More!!

Glutonny, 2019

This is just how it goes now.

You eat, you slow down, you think you might be done. watch you notice how full you already are, the way you shift in your seat like you're testing whether you really have room left.

"You're okay" I say. "Keep going."

Not sharp. Not a command you have to brace for. Just a reminder. You pick your fork back up. Refill your plate without making a thing of it. You sigh a little when you see it, not annoyed, just aware.

Full doesn't stop you anymore. It just changes the way you eat. Slower. Heavier. Like each bite settles in before the next one follows.

I like seeing you work through it. I like that you don't rush just to get it over with. I like that you actually enjoy my cooking.

"Good," I tell you when you hesitate. "I know it's a lot."

By the time you're finished, you're quiet in that way that only comes after you've eaten past comfort. Past fullness. You don't move much. And you don't need to. I sit with you, hand resting on that stretched, full belly, absolutely pleaser in seeing you glut yourself. This is what taking care of you looks like. Full, warm, and resting exactly where you're supposed to be.

You’re just constantly aware of this big sagging sack of lard hanging off of you and pulling on your back. Hearing the bed creak more and more as you gain. Hearing chairs crack and groan underneath you, having to wonder whether they’re gonna hold all of your massive weight or simply give out underneath you. The struggle of standing up, having to heave your own lard around. Hearing the floor creak under your heavy, labored footsteps. Getting slower, more out of breath. Your puffy arms being forced outwards due to your fattening chest. Being buried underneath your own fat when you lay down, your fat chest and tits engulfing your disappearing neck, looking like they’re trying to suffocate you.

It’s hard work lugging all that excess lard around everywhere you go. But you wouldn’t have it any other way, would you? Of course you wouldn’t. You love it when I lift your fat belly up, my skinny arms struggling to hold it all before watching it slam back down onto your thighs as I release it, the swift motion sending ripples up and down every inch of your fat laden body. And you can’t help but love the feeling of gravity trying to force you back down to where you belong: either sitting back or laying down. Standing is too much work for someone as hugely obese as you. It’s so much more comfortable down here anyway, isn’t it?

Everything from your cellulite covered thighs, huge double chin, thick softening chest, pillowy sagging arm fat, and ginormous ever-growing belly, is ever present on your body. Constantly commanding your attention as you jiggle with each and every step you take. As you feel the weight of your belly on your expanding lap when you sit down. As you feel your jeans digging uncomfortably into your ballooning waistline. As you feel your obese belly get in your way when you reach down to put your shoes on. As you start to feel your gut bulging into the steering wheel as you add more food onto your order in the drive thru. You’re becoming more lard than anything else. There’s absolutely no escaping just how fucking fat and heavy you’ve made yourself at this point. And let’s be honest, you and I both know how much you love it. How much you need it.

“Look at you,” he sneers, shoving in another bite, crumbs raining down his chest. “Came in here hoping you’d find me stuffing my fat fucking face, huh? This what gets you off? Jesus, you’re even sicker than I thought.”

He finishes the slice, licks his fingers slow, then pushes himself up, gut swinging, cock already hard and leaking through his gray swetpants. He stands in front of you, smirking. “You want this? Want to get fucked by a fat disgusting pig? Thought you could turn me into your little pet project—make me your personal fuck toy?”

He grabs the back of your neck, drags you down to your knees. “Look at what you’ve done to me. How fucking fat and disgusting I am..made me crave food, and sex, and fucking humiliation. You proud of yourself you sick little freak?!"

He strokes himself, belly bouncing with every motion, making sure you can’t look away. “Bet you’re soaked for it. Bet you’re dripping down your thighs just thinking about getting split open by fat fucking animal..."

You stare at him so turned on you cant speak and you see his face change..He’s done pretending. No more hiding, no more shame—just raw hunger, animal and unrestrained. He drags you to the bed, cake forgotten, icing smeared on his lips and his massive belly wobbling with every step.

He pushes you down—hard—on your knees, chest pressed into the mattress. You barely get your bearings before he’s behind you, grabbing your hips, his thick hands leaving marks. His gut—hot, heavy, impossibly soft—settles across your back as he lines himself up behind you, cock thick and demanding.

“You wanted this?” he growls, voice rough with need and spite. He grinds against you, his belly flattening your body, pinning you down so you can barely move. “Wanted to see what it’s like to get fucked by a greedy, disgusting pig? Here you go, sweetheart. Here’s every pound you begged for.”

He thrusts in—slow, punishing, deep. You gasp, the weight of him overwhelming, his stomach spreading across your back, suffocating, delicious. He leans in, his mouth at your ear, breath hot and sticky with sugar.

“Feel that?” He bounces his gut against you, making you arch and whimper. “That’s what you do to me. You want to fuck a fat fuck? You want this? Christ you're so fucking wet..Tell me. Tell me you love it.”

You whine—helpless, soaked, the filthy words pushing you higher. He’s relentless, rutting into you, hand fisted in your hair, one arm braced around your waist. His free hand finds your clit, thick fingers circling, teasing, until you’re squirming, sobbing, desperate.

“You’re such a dirty little whore, aren’t you?” he spits, voice breaking, “God, you’re so fucking wet—just from my belly on your back. From being taken by a pig. My sick little freak. My greedy, needy little slut.”

He grabs a handful of his belly, slapping it against you, making you shudder. “You want it bigger? Want more? Gonna stuff myself stupid for you. Let myself go until you can’t even wrap your arms around me—until you can barely take my cock with all this fat pressed up against you.”

You’re gone—moaning, bucking, lost in him, in the filthy, glorious weight of him pounding you into the mattress. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t stop until you’re both shaking, spent, completely undone.

After, he collapses over you, gut still draped across your back, chest heaving. He nuzzles your neck, voice softer now but just as filthy.

It's a good term.

And it describes my sexuality perfectly.

I used to define myself as asexual, with the one exception being extremely obese men.

As I got older, I thought, "there has to be a term for this... no interest in sexuality unless it involves morbid obesity..."

And "fatsexual" covers it.

I'm sure many others know exactly what I'm talking about. The feeling of not being sexual unless it involves obesity.

And I think the term should be used more. Fatsexual is a good umbrella term. I'll use tags like #feedism , even when it's not really something directly related to it. I only use it since it refers to the community. But not everyone is a feeder or feedee. Some of us just love fat or enjoy hedonism where fat is a consequence.

“Good job piggy, all these plates are clean,” she praised him semi-sarcastically as she examined the multiple dishes that not long ago were filled with a massive breakfast….a massive, greasy, sugary breakfast. She dropped the two bags on the table in front of him, as they landed on the table with a heavy thud. He was already wincing thinking about finding room for that heft. She began to gather the empty dishes, making sure to bend over and give him a wonderful view of her perfect curves, molded and perfected by hours at the gym. Suddenly it wasn’t only his gut that felt rock hard.

“You’ve been eating so well for me, that’s why I brought you a treat, baby. Go ahead and dig in, I know you’re still hungry.” She looked over her shoulder and gave him a lustful wink as she carried the dishes to the kitchen. Once she was out of sight, his gaze turned to the bags, as his body began to betray him. He was stuffed…no, stuffed was an understatement, yet her presence and control over him was too strong. He grunted against his strained gut as he leaned forward to grab the first bag. Opening it up he saw four large objects wrapped in foil. Pulling out the first, unwrapping it, and inhaling the savory scent of a big juicy burger was enough to make him salivate, despite his brain screaming for reprieve. The first bite elicited a reflexive moan, as he slowly chewed, swallowed, and groaned at the idea of stretching his gut more.

She soon returned, a prideful smirk on her face, as she sauntered up to him.

“I knew you couldn’t resist, my greedy hog. Couldn’t even wait til I got back? That’s okay, I know how much you love food,” she guided his hand to take a bigger bite of the burger. She gave his belly a loving, possessive rub, and a firm smack. She leaned in, nibbling his ear a bit as she whispered, “keep eating pig, don’t stop.”

She stood back up, and walked across the room. She had set up her exercise equipment earlier, eager to give him a show as he ate. She started with squats, given him a show as he slowly trudged through each burger. She would occasionally leer back at him, making sure he was still eating, and teasing him as she continued. She was already wet, thinking about how fit and healthy she was going to continue being, as he continued to blow up like the land whale he was destined to be. Even she was impressed with his capacity today, wondering if maybe she overdid it a bit. She was even ready to let him rest a bit before, but as soon as she saw him biting into that first burger, she knew he was ready for the next step.

After a half hour of working out, she decided to take a break. He was struggling with the second bag of food, eyes half lidded and wheezing. She started to feel sorry for him, but her own lust took over. Walking over, sitting on the arm of the couch, she reached into the bag and grabbed a burger. Unceremoniously she unwrapped it, waved it in front of his face, and slowly pushed it to his lips. He moaned but relented, opening his mouth. She couldn’t help but bite her lip.

“You’ve made such good progress since we met, but it’s not enough. Pretty soon, this will be a snack to you. This couch will groan and creak under your weight, and your body will pin you to this couch. When that day comes, when you are nice and fat for me, I’ll make sure to reward you the way a hog deserves. Don’t even think of trying to slow down, I won’t allow it. Just sit there, nice and fat, and eat. Your only job is to eat and grow for me, got it?”