“BIG” Appreciation

i was trying on a bathing suit bottom with these cute strings to tie on the side, and i just. couldn’t for the life of me remember how to tie them? and it got me thinking—i haven’t worn shoes i had to tie in well over a year.

i could barely reach with both hands to make the knot—my tits were in the way, my belly filled the space i had to reach over… i got exhausted just trying to reach

i wear things that’re easy to get on and easy to get off. i can’t bend over too well because my belly is in the way. it’s starting to hang so, so low.. and i can’t even reach my feet anymore—if i tried to paint my nails it would be exhausting, i’d be out of breath in seconds

it makes me wonder what’s next. will i forget the little trick i use to get bras on? will i forget how to hoist myself up off the floor sometime in the next 100 pounds?

and then, when i finally get to those “too big to live alone without a caretaker” sizes, what will be next?

clumsy, fat fingers unable to button up shirts. the same overly softened hands struggling to hold a fork, eating without utensils is just so much easier.. can’t reach around my belly enough to button any pants, either, it’ll have been years (and hundreds of pounds of lard) since i could even see what i’m doing, anyways

Admit you can’t handle my domain expansion

I'm keeping you fat. You may enjoy it, but you don't have any say in the matter. As long as you are with me, something as personal as your own body is under my control.

Look at us in public. How could a couple live under the same roof and have such a dramatic difference in appearance. Watching you waddle and pant to move about. Unquestioning the food I hand to you. It's damning of me. It's so purposefully taboo.

There's a senseless nature to it. You have to eat what I place in front of you... for no reason other than I demand it. It's logic flipped on its head. You could simply choose to not overeat. You'd probably have a more fulfilling life. More autonomy, more freedom.

Instead, you listen to these imaginary consequences of not finishing your food. Somehow the perils of overeating are drowned out by my actions. Another outgrown pair of pants. Another broken chair. Avoiding getting up. The confusion of why it's suddenly so... hard... to rock yourself out of bed.

this is just how you're meant to be. shoving food down your throat with no clothes restricting your growing form. eat, indulge, feel every bite add to your waistline.

rub that belly of yours. admire yourself over time as it hangs lower and lower. let it go unrestricted. your fat's supposed to keep you warm, you know.

let it jiggle and bounce eith every step. feel how your stuffed gut gets nice and firm while the loose fat continues to move freely around it. let your bare belly graze across things.

So anyway, enjoy the promises I make to my ever expanding hogs...

I promise you'll be my fat little bitch boy, eating food off the top of the massive gut that forces your enormously lardy legs apart and droops between them onto the bed.

I promise your pathetic, nonexistent cock will be suffocating inside your fupa buried behind your thick slab of belly fat, relentlessly leaking as you feel the pressure build as you swell with more food, making your entire gut tingle with every touch.

I promise you'll want your whole body so encased in soft, thick, lard that every movement, every quake and ripple, everything reminds you what you did for me, everything reminds you that you're my piggy bitch and it'll only make you want to keep eating and pleasing me.

I promise you'll cum from belly touching alone because you've lost all other options and you'll only ever want to loose it even further so you'll eat even faster just to feel your body pile on more lard in real-time.

Impress me piggies.

You cans see the agony on my face yet it feels so good