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When did I get this fucking fat 😳😵‍💫😵‍💫

Brief crude self musings below the cut lol

a big sweetie on the evil evil stairs 🥺🎀

Especially love when their fatpad gets so huge and buried with lard that it’s like a second hole, having gotten too big to top

strap ons and fat guys are like bears and salmon. can't be divorced. when a man gets too fat to use his dick, he uses a strap and plays pretend. when he gets too fat that reality outweighs playing pretend, he gets pegged and learns to understand that once you're at a size that's barely functional outside of eating and existing, gender doesn't matter.

het couple that's trying for a baby but they have infertility issues, but an experimental project that could get the man pregnant is offered.

he's hesitant but making his wife happy is more important so he says yes

as it turns out his genes detect a baby and go woooaaahhh baby time and he gets like SUPER chunky. like so soft and curvy even more than his wife would have

initially he's like you know embarassed but it's kind of hard to when his wife is like that one reddit post about the guy obsessed with his pregnant wife towards him-- she's so tender and doting and loving

and also really really fucking horny about him like this. complimenting him and praising him for eating huge meals 'for the baby'. touching him always. satisfying his libido now. she loves holding him. like, their roles were switched and it's like they couldn't be happier. she dumped her friends who were acting like /him/ getting fat after the pregnancy was a tragedy, as if she / didn't do that on purpose/.

and like. the guy kind of contemplates having more. hormones are making him broody and of course his loving wife says yes so he's happy! a never empty husband is a happy one!

I love this, hear me out.

Firstly, while I’m not taking any inspiration (at least not consciously) from this, I have to show you the feedism fic Baby Weight by fluffy_waffle, I think you’d like it lmao

Onto my stuff.

Mood swings are awful. One minute he’s watching TV next thing he knows there’s a commercial with a baby laughing and he’s bawling because babies shouldn’t be put in front of a camera. They don’t want to be filmed.

His wife consoles him with sugary treats because they’ve found that’s the only way now. Melted chocolate brownie and salted caramel ice cream, chocolate syrup and sprinkles and heavy cream. That’s his pick-me-up treat. Chugged straight from the carton with a hand on his belly, soothing the baby.

But really he’s not eating that much. There’s so many foods he can’t eat for the baby’s sake, whether that’s new aversions or foods he definitely can’t eat as a pregnant person.

The baby is most active at night. The kicks are so frequent and he gets so hungry he has to sneak downstairs to raid the fridge.

His wife finds him, asks why he didn’t wake her up. He cries because he thinks she’s mad, so alongside all these chips and cake and soda bottles, he gets his kisses, belly rubs, and his special soother of salted caramel brownie ice cream, cream, syrup and sprinkles. The boost in serotonin gives him a hardon, so she jerks him off before bed.

He snores like hell. But that’s to be expected with such a massive, milk filled chest and a baby drifting towards your lungs.

When he’s at work, he’s basically spilling out of his desk chair, or close to it. Baby brain is the worst symptom, because it usually pairs with his cravings at work.

Empty eyed, drooling a little, he daydreams about burgers. Pizza. His wife sucking him off. He’s inadvertently tweaking his nipples as he thinks, cock throbbing, and ends up soaking through his shirt. At his weight, with his sugar-heavy diet, he lactates like crazy.

He shaves his chest (or rather his wife does) every week after he’s bathed and pampered, and then has to sneak to the bathrooms or even his car, wedged behind the wheel, to pump.

He’s providing so well for his baby. Calorie, sugar-dense milk that will have his babies all cute and chubby. And so much of it, now frozen and loads still fresh from the source.

When the baby is out, he loves it to pieces. His sedentary lifestyle is perfect at keeping him soft and ready for his baby’s needs. But… two weeks. That’s all it takes.

He feels empty. No matter how much he eats, no matter how much he cuddles his baby, or his wife, he feels aggravatingly empty.

His body has been sculpted into a tribute of fertility. Massive ass, wife hips, fat tits, fat belly. And yet he’s not pregnant.

It’s driving him up the wall. His wife senses it.

“We need another one.” He sounds depraved, desperate. He sounds like he’s been punched in the gut. He’s already getting on his back, spreading his legs and pawing at his own massive belly to pass the hint along. “I need another one. I’m serious, fuck. Please. Give me twins or something – I need that fullness again.”

So of course they have another one.

And another.

And another.

He takes the chance to work from home. Being pregnant isn’t good for his back and it’s hard to drive when your bump sticks to the wheel and swollen ankles make the pedal-work hard.

He got stuck once. His wife had to help him. He cried from the embarrassment, from the hormones, so an extra big soother snack was in his hands immediately after he sat down on his big dent on the couch.

She promised him he wouldn’t have to drive again. He’ll work from home. She’ll work towards a promotion and he’ll quit. A stay at home parent… doesn’t that sound good? His body just isn’t meant to work anymore. He’s so full and tired and doing such an incredible job raising their kids, feeding their babies. But he’s so tired. They’ll hire a nanny to help him, too. Or maybe his mom or a nice neighbor…

She’s asked to dress in a white T-shirt and a pair of shorts. She’s then asked for her favorite fast food meal. It’s put in front of her and then she’s blindfolded.

She’s put in stirrups, then the crotch of her shorts are pulled aside and something cool is put right on her clit. Tell us when you’re about to cum.

She’s warned about feeling an injection in her side before it happens. The vibrator is turned on. There’s tingling in her midsection. Pleasure courses through her, but she tells the doctor when she’s about to cum, and the vibrator is turned off.

Her belly still tingles a bit, and she is shocked to find it feels swollen under her hand. About 10lbs of fat, right there.

From the injection, the doctor assures. This is normal, I wouldn’t worry. Unless… it feels unpleasant?

No, it doesn’t feel unpleasant.

She’s warned again about a needle in one of her thighs. She’s then asked how she reacts to immense stress. She says anxiously, sometimes with tears in her eyes. Her brain doesn’t settle until it’s resolved.

The doctor instructs her to identify certain smells. The next needle is in her other thigh, warned about beforehand just like the last.

Upon the first smell, her stomach gurgles with hunger. It’s immediate.

The burger from her fast food order is brought to her mouth. She takes a bite, but it’s not too big.

The next scent to identify is after a shot to her ass. The scent makes her salivate, nearly like a waterfall. Another bite of burger.

The next scent sends a pang of hunger through her violent enough to make her flinch. Another burger bite. The fourth is given with the question, which of the prior scents is this? From the way her mouth is dripping, it’s the second. The last bite of burger, then the vibrator is back on.

Keep eating. She’s fed the fries and milkshake, and by the time she warns the doctor she’s about to cum it’s too late. She does. The fries are gone but there’s a small portion of shake left. The vibe continues after another pre-warned injection to her ass, and the shake is gone by the time she’s coming down and trembling from her second orgasm.

Vibrator off, the mask comes off too. Her ankles are unstirrupped.

Her belly is bloated but layered with softness, resting a little more outwards against her bigger thighs. Her hips are a little wider too, and her ass. Her cups are straining against her tee. It looks like it’s meant to be a crop top like this. Her shorts are tighter too.

20 or maybe 25lbs total, she wants to say?

“There we are. You finished the whole meal. Your appetite stimulation test was a success. How was it?”

She casts a look to the empty fast food containers and her belly groans. She asks if there’s another one she could have as she struggles to sit up, fatigued. That flinching pain in her tummy comes back.

Well, I DID buy one for myself but… here we are. I’m glad you have your appetite back.

She scarfs the meal down like it’s her last, clit throbbing as her belly fills up a little more. She’s moaning as she finishes the food off, like it’s sexually pleasured her.

And she’s still hungry. She’s made to put her (snug) jeans back on and her soaked shorts in her handbag before being shown out, but even as she pays all that’s on her mind is food.

Having promptly worked up a sweat he heads into the showers and complains he’s all out of shake. He then gets to sit on his ass and all his fellow gym bros take turns using his mouth in return for money for the nearest burger joint. Getting him on all fours is a bigger fee, plus a ride to the drive-thru instead of letting him in the seating area by himself to gorge himself stupid enough not to be able to drive home.

This is the first time since waking he's stopped eating, because he feels so empty without her. Food helps so bad, he feels a little good when he can stuff his face, occasionally jerking off as he thinks of her hugging him and kissing him and rubbing this new body of his all over once she returns.

He belches while in the phone to her. Tries to hide it, can't. "Pardon me."

"You sound like you had a nice dinner," she laughs. "What did you have?"

He looks around, embarrassed. "Just — a portion of that casserole you froze." Two portions, actually. And a box of chicken wings, two burgers, and a portion of fries, and onion rings, and a milkshake. He feels sick and immovable. He's rubbing his belly. "It was big. And good. You're the best cook."

"Glad to hear it. You're the best husband."

He whimpers, cock straining against his briefs. "I miss you." He fishes it out with a wince because of his stomach and strokes it idly. "Miss you so bad."

"Are you taking care of yourself? Are you eating?"

"Yeah – yeah, I'm eating."

"That's amazing. You should keep eating. I don't want to find you when I come home looking like skin and bones because you missed me so much!"

He looks down at his belly and tries to tug his undersized shirt over it, to little avail. "You won't, I promise."

"Love you, honey. Talk to you tomorrow."

"Love you too. Talk tomorrow."

But the heavier he gets, the harder it becomes to get him to stand long enough to shackle him into the right position, or to get close enough to his increasingly buried cock for collection. It also becomes harder to get him in the pen, because he doesn’t want to slowly waddle his way there from where he’s been sunbathing in the fields.

She takes her skirt and stockings off. In nothing but her underwear, all she keeps doing is drink. Maybe she looks down at herself and moans, starts to touch because in this state she finds herself to look so good.

She passed out, drooling, snoring, after her ninth beer. She wakes up to a set of strong hands on her belly, pressing out the overwhelming tightness. Her boyfriend is home--amazing shape, sharp jaw, bright smile--and beaming at her as she belches loud enough to win a contest if she was in one.

He continues to knead. He kisses the crest of her beer gut and works his way up to uncupping at tit from her bra to suckle on. She unsteadily leans forward, he unclasps her bra and tosses it aside, peppering kisses in her chest.

She moans, "Fuck. More."

"You should have taken it easier," he chides, "I told you I was making dinner. I bought all the ingredients."

"I could eat."

He giggles, nuzzling her gut with a cheek. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She pushes his head in, dislodging another belch. She's panting, "Stressful day. Need my, uh, my man to take care of me."

It's his turn to moan, rolling his face against her stomach until his mouth reaches her navel. He treats it like a second mouth, or a pussy, and starts to devour.

"You look so good right now," he says, "missed you all day."

"Missed you--hic!--too. Get me another beer while you're cooking?"

He stands immediately. "Yes, ma'am."

She sits back, cotton-headed, and slips her hand under her panties.