somefatdog

not in the fun flirty way. i mean actually, literally, take me apart. feed me until i can't walk without waddling, until breathing feels like a chore, until my body is nothing but soft, heavy proof of your obsession. i want to be swollen with indulgence, stuffed past reason, spoiled beyond recognition.

i want to wake up in a haze of hunger and syrup-sweet affection, only to be greeted by another round of force-fed breakfasts in bed. i want you to look at me like i'm your prize pig, your project, your possession.

i want the teasing, the pressure, the constant, creeping growth. i want the way you’ll sneer when i say i’m full, the way you’ll smile when the scale creaks louder every day. I want your hands everywhere, greedy and proud, shaping me like clay into exactly what you want.

no escape. no diet. no mercy. Just feed me.

i want to be broken—beautifully, thoroughly—by appetite.

i want to be yours in the most obscene way possible. a thing you keep fattened, pampered, and pumped full of calories until i’m unrecognizable. until i'm helpless. until my body is a bloated, quivering monument to your obsession and my surrender.

don’t just feed me. force me. hold me down and pour milkshakes past my lips until i’m whining and leaking and begging you to stop, even as my gut growls for more. make me cry from fullness, then coo in my ear about how proud you are. tell me i was made to be this soft, this greedy, this round.

push me to the brink. watch me struggle to lift myself from the bed you’ve made my prison. slap the side of my belly and laugh when it jiggles for seconds after. make me wear tight clothes just so you can watch them give out, seams snapping like they’ve finally admitted defeat.

you said you wanted a pig? then feed me like one. treat me like one. no dignity, no limits. spoon after spoon, bite after bite, until i’m gasping and drooling and too heavy to fight you. make me need you to eat, to move, to breathe.

make me forget who i was before you turned me into this.

Food for thought. 😏

It's only weird because I'm mostly straight. But it makes sense for how I'm feeling it

I'm not talking 'a guy who's pretty fat"

No, that's not right for me

I'm talking a man so fat that all he is is fat, and anything else he was doesn't matter any more

I'm not attracted to a man until his tits are fatter than any woman I've been with, his dick is invisible when fully hard, and I can fuck his fat pad like a pussy

That makes it feel so much hotter

The fact that he has to be so far gone for me to feel it

Think about what it says if I feel lust for you

My dick getting hard for you says you're so overwhelmingly obese that my sexuality can't even recognize you as a man.

Me being attracted to you becomes hotter itself because that means you've so completely buried your gender in excess flesh- I couldn't feel this if you were still shaped like a human being any more. I couldn't feel this if you were more than a blob of lard to me

Approaching my fattest ever again.

Can’t even come close 🤭

Blowing Up Your Fatboy: Gainer Shake Basics

So I know you have your opinions about gainer shakes: what’s best, what’s healthy, what’s stupid, what’s toxic… And yet for all that supposed information, there’s probably at least as much confusion. From decades of bodybuilding and fattening guys, here’s what I’ve discovered about gainer shakes and using them to put over 150 pounds on my fatboy since we got together a few years ago. (And all that blubber looks amazing on his 5'6" frame.)

Guys who’ve followed what I’ve outlined here (both quantity and frequency) have gained 15-20 pounds in a month. In one case, 10lbs in a week for several weeks when combined with an already high-calorie diet.

Tough getting up these now

One word.

One key.

FATSO.

The instant it hits—spoken, thought, texted, moaned—your belly flutters, your loins throb, and a warm, helpless craving takes over.

FATSO = hunger. FATSO = bliss FATSO = the delicious, unstoppable need to eat more… grow softer… swell rounder… fatter and fatter, bigger and rounder. This file plants the trigger deep, then welds it in place:

• Every admiring glance, every whispered “keep eating,” every pat on your swelling gut makes you hungrier and hornier

• Alone? You become your own perfect feeder—table set, fork moving, belly pushing outward with every swallow

• Bound and stuffed (fantasy or trusted play), restraints tight, mouth full, FATSO repeated until you’re bloated, blissful, and begging for more

• Mirror checks turn into rituals of pride—each new roll, each tighter waistband sends a submissive rush straight to your core

• The mantra burrows in and never leaves: The more you eat, the fatter you get. The fatter you get, the hornier you become. The hornier you become, the more you eat.

Repeated listens drop you faster, hit the trigger harder, make the growth feel more inevitable.

No escape. No off switch.

Just the loop… warm… permanent… yours.

It's gone.

Don’t you want that? Aren’t you positively dying for it?

What are you waiting for?