Big is Beautiful

We both know you're so much more than just the hundreds and hundreds of pound you've gained. But seeing you there, in your element, it's so easy to want you, and objectify you. Encircled by a group of feeders, hands grabbing every inch of you. Tugging at fat rolls, hands disappearing between your folds, tracing the stretchmarked skin.

Hearing you huff and wheeze as they have their way with you. Fat chubby cheeks pulled to each of their lips, getting off with you, getting off with the hulk of fat before them. Sensory overload happening, as the food comes out, donuts being stuffed into your hungry mouth. Barely giving you a moment's reprieve before the next one. Protests muffled by the conveyor belt of calories. The groups eyes widen just seeing how quickly you can put it back. They express shock, they laugh, all while you continue to be their personal fat factory. I can see your mind swimming, I see it in your eyes.

The hands increase their exploration of your massive form. Fat tits squeezed, gasping as your nipples are pinched and tugged. Fingers fucking your belly button. And as it gets to a crescendo and you cry out, you are silenced by the funnel gag shoved in your mouth. The custard is poured and more comments are made, they look at their creation, hungry, desperate, at their mercy. They whisper in your ear. Ask you if you're happy what you've done to yourself, how far gone you are. And you whimper in pleasure as you struggle to finish the custard. Hands continuing to prod and shake, and squeeze.

Until attention moves south. And one of the feeders reaches your fatpad. He looks at his glistening hand, and sees how much you've been leaking. Your eyes widen as his flash a wicked smile. A vibrator appears and is matter-of-factly inserted into your fat pad, eliciting a grunt.

The taste of custard changes to someone all more familiar. Your gainer shake. Melted ice cream, weight gain powder, full fat milk. Dumped down the funnel without much care. Your body begging you to slow down. Gut distending into your lap. Hands now forming an all out assault. Feeders groping and shaking every part of you. Getting off on your fat. Fucking folds of your fat. The muffled whimpers as the vibrator continues to pulse. Fuck. It's all too much. You're getting close. I know you're getting close.

As each of the feeders blows their load over your fattened form, a final strong tug on your tits send you over the edge as the last of the gainer shake slips down, the vibrators pulse at maximum, and you cum. Oh fuck do you cum.

Angry at all the people who continue to demonize fatness SO MUCH that a consensual kink between grown humans is seen as disordered, when 90% of the diets we see in the mainstream are straight up disordered eating. But they make you thin, so it’s okay!! 🙄🙄🙄

When we demonize fatness, we demonize food. And with how quickly the ozempic-era has changed society and decimated the body-positivity movement, we are demonizing both like NEVER before. Even compared to early 2000s fatphobia, this shit is on a whole new level.

I have so many more thoughts and may make a more fully fleshed-out post in the future, if my account isn’t nuked. But really, all this shit boils down to too many people seeing fat (and disabled) folk as sub-human, and the dire need for fat liberation because of it.

I feed you, I tease you, I rub your distended gut.

But for the love of god, fucking burp.

Burping is like music to my ears. It’s like your overtaxed tummy communicating directly to my cock.

When you burp, you are telling me

“Fucking stuff me. Now. More food”

You are demanding to be stuffed like a pig until your fucking chair breaks, and your clothing explodes.

The louder and deeper the belch, the more demanding that noise is. The more I need to stuff something down your throat, food or otherwise.

So burp.

Belch. Split the air with a deep guttural noise.

Do it directly in my ear, and watch my face turn pink.

The new magic stops working after three days and every spell uses proprietary runes.