Cultivatedmass

I know you already ate yourself to over 320 lbs, but you know I will always want you fatter. If it wasn’t for me wanting to parade you around outside, I wouldn’t care, I‘d greatly enjoy stuffing your unrecognisably swollen face at double your current weight. I‘d get off on your belly hanging to your knees, if you could still stand up then. I would find it hot if you couldn’t.

Just a massive blob, impatiently waiting for me in his reinforced bed for his third feeding of the day - your second breakfast after your wake up funneling and of course, first breakfast. You‘d shift your lard around to show me your jiggles, you know how much I love it. You can’t do much more than make these hypnotic lard roll waves and wiggle your weak doughy arms a bit to show me how excited you are to be fed again. It’s all your favourites in one meal again, it’s greasy, salty and then a lot of sugar and I‘ll dotingly place every bite in your mouth as you struggle to breathe in between bites.

Be a good boy for me. A good fat boy, letting me fatten him into this bed and never out of it again. You’re the prettiest thing when you’re panting and sweating at the end of another feeding session and still ask me if there will be another cake today. Every day honey. You don’t have to ask me to dig out your buried cock from inside your fleshy fupa. You know I‘ll take care of it towards the end of each feeding.

When I‘m at work, I‘ll set you up with an extra snack table right next to you containing four meals worth of calories for a normal person, a litre of shake and a crate of sodas. I‘ll turn on the toy I placed between your legs, gently vibrating and massaging your fat pad for these hours I can’t be there. The camera is always on. I‘ll see you try to rock your hips to feel the toy more but the only way to achieve that is by stuffing your body tighter so it swells up again. I‘ll turn up the sound when I see that on film, hearing you whimper and groan while you keep obediently stuffing your pretty face.

I want to find you bloated and desperate when I come home. When my day was stressful, I‘ll immediately shove some burgers or doughnuts in your mouth that I got on the way home. I know you’re full, but you will wiggle your immobile blob body enthusiastically while I push more food into your packed stomach and moan softly in relief. The bed creaks and I kiss you to taste the sugar in your mouth from your long snacking shift. This is all you know now, you don’t know how else to be or what else to feel. You just want to be my perfectly spoiled obese toy, you want to make both of us happy and get excited every time I let you know how much I want you. I want you when you continuously prove that you will eat for me the rest of your life. It’s so romantic. Nobody has ever done this for me.

You‘ve been in a horny haze since you reached the mythical 200 kg, 440 lbs. That was the last time you knew your weight. I‘ve withheld that information from then on. I keep telling you I need just ten more pounds from you. It’s been two years of ten more pounds always. You can only waddle a few steps very slowly, it’s more like you holding on to something around you and then carefully dropping from one foot onto the other. I adore your fat thighs pinning your widening arse to the sofa or the bed most days.

Double my weight in lard on your body and try to crush mine.

Believe in yourself, you‘re gonna need it.

Oh and I need you heavier.

dating is so hard these days, e.g.

when I walk up to a group of guys to pursue ✨ my dream of landing the fat friend✨ in a group of regular/fit guys, I just get bellyblocked again by all his friends who think I wanna talk to them.

when I try to make contact with a handsome fatty at the gym, I'm either getting bellyblocked by his skinny friend who for some reason won't ever let my object of desire go on his own or

when I manage to strike up conversation, he'll tell me about his weight loss plans within the first two minutes to justify his fat existence (breaking my heart, rude).

when I explicitly say I want a big guy, people keep misunderstanding me as wanting a wide bodybuilder and yeah, kind of... just the kind who's building a landscape for me to lie on and relax my muscles. So I guess this is hermeneutical bellyblocking.

when most fatties I meet lack confidence, no matter if they're actively trying to lose weight or not, so they're bellyblocking everyone by default.💔

I wrote this fic to dream about coming home to a spouse who'll take care of me and my needs.

It contains: FFA/female feeder + fat male feedee, fluff, fat admiration, conditioning and manipulation, good men only, feeding with slight force feeding-vibes, sex.

I come home tired from work, research funding is giving me a headache and the undergrads have been asking stupid questions only (despite me telling them those don’t exist, the problem is they‘re only ever doing 1/4 of the assigned readings and think ChatGPT will pick up their slack). What I need now is a little escape from all these serious responsibilities and annoyances.

For a second I regret taking the oldtimer to work today because it never gets very warm inside but my own reflection in the rearview mirror with the lipstick you got me last week and my grandma‘s fur coat cheer me up already. You got excited about that new donut shop lately and I am always excited about your expanding waistline, so I will pick up some of those new treats for you on my way home. I‘m still a little exhausted, but I know it will pass and you will replace the tired feeling with something much better.

Thankfully, I married just the right man to give me endless comfort and pleasure. At 5‘9“, you’re now at 320lbs, a hard worker and reliable colleague but always home before me, showering and making dinner. Both you and the kitchen always smell amazing when I get home. You dress up nicely for me - when you’re cooking something that your precious outgrown shirts should be spared from, it’s just the apron with your moobs peaking out and your lovehandles being presented raw, towering above the waistband of just your boxers on your backside. Otherwise it’s just the short shirts and the boxershorts because you know what I want to see when I get home after my long day: your belly peaking out to greet me, your moobs sitting proudly on top of your growing gut with that extra backroll between your moob overhang and your belly, your little waddle because your thighs are getting too big and your big chunky arms exposed always. It’s no problem for you to wear this little clothes - your blood pressure is high enough to keep you warm.

You maintain the house very well - built half of the furniture yourself and when you don’t find something to fix, you offer your helping hands to our lovely neighbours on the weekends. You’re teaching one of the kids how to drive because their dad’s single and working a lot lately. You recently organized a bake sale for veteran’s day and we made all the treats together, got some funding for the church‘s food bank through it. You‘re my rock. You massage my back after the gym, pick me up there in the evening when I wanted to take the train in the morning to find more time to read, keep a calendar of our friends‘ birthdays and I come home to a little gift before you take me out to date night every Friday because you like that song by The Cure that your dad showed you when you called him on the Saturday after our first date.

You made lasagna today and used the fancy extra tray that I got for you. One of my favourite dishes for dinner will relax me but seeing you eat a whole extra tray all by yourself after finishing your half of the first one will be pure heaven at home. You will let me feed you if I want to and you enjoy being offered to move to the couch for the final half of your special tray. Upon opening the door, you take one last look in the mirror to check if your hair looks nice and greet me with a warm bear hug and a kiss that tastes as sweet as your favourite soda (you probably had a whole bottle again while cooking even though your doctor said it’s bad for you but you can’t listen to all the smart women in your life at once). You always make sure to get me those lipsticks that don’t smudge, you want me to keep my trademark. I love being married to you. My heart becomes as soft as your body always is whenever I‘m with you, you make me a better person - and you’re also the hottest man I‘ve ever seen with the biggest cake I could wish for as you turn around and return to the kitchen while I hang up my coat and unpack my bag.

I sneakily put the donuts I got you on the side table next to the couch in our living room, freshen up in the bathroom and then join you in the kitchen. "Is that Raffaele‘s lasagna recipe? Thank you so much for making it, excited to try." After saying grace and telling us the nice thought of the day we had about each other while we couldn’t be together, we dig into the food and you still can’t believe that you’re allowed to eat however you like and you enjoy eating a little faster, grunting softly in between bites. "Oooh delicious" you mumble in between your eager bite. "Gosh yes, this lasagna is truly excellent!", I praise your cooking while also becoming increasingly distracted by seeing you belly peek out of your shirt more and more while you stuff your face before it’s my turn to do so.

Once I‘ve finished and there‘s only half a tray of your extra portion left, I get up, give you a kiss on the cheek, get a spoon and bring it to the living room table together with the rest of the lasagna. You‘re breathing heavily and have been sweating a bit as well after all the cooking (and eating), therefore you wait for me to give you the extra attention of helping you waddle over to the couch. It’s hard to heave yourself out of your chair but I can do a little weight lifting at home as well to help you. "Come on, you’re doing so fine, I greatly enjoyed seeing you eat so much and there’s even more to come, I‘ll help you." You know what is expected of you and I love your obedience as my pretty swollen house hog. As long as you‘re not asleep or completely passed out from a good stuffing and milking session, you will always give it your all to get up and waddle over to my favourite feeding spot.

We manage to get you over there even if me helping you was more of an excuse to examine how bloated you already are. You’re doing okay, I will make you have the donuts for dessert because I know I trained you well and you can take it. You drop your heavy body onto the couch with a relieved sigh. I cuddle up to you and give you some belly rubs before taking your lasagna tray, placing it on my lap and start to feed you. "Open up, my handsome pig of a husband", I encourage you without really having to as opening your mouth for me has become so natural to you, you promised to not complain or discuss but serve me with your gluttony when you said "I do". "You’re doing so fine for me, sweetie, you‘ve filled out nicely, I made you so nice and fat, look at you", I teasingly say as I grab your love handles while you’re chewing on a rather big bite. I trace your stretch marks before giving your belly a little slap. I love that noise. You’re so red in the face, sweating again, trying to breath through your nose while chewing and swallowing, chewing and swallowing. Your shirt has become a crop top by now and your massive gut is sprawled out on your lap and your thick thighs.

Before the last two bites you need another break. I help you lean back further in order to get more comfortable, I rearrange the pillows for you and rub your belly some more. You‘ve gotten so huge and you’re so pretty lying here, a bit helpless from being very stuffed but knowing you‘ll be rewarded. I remind you of that by feeling up your dick through your boxers. You’re hard again, of course. Years of training do wonders. Once your body registers a spike in calorie intake nowadays, you’ll just get hard and you’ll be even more desperate to please me so I will let you cum. You moan in desperation as I grab your hard cock firmly again before letting go and returning to feeding you the remaining lasagna.

It’s all finished now and I feel so relaxed already. I kiss your sweaty, greasy cheek again, and caress your round face with my fingers, slightly pinch your double chin and marvel at the improvements achieved by the fat cells that have accumulated in your cheeks and around your soft lips. I climb onto your lap and rub myself against your belly hang before lifting it slightly to let your dick feel the friction. "You know where I stopped today on my way home? Do you see the box over there? Yeah, that’s right. You’re about to eat some more for me. I got you four very nice cream filled donuts from that new shop. One of them is even piggy shaped, you are what you eat, right?"

You can’t really think or speak much right now. You’re so aroused by my voice talking you into gorging yourself further when you’re already stuffed to the gills again, you feel your dick twitch with my juicy ass on your lap and you do want to try those new donuts. I open the box and slowly feed you the first while rubbing your belly and moving my hips slightly to keep you stimulated. You should be in this hazy state of arousal when I expect you to actually overeat - your appetite is huge, sure but you are pretty full and would not want to try and get up after all that lasagna. The donut is delicious, it has a vanilla cream filling and the dough tastes of sugar and cinnamon with little pieces of apple in it.

"Well done, I‘m so proud of you! So what do you want next, white chocolate bueno or honey nut?“ Both of those sound rather heavy, you think. But you’ll do it. You can barely speak but manage to say "honey". Chewing and breathing is really becoming difficult. I grab one of your moobs while feeding you. "You’re doing so good, my perfect prize hog. Come on, make these massive moobs even fatter for me, they‘re not big enough yet", I encourage you and with another big bite, you finish the second donut. You’re getting dizzy from all the sugar rushing through your body but I am always thankful for its addictive qualities. Not completely registering that the next one is coming already, I push the chocolate bueno donut in your mouth and ignore that you’re struggling a bit, I just smile and grab your dick under your gut to massage it a bit.

I need to take your mind off me being an actual threat to your health, you having second thought and the voice of your concerned doctor in your ear. I‘ll speak to her and tell her you’re gonna be mentally unwell if you lose weight and you’re just to ashamed to talk about it. You must be distracted to focus on what’s most important to me: eating and cumming. I always encourage you to touch yourself when I‘m not there to help you and you‘re texting me if it’s okay if you finish the last baked goods in the kitchen or some snacks which I actually only buy because I want my hungry pig to easily find something to graze on whenever he feels like it.

You’re so exhausted after the third donut, for a moment I wonder if the fourth would in fact send you into a food coma before I can finish playing with you. But it’s the piggy shaped one, I need you to have it if you want to cum tonight. You‘ve seen that pink face on the fried pastry and know you’re not getting out of this one. You stretched stomach is starting to hurt but you’re so hard, you would do anything to make me continue touching you, helping you to eventually be released from the tension. So you grunt, burp a little and open your mouth again with the docile look on your face I enjoy so much. Your obedience, your eagerness to serve me like this is making me violently wet and I pull your boxers down, spit on your dick and start stroking faster while you’re chewing on the last bites for the day.

When I‘ve had a bad day or trouble sleeping, I sometimes wake you up to make you have a midnight snack. But today you suspect that we’re both gonna have a quiet night. You love how I‘m regulating my nervous system with your appetite and your fat, it’s so smart and you’re always happy to help. Helping me is easy, you just have to do what you‘ve always enjoyed: eat for a small family and wear the signs of it with pride.