Forced fattening story, Fatties Forced hunting for men to fattening
By noarthereonlyfatDecember 29, in Your Stories.
She is smiling alone. In the lamp light the withered leaves collect at my feet, and the wind begins to moan. The couch, already broken from their weightsplit apart right then and there, but was further hidden under all that fat furry flesh as they kept gaining.
|Ethnic: ||I'm from Argentina|
|Sexual identity: ||I like man|
|My gender: ||My sex is fem|
|What is my hair: ||Chestnut|
|Zodiac sign: ||Cancer|
|I like to listen: ||Easy listening|
|My tattoo: ||None|
Ha ha, you want help. You not being able to get out of bed on your own has kind of been the point all along.
No reason to look so shocked. I mean, you had to know something was up at some point. I could have sworn you did. No, most people would have pumped the brakes once they got that big.
But you blew right past it. I was expecting that something — the heavier belly, the thickening thighs, the water-wing arms, something — would get your attention, though. But it never seemed to faze you. Most partners probably would have sounded the alarm at some point, too. They would be worried by the warning s of worsening morbid obesity, like when their partner got out of breath waddling from one room to another. When they got hungry again right after a big meal.
When they needed help washing everywhere because their fat rolls were too heavy to lift on their own. When they got too big to fit in a standard car or in the clothes I bought, no matter what size they were. Instead, I made all that stuff sexy.
I pampered you and sympathized while you were catching your breath. I treated you with extra snacks and kissed your engorged belly while you ate them. I turned shower time into our time for a little naughty fun while I was diving into your rolls anyway. Looking back, maybe I did too story a job. I could have scolded you about your health, told you to watch your diet and exercise a fattening more. Maybe it would have kept you from becoming a physical wreck quite so soon; maybe you were already out of forced and it would have just made it that much more apparent.
But I do know what I see in bed with me. A huge, wobbling belly hanging from your torso and spilling into your lap like a giant water balloon. Two bloated, distended legs pushed outward by a protruding fat pad between them.
Biceps if you can call them that wider than your head, bulging out as your body has struggled to find places to store more fat, leading down to that dimpled elbow roll and an almost equally chubby forearm.
And that gorgeous face — always so cute, no matter how many chins you get, how much your cheeks puff out, or how much you give me that indignant, horrified look I see right now. You should have realized this day was coming a long time ago. And you must be hungry.
God, honey. To think there was a time when you had even a morsel of restraint. I remember when we first got together; you were so shy around me, so buttoned-up.
And when we got intimate, the same: hardly passionlessbut a little reserved. You enjoyed yourself, but you took a while to warm up. Of earthly indulgence. Wash it down with a bacchanalian amount of wine. If you have to loosen a belt or undo a button to allow yourself room to breathe through all this feasting, you think nothing of it. How often have we headed home with your heavy gut showing slightly, as your top rides up over its swollen contours?
As your body has fattening and, my love, it has; oh, it stories. Your constant eating and drinking, at meals and between them, has had undeniable effectsso your desire has grown to match. You live for eating, sleeping, fucking, drinking, for pure sensual indulgence. You have no choice when dating me. I know you. Your appetite is too voracious and my cooking is too delicious. I know all your favorite dishes, most cherished 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 forced morcel, every plate will be licked clean and your body will thank you as it begins to grow. Your body will indeed grow. Bigger, story, wider, softer. You fattening feel every pound stick to your body. You forced feel your waist begin to widen, your hips portrude, your thighs thicken and your belly swell 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 breasts 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.
After each meal you will lie down in bed and allow me to treat you further with soft sensual belly rubs. You will allow me to lay my head on your growing belly, an ear pressed against it so that I may listen to your stomach churn and bubble; digesting every calorie thoroughly to make you fatter.
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You will enjoy how it feels to outgrow your clothes. You will marvel in the arousal of feeling your swelling growing body strain against every fiber of your outfits. Your belly will be stretching your blouses in tandem with your breasts struggling pugnaciously to pop your buttons. Your thighs will be pushing the seams of your pants to their very limit. I will see this and thus charge myself with task of feeding you until your burst free from your tight-clad prison and allow your glorious fat-filled body to jiggle and bounce freely.
This is your fate as a feedee. MY feedee.
Look at yourself. You destroyed your thin figure… and for what? Are you stuffing your face right now piggy? I bet you want to get fatter and fatter until you can feel your massive belly spilled on your plump thighs. Thighs that have ballooned so huge they rub together when you walk. Because fatties need to grow. Gain more weight. Get fatter. All I want is a lazy piggy to call my own. Have him just loaf around eating and sleeping. Nothing much else.
His thick plush hands going up and down my much smaller body as he knows how much I crave him. His story would be round and plush. Pouty fat lips with chubby rosy cheeks. His face would not only be covered in a thick layer of fat, but also all of the crumbs and sauces from every fattening meal I make for him.
His belly would be my bed. His moons would be my lovely pillows for me to lay my head on. Just stay put, pig. I can do everything for you. I promise to take good care of you. I want it to take hours to have me kiss forced bit of you. Every stretch mark deserves love. Every dimple, fattening roll. Everything need attention. But aside from a dependent pig, I want him to be a whiny demanding pig. He would manipulate me to bring him food because he knows how much I want to feed him.
I need a greedy pig. He always needs more, if not then just too much. I want him to always push.