permapothead porker

Meals started to get less organized. What used to be maybe a heavy breakfast from McDonald's, a big lunch from Five Guys, some pizzas and beers for dinner, turned into piles of whatever junk they could find. Nothing but empty calories, from fast food to stick and balls of pure butter, eaten whenever throughout the day, until soon enough they decided "Why the effort," rooting through their fridge and stuffing their chubby-cheeked face with slop.

The bigger they got, the gassier and gassier, like each pound just served to make more room for every burp and fart to build up. Their burps started to get shorter, though- Short, deep, and constant, until it started to sound more like a snort than a belch, rumbling up through their throat and deepened by their fat neck.

Even when they're not burping through mouthfuls of junk, they're snorting just fine on their own. What used to be laden groans had become grunts, and what used to be moans of pleasure from the relief of a rumble of built-up gas escaping their hefty rear? Now all they did was oink with greed before filling their stomach up even more. Soon enough, they barely go through the effort of talking when they can just oink and snort-- Leaves more time to stuff their face.

As their walk turns into a waddle, you can't help but notice- Had their nose always been so... Short? Flat and upturned, and with another snorting belch, it would actually sound less crazy to say they had a snout than it would a nose.

Soon enough, cleanliness becomes a thing of the past. All nice and fancy outfits hung out to dry in place in place of stretchy, dingy undergarments, wrappers and containers strewn about the home so you always know just how much they've gorged; The place has become a proper pigsty, and their couch, the messiest of all, has practically become their new home.

And them, weighed down by the hundreds of pounds they've ballooned with, letting out a bloated, snorting belch as their gut is slick with butter and sauce and oil... They look as happy as a pig in mud.

That’s your cue to disregard my feelings. No more praise, no more encouragement, make it known that you are in charge of me.

I don’t control what happens with my body, you do. You decide how big I get, and you decide when I stop.

Humiliate me. Embarrass me. Flaunt your sleek, toned body to make me understand that I could never turn things around. Get it through my thick skull that there’s no going back to thin for me anymore.

Make me feel like such a useless tub of jiggling lard that any attempt at exercise would only be met with mockery. “Look at that fatty on the treadmill, even their double chin is bouncing”.

And if none of that works, if I keep insisting, then you just take me by force.

Tie me to the bed and lock me in my room, take away my mobility until you can feed me and feed me and feed me into a big ball of shame and blubber. Make me so fat and embarrassed of myself that I’ll never want to show my face outside again.

i feel like a can of biscuits.. popping out of all my clothes this big belly just can’t be contained any longer 🥴 i can’t wait to stuff myself big and overfilled today with this bloated belly 🤭😫🩷

i just kept going and now i feel so fucking tight 😫 why do i do this to myself..? im pinned under this gigantic solid belly fuuuck 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

Forcing me to stuff 5 burgers in front of my friends

Make them all see what a pig you’re making me

How you’re ruining me.

Please get everything with extra sauce and mayo on whatever it applies for.

Please “Forget” the tissues and napkins when you come over with the first of six trays of this meal.

Please just sit across from me without making a peep, just rubbing my thigh and under belly with your foot while I grind against the chair and eat faster.

Please wipe the edge of my lips and call me messy when the rest of my face is covered in sauce and grease.

Please keep rubbing my belly while the elastic waistband slips down and my belly pushes forward.

Please rub small circles around my belly button cause you know it’s become so sensitive I can cum from it.

Please keep fetching the other trays just before the last one runs out.

Please force me to waddle out leaning on your shoulder cause I’m not fat enough for the scooters.

Please rub my belly while I burp and moan the whole way there.

uuuuggghhhhh someone please make me stop, i cant keep outgrowing my clothes! 😩

Slowly realizing most of what I have goal wise for the future is fat related. Thinking of future job prospects? Nah never but I am picturing hundreds of more pounds on me! Worried about my health? Idk will it affect my gain? It’s the center of my life at this point. My life is all nerd shit (I could do when I’m immobile), my partner and any partners who I’ll have in the future (who will likely collaborate in making me worse) and of course the feeling of waking up fatter every day. I want to get so much worse cause fuck it’s hot to type this. Ruin me pls

Free tummy also