Fat Is Awesome

trying to cool off today with some half&half and milkshakes, but i made a mess

Your buddy Mitch hadn't always been that fat fuck on the right. In the early years of your friendship, he had actually been rather fit. The man worked out routinely and maintained a healthy bulk. That, however, quickly changed when he landed himself an amazing cook for a partner. Hours spent at the gym faded into hours spent snacking at the dinner table:

I want it so fucking bad. I need a feeder who doesn’t give a shit about limits, who sees how pathetic and greedy I already am and just… keeps pushing.

I want to be trapped under hundreds and hundreds of pounds of my own soft, useless blubber. I want my belly to sag so heavy it pins me to the bed, rolls cascading over rolls, sweat pooling in every deep crease while I wheeze just from existing. I want stretch marks like lightning bolts splitting across my skin, red and angry at first, then turning silver as proof of how much I’ve surrendered.

I want to feel the tube shoved down my throat when my jaw gets too tired, thick calorie sludge pumping straight into me 24/7—shakes so dense they feel like cement, heavy cream, melted ice cream, oil slicking everything. I want my body to forget what hunger even feels like because I’m never empty. Ever. Just constantly bloated, aching, leaking, my heart hammering against layers of fat like it’s trying to escape before it gives out.

I want my legs to fuse into useless pillows of cellulite, my arms too swollen to lift, my chins multiplying until I can barely turn my head. I want to be so immobile that the only movement is the jiggle when someone slaps my gut or forces another funnel session. I want my feeder’s hands sinking wrist-deep into my sides while they whisper how much prettier I’ll be when I’m closer to the edge, when every breath is a struggle, when my body is finally giving up exactly like I begged it to.

I’m already ruined for anything else. Normal life? Gone. Thin? Laughable. I don’t want escape. I want to sink deeper. I want to be their perfect, disgusting, dying pig—swollen, sweaty, horny and helpless, cumming from the pressure alone while my arteries clog and my organs drown in lard.

Please.

Make me so fat I can’t come back.

Make me so fat I stop breathing under my own weight.

I’m begging for it. I’m dripping just typing this.

I’m not leaving this path. I’m already too far gone. 🐷💦🍰

Wanna ride my waves of fat? 😏🥰

Wide.

Huge.

Big.

Enormous.

I love the way superfat bodies become less and less gendered.

No gender