#fdsmrambles

Picture being toyed with like that, a hand gripping your lower belly and teasing you for how much you've let yourself go. In a quick motion, there's a finger in your belly button that seems to control your entire belly's movement. You're still jiggling, even when this full.

Your shirt doesn't cover everything as easily, especially whilst your leaning back. You need the room. Your legs are spread wide, the fat on each leg being just as widened out. The waistband gets lowered under your belly, the sheer weight of it now fully showing. Your belly sits over and in between your legs amd each prodding squeeze seems to ripple throughout your entire body.

You move just a little, attempting to see the damage yourself. You check your sides, the expanse of each hip bulging from the waistband. There's softened love handles there, ones that almost blend into your fattened sides and heft of your rolls.

You're toyed with like that, hands slipping over each thigh and squeezing feverishly. You can't help but whine, maybe feign protest, but you'll continue to give sad eyes whenever you aren't being touched. There's a sweet spot somewhere on your belly, a certain motion helping you to get some of the air out. You still feel just as useless, but there's an undeniable sense of relief. You have enough energy to breath now, albeit heavy and belated a certain points. It gets interrupted with each touch, your lips aching to cut yourself off from sounding too eager.

Your sides recieve a squeeze in unison, fingers pressing into the skin and rolls where they can. There's a massage like motion, the kind that makes your back arch and causes you to relax for just a few seconds. Your chest gets the same treatment, cupped into either hand carefully before squeezing with a telling firmness.

Whilst leaning back, you understand the gravity of the situation. You understand your own weight, or at least accept it. It's not as easy as it used to be, but it's so doable. You're aching for some kind of stimulation, even if you don't think you've got it in you to truly do much about it. You need something.

So, you eat. You play with the nearest thing you can, something that's far easier to pleasure yourself with. You play with the weight of your belly, lifting it up and letting it fall onto your thighs, sinking in between them and completely covering any sight of what sits beneath. You're almost certain there's a jiggle there too, but you can't exactly see. You can only try again and again, shaking your own belly in hopes that the jiggle passes through your body in the right way to hit the spot.

The sight you see helps, your belly pushed out enough to where you've lost the sight of your own belly button. Your chest is spread, widened out and weighing you down on either side, pressed against plush arms and making the movement arousingly tedious.

Your second chin sits against your collar bone. It's something you can't see like the rest of you but you certainly feel it every time you move your face or part your lips to eat something. There's a lot you can't see, but you can certainly feel it. The way your thighs touch, spread wide as you lay on the sunken bed. You've really started to weigh everything down and when you move, if done abruptly enough, the bed moves with you. There's a sound to it, the specific kind that would make people think you're having sex and simply not just playing with your belly in an overzealous fashion.

You can keep your head high for as long as it's needed, settle into my hands afterwards. There's a reason why eating feels so perverted at times. You want more of it.

Let me make a spectacle out of you. There's a lot you haven't experienced yet. After your first time, assume there won't be a last. There's an addiction to watching yourself grow so effortlessly, don't deprive yourself of it.

That's more than before. Feeling daring, are we? You make a lot of noise when you're enjoying yourself. Mostly when you're alone, but even elsewhere too. You've picked a habit, didn't you notice?

You're getting messy again. Don't clean yourself. We're alone. There's no reason to act all polite when you're enjoying yourself.

I need you unrecognisable, waist twice the size and your previous outline nowhere to be seen. You sink into every seat, taking up far more space than before and creaking every chair loud enough to bring attention to you.

I need you to blow up at an ungodly rate, at a pace people can't even digest. You get carried away, no matter the place, a complete slave to your own indulgence and making an absolute scene every time eating is involved.

I need everyone to know how insatiable you are. You show people how much you've changed, what my influence has done to you. I don't even need to say anything, the way you eat and how much you eat says it all.

I need you lazy, breathing far too heavily as you mutter something about activities like this being easy only a few months back. You're blind to how much you've gained, embarrassed at how fast you've grown. You can't help but underestimate your own presence, knocking into things and squeezing into clothes that only fit sincerely well a while ago.

You've gone too far. Your figure says it all. Fat is your main descriptor. People talk about you and the first thing they mention is how insane the difference is, how much you've grown and how blinding it is to see how fat you've gotten within such a time.

There's really not many calories in this, how convenient that you like it so much.

You enjoy gaining, yet you're apprehensive to fully jump into it, but it's fine because you're honestly not even that fat. It's really not noticeable.

Your shirts look the same, I wouldn't worry about the buttons on your shorts, or the way it digs into your thigh and emphasises where a roll would be if you were actually fat.

You know it's a lie, surely, but you pretend that you believe it to the point where you practically do.

You believe your portions are normal. You've hardly changed.

But a part of you certainly knows. No one's that oblivious, but you entertain it as if it is, pulling down your shirt one minute but jiggling your belly swiftly after.

the insatiable desire to just get fat/fatter.

please tell me more. this is such an underrated thing but just knowing that you wanna be fat, how much you wanna get fatter, etc. is so arousing. are you embarrassed, or just eager? is there any kind of thought stopping you?

how fat they imagine themselves.

fuuck I wanna know the specifics. tell me what you'd struggle with, what changes you'd experience at that size, all the emotions that would come with it. give more than just a number. state the experience. what would it really feel like to be at the sizes you imagine?

appetite and general cravings

your appetite, has it changed? have you even noticed? are you even thinking about it? does it catch you off guard sometimes? when is it worse? what have you been craving non stop, what are you weaknesses? do I have permission to use this 'against' you?

how much their size/appetite turns them on

what really goes through your head thoughout the day, just existing like you do? do you get excited when you're hungry, or does it mostly kick in when you overindulge? does seeing your own body remind you to give in more for the sake of horny curiosity? what exactly would you love done to you right now?

moments they feel at their fattest

Growing at such a rate that it's baffling. Concerning, even.