I can’t help but pity you a bit when you get like this. In too deep, flushed and struggling to catch your breath, stuck in place like a beached whale.

“You’ve been so good for me, piggy.” I purr in your ear, playing with your hair. “And it’s gotten me all worked up.” I slip off my shorts and panties and, in a smooth motion, slide myself across your thighs so I sit straddling you. I reach a hand out to brush your stuffed gut and you whimper in pain. You would have flinched away if you weren’t weighed down right now.

“Aw, it’s okay, piggy. Don’t you want to make me feel good?” The whimpers of pain begin to mix with pleasure as I lightly run my hand around your belly. “Good boy.”

I rise onto my knees and start slowly grinding my heat against your fatpad. I brush lightly, just barely touching as I move up to your lower stomach, running my wet pussy up and down the line of your happy trail. I relish in every reaction you give me: every whine and moan, every whimper of pain and pleasure and overstimulation. You shake underneath me with pleasure and anticipation.

I stop for a second when I brush against your dick, rock-hard and half-buried in the soft blubber of your fat pad and inner thighs. Of course, your boxers are already damp. “You’ve really got no self control at all, do you?” I muse. Pathetic.

I rub myself over your tip, teasing myself with slow, circular motions. The roughness of the material of your boxers against my swollen clit makes me moan with pleasure.

“Yeah, you like that..?” You murmur through panted breaths.

I slow, stop.

“Don’t pretend like you’re doing any work here, fatty.” I start again, rubbing progressively harder circles against you. “All you’ve done is sit here and stuff yourself into a useless pile of lard. That’s your role, big boy. Sit here, eat yourself even fatter and more pathetic than you were before, and let me get off on it. Don’t forget it.”

You let out a loud moan as you soak through your boxers again. I don’t let up.

“Too- hard. It hurts—“ I interrupt your complaint with another donut shoved into your open mouth. You let out several muffled whines and moans through the mouthful as I rub myself against you 3 more times. After one final hard circle against your cock, I pull away and look at you.

You look huge. Covered in thick, heavy fat. Breathing heavily from the strain of your constant hedonism, the effects of your gluttonous habits are written all over your body.

Your eyes are fixed on me, silently pleading but half-lidded, like you’re exhausted. Your cheeks are round and smeared with chocolate icing. Your jaw is still working on the donut, and the chins under it jiggle as you chew.

You look pathetic. Your neck and shoulders are softened with fat, your arms round and flabby. Your chest has been buried underneath two fat man-tits, followed by thick rolls of fat that stretch all the way to your back.

Your stomach is the star of the show, though. The upper half, swollen from all the food you stuffed down, pushes up against your tits and upper rolls. From there it hangs forward, heavy and round and red, littered with stretch marks. It commands space in your lap, and stretches around your hips into big, puffy love handles.

—

a/n: i might add more to this later (likee some actual sex 🙂‍↕️), but i like what i have rn :p . i cant keep waiting for everything to be perfect or whatever to post it yk.

Progress 💪

breakfast in bed? 🐷

I need to dig out some other old clothes, but I’m happy to show these off :))

I was gifted this outfit (size medium)

indulging and lazing about for days on end, losing myself in plates and plates of food to the point i didnt even realize a month had gone by.

every other thought slipped away except one singular purpose: eat.

Today I ate:

3 slices of cake, about 2 and a half litres of soda, a bowl of butter filled noodles, 2 bags of chips, a box and a half of chocolates, a can of Pringles, salt and pepper chicken with fried rice and fries and two Oreo ice creams.

I was gifted this outfit (size medium)