bring the chub

Jogging bottoms suit you so well! Think how much more comfortable you are without a belt digging into that soft belly. It means you can squeeze a few more mouthfuls in without it hurting so you don't have to waste anything.

Yes, that is another new deep red stretch mark on your side, I'm surprised you could even see it with how rounded your belly is. I guess it isn't too round, then, is it?

Cutie, if they can't get you a uniform that fits, its their problem, not yours. So what if your belly is hanging out while you're working?

No, gorgeous, people are only staring because they're jealous of how beautiful you are. I know you're clumsy but no one in staring at the grease and sauce trailing down your chin and onto your shirt.

I don't know why your knees and hips hurt so much lately, but I think if you take it easy and stay at home you'll recover quicker. I'll be sure to keep bringing you nourishing food, handsome.

Don't be silly, your tummy is gurgling like that because you've not had enough, not because you've had too much. It will stop hurting when you've had your desserts, I'm sure of it.

Sweetheart, you don't have to choose between takeaways, don't worry! We can get them all, I know you'll fit it all in with my help, won't you?

Don't look so concerned, its perfectly normal to have a pounding heart after finishing your third helping of breakfast. Now, you ready for your fourth?

Darling, I'm obviously not feeding you enough, with you so tired from a minute's walk. Let's get you back in bed, okay? I'm upping your portions, get more energy in you for all you do.

Listen, its normal for a growing boy to have pains in his legs. Yes gorgeous, its normal to be unable to move them too. You don't need to move at all, what would you need to move for, I'm here.

You gasp and wheeze real adorable when I bring you more of your favourite, and it seems to get more desperate every time. Is food really that breathtaking to you?

It's okay if you can't speak cutie, I know exactly what each noise you can manage means. I love you that much. And a burp like that means you're ready for another of my special cakes, right? What did I just say? You don't need to use up precious energy to speak, just open that pretty mouth to eat, you hear me?

I know you miss them so I've brought your friends to visit. They're gonna be so shocked at your glow up. Aw, I love it when all you can do is drool and grunt like that, I know that means you're starving! You've got to look your best so have another tray of pasta, you look stunning when you're eating, darling.

There is nothing sexier than a man who lost control of his weight and reaching the edge of mobility. You know you've succeeded in life when you've become so engorged with lard that you're forced to spread your legs during your pathetic "waddle".

Men who overfeed themselves to severe obesity until they can barely stand up are the peak of human beauty and should be glorified as such. It should be the beauty standard for everyone to be incapable of putting clothes on because of your inhumane size.

Norms should reflect our growing epidemic of crippling obesity, influencing young adults to become more obese than ever.

As such, all men should have a belly hanging to their knees by their mid twenties. It should be expected for their legs to be incapable of bending by their thirties. Severe Immobility should be the norm for all men by their mid thirties.

So overfeed yourself, show the world how obese you can be. Become the definition of "overfed".

Happy and satisfied with my 160 kg of wobbly pork 🐷🐷🐷

Wide Wednesday !

If you want to see more :

-To make my belly hang over my knees, and then eventually drag along the floor so it’s out of my reach, covered in stretchmarks and infinite rolls

-To condition me to cum from being stuffed so I always need to be filled to cum

-To make me too fat to masturbate so I’m reliant on them or just trying to hump my own flesh to feel something 

-To make use of all the new rolls and folds of fat they’ve added to me, fucking them instead of my pussy and making sure I’m trained to get pleasure from that

-To not let me stop gaining until I’m as big as they want me, even if I resist, because they want me to look like a circus fat lady 

-To make me so huge I’m forced to waddle around when I can still move, every part of me jiggling just for their enjoyment and amusement, out of breath and sweaty just from walking across the room

-To only be allowed to wear clothes that are slightly too small and be forbidden from doing anything that tries to hide my fat from view, if my belly doesn’t stay in my shirt I’ll have to just let it show, every humiliating inch of cellulite-ridden flab visible

-To be made to display my gluttony for all to see in public whenever my feeder wants, eating enough for 5 people and putting my body on display in crop tops and tight shorts

-To be tied down and force fed with a funnel if I’m not cooperative, because I’m going to keep getting fatter whether I want to or not. 

-To be forced to eat until I can barely move and have to use a scooter to get around, especially in public so everyone can see the consequences of what I’ve done to myself

This is what happens when your man totally lets himself go over the years, and as a result he fattened up to 395lbs; 180kg.

Wealth, comfort, and unlimited amount of greasy treats all fatten him up. He doesn’t care about the 220lbs; 100kg he packed on, or that big soft fat gut hanging off him.

Now he is your spoiled, well-fed man. He became the perfect husband material, fattened up in comfort, lazy as hell, spreading himself out on the couch like your king, and you with eyes shining from pleasure, just massage his legs in your lap, watching as his huge belly spills out while he eats and stares at the screen.

Now? Less than a year later you’re 100 pounds fatter. You probably get what 1000 steps a day? Even less? Probably less. Your diet only consists of junk food and takeout. You’re too lazy and too busy stuffing your fat face to bother with skincare or picking up after yourself.

You cant stop eating. You won’t workout. You’ve become addicted to stuffing your face with nothing but grease, fat and sugar. You know it’s gonna make you fatter and lazier, but you don’t care. Past you would be disgusted by current you, and she has no idea you’re only just getting started.

Very soon, a few wrappers in bed will become a mountain of trash piled up on the floor. Your bed will be covered in grease and sweat stains with a dent in the middle from your massive body that will be what? 500? 600 pounds? Eventually even bathing will be too much of a chore for you, so you’ll do it once a week, if that. You’ll lay in bed all day stuffing yourself with thousands of calories worth of junk food and whimper as you struggle but ultimately fail to reach to get yourself off, your enormous gut and pillowy thighs just too fat and heavy to get around. Simply walking from your bed to the kitchen will leave you a sweating, panting mess. The worst of all that? It will turn you on. It will make you eat even more, get even fatter, and make things even worse. You think your past self would bully you now, just wait til she sees you in a year or two

I’m gonna be completely unrecognizable if I keep doing this any longer.. I think it’s already too late to stop it 😩

I love this. Um, have you ever fantasized about uglication or other tf stuff?

The boyfriend worried they wouldn’t make it time, but a week before the top surgery consultation, he looks over and sees that the tguy’s idle touching has made a single dark speck appear over his constantly-erect nipple. He points it out, and the tguy drops his phone in alarm, quickly pulling up his shirt. He watches in silent shock as his boyfriend leans over and squeezes his tit just-so, bringing his hand forward just behind the nipple until another pearl of milk appears. He ignores the tguy’s impending panic and leans in to suckle. A new drop of milk graces his tongue with every pull, and the tguy is squirming and gasping and gripping his hair.

After he’s cum twice from having his udders sucked, the tguy sinks down against the headboard and starts to panic about how he can’t get top surgery like this, wondering what’s happening to him. He worries about whether he’ll ever pass with his tits conspicuously straining every single shirt he owns, too full and sensitive to bind.

His boyfriend, who’s been jerking off to memories of confused strangers staring at his masc boyfriend’s huge, jiggly udders, tries his best to sound sympathetic.

To encourage the tguy to accept his new body, the boyfriend invites him to several private events. A tguy wrestling match, a pool day in someone’s backyard, a kink party… and at all of these places, he pulls the tguy’s shirt up until his tits bounce out and announces that they’re trying to get him comfortable in his skin, so everybody better make him feel welcome.

At the wrestling match, he’s too tender-chested to compete, but all of the contestants drink from him for good luck. At the pool, everyone stares at how massive his udders look when floating, and tell him how hot he looks— until he leaks milk into the water and they make him get out. After that, he sits with a mortified blush on the edge of the pool, his meager towel entirely unable to close over his udders, his nipples hardened into long teats in the cold. At the kink party, someone rigs him a tight little harness that somehow accentuates his udders even more. The boyfriend pulls the ropes extra tight so that by the end of the event, the tguy’s chest is mottled red and purple with engorgement, veins visibly throbbing. The boyfriend calls for everyone to look before he tugs the ropes even harder, and the tguy whimpers as the red-hot pressure bursts into streams of milk.

Within a year, he’s forgotten all about top surgery. All of his new friends know him as the guy with the udders, and nobody even asks before they play with them, or expose them to the whole room, or go in for a taste of his milk.