Let's get fatter.

We both know you're so much more than just the hundreds and hundreds of pound you've gained. But seeing you there, in your element, it's so easy to want you, and objectify you. Encircled by a group of feeders, hands grabbing every inch of you. Tugging at fat rolls, hands disappearing between your folds, tracing the stretchmarked skin.

Hearing you huff and wheeze as they have their way with you. Fat chubby cheeks pulled to each of their lips, getting off with you, getting off with the hulk of fat before them. Sensory overload happening, as the food comes out, donuts being stuffed into your hungry mouth. Barely giving you a moment's reprieve before the next one. Protests muffled by the conveyor belt of calories. The groups eyes widen just seeing how quickly you can put it back. They express shock, they laugh, all while you continue to be their personal fat factory. I can see your mind swimming, I see it in your eyes.

The hands increase their exploration of your massive form. Fat tits squeezed, gasping as your nipples are pinched and tugged. Fingers fucking your belly button. And as it gets to a crescendo and you cry out, you are silenced by the funnel gag shoved in your mouth. The custard is poured and more comments are made, they look at their creation, hungry, desperate, at their mercy. They whisper in your ear. Ask you if you're happy what you've done to yourself, how far gone you are. And you whimper in pleasure as you struggle to finish the custard. Hands continuing to prod and shake, and squeeze.

Until attention moves south. And one of the feeders reaches your fatpad. He looks at his glistening hand, and sees how much you've been leaking. Your eyes widen as his flash a wicked smile. A vibrator appears and is matter-of-factly inserted into your fat pad, eliciting a grunt.

The taste of custard changes to someone all more familiar. Your gainer shake. Melted ice cream, weight gain powder, full fat milk. Dumped down the funnel without much care. Your body begging you to slow down. Gut distending into your lap. Hands now forming an all out assault. Feeders groping and shaking every part of you. Getting off on your fat. Fucking folds of your fat. The muffled whimpers as the vibrator continues to pulse. Fuck. It's all too much. You're getting close. I know you're getting close.

As each of the feeders blows their load over your fattened form, a final strong tug on your tits send you over the edge as the last of the gainer shake slips down, the vibrators pulse at maximum, and you cum. Oh fuck do you cum.

I know it's not the cleanest comparison. But damn my lower belly and love handles just keep spilling further onto the bed don't they.

After my third breakfast I was feeling heavy in the car. Maybe having breakfast three times a day and eating enough for three each time is making me a greedy hog.

Turns out the pants were under more strain than the blazer. Oh wait…