love the shopping and stuff but you start complaining about how you’re “starving” after one store and I end up in the food court waiting for you to go to two or three different restaurants. And THEN I have to sit and wait for half an hour while you shove everything down your gullet while people stare. Aren’t you embarrassed by that?

Ugh, and when we go grocery shopping? The junk you put in your cart is something to be ashamed of. I know Little Debbie HATES to see you coming. I mean, pints of the fattiest ice creams, chips, snack cakes, 2 liter sodas, chocolates, candies… Your cart is always packed but there’s never a vegetable in sight. Isn’t that concerning?

And it’s showing in your body. You have stretch marks all over your belly and love handles, your arms are puckering, you have a double chin now, and your thighs have cellulite all over them. Fuck, you jiggle with every step you take. And again, you’re out of breath all the time. When you come by me, when you get up to go to the bathroom, when you eat... I can literally hear you breathing hard right now, and you’re just sitting there.

Is this your fetish or something? No judgement. I mean, why else would you be doing this to yourself? You stuff your face then “joke” about how fat you feel, like you want me to validate your gluttony or something. You always wear these skimpy little clothes when you come over like you want me to ogle at your growing body, and you eat until you can’t move every time we stay in. And even when we would go out, you swore you couldn’t leave until you ate, which duh, you don’t wanna be out for hours with an empty stomach. So on top of being bloated from the pregame, you packed your gut with some greasy bullshit from the closest fast food place instead of something that would actually keep you full. Cause you would bitch about being hungry like hour into the functions.

Progress 💪

I want it so fucking bad. I need a feeder who doesn’t give a shit about limits, who sees how pathetic and greedy I already am and just… 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 I’ve surrendered.

I want to feel the tube shoved down my throat when my jaw gets too tired, thick calorie sludge pumping straight into me 24/7—shakes 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 I’m never empty. Ever. Just constantly bloated, aching, leaking, my heart hammering against layers of fat like it’s 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 feeder’s hands sinking wrist-deep into my sides while they whisper how much prettier I’ll be when I’m closer to the edge, when every breath is a struggle, when my body is finally giving up exactly like I begged it to.

I’m already ruined for anything else. Normal life? Gone. Thin? Laughable. I don’t want escape. I want to sink deeper. I want to be their perfect, disgusting, dying pig—swollen, sweaty, horny and helpless, cumming from the pressure alone while my arteries clog and my organs drown in lard.

Please.

Make me so fat I can’t come back.

Make me so fat I stop breathing under my own weight.

I’m begging for it. I’m dripping just typing this.

I’m not leaving this path. I’m already too far gone. 🐷💦🍰

my boyfriends have all been close to 450-500lbs, but I want you to push yourself to MY husband territory. I want specially tailored clothes for you so you can grow comfortably. I want to watch you with a reinforced cane and walker shuffle slowly around the house, struggling the few feet to carry your weight. I want to sit on the arm of your oversized recliner and curl into you as best as I could fit, kissing and your double chin that used to be a neck and rubbing your growing belly that’s down to your knees, telling you how perfect you are. How massive you are.

i want to sit in front of you kneeling and massage your aching, swollen legs that are cascading layers of fat. I want to barely se your face with your gut in the way.

when you lay down to take a nap I want to perfectly position your legs and belly so I can map out the soft cave of rolls and suck on your fat pad. Expose your hidden cock. I want you to feel me in the depths of you. Exploring you. Savoring you.

People will think our lives have changed, they may think our life has grown harder because of your weight gain. They can’t help but stare and think my god, what are they going to do?