Just curious is it bad that i kinda lost my sex drive and are more happy with just food, bellyrubs and a blowjob instead of being fucked?
أنا أبحث عن رجل يعيش فقط من أجل حقيقة أنني أطعمه وأسمينه كل يوم حتى أتمكن من السماح له بالنمو أكثر فأكثر من الدهون الزائدة ليكون سمينًا وعاجزًا كما أريد
I have so many…. But here’s a vignette I’ve been thinking about today. Buckle up.
He’d been stuck in bed for months. Maybe over a year. The fat blob was about to turn 30. He had a name, but it didn’t seem necessary to use it anymore. He was “fatboy,” “chubs,” “Lardass,” or “pig.” All of those were more accurate than an actual name at this point.
He used to have a life- a real one that didn’t revolve around food. One that wasn’t limited to the confines of a bed or a body that he could hardly reach any part of. His lover had promised to make him 1,000lbs before he turned 30. Neither the immobile man nor his feeder knew if they had accomplished that…but both thought that they had. The last time the blubber-boy was weighed was about a year ago. His feeder tried to hoist him with a makeshift hoist and pulley system that one might see in the bariatric ward of a hospital. They got the blob’s weight, but it was so strenuous on his body, so painful feeling hundreds of pounds of lard trying leave the bed that he clung to, that he begged his lover to stop and never do it again. His caretaker obliged, and tried to stifle his smile and erection.
The fatboy had gained significantly since then. It didn’t matter the number. Everyday there was more fat. A hopeless amount of fat. The blob sometimes remembered a time before being completely helpless and hopeless. A when he could still kind of walk and before he was constantly hooked to oxygen. He and his caretaker would talk about getting to this extreme. The tub’s feeder was always dominant, always pushing more and more food into his fat lover, but they used to discuss getting him to this size and then calling it a day. Maybe calling the fire department, or an ambulance at some point. Having some form of help arrive to take the blob to some hospital. Help him get something of a life back. Lately, he thought that might have just been lip service.
One morning the blob awoke from his stupor to hear some commotion coming from the garage of his caretaker’s home. His lover had fed him so mercilessly the night before. He had been rough, forcing a gallon of pudding into his pig and fucking his rolls with little caution. He had grunted through gritted teeth how much fatter his pig was going to get. It sounded like a threat at the time, but the blubberboy kept sucking at the calories and felt his tiny, hard cock being jostled under hundreds of pounds of lard. Their sex had been recorded. It often was. The pig’s upkeep had to be balanced out somehow, and there were lots of men willing to pay good money to see a fatboy getting this kind of treatment.
He was hungry. The blob tried adjusting his rolls, no easy task with his immobile belly forcing his massive legs apart. Something was different. His catheter had been removed. He looked around the bedroom as the noise continued. Voices. It struck him that his oxygen tank was in a different place…and on a contraption with wheels. Suddenly his lover appeared in the doorway. He wore a tight shirt that showed off his muscular physique and sweatpants that clung to his growing erection. “He’s in here…” the feeder said.
Ten firemen entered the room, all wearing helmets and disposable white dust masks. Some gasped. They weren’t prepared for the bloated mountain of flab in front of them. They spoke with the blob’s feeder, but the boy couldn’t understand them, he could hardly see their faces under the masks and helmets. His heart was pounding in his ears. Flushed with embarrassment and excitement. What did these men think of him?
The blob’s lover came close. He spoke into his pig’s ear. He told his massive partner that the firemen were there to move him. That they were getting him out of the bedroom. The pig couldn’t believe it. Was he being taken to the hospital? What would happen there? He would be saved from this life. He would get his life back….he felt some sort of relief. And something like disappointment. He didn’t know what to think.
The men brought in a flat mattress with nylon straps and metal buckles supporting the bottom. They would have to drag and heave the blob out of there. Each man grabbed a different part of the boy, their strong hands sinking in every part of the blob they touched. The boy was already out of breath. He huffed and wheezed as the men and his lover tried to lift his body onto the new mattress. Blubber jostled everywhere. The men were talking, commenting on the pig’s size. The boy couldn’t make it out though. Just bits and pieces chiding his size. Comments of disbelief and disgust. He was trying so hard to use whatever strength remained in his atrophied muscles to help along. His legs and arms were useless, but they eventually got the boy onto the flat mattress.
The move was so painfully slow. Inch by inch, they moved the pig out of the room, through the widened doors of the house. Each man was grunting. The boy just wanted it all to be over. He was nervous and scared, but couldn’t help some slight arousal. His tiny dick the only hard part of him, trapped and suffocated in the sea of fat being dragged through the house. The blob thought he saw a smile on his lover’s lips.
It felt like hours, but the men and their immobile cargo made it to the garage. It was empty. The boy hadn’t seen it in over a year, but he guessed that his lover moved everything out in preparation for this day. The boy stared at he ceiling of the garage, unable to see anything else as the men stopped carrying him. The blob tried as best as he could to look over his great expanse of blubber. He saw a mattress in front of him. It must have been a california king. The men started lifting again. The fatboy was confused. Were they calling it quits for the day? Would he spend the night there until his rescue continued tomorrow?
His lover directed the firemen. They struggled as the blob wheezed and grunted. “Try to use your legs baby…” the boy heard his lover say. He tried with whatever ounce of strength remained in his pathetic body. The men where grabbing him by the arms. It was so striking seeing the fat pig’s sausage fingers desperately grasping their muscular arms. They pulled and pulled. The boy cried out in pain. He was almost their, trying to shift his massive bulk onto the bed. His gigantic chest bouncing with him, engulfing his head and upper torso as he jostled.
They finally got the boy on the bed. But as they were situating the massive blob, the boy desperately grasped at one of the firemen and he lost his balance. He fell directly into the sea of soft, sweaty blubber before him… The man moaned. Not a moan of disgust. Of arousal. The blob knew that sound. He heard it every night when his lover shoved his cock into one of his pig’s rolls. Everyone in the room was quite except for the blob boy. His wheezing was loud and out of control. The oxygen wasn’t helping much. “Well…It looks like the charade is over.” the boy’s caretaker said slowly, thickly.
Each fireman started taking off their baggy uniforms. Some removed their masks and helmets. Others left them on. The boy was in shock. He was being rescued wasn’t he? He was going to get his life back!
The blob’s lover had already disrobed. And was clamoring with jugs and tubes. The boy couldn’t control his breathing. He was in shock. He tried to move his arms or legs. Anything. But nothing responded. Just ripples of fat met his effort. Each of the firemen started touching the boy. They wore no gloves. Their rough hands grabbing and groping. The boy saw flashes of their bodies. Some muscular, some not. Some hairy with a layer of fat, others slim and in shape. All of theirs in striking contrast to the blob boy’s.
The blob’s feeder brought a funnel and tube to the boy’s face. A thick tube. “Did you think you were getting out, baby?” he asked his pig as he pushed the tube into the boy’s mouth. The pig wanted to protest, to spit it out, but he was too weak to resist. The men were roughly handling the pig. Some traced his angry stretchmarks with their tongues. Others started fucking his rolls. They watched as the feeder master held the tube and funnel high. “You know the only way you’re getting out, baby. Just eat, you fat fuck. Eat and eat til you burst…” He poured a mix of pudding and heavy cream into the wide funnel and it rushed down the big tube. It hit the boys mouth and he started to suck desperately. It filled his cheeks and he chugged and chugged. The slop crashed into the blob’s stomach like a mac truck. He moaned as the men kept groping and fucking. Some had already cum and were pressing themselves as close to the blob as possible. As the blob chugged, out of his mind, one of the men came up and nodded to the feeder. He removed the fatboy’s oxygen tube and the pig began to panic. “Keep going, lardass. Don’t you dare stop swallowing.” the feeder said. The former fireman grabbed a small brown bottle and soaked a rag with it. “You want to breathe fatboy?” he asked the pig,” go ahead, huff and wheeze.” The pig felt a rag pressed tight to his nose. He inhaled so quickly. The fumes slammed into his head. Poppers. He and his lover used to experiment with them back when he was around 500 lbs. Play with them had seemed to reckless to continue though. Until today.
The high rushed over the boy. He huffed again desperate for oxygen. More fumes. He was in hell. His head was spinning and slop just kept draining into him. Men were laughing as they fucked him. His lover handed the tube off to another man and crawled on top of his mountain of lard. The blob’s head felt like it was going to spin off his blubbery shoulders. More cream and more pudding. His heart pounded. It thundered in his ears. His feeder sprawled out on his prized hog spread eagle, and his cock sank into the boy’s bottomless bellybutton. Every part of the blob was moving violently. His lover fucked his rolls so hard as the men caressed, or fucked, or stroked. Someone had their hand in several feet of flubber, and found the pig’s dick and started stroking. He felt like he would pass out, or explode but it all kept coming. His feeder threatened him. Told him how this wasn’t over, how he would feed his pig until he couldn’t force another pound on him. The blob heard this nightmare mantra in rhythm with the thundering drum of his heart and the stroking of his dick. He couldn’t breath. Still high. More slop pumped in. He looked in his lover’s eyes. Cruel and cold. Wild. More everything. This was Hell. This was Heaven. This was Hell. All the fucking and wheezing and chugging combined into the thunderous pounding in his ears. The blob shot.
Who wants to be ruined?
I’ll abduct you and lock you up. I’ll provide unlimited amount of greasy, fried foods and melted ice cream and shakes to drink straight through a funnel gag. Keep you there for your entire life until you can no longer walk or move or do anything without me. Hopefully I’ll let you have one good cum before you cock Is forever buried in lard!
Where do i put my address? Asking me is fine too!
Property of The Ruiner
I own you, tubby. You’re mine to tease, feed, and fuck! I want your mouth slaving…chewing nearly every hour of the day. Your clothes need to always be on the verge of ripping. Self-control? You don’t have any, Fatboy. You need to be full every hour of the day, no arguing bitch! I’ll provide everything, and all you need to do is eat. I want you to be a good submissive piggy and do as you’re told. I’ll punish you if you don’t. If you make me angry or are lashing out, I’ll cuff you to the bed and to force-feed you until you’re about to explode. You cannot fight back; I’m way more fit than you. Your muscle tone has diminished and turned into pure fat. You couldn’t stand a chance. I’m in control of you now. I need you to outgrow your bed. Outgrow all store-bought clothes. Outgrow ever being seen in public. I’ll make the Fatboy inside of you match the outside. Eat and submit bitch! 😈
The hunger grows
Your insatiable need to feast upon anything and everything. Do you even care about what you put in your mouth? Do you care about being healthy? Of course not, Fatboy. You only care about one thing, feeding your hunger. You could have it all; the skinny sexy body and rocking hot boyfriend. But you have decided to trade all of that for sitting on your disgraceful fatass and eating all day long. You have no life beyond that! No goals that don’t involve a numeric weight, no passions that don’t include being encompassed in lard, you’re nothing more than a hopeless fooddump, and you know it! When will the hunger stop, fatty? But it’s not hunger because you’re not starving and certainly not missing any meals. It’s more of a craving. You covet your next snack, dinner, drink, or anything you can satisfy your yearning for food. Thus, give in and eat and submit. 😈
You have no choice when dating me. I know you. Your appetite is too voracious, and my cooking is also delicious. I know all your favorite dishes, most special desserts, and sought-after delicacies, and to your pleasure and mine, I know how to make them all. I can prepare for you any meal you want at any time you want. You can and will eat every morsel, every plate will be licked clean, and your body will thank you as it begins to grow. Yes. Your body will indeed produce—bigger, rounder, more expansive, softer. You will feel every pound stick to your body. You will feel your waist begin to widen, your hips protrude, your thighs thicken, and your belly swells till it hangs over your belt. Your thin, gaunt face will grow puffy with Rosey ruddy cheeks chubbier than those of a newborn’s. Your arms will plump up into soft succulent pillars of fat. Your man tits will be pumped plump full of fat, becoming large swollen udders resembling ripe watermelons as your nipples puckle. And, of course, your buttocks will rise like dough, becoming large bulbous mounds of flesh that jiggle and wobble with every step you take. Eat and submit! 😈
It’s not that I want you to eat yourself to death. It’s just I want to see how much fat I can push into your body before the inevitable happens! I want to have so much fun with you and I want you to know what pleasure and pain feels like! I want you to moan, pant, and groan!
I promise I don’t mean you harm, but your cellulite makes me horny, and your stretch marks keep me up at night. The thought of you struggling for air makes my dick incredible hard! I can’t help myself, and neither can you, fatboy! I mean, maybe I’d feel bad if you didn’t enjoy this so much. I’d feel bad knowing I’m making you bedridden and helpless, with lard pouring through your veins into your heart. But, your enjoyment of it keeps pulling me back and harder. So I give in to your wishes as you give into mine. Thus, I use you over and over, and you let me! This is how the cycle of our extremely toxic relationship works; nonetheless, it’s ours, Fatboy! Eat and submit!
I wouldnt mind a Toxic rlsp so full of pleasure, codependence and a guy who gets the happyness if the need to grow gets satisfyd!
You can’t stop!
You can’t stop thinking about gaining. Every time you consider quitting, you’re right back at it within a couple of days. Everything your fatass does during the day reminds you of how much fatter you are now and how thin you used to be. It leads you to rub your fat when you’re alone, masturbate to that enormous, chubby belly, and eat more and more every day. You can’t fucking control it, Piggy. You’re going to be a big fat pig. There’s no stopping it.
You’re not finished yet, fatboy!
You’re still hungry, fatboy! Because I fucking said you are. Therefore, you will eat this last whole pizza. I don’t get a fuck how full you are; I don’t care much. It hurts! Don’t forget, bitch, you wanted this, the pain, and to be fat. You’re an expanding hog, and you need to remember your fucking place!
So this is exactly what you’re going to do, fatboy! Take more fucking food and shove it into your hungry, greedy, wide mouth. Eat it all, chew it up, swallow, and then hold it down! Do you feel it? That pain inside your stomach? Don’t worry, piggy. It’s merely a side effect of your purely insatiable and voracious appetite for food and fat. I love watching you struggle, moan and groan, as you painfully attempt to finish everything. You can try to protest your ravenous cravings, but you’ll never escape.
You’re trapped in a life gaining. Get used to the pain, that fat bulging belly, and your jeans not fitting! Sadly, all you can think about is food and making that belly of yours even bigger, chubbier, and hungrier. Thus, don’t you fucking dare tell me you’re finished, or you can’t eat anymore. Because I know you have more room in that gut. Besides, I know you want more fatboy; I know your belly needs more. It needs food, it needs to grow, and you are going to obey me! Listen to me, Tubbs, and keep stuffing your chunky face. Eat and submit! 😈
Give me what I need, fatty!
I need you greedier- I’m going to indulge and spoil you so much, your belly rumbles when I enter as if your body is conditioned to the mere sight of me, with food and being fed. I will stuff your gut until you can eat five times as much food as me and still want dessert!
I need you lazier- I’ll cater to your every need so you get used to never getting up from the bed or couch. You promptly curl up into it whenever we get home, then beg me to feed you! I want buck naked all day, every day, so you’re relaxed and comfortable at all times, with your perfect gut hanging out growing endlessly for me!
I need you fatter. I want to watch as your wardrobe quickly becomes too insignificant for you, then take you shopping for clothes you can grow into while parading and embarrassing you at the mall. I’m going to watch you fill them out, and soon they’ll become too tight, and I’ll make you wear them anyway, as you desperately try to pull the fabric over the fat spilling out. I want to make you so fucking obese that standing up takes your breath away. The thought of being fed makes you horny and want to cum! So fat that your vast body doesn’t fit through doorways and take over the bed, I want you to keep growing. Eat and submit, Fatboy!
Can’t help yourself
You couldn’t help it; you enjoy how your fat ass body grows and grows. The constant sweet treats and greasy food were going to eventually show on your figure. Every step you take, your jiggly round belly moves, and it sloshes back and forth side to side. You always scratch your gut after moving around because it gets so itchy; that’s the most exercise you get. Your belly is the biggest thing on you; it doesn’t matter what shirt you had on, it just wouldn’t cover that blob of fat. It was soft and always shiny, that usual glow on your gut you have from stuffing yourself with high amounts of food. Your thighs are fat, strain against any bottoms you wear, so now you only wear sweatpants. Your man boobs are outrageously huge; the fat of them jiggle with each step as well. Your love handles are to die for; it’s tempting to touch the sides of your body. And your back fat, how can we forget that? Plus, your fat cheeks are adorable, begging to get filled with food so it can continue to grow. So fill them bitch! Eat and submit! 😈
Are you human anymore?
What the fuck are you? You are not human anymore, fatboy! You’re a literal pile of a wheezing and panting tub of lard! Sitting on your fat ass sucking down sugar and grease! Your skin stretched out and over-pushed; it looks like it could tear at the seams. Your poor belly extends to cover your legs and dick, so sad your lower half has long been swallowed by multiple sacks of fat. Now you rasp helplessly latched to heart monitors and CPAP machines struggling to find pride in being so fucking fat. You attempt to change position, but it’s useless. You’re far too fat to help yourself out of bed. Your blubbery neck rolls almost strangle you while you munch and munch, but you can’t stop even though you’re hurting because you’re fucking addicted.
This is what happens, bitch, when you spend your entire life eating whatever. It gets worse when you find someone to encourage your bad habits and completely ruin your health. Then your arms will be enclosed with slabs of fat rolls fastening them to your sides. You’re such a disgusting piece of shit, wasting your life away slowly with every calorie. But you fucking love it bitch! Oh no, don’t lie, fatty.
You idolize being filled. You worship the feeling of existing to be fattened up. Living as a useless hog with your organs smothered by fat. Your poor heart will soon cease to function from your insatiable addiction. Your fatass eats so much that you can feel your stomach and intestines struggle to turn all that lard into energy that has nowhere to go because your fat ass doesn’t move. Even your ass is riddled in lars and falls flat and wide no longer compare with a shape just two blubbers crammed heaps of fat! I wonder what is going to give out first. Is it your grease-covered heart or your squeezed insides? You don’t care, do you, you tubby bitch? I reckon you’ll keep feeding until you find out, you pathetic, greedy fooddump. Eat and submit, you worthless fatass lardass! 😈
I want you inhumanely obese
Fat? No, I don’t want you fat, porky! I want you enormously, repulsively, terrifyingly morbidly obese. I want people to look at you and cringe in awe and horror, to drop their jaws at the sight of how much space you fucking occupy. I want them to look at you with open eyes, curious brains, and empathic hearts as they ponder how you’re still human. I want you so massive you lose every portrayal of your body, so you can’t tell where your stomach ends, or arms and legs begin, and your hands and feet are entirely engulfed in blubber. I want your face so thick that your eyes become tiny gashes, and your lips are forever pursed together from your swollen cheeks and neck. You’ll barely be able to mumble words by your buried vocal cords under all the lard and grease I’ve stuffed into you, making you only able to rasp, wail, squeal, and screech like actual swine. Because that’s what you’ll be: not a man, not a human, but a pig, a vast, stretched, dreadful hog whose only purpose is to eat and grow for my happiness, until your fatass lard riddled body and weakened heart explode. Once that happens, Obeseboy, I’ll find another bitch to ruin just like you! Don’t be sad, dont cry, this is what you wanted. Remember? Therefore, shut the fuck up, lay back and eat and submit! 😈
Opens mouth wide*
Look at what you’ve done, bitch!
Stare at that belly and look at that fat. Those blubbery folds and cellulite-ridden thighs. Stretchmarks in every chubby crevice. What happened, you tubby bitch? You used to be so tiny, a healthy. Now, those days are long gone, aren’t they? Your once slender arms are now heavy with fat and jiggly. Your face is rounded out, and is that a second chin? Damn fatty and those cheeks so fluffy and pinchable. They’re always crammed with food I smashed in your greedy mouth. Your chest is so soft too. It’s gotten so big; do you need a bra, fatboy? God, look at how impossibly massive your butt is. No wonder every chair you flop your fat ass on strains and squeaks under your load: your thighs, my god, your thighs. Look at how they wobble. Jiggling and swaying with each step is hypnotic. But let’s not forget your enormous fat stomach. Remember that flat stomach you had once?
No one does. What a glutton. A huge, heavy one. Look at what you’ve done to yourself, bitch. You demolished your body, and for what? To eat whatever you want? Jerk off? You fucking love it. You like being out of shape. You love being big. Do you like the gazes, swine? Do you like people focussing and taunting you for allowing yourself to go? I’m sure you fucking do, chubs. Even with the growing concerns, you can’t stop. I know you can’t. You know you can’t. Fat is just too good. So why stop now? So what if your pants don’t fit? They make them larger now; don’t fret. So what your breathing is heavy? Your fatass doesn’t have anywhere to go. So what you’re getting closer to your demise? Your life wasn’t that terrific anyway! So eat and submit, you miserable tub of lard!
Single n ready for a boyfriend who likes or wants me fatter too. 144
144kg onwards 150
Feedees reblog if
The only thing you want to do is be forcefully tied to a large bed while your feeder brings you copious amounts of food for weeks, months, even years. You just want to watch your body slowly blow up like a calorie filled sack. Your feeder making you stuff yourself endlessly every day until your belly grows so absolutely enormous you can’t see your fat swollen feet anymore. You want to be so riddled with fat that you can’t possibly heave yourself over without help. Your ass weighing you down along with your cellulite stuffed thighs. All you want is to be a useless eating machine gorging non stop until your arms are so heavy you can’t even bring them to your fat engorged face leaving your feeder no choice but to strap a tube into your pathetic hog mouth and fill you like a human balloon. You also know the consequences of eating like a pig and you don’t care. You just want to be helplessly obese even if your heart struggles to pump. You just want to be fed, rubbed, and played with.