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The pOtion

You hold the long vial in your hands, its thick golden liquid swirling slowly inside. It reminds you of honey, only richer — and glowing, somehow, with a strange, soft iridescence. Whatever this stuff is, you can’t take your eyes off it. It practically pulses with temptation.

You swallow. Your mouth waters. The longer you hold it, the warmer it grows — like it wants you. Drink me, it seems to whisper.

Your heart pounds, a rush of nerves, curiosity, and something deeper — anticipation. You bring the vial to your lips. The scent is intoxicating, creamy and sweet, but unfamiliar, too — as though it doesn’t come from this world. And then it touches your tongue.

The taste is warm, syrupy, richer than anything you’ve ever experienced. A decadent mix of cream and sugar and something else — something impossible. Your eyes flutter. Your skin prickles. You swallow it down, then greedily finish the rest. You need more.

The warmth spreads through your chest and belly like molten gold. It sits heavy in your stomach, but not uncomfortable — euphoric. You place the empty vial aside and move, almost dreamlike, toward the mirror.

The heat intensifies. You blink. Something is... changing.

You glance down. Your shirt clings tighter across your midsection. Your once flat belly is pushing forward slowly steadily swelling outward by the second. Angry stretch marks appear like lighting across a sky – pink, red, and fast, racing up past your navel.

It grows heavy. So heavy. It begins to hang slightly, the new mass pulling forward, warm and thick beneath your hands.

You press your palms into the flesh. It gives instantly — soft, yielding, alive. You jiggle it, and the sensation sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. Your fingers sink deeper, feeling the plush depth, the fullness that wasn’t there minutes ago. Your shirt rides up, exposing more and more skin. The tightness thrills you.

You exhale a soft gasp. You feel your body fattening; you hear your jeans creak. You shift your hips. The extra weight sends ripples through your belly. It jiggles with the movement — slow, sensual waves rolling beneath your fingertips. The sensation is surreal. You’re getting fatter. Rapidly. And it feels so right.

Your waist thickens. Soft, round rolls bloom where there used to be lines, folding over the waistband. The definition you once worked for is fading beneath the growing swell of indulgent, decadent fat. You run your fingers over the folds forming along your sides — plush and warm, impossibly soft.

Then your hips, ass, and thighs begin to swell — thickening, rounding, touching. Your jeans constrict with a groan. Your thighs are rubbing together with heavy friction now, each step muffled by the soft, jiggling weight. You gasp as you feel the fabric dig in — tight, unforgiving, but deliciously so. You reach down and squeeze the new meat — pillowy and warm and so full. They give under your grip like bread dough, soft but substantial.

You feel the curve of your ass change — fuller, wider, softer by the second. The waistband digs in as your ass begins to overflow it, a new roundness rippling beneath the too-tight denim. You shift your stance and feel the bounce — your cheeks are heavy now, jiggling with even the smallest move. You bite your lip and moan softly.

Your hips flare wider to match, a generous curve forming beneath your fingers as you run your hands along the swelling sides of your body. You feel decadent. Overflowing. Deliciously heavy.

Then your breasts begin to swell.

You feel the pressure first — the way your bra suddenly pinches, then strains. Your chest rises, lifting with new weight, nipples brushing the fabric as your breasts grow. The soft mounds fill your bra, then overflow it. Rounder. Fuller. They rise like rising dough, stretching your shirt tighter and tighter until the fabric is sheer from the pressure. You cup them — they’re warm and full, jiggling softly as they continue to grow into your hands.

The center buttons strain. One pops open.

You gasp — and your thighs swell in tandem. They thicken, brushing together with plush friction that didn’t exist moments ago. Each step feels heavier, slower, as your thighs rub and jiggle. You press your fingers into the fat and feel it spill between them — warm, soft, unbelievably real. Your jeans are barely hanging on, wedged into soft, pillowy flesh that doesn’t want to be contained.

Even your arms grow round — the soft weight wrapping around them, erasing definition, replacing it with something velvety and plush. You raise them and feel the softness sway, gentle waves of flesh that jiggle freely. You can feel it — you’re becoming wrapped in fat. Drenched in it.

You stare at the mirror.

Your face has changed. Your cheeks are plumper, rounder, giving you a cherubic softness. Your lips look fuller. Your neck is thicker, framed by a hint of a second chin. Every inch of you has grown, become lush, exaggerated, perfect.

Your shirt is riding up, your pants are screaming. Your breasts are nearly spilling out. Your belly, your hips, your ass, your thighs — you’re a monument to indulgence. Glowing with warmth, fatness, and a deep, pulsing pleasure.

And you feel incredible.

You can’t stop touching yourself — your belly, your hips, your swollen chest. Everything jiggles. Everything gives under your hands. You feel powerful in your softness — decadent and dreamy. You smile at yourself in the mirror. You don’t just look fat. You look divine.

And deep in your belly, where the warmth began, you feel it: the hunger for more.

You take a shaky breath, your body still humming from the warmth that hasn’t faded — no, it’s intensifying. The weight, the jiggle, the tightness — it’s not stopping.

You glance down again, and your heart skips. Your shirt is clinging to you like a second skin, stretched so tight across your breasts and belly that you can see every curve, every roll underneath. The fabric is sheer with tension, warping around the mounds of fat that weren’t there ten minutes ago. The sleeves squeeze your thickening upper arms like sausages.

You feel another surge deep inside your core — like something is swelling outward from within. Your belly pushes forward even more, bulging out aggressively, the overhang now casting a soft shadow over your waistband. The hem of your shirt rides higher and higher, bunching just beneath your breasts, baring the heavy, rounded mass of your lower belly to the open air.

You hear the first sound — a creak. Then another.

Your thighs swell again, pushing your legs apart. Your jeans are suffocating your lower half, seams groaning as your thighs balloon outward. You feel the flesh roll over the tops of your jeans. Your ass pushes backward and up, now massive and jiggling with every breath. The button on your waistband is holding on by a thread — barely.

You shift your hips and POP.

The button flies off and pings across the room.

You freeze — your jeans are coming apart. The zipper splits violently under pressure, tearing downward as your belly spills forward. You moan softly as the soft, heavy flesh floods over the ruined waistband, pouring out, free and unrestrained. The seams at your hips are the next to go. They split open with a sharp, satisfying rip, unable to contain the rapid growth of your thighs and backside.

You feel it all — every jiggle, every bounce, every bit of your body growing beyond its limits.

And then — your shirt.

Your breasts surge again, jostling forward with sudden heft. The fabric pulls tighter than ever across your chest. Your nipples push hard against the strained fabric, the thin material pulled so taut it’s practically transparent. One pop — a button shoots off, revealing swollen cleavage that bounces with the impact.

Another pop. Then another.

The buttons fly like confetti, and your breasts spill out — heavy, warm, wobbling with movement. The ruined shirt falls open, your belly pushing it aside entirely. You exhale, stunned by your reflection — nearly naked, bursting out of everything you once wore with ease.

But the growth hasn’t stopped.

Your hips keep widening, rolls layering on top of each other. Your back is softer, padded. Even your fingers feel plumper, sinking slightly into your own flesh as you press them against your hips, your belly, your breasts.

You’re enormous.

The floor beneath you creaks softly as you shift your stance, now unencumbered by clothes. Your thighs rub with every step, a thick, constant pressure that makes you shiver. Your belly bounces slightly with each movement — not just big, but undeniably heavy. You run your hands over it, dragging your fingers through the folds, over the curve, underneath the soft overhang.

You’re drenched in warmth. Your skin glows. The potion is still working, still expanding you — and you no longer want it to stop.

You stand in the ruined remnants of your clothes, completely, gloriously bare — your body a plush, fattened goddess. Every inch of you swollen with softness. You don’t look like yourself anymore.

You look better.

And as the final seams split and fall away, you smile.

You were never meant to be small anyways.

HashAshley

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Some families are two sisters fucking their mom until she's a barking mess

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My girlfriend @dumb-lil-pupp is very proud of her work recently. 😰 she keeps over feeding me then teasing me for being such a pig. Idk what else to do but open wide

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❌I thought you'd look fatter

✅ Here's 20 dollars for a burger and fries, queen

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Who wants to get me some skimpy silk panties? I’ll model them for you 💛

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What do y’all think of my beach body? 😘

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Person getting fatter but also hornier and dumber and slobbier hmmmmmmmmmmmmm

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All this plushness is starting to overflow 😵‍💫

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Pics taken before girlmelting™ outside

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Early morning thighs. Come back to bed honey 💛

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Final GIF with this shirt since the cakes stuffing kinda ruined it 😅🍰

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Yes ma’am 🥰

You were born to be a spoiled overfed princess who should be stuffed full of the most decadent food until you're dresses burst and you can barely fit in anything you own

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being on the ace spectrum but enjoying (and being fairly good at) getting people off is honestly so fun. honey your pussy is a controller and i'm about to burn a high score into your brain. babygirl you're gonna need therapy to stop thinkin about the way my mouth felt on your cock. i may not be in it for the sex but i'll sure as hell get off on the pride.

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gfs cuddling

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sisters whose collars click together as they kiss

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[what your darling doll does while you're gone]

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Happy Pride Month!

Wanted to do a little something fun and wholesome for pride month this year!