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[echotums]

hi! i just had to say that your “shameful indulgence” story is so good oh my god 🙃 you nailed all of the details and everytime i thought it couldn’t get better it just kept going and going-

so uh yeah definitely one of the best things i’ve read on this app lol 11/10

oh thanks so much! i really appreciate that, genuinely. i almost wasn’t going to finish that one tbh, so i’m glad you enjoyed!!

[echotums]

You Become Her (COMM)

CW: Weight gain, stuffing, force feeding, slobbification, bloating, extreme humiliation/degradation/teasing/bullying, fat shaming, force feeding, slob, gas, burping, farting, mentions of popping, indigestion, some sweat and scent kink, dumbification, 2nd person POV, gender neutral reader.

Gwen gains some weight and you can't hold your tongue about it. Gwen decides there's only one way to teach you a lesson.

Gwen, your friend, has been very spotty lately; flaky with your plans. And to you, it’s getting a bit ridiculous. How hard is it to hang out with your friend? Apparently extremely difficult, if you’re Gwen. You roll her eyes at the thought. You wouldn’t be surprised if your plans today fell through too. You’ve been waiting for your friend for half an hour and still, no sign of her. It was supposed to be a simple hangout, just window-shopping and eating dinner together. You had even chosen a later time so Gwen couldn’t use waking up late as an excuse.

As you check the time for the fifth time in a row, you utter sarcastically, “can’t wait to see what today’s excuse is.” If you’re getting stood-up again, you hope it at least gives you a good chuckle.

Just as you are about to give up and go home, you spot the telltale pigtails in the crowd to your right. Straightening up, you cheer to yourself. Finally! You’re still going to give Gwen a piece of your mind for being so flaky, but maybe a little less now that she’s finally deigned to leave her house.

Quickly, you school her expression and make it seem like you never spotted Gwen, pulling out your chapstick and fixing it. It won’t do to look too excited to see her. You have a reputation to uphold. Being stood-up a handful of times has given your self-proclaimed reputation a few scratches, but nothing that can’t be fixed.

Quick footsteps approach you, then, and you smirk as you hear a tentative peep of your name, followed by a warm and… sweaty palm falling on your arm. You swivel and take a step back, quickly wiping the dampness from your arm, sneer on your face.

“What do you think you’re-?” You look up then, capping your chapstick and pocketing it. Placing an indignant hand on your hip, you give an incredulous look to…

“Gwen? Is that you?” Your hand shoots up to your mouth as yo gasp, eyes wide.

You get a tentative nod in response and a shy, “h-hi.”

“I almost didn’t recognize you, holy shit.” You breathe. And it isn’t a mystery why that would be the case? Where Gwen’s usual dainty little figure used to be is a fat mess. Well, maybe not fat, just chubby. But in your eyes, they are one and the same. Big and gross. Gwen’s bulging with rolls and folds of lard, positively dripping in it. Not to mention the disgusting sweat stains drenching the crevices of her newly softened body. Her clothes barely fit, too; bursting at the seams.

You can’t help the next words out of your mouth, “is that why you wanted to go clothes shopping? Nothing fits?” You raise your head high and circle Gwen like a predator, eyeing her from top to bottom. Gwen quivers in response. “Or is it the promise of dinner that got you?” It’s mainly meant to be an observation, but as cutting as your words are, it’s no shock that they make Gwen’s cheeks flush. You can't help but feel a rush of power through you, you ask, “seriously, what happened to you? You blew up like a balloon!” You place your delicate hands on the newly formed gut Gwen is lugging around. It’s a soft double belly, stretching the seams of her dress ridiculously. Although…

“You’re totally sucking in, stop that!” You poke your finger into Gwen’s softened side, right between two warm rolls. Gwen squeaks and… “There we go. You’re fatter than I thought!” You cackle, catching the exact moment Gwen stops sucking her gut in. It protrudes against her dress and causes it to lift a little higher on her body. You hum to yourself as you cup the bottom roll of it, lifting and dropping; jiggling the sack of chub obscenely.

Gwen, for her part, looks positively mortified, too shocked at the sudden turn of events to do anything but stand there and take it. A part of you revels in this. After months of dodging you, you have finally cornered Gwen into a position beneath you. “Is this why you’ve been so flaky?” You start, voice a mockery of comfort. “Were you embarrassed you got so fucking fat?” You feel your anger rise and slap Gwen’s belly, delighting in her stuttered denials.

“I-I! I’m not fat!”

But you just laugh. “Yeah? Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Your tone turns gleeful then, pleased at the humiliation the girl is being put under. “I mean, I knew you were never the brightest, but you can’t be that stupid. Look at this huge gut you have! You look pregnant.” You pinch the fat there, bouncing it between your palms. The power coursing through your veins is intoxicating, worth ignoring the little voice in your head telling you you’re going too far. You can’t help the almost devilish smirk that overtakes your face. You splay your hands lower, grabbing at huge love handles and widened hips.“And your ass is barely covered by your dress!” You slaps the slightly exposed flesh, watching the lard-packed flesh jiggle wildly. You feel bumps beneath your smooth palms and grimace. “Eugh, and so much cellulite on your fat ass and thunder thighs. Nasty.”

A few passersby have noticed the exchange, some just grimace at the clearly too-small outfit Gwen is wearing and move on, while one or two sneakily look on as you dig into her. You can't help but smirk. A part of you has always envied Gwen. So tiny and pretty in her doll-like beauty. And now look at her! An absolute lardass begging to be made fun of. And so you do.

“Look at your face, Gwen! It’s all round now. You have a double chin too, ugh, gross!” You pinch the sagging bit of fat under her chin. “Your face used to be so pretty, too!” You laugh, holding your flat belly at the wet look in Gwen’s eyes. “You look like a pufferfish!” You blow your cheeks out to show what you mean. The laughter grows muffled then, but quickly bursts free when Gwen tries to deny it again.

“No! Stop that!”

But you keep going, “how dumb are you? Stop denying it. You’re an ugly, fat slob now!” Lithe hands gesture toward the sweat stains under Gwen’s pert tits. “I mean, how did you get so fat but gain none of it in your tits?” You fondle the little breasts, snickering meanly. How shameful Gwen is now. “You really should take better care of yourself, fatty.”

That seems to be the last straw for Gwen, as she pulls away, eyes wet but furious. “You’re such a bitch!” She growls out before stomping away. And stomping is right, even her steps are heavier now that she’s chubby.

“Aw, c’mon, Gwen! It was just a joke!” You laugh, smug at having beaten Gwen in this way. The two or so onlookers watch with you as Gwen waddles into the crowd, disappearing. You just roll your eyes. “Ugh, dumb cow can’t handle the truth.” Gwen will come around eventually. She always does. Everyone does with you.

Except… This lasts longer than you would have thought. You thought Gwen would come around after about a week. But as the two-month mark passes and you receive no word, you get slightly worried. It can’t be because of what you said, right? You were just telling her the truth. If anything, she should be grateful. And if Gwen was so upset over your words, then she would have used them as motivation to get back in shape. Hopefully, that’s what she’s doing. As much as you like being so much prettier than her, it’s bad for your reputation to be seen with a blubbery mess.

Oh, well. Not your problem. You’re not the one the size of an actual whale.

It’s another month before you hear anything. It’s in the form of a note. It’s smudged and has grease stains on it, but the message is clear: an invitation to Gwen’s house, an apology for ghosting you for months on end. It leaves you smirking; you deserve an apology after having to put up with Gwen’s shit for so long. And after you went out of your way to help her, too.

And so you are quick to heed the contents of the letter, heading over on the specified date and time to Gwen’s house. When you arrive, the lights are off and the door is unlocked. Strange.

“Hello?” You call. You get no response. But you sense movement in the shadows of the room. Heading to the dining and kitchen area, you say, “Gwen? Is that you?” But garner no response.

Suddenly, you sense a presence behind you. But before you can even investigate, you smell something… sweet in the air. The moment the scent hits your nose, you begin to feel woozy. “Oh, n-no. Gwen?” Is all you can get out before you fall unconscious. The last thing you see is a large, hulking figure standing over you.

It seems to you that only moments pass before you awaken. Your body is heavy, tired; as if you haven't slept in days. It’s strange, a whiplash of sensation that leaves you disoriented, blinking and swaying where you sit.

…Sit?

A surge of panicked energy rushes through you, frantically urging you to check your surroundings. You’re indeed sitting now, but when you attempt to stand, you find that your hands are stuck behind you, held there by glowing binds. Magic. Attempting to kick your legs proves just as fruitless. The bindings, though reasonably loose, do a great job of keeping you where you’re being forcibly kept.

Worse than anything is that you’re naked. You want to cover up and hide, squirrel yourself away like Gwen has been doing for the past half-year. As confident as you are, you recognize a bad situation when you see one. And this is one such thing.

The cold air makes you shiver, leaves you bending your shoulders and knees inward to preserve heat. This is the definition of awful.

“Hello? Gwen? Anyone? Help!” Your cries are distressed, begging for aid that hopefully comes. There is a buzzing in your mind and limbs, the fatigue of before making way for panic.

Then, as if cursed with nothing but pure, bad luck, you hear a heavy stomping coming from in front of you. Looking up, you watch as a large, menacing shadow lumbers toward you in a slow waddle. With each step, the figure seems to wobble like jello, heavy breathing following soon after.

“Um, hello?”

It doesn’t take long for fear to make way for curiosity. The waddling movements and soft shapes piled high to make the figure in front of you not as threatening as you thought it was. The soft grunts accompanying each ponderous step just pique your interest more. That is, until the figure gets close enough for the smell of grease, food, and sweat to permeate the area.

You are quick to try and cover your nose, tucking your face to the side as you scrunch your expression into something filled with disgust and revulsion. “ugh, ew!” You clench your eyes shut and try to hold your breath, allowing the… creature to come into the light. Now, you can hear the slapping of skin on skin. And with one final, thunderous step that shakes your chair, the figure seems to stop walking.

Disgruntled at the proximity of the awful smell, you reluctantly open your eyes and breathe in, coming face-to-face with piles and piles of flesh.

The figure is dripping in lard and sweat, a parody of the human form in how cartoonishly obese it is. Cellulite riddles massive, tree-trunk legs that lead to a horribly round ass. It’s a shelf of a thing, you bet you can rest a plate or a small object on it. Jeez, the figure even has thigh-rolls and cankles. Even its feet are fat!

Your eyes continue their horrified journey upward to a massive gut and a roll just under that, preserving the nude being’s modesty somewhat. A double belly sags nastily over front, creating huge love handles and obscuring what is supposed to be a waist. It seems… bloated, packed tight above and below, making these terrible gurgling noises, as if fighting with something; a disagreeable meal, perhaps.

A hand comes down to slap the giant, blubbery gut then, a large belch and fart releasing a moment later. The hands are chubby, looking as if they’d be unable to form a proper fist if they tried. Forearms roll and fold over onto its wrists, connecting to bingo wing arms, rolling at the armpit. There reside two flabby, sagging tits. They sway and jiggle with every movement, sliding off the glutted bloat of its gut.

Finally, your eyes come to rest on the creature's face. There is no neck to speak of, simply a multitude of chins that seem to never end. Twin jowls roll off onto said chins, pursing the thing’s lips and squinting the eyes. The face of it is swollen and fat, bursting with lard.

And through your inspection, you’re unable to stop yourself from feeling sick at the state of it. Clear indigestion, sweat, food stains, cellulite, and stretch marks littering each blubbery inch. It keeps burping and farting, adding to the terrible odor.

The only reason you are able to recognize who it is, is due to the two greasy pigtails that are on the thing’s head. Or, the woman’s head.

It’s Gwen.

“Gwen?” You exclaim, shocked beyond belief. “What the fuck happened to you? You look terrible and smell just as bad!” And isn’t that an understatement? Gwen is just about the ugliest thing you have ever seen! You didn’t even know such an awful-looking (or smelling) person could exist. Yet, here Gwen is, as horrible as a nightmare.

Gwen doesn’t respond. Properly, that is. She does laugh, though. A brainless sounding thing, in all honesty. The look on her face seems much the same. It’s as if her mind has been emptied of every intelligent thought, eyes blank and face slack. Gwen grunts and lets out a large, rumbling belch into your face, leaving you gagging. Case in point.

You call her name again, tentative this time, unsure if Gwen can even understand you with the state of her deteriorated IQ. Another laugh in response, but this time, Gwen speaks, “terrible, terrible. Big, dumb Gwen looks terrible.” She burps again, slowly plodding her way behind you. “Big, dumb slob. Dumb, dumb, dumb.”

What?

Taken aback, you jump as you hear rustling behind you. A second later, two sagging tits flop over your shoulders. They’re sticky and huge, revolting. You try to jerk away, yelping, “what the hell, Gwen? What’s gotten into you? You’re being gross.” But Gwen doesn’t seem to listen, instead, resting her pile of chins on your head as she squishes your slim face between her floppy tits.

“Stupid, gross Gwen and her nasty tits. Just being gross, gross. Smells bad, ugly and fat.” The words are prattled off dumbly, Gwen’s voice low and empty. They’re spaced out by bursts of gas from either end, too. You can hear them happen, with how close her gut is. But the words are… close to what you were thinking a moment ago, and being called out on it, having your words put out there makes you feel… kind of bad.

And so you backpedal. “W-well, I never said that, exactly-“ you're cut off by Gwen taking a step back and burping on you again. You feel the hot breath on your neck and hear the way it slowly peters out.

You squeal and thrash, “stop it! I-“

So focused on trying to get away from the gas that Gwen released onto you, you fail to notice what Gwen is up to until it’s too late.

“Mmph?”

A soft tube has been forced into your mouth. Looking up at it, you deduce it’s connected to the ceiling and, following the tube, you notice a huge machine buzz to life. It’s a giant vat, seemingly filled with gallons upon gallons of liquid slop. If the transparent window into the vat is to be trusted. You try to shake your head and dislodge the tube, but every time you do, it seemingly follows you, as if enchanted by something. There is a faint hue radiating from it and the vat, now that you really look closely. More magic, you realize.

Oh, you are so screwed.

Still kicking up a fuss, you glare when Gwen waddles in front of you, slowly walking closer and closer until her obscenely glutted gut is pressed right against your face.

This close, you can hear and feel the indigestion happening within. You hear gas bubbles build and expand before being released into noisy expulsions that leave you grimacing. It’s as noisy as a bubbling cauldron but ten times as disgusting. It vibrates your face a little, gives you a grumbled warning before a bubbling fart is released. Gwen sighs in relief, giving her belly a satisfied pat. All you can do is sob in disgust.

“Such a big belly, ugly and fat. No one would want Gwen now!” Gwen cries. She takes a step back and looks down at you as best she can. Her chins seem to be providing some resistance. And the angle just makes her look even worse. Gwen’s right, no one would want her now. But you would never say that. To her face, anyway.

Gwen smiles suddenly, vindictive; the only bit of complex thought or emotion that has passed through her in the short time she and you have been together here. “Gwen knows how you feel. Think Gwen is dumb and fat and worthless.” A nasty burp follows her statement, trailing off into smaller, airy ones afterward. “Gwen will make you feel like that, too. Show you how funny it is.”

You feel the hand of ice-cold fear grip your chest. A moment for it to sink in, and then you’re thrashing, muffled shouts coming from around the tube. You don't want to be fat! You’ve worked so fucking hard to keep your body as slim as it is, you don’t want that to be ruined! You’re hot, smart, perfect! Gwen can’t ruin this for you!

But, unfortunately, that’s what Gwen seems keen on doing. As a moment later, a glow surrounds her chubby hand. She says, “soon, you will be just like-“ Gwen chokes on a burp, slapping her gut afterward as if to stop it. “Just like big, dumb Gwen!” The machine behind her hums to life, and you squeal.

When the first bit of the slop touches your tongue, you want to puke. It’s a thick slurry, tasting of butter and sugar, oily but sweet. It’s just off. It’s as if Gwen poured actual grease or lard and pure sugar into it.

You try your best to stop yourself from drinking it, but you soon find yourself choking, forced to swallow the sludge puffing your cheeks out. It’s heavy going down, slowly, begrudgingly sliding down your throat and settling like rocks in your stomach. It instantly sends your insides into a tizzy, gurgling loudly in protest at the strange mixture. Your tummy feels heavy and bloated, and it’s only been a few seconds. It leaves you moaning sickly, watching Gwen warily.

Gwen, for her part, is back to her new, brainless self. She takes a couple more steps back again, able to look at you without fighting her chins for movement as much. “Dumb, dumb, dumb. Gwen sure is dumb!” She fiddles with her greasy pigtails, cackling to herself like she told a funny joke. “Will you have big boobs like Gwen? A nice ass? Will you have a greedy gut, too?” Gwen questions, fondling her dirty fat rolls.

You want to protest, to scream and hit and run. But all you’re able to do is swallow and whimper, to watch the slob in front of you seal your fate into a similarly monstrous being.

It hasn’t even been that long but you feel sick. Your belly is groaning, blushing red and huge, begging for it to stop. The slop settles so heavily in your gut, expanding it with each swallow. Seeing such a round and glutted gut on your tiny frame sickens you. That’s not supposed to be there, you’re supposed to have a flat tummy. You never eat so much that your stomach looks like this. But here Gwen is, forcing you to.

You try to get Gwen to stop, making muffled noises against the tube, trying to tell her you feel you may be sick or explode! But Gwen seems to mistake your pleas as the opposite.

“Do you want more? Don’t worry, soon you’ll be even bigger than me! Look, your body is already changing!”

It’s then that you become aware of a growing warmth and stretching sensation taking over your body. Looking down, it takes only a second for pure horror to settle in your chest.

The thin planes of your body have begun expanding; puffing out like dough in the oven. Your thighs slowly begin to touch, making your body hang off the chair slightly. Your inflated belly nestles itself onto those thighs, warm and soft. Though it is heavy, filled with Gwen’s concoction. The hard dome of it gurgles nastily, making you shiver in disgust. It seems to be working overtime, churning the magic slop directly into fat. The noise is loud and constant, making Gwen laugh dumbly; much to your embarrassment.

“Ohh, your belly sounds mad.” Gwen places a sweaty hand by her ear and listens to the raucous noises. “What’s that? Your belly wants more?” She makes eye contact with you, and despite your muffled protests, she smiles. “All right! More food for your greedy belly, coming right up!” And so, the speed at which the slop enters you increases drastically, causing some choking at first.

It’s agonizing, the uptick in speed causing cramps almost immediately. It’s left your guts all bubbly, causing air to build forcefully within your expanding guts. You can’t burp due to sucking down the fatty sludge, so all that’s left is to… you grimace, trying your best to hold it in, but after a dreadful cramp, you let yourself release a loud fart. The relief is short-lived, as mortification takes over soon after. The expulsion of gas seems to be timed perfectly with an expanding sensation in your ass, leading to you watching helplessly as it begins to sag over the sides of your chair.

Gwen laughs at you again, coming back around to settle behind you, placing her hands on your slowly softening stomach. “And you said Gwen was a slob! Looks like you're going to be the gassiest slob of them all soon!” She presses down again and giggles childishly when you release more gas in response.

Ashamed, you look down, Which honestly feels a little like a mistake. You notice then a pad of fat protruding where your sex once was; a pocket that seems to be set on sealing away any chance of intimacy with anyone again. As if to mock you, your belly surges forward, plopping on top of it and widening into budding love handles. Though your newly formed fupa still remains visible.

Stupid as she is now, Gwen seems to pick up on this. She croons out, “aw, are you sad no one’s gonna want to fuck you anymore? Don’t worry, you still have me!” She punctuates her sentence with a large belch at the end. “Or is Gwen too fat and dumb for you?” She sneers. When you just look up pathetically, she snorts. “Don’t worry. Soon you’ll even be too fat for Gwen! No one likes fatties, right?”

And a part of you wants to nod, because that’s kind of been your thought process up until today, or until Gwen showed up a little chubbier. At the receiving end of that statement now, though, you feel nothing but dread.

Because, yeah; no one likes a fatty. And that’s exactly what you’re becoming.

The fat on your arms begins blooming, causing sweat to build between your pits and tits. The blubber of your forearms and biceps roll onto each other, slowly tightening the restraints around you there. Your calves, too, are testing them; expanding into cankles that leave you feeling like a middle-aged parent rather than the hot young thing you are… or was. The only thing hot about you is the space between your growing folds, causing sweat to build and slowly streak its way down your rolls. And, fuck, the fact that you have rolls now disgusts you beyond measure.

You think even your feet have fattened. Your hands too, by the looks of it. Porky fingers that make your manicured nails look like pins in a cushion. You’ve seen people with this same look and muttered behind their backs, sometimes laughing in their faces. You’d say what a bad look it was, that they shouldn’t try to look pretty. Because fat as they are, beauty is impossible. And now, watching your dainty wrists disappear with inflating lard, you realize you’re no prettier than they are, now.

You’ll never be pretty again.

And, as if to drive that point home, Gwen exclaims, “Oh, looky! Your face is getting fat, finally! Gwen was scared you’d still have a pretty face. Dumb, silly me!”

She’s right, you realize with a nauseous gulp. Looking down is becoming more difficult, an inflating feeling taking place under your chin and on your neck. Your cheeks have begun to feel heavy and your vision a little squinted.

“Haha, you look like a pufferfish! Let’s see how many chins you have. One, two, three… Three chins! That’s more than Gwen!” And Gwen looks genuinely happy at this, her eyes sparkling in delight. “Hehe, I may be dumb Gwen, but you’re the ugly fatty, now!” She pinches your sagging jowls and flops your numerous chins to rub it in.

It doesn’t take long for the bindings to become painful, digging into your growing blubber. It hurts as much as your massive stomach, and as much as the chair digging into your ass. A thought occurs. If you can break the bindings, maybe you can escape! You know that means you’ll get fatter, but, it’s better than nothing.

With vigor, you begin gulping the slop down faster. It burns your stomach, stretching it horribly, forcing you to fart in order to relieve some of the pressure. Your plan seems to be working a little, your body expanding, your tits slowly dipping lower toward your sides, sloping off the bulge of your belly. You mourn their loss of perk silently.

Gwen, the idiot she is, however, mistakes the increase of consumption for something else. Something that leaves you cold. “Oh, is the ugly fatty trying to make their boobs and butt bigger? They are kinda small…” Gwen mumbles, batting at your small, hanging tits and poking at the cellulite-cratered ass. You try to guffaw, offended, but Gwen seems to have found a home in this insecurity, digging right in. “The ugly fatty with their tiny tits and flat ass, who would want them now? Even the fat on your crotch sticks out further!” Gwen shakes your fupa, quickly wiping her hand on your arm. “Ew! The ugly fatty’s so sweaty. The only fuckable hole people can see now is your belly button! But that’s nasty. Who wants to fuck a mountain of lard?” Gwen asks, lifting your rounded belly by the navel.

The lifting and dropping makes an obscene sloshing noise. One that Gwen can’t seem to get enough of. She shakes it up and down, side to side, laughing all the while. “Your belly is so noisy! Seems like the ugy fatty ate too much.” And then she begins slapping it, listening to the tight smacks it makes. She delights in this, too. “Haha, like a drum!”

It’s all so distracting, so embarrassing, that you almost don’t notice when the magic bindings begin to snap. The fat around them bubbles forth like rising yeast, the ropes creating aching dents in the puffy flesh. And finally…

Snap!

The bindings are off.

You cheer to yourself and Gwen takes a surprised step back. It gives you plenty of room to move. Except…

You can’t.

You cannot move. You’re stuck.

Dread begins building in your chest again. No, no, you can’t be too big for this. Still hopelessly swallowing the slop on instinct, you wobble your arms around comically, flailing your legs alongside them. It makes your formed bingo wings sag and slap your side rolls grossly, leaves your belly and fupa slapping onto your thighs loudly. You’re so engrossed in trying to get up, that you don’t hear the chair struggling until it’s too late.

The chair collapses underneath you, leaving your whole body rippling wildly in every direction. Your lard takes what feels like forever to stop jiggling. And even then, it doesn’t truly stop; still growing every second, your belly’s gurgles literally vibrating the skin of your gut with their strength. The massive shift in weight causes you to fart embarrassingly loud, too.

Gwen and you stare at each other, completely shocked, before Gwen laughs. It’s mean, jovial, relieved; filled with schadenfreude.

“Maybe you should be the dumb, ugly fatty.” Gwen states succinctly, walking to your front. Walking. Gwen can still walk. You can’t. You are now fatter than Gwen. And with the size she is, what hope do you ever have of changing that?

Still, you flap your arms hilariously. They stick up at a funny angle now, your blubber literally too voluminous for them to rest normally. You can’t even look down anymore, your face is so fat. But you can still see your belly with how big it is. It’s remained a large, uniform blob of fat, settled grossly on your chunky thighs and flabby fupa. It grows and grows, filling painfully with fattening slop.

Gwen sees the hopelessness settle on your expression, it would seem, as the teasing picks up again.

“The ugly fatty will never be pretty again! You’re too fat for that now.”

“You’re a worthless blob now. No one will love your useless fatass.”

“Every fat person you ever made fun of would laugh at you now!”

“I’ll be the hot friend now, compared to you!”

“Nasty slob! You’re nothing but a fat piece of shit.”

“Dumb, ugly fatty. Thought you could escape. You’ll be my fat pet forever!

You slowly begin to mentally resign to that fact. But you quickly begin to doubt it. Your belly is overfull, dangerously so. It feels like it’s not digesting fast enough, like your stomach is going to explode. It begins roaring dangerously, shaking the room, almost.

Little by little, your stomach inches ever further, reddening, creaking loudly. You wonder how much more you can take. In fact, you feel you have reached your limit, and that with one last swallow-

Nothing. Only the sputters of an empty machine.

And only then, with the relief that you won’t fucking explode, do you feel the weight of everything settle. You feel drunk, almost. Dazed and stupid. The moment the tube finally, finally falls from your lips, the first thing you do is belch loud enough to burn. And once you’ve released one, they keep coming. Burp after burp, followed by loud farts escape you, preventing any speech whatsoever. But you try.

“I’m… sorry,” you wheeze, belching between words. “No… more,” another two burps, “jokes.”

You expect forgiveness, Gwen’s taken everything from you at this point, ruined you beyond measure. What more damage can she do?

You get a sinister little giggle in response. “Oops! Gwen forgot to joke about her fat ass!” She pats her own, round butt in response. “Butt, butt, butt. Gwen sure has a fat butt!” She smiles, “unlike the ugly fatty’s flat one.” A moment for the jab to settle into your bloated flesh, then, “let’s make the ugly fatty’s ass as big as dumb Gwen’s, hm?” You can quite literally only belch in response.

“Now, where did Gwen put that other hose?”

[echotums]

you gotta keep this shit up man youre one of the best wg writers on here already. excellent work

oh that’s so incredibly kind of you to say! thank you so much!!! 💕

[echotums]

Your Shameful Indulgence

CW: Weight gain, stuffing, bloating, extreme humiliation/degradation/teasing/bullying, fat shaming, force feeding, slob, gas, burping, farting, mentions of nausea, indigestion, male reader, 2nd person POV.

You come back from a get-together with friends completely stuffed and humiliated. Little do you know, your boyfriends have plans to worsen your state.

You moan, squirming in discomfort on your bed; the bed frame creaks worryingly under your weight. Your belly throbs and aches, gurgling angrily as it tries to digest the enormous meal of greasy, fatty foods you'd just binged publicly on. You keen, hands rubbing the bloat of your gut, sinking into a layer of soft fat before meeting tight resistance. It rumbles and burbles ominously, fighting against the feast you had forced down. You burp loudly in response.

The tight jeans you’d squeezed yourself into are digging into your fat gut, several sizes too small. If they were tight before, they are a second skin now. You can hear the waistband creak warningly around your massively bloated belly, rumbling and swelling as the junk food sloshes around inside.

After a while of not seeing your friends, you finally found time to spend with them again. and, well… you may have gorged yourself on the junk food that was laid out for everyone.

With closed eyes, you hum nauseously as you hold the sides of your sensitive belly. You can feel it, all that food churning inside you, making you expand, slowly melting into thick, wobbling blubber. God, why did you eat so much? You're going to get so fat. How many calories were in your meal? How much weight will you gain? You shake your belly and dislodge a burp. The skin of your tummy is vibrating with the intensity of the cramps and noises it is making. It sloshes with every jiggle that ripples through it, constantly shifting and wobbling.

“My tummy hurts so much, ngh…”

Brown eyes cloudy with need, you look down at your gut, unable to see over the massively bloated crest of it. It’s thick and swollen, skin blushing and stretched thin, feverishly hot to the touch.

Your shirt has ridden up, resting above your belly button where your jeans cut into your softened flesh deeply, making the skin red. Your blubbery muffin top is perfectly visible, seemingly wobbling with every deep rumble; plump love handles squishing into the thin denim ridiculously.

You shift, feel your plump thighs rub together, creating a shameful warmth between your legs, right under your engorged tummy and swollen fatpad. As you whine, you become increasingly aware of your ass straining the seams of your pants, asscrack visible.

Biting your lip, Nicholas blushes and slaps the top of your sore gut, watching as it jiggles. It’s as tight as a drum, no room left. God, are you full. You look ridiculous, a fat hog unable to control yourself, so lost in your insatiable hunger, the craving to overindulge; your want for more, more, more. And look where that got you; stranded on your bed, vulnerable under the weight of your grossly fattened gut. Nicholas burps unattractively as your stomach lets out a sickeningly wet squelch, feeling the zipper and button of your jeans constrict further.

All your friends were there when you binged, when you pigged out on food that would wreck even the thinnest of waistlines. They jeered and judged you, snidely watching this shameful fatass stuff himself senseless. And after, when you were a moaning, bloated blob, an embarrassingly desperate fatty with a noisy gut, the teasing continued. God, it was mortifying.

“You used to be so bitchy.”

“We thought you didn't want to hang out with us!”

“What happened to your body?”

“Yeah! you used to be so skinny!”

"Haha, holy shit. this is hilarious!"

"Wow, you blew up like a balloon, dude."

Round cheeks go red and warm, your multitude of chins squishing as you try to look down. You remember gorging yourself on the fattening, greasy and sugary foods that were laid out. You just couldn’t control yourself, you had to eat. One bite led to two, two had suddenly led to plates worth of oil-soaked and sugar-filled junk. Which soon led to guzzling cups of calorie-dense drinks. Before you knew it, you were stuck in your chair, belly engorged and roaring angrily, protesting all the calories being poured into it so quickly. At that point, all you could do was eat, eat, eat.

Everyone was looking at you in disgusted awe, watching your stomach bloat outward with each morsel of food you scarfed down. You distinctly remember someone saying, “I think you’ve had enough, Nick… you’ve… kind of gained a lot of weight… and this will only make you fatter.” You had denied it while shoving more food in your face, clothes tightening against your overfed body, stomach and intestines disagreeing loudly.

You remember how near the end of your binge, everyone watched in sick fascination as this fat hog kept gorging, stuffing yourself full of food despite looking like you might burst. They were watching as you gave into your sinfully hedonistic desires, seeing the consequences of every bite and gulp; becoming rounder, fuller, bloating into a disgustingly obese, overindulgent fatass.

As you laid back, groaning and rubbing your engorged gut, they laughed at you, pointing fingers and forcing you to guzzle more down, making you even bigger.

You remember them laughing at the repulsive gurgles your burgeoning belly made with every bite, at the way your clothes were obviously too tight. Your constant burping and farting was another laughing point. All the food and drink had left you a gassy mess. They smacked your gut and shook it, laughing in mockery at you as the oversized mound of fat wobbled comically. You shudder as the words ring in your bleary mind.

“How the mighty have fallen! You've really let yourself go."

"Ohh, your belly's mad. You hear that, guys?"

"Desperate fatty, you look like you need more."

"He's gonna explode out of those clothes!"

"The extra weight’s made you nicer… I like you better fat!"

That had earned some joyful, humorous cheers and a renewed effort to fatten you up even more. You hadn't fought back, didn't see a need to. In fact, halfway through, you felt a carnal, tantalizing warmth spread through you.

Whimpering breathily, you roll over onto your side, hand rubbing the side of your distended middle. It bounces as the swollen mass hits your bed with a thud, groaning loudly, the contents sloshing and squelching around as it tries to digest all the pounds of thick, calorific food and drink jammed into it. All the movement dislodges a deep, watery belch, a little moan following after.

You slap the side of your plush potbelly, eyes angry at your own lack of self-control. God, why did you eat so much? You just can’t control yourself. It’s so easy to indulge and give in to your deepest desires… desires you refuse to acknowledge are coming to life. You can’t be into this, right? You rub deftly at the side of your hugely bloated gut. It's sore at the top and sides, pulled painfully tight from the weight of the unhealthy foods and drinks you'd gorged yourself on. The fat roll that connects your back to the side of your paunch has been stretched to its capacity, seemingly no longer in sight. The only “roll” to be seen is your unflattering muffin top.

Maybe they were right, maybe you are nothing more than a fat glutton…

You let out a heady whine, wobbling onto your back again, clutching at your unhappy tummy; it churns, forcing out a long, deep belch. You whimper and pants open-mouthed as your belly begins to bloat and swell with gas, pent up from indigestion. You burp over and over to help alleviate the pressure, but it seems endless. You let out a long fart like the slob you're becoming, the slob you are. But still, your gut is tight. The button on your jeans feels like it’s about to pop… and so does your belly. It’s confusingly erotic, feeling yourself get fatter with every humiliating gurgle. You can barely breathe, all the pressure in your gut weighing you down, the headiness of the moment making you pant like you're in heat.

A quiet creak of worn-down wood echoes in your ears, most likely the bed, it’s been making those noises often when you're around. Floors creak under your thundering steps and furniture groans under your weight. The little bungalow is probably older than you and your long-term boyfriends, Jace and Nick, had thought.

God, imagine if the twins saw you like this. Stranded on their bed, back arching toward your bloated, aching belly; face scrunched up in agony…. or is it pleasure you're feeling? The pleasure from fulfilling a deep, hedonistic desire to just let yourself go, gorge on all the food your sensitive, soft belly can handle. To become the spoiled, fattened little piggy you're always been meant to be.

Writhing and moaning, you lavish in the sweet lust. Tears begin to bead in your eyes as little whimpers and burps escape rosy lips, tongue peaking out lewdly. Your swollen belly is gurgling and sloshing non-stop, pants moments from snapping off. You let out a burst of gas. God, how embarrassing it would be for you to be seen like this-

“Hey!”

“You okay?”

Fuck.

It’s Jace and Nick.

Deeply blushing, you squeak and try to sit up, rocking from side to side, bed creaking and fat jiggling. You get halfway up before yelping as your belly cramps and gurgles. You let out a loud and sickeningly wet burp and fall on your back in a pathetic heap, fat bouncing and rippling around you like a wave of softness. Your tummy wobbles most, burgeoning with fat and endless calories, settling on top of you in a blubbery heap.

You're literally too fat to get up, oh, God.

Mind racing, Nicholas pushes a hand down over the center of your inflated midsection while attempting to pull your shirt down, gasping and pulling away when the slight pressure causes a sharp ache and a wave of even more angry gurgles, stomach clamping desperately onto the food bubbling inside. You feel yourself swell further from the wobbling movement, taut skin turning even hotter with pressure. You try to fart out some of the pressure, but at the rate you're bloating, it barely makes any headway. You're blowing up like a balloon and your boyfriends are watching. Seeing you get fatter.

“Please!” You cry as your saggy arms flail. Your stuffed belly twinges with pain as it loudly tries to digest and keep everything from coming back up. You feel your skin stretch and creak with pressure, your gut bubbling as indigestion causes it to bloat and swell into a painfully distended, obscenely large mound. And even worse? You can’t stop burping and fucking farting.

The twins are watching like hawks, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. Nick seems upset, but you always do when he’s… turned on. And Jace looks worried, but also somehow aroused.

”Don’t look!” You wail over the monstrous sounds your gut is making, fervently rubbing at the fattened flesh of your underbelly, fingers digging into the softness, desperately trying to quell the embarrassing noises. You lick your lips, fluffy, dark hair sticking to your forehead as you find your fattened body overtaken with a breathtaking heat. Your quivering belly settles finally after, of fucking course, it rumbles monstrously and forces out a grossly loud belch, relieving some of the agonizing pressure.

Gripping your engorged gut on either side, Nicholas smacks and shakes it angrily, pleading, “fuck, stop it!” To which you receive an endless cacophony of embarrassing digestive noises. Thus, you sob in utter humiliation, closing your eyes as you pass gas, long and high. You listen to Jace and Nick come closer, desperately rubbing your belly. You're hot all over, your body buzzing in anticipation.

“God! It’s… you’re huge! What happened?” Jace speaks disbelievingly, striding over to your blubbery, soft body.

Another voice follows, Nick. “What did you do, Nicholas?” Nick steps to the opposite side of Jace, leading to the twins surrounding your beached body.

Moaning, you slowly open your wet eyes, chubby hands still massaging sensitive, plump flesh. You can only imagine how you look, a fat hog trapped under the weight of your own gluttony. Only able to satisfy the needs of your gut; stuffing yourself silly until your belly literally has to burble sickeningly at you to stop… and even then, you laze around in too-small clothes on a creaking bed, aching and bloated, waiting for all those calories to melt into thick, gelatinous fat. Your belly churns forcefully and you have to swallow back a loud gag.

“Sweetheart?”

Gentle, cold hands are placed on your feverish skin. You shudder at the contrast, eyebrows furrowing further as you moan in surprise. Twin laughs echo in the room. It makes you look up into their vibrant eyes. With a gentle pat on your belly, you are reminded that, oh, they asked you what had happened.

“I…I think I ate too much,” you moan, wiping your eyes on a pudgy hand. You place it beside your boyfriends’, looking up at them both. Their strong, commanding forms contrast wonderfully with your plump flesh.

This shouldn’t be as erotic as it is.

The twins share a look filled with intent. Nick looms over your prone form, moving his hand slowly, fingers pressing meanly over the bloated flesh. Jace’s leaner but no less strong form leers at you, hand teasing over your dome of a gut. Your belly rumbles at the tickling and deep caresses before quieting a little. You sigh at the temporary relief.

However, after a good look at the two, you quickly become hyper-aware of how horribly mortifying this situation is. You feel massive, starfished on the bed, your bloated, aching gut vulnerable and sensitive. You imagine yourself as some spoiled and overfed prey, looking into the jaws of agile, deadly predators waiting to strike. And judging by the mischievous glints in their eyes, they seem to be running through a similar trail of thought. You are truly defenseless, immobilized by your vast expanse of jiggly fat.

“You think you ate too much? Or you did and don’t want to admit it?” Jace presses, raising a delicate brow. He charmingly pushes his bright blond hair out of his eyes as he firmly settles his hands on your belly; his nails and fingers pressing into the squishy bloat.

Whimpering breathily, you arch into his hand, I… I don't know. I-“ You're interrupted by a long, sickly burp followed by Nick’s intimidating laughter. You blush profusely, looking down at the burgeoning mound of fat taking up your entire middle. A moment later you fart and the twins laugh. They’re working hard to get the gas out and it’s fucking mortifying. With a deep belch, he brings your hands to the sides of your gut, massaging where the skin is cramped and thin.

“I spent some time with some of the guys and…” You bite your lip as a sharp ache radiates from the center of your rotund belly. “Oh, fuck! That hurts.” You watch through half-lidded eyes as Nick gracefully scoots around your ample body, barely creating a dent in the mattress. He settles on his knees beside you, thin hands tickling the quaking fat of your gut.

“And?” Nick places his hands on yours, stopping their furious kneading. An angry rumble echoes through the room, causing you to shift and whimper in embarrassment. You need belly rubs so badly right now. Your belly is swollen and aching, growling furiously; it’s clearly not happy with the lack of attention it’s now getting.

“Blondie, please-“

“Come on, tell us what happened, or we won't be able to help you,” is Jace’s quick reply.

You huff needily, looking away. The gurgling has increased in volume, making your belly vibrate. It sounds sickly and wet, clearly struggling with how overfull it is. You swallow thickly at a burp trying to come up, making your tummy cramp up and bloat that much more. You keen as you explain, “I-I went to spend time with some of the guys and-“ you hiccup at another intense groan from your belly before continuing. “There was a lot of food and so I… said I would only have a little, but then…” You shudder as shame washes over you, warming your body.

Gurgling nauseously, your gut quivers restlessly, causing you to attempt to massage it again. But Nick just tightens his grip. Jace catches your eyes, head tilting innocently. You can feel your belly churn and groan under your chubby palms as it attempts to digest the greasy and sugary junk you pigged out on.

“And then? What could have possibly happened after?”

Eyes pleading with the twins, you sigh when all you get in return are matching grins. You whimper as you continue the shameful retelling of your impromptu stuffing, “I ate a bit and I tried to control myself; honestly, I did!” Jace nods in faux empathy, eyes glimmering. Nick then puts pressure on you and your joint hands, pushing deeply into your rounded gut. You shudder, blushing hotly as you say, “but after a couple of bites… I couldn't help myself, couldn’t stop. I was so hungry and it tasted so good! I just needed to have more!” Your tummy rumbles as if reliving the subsequent gorging that followed.

“And so I ate, and I ate, and I ate… God, I just… I couldn't control myself, I had to keep eating!” You shake your head at the memory, licking your lips, recalling the feeling of pure gluttony and wanton need that had rushed over you. “It tasted so good, felt so good…” You remember the junk food, dripping with grease, the drinks saturated in sugar; waiting to fatten you up.

Lost in the inebriation brought on by hedonism, you continue lustily, “I could feel myself get fuller, my belly getting bigger and bigger… stuffed full of fattening foods that would just make me fatter and fatter.” You lick your lips and take in a shuddering breath, looking at your bulbous gut, “I lost all control and made a complete pig of myself.” Your stomach lets out a loud, sickly groan, as if agreeing. You mewl needily, thick thighs rubbing together as you listen to your stuffed belly bubble noxiously.

“And then the guys, they… they started to feed me.” Biting your bottom lip, you look up through your thick lashes at the twins, eyes flitting between them. “They force-fed me the rest of the food. There was still so much left. They watched as I ate and laughed and made fun of how fat I looked, even though I'm not that big!” You feel the need to defend yourself, to deny just what your endless binging has done to your waistline. In the back of your mind, you know you're not fooling anybody, not even yourself. Especially not your boyfriends.

“Wow, just how many calories are packed away in this big gut of yours?” Jace laughs, bouncing your gut in his slender hands.

You look up just in time to see Nick lift and harshly smack their hands on the sides of your bloated midsection, roughly jiggling the fat and fatty contents rumbling inside. You feel helpless and can only manage a surprised gasp of masochistic pleasure, spreading your legs to accommodate your wide girth.

“I honestly don’t know how many calories we forced in me, more than I should have had. It was so embarrassing!” Your hands dig into the dome of your burbling belly, making a gentle imprint in your fat before meeting bloated resistance from your stretched insides. Jace’s brows are furrowed, his pupils dilated as he fiercely urges you on. Nick is looking much the same, eyes intense and expression sharp.

“They laughed at how fat I was getting, how big my belly was bloating! It kept gurgling and making me burp and… and fart as I ate, like it was trying to stop me from stuffing myself, it was so loud and embarrassing!” Your voice has taken on a reedy, whiny tone, warm cheeks a deep red as you relive the most humiliatingly erotic thing you've ever experienced.

Nick looks wickedly pleased with this, wolfishly grinning as he says, “you’re telling us,” he gives your pudgy wrists a warning grip, “that all your friends watched you make a complete pig of yourself.” He quickly maneuvers himself behind your head. You continue, “Watched you bloat up and stuff yourself…” You keep your hands where they are, listening to Nick’s silent command. “And helped make you fatter?”

Jace joins in on Nick’s teasing then, “and like the pig you are, you let them.” Their words bewitch you, trapping you in their truth. Jace trails his hands over your soft jowls, multiple chins, and plump chest… before he diverts his hands quickly to your arms, where the shirt is tight and causing the supple flab on your arms to puff out. Jace presses his hands into the squishy fat, gently maneuvering your blubbery body as you respond.

“Yeah. I was too full to move! My belly was too big! Too heavy… too fat and bloated.” You pant heavily, watching your fat wobble and ripple with the movement, fabric shifting as your clothes strain with the weight of your new position. And to your embarrassment, your stomach sloshes and jiggles ridiculously at the movement, the bed creaking and dipping as well. Your love handles seem to spread out with the new position, sagging from where they protruded gently. The movement dislodges a monstrous belch, low and bassy and gross.

While Jace’s face remains smug as ever, he is struggling to get your fatass to sit up. 350+ pounds of oversized lard is nothing to scoff at.

Finally, Jace places you between Nick’s legs and up against his torso; soft back rolls squishing into his strong chest… and plump ass aligned with his sharp hip bones. Jace squishes against your front between thick thighs and against your belly and fupa. As they all settle together, you watch with bitten lips as your belly quakes and wobbles before plopping unattractively onto your lap with a fleshy thump. You moan quietly as you feel your pants press deeper into your stuffed stomach, muffin top protruding hugely over the waistband; tight shirt accentuating the blubbery overflow. You know your spare tire has left you with a nasty plumber’s crack, can feel the supple skin burst over your tight waistband. God, you're such a fat slob.

Looking down at yourself, at how fat you are, you are overwhelmed with red-hot shame. You fiercely cup either side of your round dome of a gut, kneading into the firm bloat before harshly hitting it with a resounding slap, the fat rippling grossly. “Fuck! I felt so fucking fat,” you moan hotly, legs spreading as your midsection wobbles back into place, pants button shifting. You whimper when Jace says,

“You say that like you already aren’t.”

And suddenly, Jace and Nick’s cold fingers are faintly tracing over the bloated dome of your belly again, causing it to quiver and slosh with your nerves. You're keening and writhing in… arousal.

As Jace’s fingers snake their way to the edge of your shirt, they stop, tracing the thin edge where cotton meets soft fat. Your hands have fisted into the sheets as you take in big and heady breaths, your cramped stomach hindering your breathing.

“Your stomach really is huge. no wonder they made fun of you; you’re fucking fat,” Nick growls. He must be seeing your belly from your view. Nick laughs. Probably at how ridiculously big it is; sticking out hugely from your torso, shirt unable to cover it and pants barely holding on.

You are fucking massive.

A moment passes in which the twins look at each other, Nick can tell from the way Jace is looking beside you, eyes intense. A sadistic smile tugging at his lips, Jace grips the soft blubber of your muffin top… and shakes.

“Jace! What are you-“ You are quickly interrupted by another bassy belch. It feels like it rattles the walls with how powerful it is. All the jiggling is making your gut slosh loudly, the contents inside churning louder and louder, clearly upset with being treated so roughly. You gag, the mountain of food and drink inside you threatening to come up with your next burp. And another after that. “Fuck I can’t,” another burp, “stop!” You finish with a long, airy belch this time.

Nick smacks your oversized muffin top, feeling how firm and distended it is. You massage into the doughy fat, and your belly lets out a hollow-sounding gurgle in response, forcing out a strained burp. “Shit, you’re such a slob, Nicholas. Can’t even get through a sentence without burping, hm?”

You whimper in response. You do your best to hold more in, but all the shaking, even though Jace isn’t doing it anymore, has dislodged so much gas. And so you can only belch nastily in response.

Subsequently, Jace faintly pulls your shirt up and over the thick crest of your full belly and tucks it under your tits, setting the engorged flesh free with a dramatic jiggle, plump fat rippling fluidly. You stop for a moment, looking at the swollen flesh pouring over the sides of your jeans. You're dripping in soft, supple fat.

“Nick’s right. You’re a fat slob! So soft… and no manners at all!” Jace chimes in, kneading into the flesh like a cat.

Sucking your teeth, you hedge, “I'm just a little bloated, right? And I have manners! I just ate too much. It’s… I can't really be… that fat, right?” You look to Jace, who just smiles faintly and shakes his head. He places his hands on the bloated underside of your gut, pressing out a low, long fart. You look humiliated.

Nick rubs the top of your sick belly firmly, intensifying the horrifying noises your bulging gut is making. You wail softly, gingerly cradling the sides of your swollen belly. “oh, God…” Jace raises his brow, rubbing more gently at a painful-sounding blast of gas, carefully caressing your inflated midsection.

“It's so big! And it hurts so badly. Ooh, I'm gonna get so fat…”

Looking at Nick, they exchange a bemused look. “You already are, though,” Nick muses, pressing down harshly and forcing out a watery burp from you. “This past year, you’ve blown up like a balloon,” Nick states matter-of-factly.

“It’s not like I gained much weight… maybe a couple of pounds…” You mewl, wincing as your stomach emits a burbled, high-pitched moan, tensing over the mountain of food forced inside. You burps and hiccups unattractively as a result, moaning pathetically.

“These pants are way too small for you! Look how they dig into your big belly.” Jace argues, slapping it and listening to the tight smack and repulsively loud gurgle. You gasp in pain, mouth wet and open as you look down at your quivering gut. “It’s not that big…” You blush as Jace laughs, hitting it again, “right, which is why it looks like your fat stomach will pop the button off these pants at any moment.”

You huff, “I’m not that fat!”

The twins chuckle when suddenly, they hear a deafening, wet whine, louder than before. They look down, where all anyone can see is your belly. The top of your gut is bloated beyond belief, taut and packed, swelling with the consequences of your overindulgence. The underside faring much the same. It's thick and rumbling, still bloating slowly, forcing your jeans to their limits and your shirt closer to your wobbling breasts. You feel overfull, debouched; a greedy pig pinned down by your own weight and gluttony. So humiliating, so disgustingly fat.

Yet you remain in willful denial of your current state and how they fulfill your deepest, darkest fantasies.

The twins will just have to show you just how fat you have gotten, and what a pig you are… but they also want you to feel better. They just can’t stand to watch their fattened boyfriend steep in denial any longer.

Kneading their hands into their boyfriend's bloated tummy, they rub quietly for a bit, listening to the gross, unhappy roars it emits, smothered beneath layers of thick, doughy fat. Jace takes a moment to think before, sharing a look with Nick and saying, “how about I get you something to drink; to soothe your angry belly.” He looks so innocent. Little does you know, they’re about to ruin you.

Settled between sausage-like thighs, Jace presses out one last fart from you before saying, “okay, I’ll be right back. Promise.” Jace pats your gut like a pet and leaves. You jiggle on the bed, stranded like a beached whale. Nick is slowly massaging the entirety of your belly now, hands skilled and strong. All you can hear is the disgusting, embarrassing gurgles of your swollen belly. And all you can feel is the bloating of your gut, swelling over the waistband of your jeans. How shameful.

Jace returns in a hurry, hands hidden behind his back. You have barely even noticed you entering the room. You're too engrossed in sloshing and touching your stuffed gut, smacking and jiggling it around despite the heady, pained moans he, and your belly, are making. Jace sets something down, hidden between the night table and bed. Nick smiles at you; an evil, sadistic thing.

Jace smirks, smacking the bloated crest of your stomach, listening to the resounding squelch as your gut lurches, cramping in agony. You hiccup a short burp before you mewl. Jace teases, "can't get enough of your own stuffed gut, can you?"

You blush hotly, shivering as both twins press in, belly rumbling a deep, monstrous gurgle. Your limbs flail uselessly, held down by your heavy blimp of a belly.

Jace's smirk sharpens into something mischievous. “Here, sit up properly.” Jace commands. The twins lift you so you're sitting up straight rather than half lying down, the new position forcing out a little toot. You blush even more as your boyfriends simply smile at you.

Now sitting up, you watch Jace warily. The twins are up to something. And watching as Jace pulls up a gallon of whole milk, you realize your gut is in for a nasty surprise. Although slightly intolerant, you can’t help yourself around dairy. It makes you a repulsive, gassy mess, but you can’t help but eat and drink it. With a belly as full as it is now, you know most people would turn their nose at this… but you aren’t most people. You are greedy, a glutton at heart with no self-control. And so instead of turning away, instead of refusing the drink like you should, you lick your lips. Your belly groans in fear.

“Maybe this will help settle your tummy down,” Jace croons, all faux sympathy and mischief. You get a piggish grunt in response. You try your best to sit up a little straighter, hands reaching out for the gallon, but Jace holds it just out of reach. All the shifting causes a thick blast of gas to come out of your ass, to which you groan in embarrassment. The twins simply laugh. Nick, the devil he is, moves his hands to your lower belly and presses, causing more, comically loud farts to come out. But even so, you continue to struggle for the milk. You just can’t help it.

“C’mon, big guy, you can do it,” Jace encourages sweetly. Your hands are shaking, struggling to hold the gallon up as high as he is. But clearly, the prospect of teasing you outweighs the discomfort.

Another minute of struggling, another minute of grunting, burping, and farting before you gives up, plopping back against Nick’s muscular chest; groaning as Nick massages out a long, deep bit of gas. You feel like such a nasty slob.

Cheeks red with embarrassment, you pant, hands going to your rumbling belly and forcing a burp out. “I can’t reach,” you groan.

“And why is that?” Jace asks, innocent. He places the milk on top of your gut, delighting as the pressure dislodges a belch.

You mumbles quietly in response.

“What was that?” Nick asks, still massaging the bloat of your gut.

The situation is so… humiliating. You literally can’t sit up because you ate so much. And yet here you are, trying to drink something calorie-dense and thick. As if you aren’t full enough. But you're just so hungry, a deep ache in you that is always longing for more.

In the spirit of wanting to consume, of wanting to glut yourself further, you perk your voice louder and admit, “my belly’s too big, can’t reach. ‘m too gassy.” As if to prove your point, Nick presses out a hot fart from you.

Jace seems to think for a moment, pulling back as he says, “that’s one reason. Why else is it hard for you to sit up, hm?” At the hesitation he receives in turn, he shakes the gallon on your belly. “Come on. We all know the answer.”

You do. You know they know it too. Everyone who was at your little get-together is well aware of the fact as well. You, face red and blubber jiggling, say, “I’m too fat.” The twins let the answer hang in the air, let it sink into your lard-shrouded ears.

“That you are, piggy,” Nick rumbles, voice low and possessive. He keeps massaging fart after fart and burp after burp out of you. You're a balloon of rancid gas and calories and fat.

The twins look at each other and Jace nods. “Good boy,” he croons, pulling the jug to his own lap in order to uncap it. A quick twist and crack and the lid is off. With a dexterity few can hold a candle to, Jace throws it into the trash. “We won’t be needing that,” he says. You gulp, your gut churning at the implication.

Nick continues rubbing your belly as Jace settles between your chunky thighs. Uncapping the bottle, he holds it tight and leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to your gut. You lean back again as it grumbles violently, a teeth-rattling belch following afterward from you. You look at him, mortified. God, could your gut just calm down?

“God, you’re gross,” Jace sighs. “Ready, fatty?” Jace places the bottle near your face, waiting for the go-ahead to feed you. You hesitate a moment, tensing up and grunting. You can feel gas building in your lower belly. Nick presses just right and a long, deep fart comes from you. You sigh and find yourself clenching afterward, making sure nothing… else comes out. You really want to drink this milk, and don't want to do anything else in the interim. And so you nod, feeling your double chins wobble with the movement.

“Good boy.”

Jace presses the milk to your rosy lips and tilts, the bottle at a very steep incline. Your eyes widen, not expecting the absolute flood of milk. Quickly, you busy yourself by gulping it all down as fast as possible. You wait for your cheeks to fill before gulping the huge mouthful. On each swallow, you can feel your belly bloat, swelling out inch by greedy inch. Your tummy groans and churns loudly, upset with the contents being quite literally poured into it.

You hear yourself groan nauseously, your belly feeling sick all of a sudden. So overfull and getting bigger, filling up with milk and gas. Nick is quick to try and help, whispering, “I got you,” as he rubs at the painful cramps riddling your poor stomach. It helps for a bit. The deep rubs work out every tight cramp, allowing for the pleasure of slowly bloating bigger and bigger to take hold. Your insides are stretching slowly, getting tight and full, weighing on you heavily. You feel like a balloon being inflated with every swallow, each second leading to your insides aching wonderfully. You find it hard to breathe, the weight of what’s inside your tummy restricting you in every way.

But after drinking about a quarter, you raise your chubby hands and place them on the bottle, feeling sick all of a sudden. The feeling of slowly blowing up leaves you nauseated, your belly aching and bubbling terribly. Your belly is overfull, and being topped off with whole milk, of all things, isn’t helping. Even if you really like it. Jace is quick to listen, pulling away and cooing sweetly at you.

“Feel sick, ulp,” you whisper, both hands placed gingerly on your gut. You lets out a wet burp, gagging violently after. Your tummy jumps at the wretched noise and tensing, wobbling to and fro. And suddenly, the kindness the twins were showing disappears. Nick swiftly covers your mouth and pulls your head back a little.

Jace is quick to sneer at you, “don’t. We’ll make you drink what you throw up, too.” You whimper in response, gulping something down as you shake your head. You take deep, steadying breaths, moaning nauseously. Your gut is churning loudly again, akin to a heating kettle. Airy burbles fill the area as your belly bloats with gas and rebels against all the dairy and grease and sugar inside it. You whimper and whine, feeling something building. You lift a leg slightly in anticipation. Lo and behold, a moment later, a huge, rattling fart leaves you. It’s long and bubbling and so fucking embarrassing. You moan in relief afterward, lowering your leg and leaning against Nick. Said man just sucks his teeth and smacks your belly, shaking it like a toy; its contents slosh loudly.

“Dirty slob,” Nick reprimands. You let out a hot belch against his palms as a response. Nick is quick to pull his hands away, admonishment on his tongue. He wipes his hand on your shirt. He seems to avoid the grease and sweat stains. “Don’t you feel even the slightest bit of shame, fatass?” Nick gets another burp in reply, this one airy and topped off with a relieved moan. you literally cannot stop burping or farting, just a gross, gassy bum. You're grateful, too. Sometimes, when you get too full, especially on something heavy like this, the gas gets stuck and bloats you terribly.

The twins cringe at you. Nick continues rubbing your belly with both hands while Jace sways the bottle and teases you with what you have yet to consume. Another sick groan, an airy belch, before you feel less like you're going to be sick and explode, and more like you can finish the task set out for you. The belly rubs help, mostly. Nick’s skilled fingers and palms relieve each cramping ache.

“I’m, mh, ready… More,” you groan. Your voice has changed since you're… gotten softer, you're noticed. A lot deeper and more muffled, less sensual than it used to be. You're so shy about it, wishing you could, well… be hot again. But with the way you eats, and the way you're being fed, you doubt you ever will be again, try as you might to deny it. You feel yourself grow warm at the thought.

Jace gives you a look, silently asking if you're sure. As mean as the twins can be, they care for your comfort above all else. You nod and open your mouth, jaw falling into your cushioning triple chins. They prevent your mouth from opening very wide, and you can feel the soft resistance with every mouth movement. Your face really has ballooned. Hell, you even have stretch marks underneath your chins. You remember them appearing after your obsession with deep-fried butter began. The marks on your belly and fupa had doubled that month, too.

With a toothy, predatory grin, Jace begins feeding the milk into your mouth again. He starts slowly this time, easing you into the quick pace he was going at before. “There’s a good piggy, drinking what you’re told,” he hums. The milk settles heavily in your mouth and in your belly, thick and delicious in every way. Each swallow pains you, however, leaving your brows furrowed and a little moan trailing after each loud gulp.

The jug tilts at a steeper incline, increasing the flow of milk to something quite a bit faster. Your eyes widen, milk spilling out the sides of your mouth and down your chin. Nick stops the tender rubbing of your belly to smack it. The harshness leaves a red mark and you whimper, gagging around a mouthful. “Messy bitch,” Nick says, low. “We want every drop inside of your greedy gut, not outside.”

You can only nod frantically, praying that he doesn’t jostle your belly like that again. Your wish is headed, as you take extra care to not waste a single drop of milk.

“Good pig,” Jace says, and you want to guffaw. You want to spit and snarl that you're not a pig, you're not fat, nor are you greedy. But with the way you're gulping down the milk, the way you've been eating recently, you know it’s futile. And you like that. You shouldn’t, but you do. And for some reason, that just makes it all the better.

“All these calories, sloshing around in this big gut of yours, “ Nick laughs quietly, shaking your belly, listening to the milk ruin your insides even more. It jostles out a deep fart, another tiny one following after. “Making you into an even fatter slob.” Your pants creak dangerously.

Jace hums in agreement, meeting your desperate eyes as he says, “your friends were right to make fun of you. You’re a fat fucking mess. You never used to be like this, what happened?” His voice drips with faux sympathy, as if he really feels anything but vindictive amusement at what his boyfriend has become. And he’s right. You used to be thin and pretty, smart and well-mannered. You were everything everyone wanted to be. And now look at you. Chugging down whole milk after binging on junk food, having your belly rubbed and passing gas like it’s no one’s business. Disgraceful.

You whimper at their words, feeling your belly cramp. You're past the halfway point now, and as much as you want to keep going, nausea is showing its ugly head. Your swallows are slower, the moans after each one getting woozy. You feel like you might puke or explode, whichever comes first. You rub at your belly desperately, trying to make the feeling vanish, but no matter what you do, it just gets worse. Your stomach roars loudly suddenly, wet and wretchedly loud. Jace pulls the milk back on instinct, and Nick is quick to clap a hand over your mouth again as you gag, swallowing profusely and moaning miserably.

“Mmm, too much,” your gut curdles loudly in agreement. Your voice is muffled behind Nick’s palm, but the thick nausea is clear as day. Your pants are cutting in painfully, and with each airy gurgle, they stretch louder and louder, muffin top protruding further over the waistband.

There’s a little less than half of the jug left, and you're genuinely unsure if he’ll be able to finish. You place both hands on your belly, feeling it rumble dangerously beneath your bloated palms. It sounds akin to a washing machine with how noisy it’s being. Jace visibly cringes. “That sounds… bad. And really gross,” he looks you in the eye at the last part, poking your belly like one would a sleeping beast. You get a nasty groan in reply.

Nick is quick, and squeezes his hand over your mouth even tighter. “Don’t you dare throw up,” he snarls. You can only nod frantically in reply, desperate to feel both of Nick’s hands on your belly again. Nothing feels better than the twin’s belly rubs.

You swallow audibly, letting out a quiet fart the moment Nick’s hands touch your sensitive tummy again. “Ooh, too much. So full,” you pant out, letting out a string of small burps, unsatisfying and barely relieving the pressure. “Feels like I’m gonna pop.” And it looks like it, too. Your belly has a red blush along the crest of it, shining and tight. Nick’s hands barely sink into it like they usually do. It all causes the button on your pants to dig in deeply, holding on for dear life. Any more milk or even gas and it will surely pop off. Jace, who is watching the whole thing, joins in to help. You are massaging the sides, Nick the top, and Jace, with the jug between your thighs, massage your lower belly.

With every rub, you can feel something building, something that won’t come out, blocked by the veritable lake of milk inside of you. You whimper, squirming as your tummy cramps further at your movement. There’s gas building from both ends that refuses to come out, pushing it is too painful, but it feels like there’s no other way for you to get this… ball of gas out of you. “Ow, oh, please!” You pleas, begging for something to give. You missed when the gas was leaving you freely, suddenly.

“What’s wrong, pup?” Nick whispers, sweet. He always uses that name when he’s trying to soothe. You love it.

“It’s stuck! Won’t, ngh, come out,” you whine. The frustration causes you to press down particularly hard, but all it earns you are a sharp cramp and more gas bloating you up. You sob at the ache.

“What, the milk?” Nick’s voice hedges on a warning, then.

“N-no! Gas… so bloated!” Your breaths are heaving, trying to get air in around the monstrosity of things packed in your belly. It hurts so much, yet a part of it feels… good.

Nick kisses your right jowl and Jace kisses the crest of your tummy, despite his earlier cringing at it. “Poor piggy,” Jace says, looking up at him. you can barely see him because of how big your belly is. From how much bigger it’s getting.

“Oh! It’s getting bigger, I can’t,” you can’t take much more. You can feel yourself bloat rounder, can hear it too. It’s slow and noisy, inflating with more gas by the second. The twins seem to be noticing the same thing, if the way they look at your gut with alarmed expressions can be trusted.

“Oh, shit.”

“He’s blowing up like a balloon!”

There is a hitch in your breathing as you try to burp out some of the air trapped inside you, but nothing happens, just a tiny hiccup escapes you. It causes a terrible cramp and wretchedly wet gurgle to sound around them. “Mm, make it stop!” You yelp, pressing down on your belly, as if to press it all back in and deflate it. You try to push out air from the other end, but all you get are more aches. “Ohh, tummy hurts. Feel like I’m gonna pop,” comes another whine. It’s childish, in a way; seeking a solution from them, asking for saving from the situation you drank and ate yourself into.

Jace and Nick share a look. Jace is quick to break into a fit of giggles as he recalls, “it’s like that game we used to play as kids, Pop The Pig!” He wobbles your belly like jelly, watching the fat ripple, the bloat of it causing it to sway cartoonishly.

You can hear a suppressed snicker from behind you and mewl, your cheeks heating in embarrassment. You especially feel that shame when Nick pats your gut, trying to get the burps out as if you were a child. As much as it seems like he’s helping, you can tell he’s amusing himself. His slaps elicit a tight smack with how bloated you are, the layer of fat overtop wobbling.

All the shaking and slapping seem to be causing something big and painful to bubble in your belly. Your gut is expanding still, causing your pants to make a terrible creaking noise, threads snapping one by one.

“Come on, tubby, you can do it,” Jace coos. He is pressing his hands in a long swipe along your lower belly, coaxing gas to move through your insides. Nick continues patting, shaking, and rubbing deeply. It makes your belly roar, suddenly, and it inflates rapidly for a moment. You can feel something in your chest, agonizing and as full as your stomach. You pat a hand along the plump softness there, and for a second you feel you really will pop.

A terribly loud, watery gurgle echoes in the room. Then, the sound of something tearing follows as the button on your pants finally flings off, hitting Jace in the chest.

Piles of doughy fat flood forth, sloshing and jiggling as it settles on your thighs with a soft noise, your fupa shoving open the zipper. A red band is present, showing where your pants were digging into your supple fat. There is the sound of something churning viciously, everything inside you having shifted. Then-

“Oh, I-!”

You belch, a horribly loud, almost violent thing. It’s deep and rattles its way from your gut, to your chest, up your fat neck, and out your greedy mouth. It hurts and it happens so fast, that you can’t even feel shame. You choke halfway through it on another burp. Bubbling and gross. It eventually dies off, leaving you a gasping mess. You moan in relief, your stomach emptier than it was. Simultaneously, more pressure accumulates below. A moment, and then you fart disgustingly loud. A wet, bubbling expulsion that leaves you open-mouthed and whimpering. Fuck, it feels so good. Your insides now seem less like they’re about to pop, though still overfull.

You lean back against Nick’s chest, patting the side of your belly as your mind refocuses on the moment, on what just happened. The twins seem to be on the same wavelength, both having been caught in the line of fire in some way or another. Nick from behind and Jace up front. A moment passes in which only your churning insides can be heard. Then-

“Gross!”

“You dirty slob!”

The twins flinch away, clearly disgusted at what they’d bore witness to. Jace’s face is twisted into a strange thing. His pupils widen and his cheeks blush, yet his brows furrow and his lips snarl. A concoction of disgust and arousal brewing on his very face. Nick seems to be faring much the same, if not a little more intense. Nick’s always like that. His poker face giving way to emotion is always shocking. There is, however, something hard poking into your cellulite-ridden ass. And a similar hardness poking your lower belly.

As much as you want to tease about that, want to be the confident, sly man you used to be, you find you are too deep in your embarrassment, absolutely drowning in it. You do your best to hold more gas in, despite the pain it clearly causes. And despite the fact you were letting loose so easily before. You just can’t bear the thought of humiliating yourself further. Even if it makes you warm between the thighs.

Jace makes a show of waving his hand in front of his face despite the lack of smell. “God, you’re so gassy! What a mess you are, pig.” His words end with a giggle, openly delighting in the mortification on your face.

Gulping loudly, you swallow back a burp and cringe when your belly rumbles angrily at you. Nick accuses, “and now you’re holding it in? We already know how disgusting you are, hog. There’s no use in hiding it.” He shakes your tummy, sloshing it to and fro.

“It’s embarrassing,” you grit out, clenching your ass and whimpering at the ensuing cramp.

“That’s the point,” replies Jace easily. You blush. “You should be humiliated, you’re a gross, obese slob with no manners who can’t help stuffing yourself fatter. In fact,” he pauses as he tries to close the two flaps of your broken jeans, “you’re so fucking greedy, you ate yourself out of your clothes. You deserve to be shamed for what a fatass you are.” Your belly plops down from where Jace tries to squeeze it into your jeans. His expression is dire. He presses down on your lower belly harshly. “Let go, piggy.”

And finally, you do.

The hand on your buttery soft lower belly causes you to rip out a hot fart, multiple high-pitched ones following after. “Fuck,” you sigh out, “so gassy… feels so good, ugh.”

Nick starts rubbing at your belly again and smiles when he gets a growling belch in return. “Good pig. Let it out. You need to make room to finish the milk.” The reminder makes you groan tiredly. Fuck, you're so full, so fat. You raise your leg and let out more gas, burping a moment after.

It goes on for a couple of minutes, the rubbing and patting; the burping and farting. You is a gassy mess that the twins cannot seem to get enough of. You're akin to a deflating balloon, in all honesty. The thought shouldn’t be as arousing as it is.

The pressure in your belly slowly leaves until it’s manageable, no longer filled to the brim with gas. Your belly has visibly gone down, losing the pained roundness of its swelling. You're left with a pleasant fullness now, the edge of aching need slowly drowning you.

Looking down, you are treated to the sight of the mass of fat overtaking your lap and hanging out of your jeans. You gather the two flaps and pull them as close together as you can. Which is not far at all. You watch as your gut wobbles onto the open flaps, settling defiantly on your lap. Your cheeks burn, “mmh, I’m never gonna get these on again.” The realization sends a shock of pleasure down between your chunky thighs. You're outgrown, no, you've eaten yourself of these clothes. And with all the calories packed in your gut, he’ll genuinely outgrow them by tomorrow, anyway. “Ah, I’m getting so big.” Your words are quiet, reverent; as if finally allowing yourself to think these thoughts, much less say them. It’s heady and rich, overwhelming in how the heat of it all overtakes you.

“Damn right, you are,” Jace says, bringing the milk jug back to your lips.

“And at this rate, you’ll only get bigger,” Nick finishes, smacking the swollen mass of your gut. you moan, breathy and sweet before wrapping your lips around the lip of the jug, slowly chugging the milk again. You let out soft noises at every large gulp, hands caressing your tummy.

Your hands have found a kind of joy in playing with the fat of your lower belly. While it is bloated there too, there is still enough flab for you to pinch and bounce. The way it’s just sitting on top of your open jeans is so… erotic. You feel lazy and sloppy, having your gut hang out of the pants you ripped open. Yeah, you have a habit of walking around with your pants undone, as they seem to grow tighter by the day. But this is different. You drank and ate so much your jeans busted open, you had no choice but to have them undone like this. And to your dumb hog brain, that makes all the difference. And so you play with the open flaps, touch at your expanding sides, and delight in the fact he’ll never get them closed again.

The twins continue playing with your belly. Nick is slowly rubbing at your inflated midsection, one hand above and the other below.

Little by little, your belly swells outward, each loud gulp sending your insides churning and billowing outward. You whimper and Nick is quick to shush you, pressing deeper and forcing gas from you.

You’re nearing the end, you can feel it, but your insides feel like they’re stretched to their limit again. Your gut feels like it’s creaking from the pressure inside, slowly stretching outward inch by painful inch. Your tummy rumbles in warning, lurching a moment after. You pull away and you are quick to slap your hands over your mouth as you force yourself to swallow, gagging violently seconds later. Your belly is cramping, trying to force the excess out, but you resolutely swallow it, refusing to give in to what your body desperately wants.

Another throaty swallow fills the room as your stomach rumbles. Nick rubs in circles along the sides, witling out the tenderness there. Your belly rumbles ominously then and you place your hands upon it, as if trying to soothe a wild beast.

“Ough, I-“ A monstrous belch is forced out, long and deep and rattling. You choke on another burp, letting out a flurry of smaller ones afterward before laying back on Nick’s chest.

“My belly,” you whimper, looking down at its expanding mass. “So full…” And it is. It sticks out horrendously far from your soft body, looking painful and pregnant. Jace pats it in the appraisal, humming to himself and watching the fat jiggle around the overindulged organ.

“You’re getting so big, doing so good for us!” Jace says. He shakes your belly and dislodges another airy burp, a queasy moan following after.

“Feel sick,” you say miserably. And your stomach sounds it, too. All wet churning and deafening roars.

“I know,” says Nick. “But look.” You look up with a moan to see that Jace is pointing out the tiny quarter you have left. “You’re almost there, piggy. You can do it.”

Despite feeling like you're going to either hurl or explode, you lean forward, hands squeezing your lower belly as a form of support. It makes a little toot come out, but clearly, You is far from caring. When Jace places the milk jug against your lips with a soft, “there’s a good piggy,” you can only sob.

The last little bit feels like both heaven and hell. Your stomach is stretching out with every swallow, weighing down and pulling your body forward. You know when you lean back, you will hardly be able to breathe with the weight of what's in your belly. You mewl pathetically, cheeks going rosy with each faux-sympathetic coo you garner. You swear you can feel yourself bloating up beneath your chubby hands. You can sure hear it.

Most of your energy is being spent on trying to not be sick, and it’s all so… surprisingly erotic. You're so vulnerable like this; big, sensitive stomach between them all, getting bigger and more tender with each second that passes. You're letting your boyfriends do this to you, is trusting them to make sure you don’t get sick, trusting them to soothe your aching belly. You're weak and soft as a newborn fawn and the twins are handling you with due care. Rough, yes, but in a way they all know you can take. In a way they all know you like.

You barely notice when the jug goes light and empty, getting pulled away from your milky lips. Instantly, you let out a slurry of belches, filled with air and coming from deep within. You open the eyes you don’t remember closing and whisper, “am I done?”

The twins are quick to reassure you.

“Such a good piggy!”

“Good job.”

Sighing in relief, you lean back. And sure enough, just like you expected, you can barely breathe from the weight of what’s inside you. It hurts so badly, each press of fingers makes you cry out in both pain and pleasure; soothing and exacerbating in tandem.

“Oh my God,” you pants, you're achingly tired, mind fuzzy with your own gluttony. “So full, I can’t…” You clench your teeth and a long fart reverberates in the area. “Feel so gross.” And you really do, your ass feels warm with how much gas is coming out and your throat is like the neck of a shaken soda bottle, waiting to erupt. Your belly aches and gurgles nastily, overflowing your clothes completely.

“You look gross,” Jace laughs. He places the empty gallon bottle on the floor and brings his attention to the giant ball of lard in front of you, slowly beginning to rub. “Look at this thing,” he pats it, laughing when it lets out a bubbling whine at him. “Normal people don’t eat and drink as much as you do!”

Nick huffs a laugh behind you, he stretches his hands to encompass your middle as best he can. “Normal people don’t have stomachs this big, either. Or so loud, shit.”

Looking down, you feel your triple chins squish as he observes your belly. The shirt you're wearing is a bra at this point, tucked under your tits, letting your belly spill forth unimpeded. Said gut is resting on your fupa, blushing red and shiny from how over-expanded it is. You've never seen it this big, covering everything in sight. Nick and Jace’s hands seem so small compared to it. Even your own hands, fat as they are, seem tiny.

Nick pats the side as if disapproving of it. “Does this thing ever shut up?” You can only groan, throwing your head back to swallow something thick in your throat. Your stomach rumbles in anger.

“I guess not,” Jace laughs, shaking it like a water balloon.

You feel something lurch, your insides cramping as everything inside you sloshes around. “Mm! No, no. Too full, don’t-!” You let out a low burp. “Fuck, ‘m gonna be sick. Ate too much.”

Nick simply shakes your head. “No, you’re not. You know the consequences if you do.” And you do. The twins will make you drink more to make up for what was wasted. Their entire trio seems to have something against wasted food.

“Ooh, I know. Please don’t make me.” You sob then, hands frantically rubbing the apex of your stomach, where the light catches brightly. “Tummy hurts, please…” Face scrunching, you let out a long fart, crying out when another seamlessly blends into the last.

The twins rub the swollen mass of blubber between them, letting you release burps and farts, snide comments volleying between them.

“Such a gassy pig.”

“Fat slob, you disgust me.

“Fuck, you’re like a blimp!”

“Never thought this would be where you ended up.”

And isn’t that the truth? You were rail-thin when they got together. Your curves came from your bone structure. But little by little, through constant encouragement and hedonism, you really blew up. It’s only been a few years since they’ve gotten together and already they’ve ruined you.

Nick snorts, “yeah, you look like you ate your old self.”

Jace agrees in the form of laughter. “Yeah, ate him and then some.”

Fuck, that’s the truth. You were underweight when they met. Now look at you! A morbidly obese blob.

You simply belch. Your body really hates dairy.

Jace pushes down with his full weight and gets a fart out of his overweight boyfriend. He smiles, a devious thing. “And such a slob, too. The old you would never be caught wearing such a sloppy getup.”

“The old you would probably laugh or run away in disgust.”

“Ha! Yeah. Remember he used to be embarrassed about using the bathroom? Imagine what he'd say if he saw what a gassy hog you are. Shameless.”

The teasing is distracting your dumb brain from the pain, pulling it into a warm haze of humiliation and arousal. “Ngh, he’d say I looked like an ugly funhouse mirror. That I let myself go so badly, such a nasty, fat pig.” You throw your head back and moan.

A rumble of a chuckle vibrates against your roll-filled back. “And he’d be right.”

“Such a shame, how you turned out,” Jace flashes his teeth, like a predator eying its prey; or a grinning Cheshire cat. “And to think, it… No, you will only get worse.”

“And you like it, don’t you?” Nick whispers into your ear, fingers circling your belly button like he does your hole, dipping in to lift and drop your belly.

Mewling quietly, you try to say, “yes,” but a burp interrupts you, making it come out as a disgusting slur of gas and your voice. The twins cringe in unison.

Your stomach has slightly calmed down, though you are still ridiculously gassy. You are softly ushered to lay on your side, your pants pulled down under your love handles, ass crack peeking over. You lift a leg slightly and put extra pressure on your insides to force some gas out. The twins have laid around you. You're farting onto Nick’s front and burping on Jace. The two tease you for it but ultimately let your slobby display continue while rubbing your gut. It's still loud and you are honestly really horny, but the pleasure in your belly and mind are enough to sate you for now.

“Guess I can’t deny how big I am anymore,” you pout, eyes fluttering closed.

“Ha! I don’t know how your denial has lasted this long, considering how you look,” Jace’s voice is smug, he and Nick are always happy to knock you down a peg or two.

You simply sigh. “And I’m never gonna be small again, am I?”

Nick huffs as you finally doze off, “not a chance.”

[echotums]

Your Soft Beginnings

You finally start gaining weight and stuffing yourself. After noticing your efforts paying off, you decide to treat yourself.

CW: AFAB terms used for genitals, transmasc reader, 2nd person POV. Very heavy degradation/humiliation/fat shaming, slight slob kink.

You had gained 20 pounds in the past little while. You looked… chubby. Really soft and hot. A lot of it had gone to your waist, giving you a cute muffin top. You looked almost like one of your favourite models, and the prospect of looking like someone you admired left you positively aching.

The soft fat jiggled when you jumped and shook it, protruding over your underwear and pants, pressing noticeably against your shirts. You leaned down, tightening the belt of your too-small jeans as much as you could, watching your blubbery hips bulge further and further. Fuck, no wonder your parents had been badgering you to lose weight. You were really blowing up.

Biting your lip, you poked at the protruding love handles, your finger trailing along one of the stretch marks. You’d been allocating more of your money to buy junk and gorge yourself nonstop after finally deciding to try stuffing and gaining. Suffice to say, you were fucking loving it.

You ate more at meals, had plenty of snacks, and were quickly outgrowing your uniforms and clothes. Some friends had picked up on it and poked fun at you a bit, but nothing mean-spirited. But nonetheless, the teasing had left you blushing and warm. A professor had even expressed concern over your rapid weight gain, and you felt bad for worrying them. But you wouldn’t lie and say you didn’t get off on it when you got home. You’d ballooned so much, so fast that people were concerned for you. It had no right to be as hot as it was.

Making sure no one was home and that your door was shut one last time, you settled onto your bed. There was a tall glass of whole milk and a box of chocolate chip cookies waiting for you. You’d just gotten back from your dinner at McDonald’s with your friends, belly bloated with greasy foods and sugar. Your friends had joked a little at your obviously too-small clothes, especially after you were done eating all that you did. God, you wondered if they knew just how horny they made you with their friendly jabs.

You rubbed your swollen belly and brought the box of cookies close to you, opening it and shoving the first one in your mouth. You moaned around the mouthful, chewing and swallowing quickly so you could eat the next. It was crunchy and full of chocolate chips, nice and sweet.

Shit, you'd eaten so much that day. Made a big stack of pancakes to go with your gainer shake for breakfast, bought pizza and brownies with soda for lunch, and went to McDonald’s for dinner. There, you had a Big Mac combo, nuggets, and a McFlurry. Now, here you were, about to gorge on an entire box of cookies with whole milk. You were turning into such a greedy pig.

you shifted your thighs together, your leg beginning to bounce up and down as you ate the next few cookies. So, so many calories were inside you, and by morning, it would have all turned to soft, squishy fat. A little whimper left your throat at the thought. You were going to get so big if you kept eating like this, like a fat fucking glutton.

Two cookies made their way to your mouth, this time dipped in milk. Whimpering, you brought a hand to your belly, smacking the tight bloat of it, tight as a drum. It hurt so, so good. You couldn’t help yourself, grinding down onto your bed as best you could; you were already soaked.

And that was another thing. Ever since you'd started gaining and stuffing yourself, you'd been horny non-stop. Your sex drive had already been off the charts due to starting T, but this was ridiculous. You could get off three times in a day if you so pleased. It would probably only get worse the bigger you got, too. And that just served to arouse you more.

Eating three cookies at a time, you took a big gulp of milk, mewling as it stretched your stomach out more. You rubbed at it desperately, pulling away to burp and make room. The vibration went straight to your clit, your tummy gurgling at you.

“Fuck, ‘m getting so fat,” you moaned, shoving more cookies into your greedy face, quickly eating them so you could have more. The box was halfway done and you were getting full. Burping and moaning around mouthfuls, you continued massaging your belly. There was a layer of chub you had to press through before you got to the hardness of your stuffed belly, a squishiness you delighted in pinching and prodding.

Looking down, all you could really see was your giant, bloated gut. You were stuffed enough that your belly had distinct sides, a bottom, and a top. At the rate you were going, you'd be an eating machine in no time; would continue to pack on the pounds until you were nothing more than a fat blob.

You sobbed at the thought. Because that’s what a friend had said. They’d said if you kept stuffing your face, you'd get fat, that you would turn into a blob… Your parents had even said that you were ruining yourself.

Cookies hanging out of your mouth, you struggled to undo your belt and pants, eager to touch yourself. Fuck, you were ruining yourself, wasn’t he? Turning yourself into a fat slob. What was a thin, pretty little body would soon be a mass of plump fat, unrecognizable.

After a lot of painful sucking in, you finally got the belt undone, then quickly popped the button. It was loud, grateful to be open, and the zip went down on its own. You whimpered, watching as your belly expanded into the new space, pushing the pants flaps impossibly far apart. There was a red band along your lower belly and where a little puff of fat was developing above your pussy.

You shoved a hand down the front of your pants, quickly rubbing at your tender clit and fingering your hole. Your belly was kind of in the way, which served to just turn you on more, eyes watering in pleasure.

Placing three more cookies in your mouth, you chewed, hand rubbing at your belly while you pleasured yourself. Fuck, you were so disgusting, getting off on this. Such a dirty, fat whore. You could feel tears run down your red cheeks, so overwhelmed by pleasure.

Crying out sweetly, you missed the loud creek outside, the soft, “You okay?” Before the door jerked open, and you came face to face with Liv.

Fuck.

There you were, all the pounds you'd gained on display, pouring out of your too-small shirt and pants, shoving cookies in your chubby face like the greedy, fat fuck you were becoming. An entire box, too. And Liv had been with you all day, had been privy to what you'd stuffed yourself on, what you were currently stuffing yourself on.

Face burning in mortification, you stopped touching your cunt, which embarrassingly twitched at the rush of shame that overwhelmed you.

“L-Liv!” You rushed out, though it was muffled with cookies, crumbs flying out of your mouth. Said boy’s eyes seemed to rake over your frame. From your full cheeks to the hand on your swollen gut and to the one settled in the front of your undone pants. Your stomach chose that moment to gurgle loudly, forcing you to muffle a burp.

With a horrified blush on his face and a squeaked out, “s-sorry,” Liv slammed the door shut and ran off to his room.

Fuck, Liv wasn’t even supposed to be home yet, he said he was going to a friend’s house to study after McDonald’s. Yet there he was, a moment ago, totally eyeing your bulging gut. He didn’t seem disgusted or particularly upset, just embarrassed.

You should not have found being caught as hot as you did.

That was so humiliating, getting caught stuffing yourself like a greedy piggy, showing Liv exactly how you’d gained so much weight recently. God, Liv probably thought you were such a freak, binging on junk food until you were almost sick and rubbing yourself off like a desperate slut.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… ‘m such a fat freak,” you whined, swallowing your mouthful and quickly getting more. It was the last handful, four cookies total that you crammed into your gullet. Your other hand was frantic in how it touched you, fingering your pussy hard and fast, clit grinding against your palm wonderfully.

Liv was probably grossed out in a way, seeing his big brother let himself go so badly, watching you balloon due to your own gluttony. It officially made you the fat brother, made Liv the skinny one. You wondered if Liv would derive some sort of sick pleasure from that, from his perfect big brother ruining himself, leaving Liv to be the hot and fit one.

You sobbed in bliss, in humiliation as you neared orgasm. You were painfully close, painfully full as well. Fucking yourself faster, you blushed at the wet noises.

You swallowed the last of the cookies and cried out, belly cramping from how full it was. You rubbed at it, releasing an airy belch and moaning at the feeling of having more room.

You grabbed for the milk, taking a deep breath before chugging it. Looking down, you could see and feel your belly expand with each mouthful, gurgling painfully as it was bloated further. you whimpered around the last few mouthfuls, hand in your undone jeans moving faster, harder.

As you swallowed the last bit, you put the glass down, hand rushing to massage the ache of your glutted belly. Holy shit, you'd never been so full, so turned on in your life. Belching again, you released a mewl; such a gassy, fat slob.

Hand smacking your full, ballooned belly, you shook it, delighting in the fact that it barely jiggled due to how bloated you were. Your mind flashed back to your friends joking about your inflating waistline, your professor’s concern, your parent’s disgust, Liv’s mortified look…

You sobbed, “so embarrassing!” Your hand sped up, the one on your belly gripping tighter. With a loud cry and the slurred words of, “‘m such a fat pig,” you came, squirting onto your hand, pussy gushing slick everywhere.

You were clenched tight, clit twitching and cunt burning hot, the heat in your belly overwhelming. Everything felt so good. You rubbed yourself through your orgasm, keening and whimpering the whole time.

Falling back onto the bed, you let out a few burps, moaning dumbly. “Fuck, ‘m turning into such a fatty, such a greedy piggy…” Your own words riled you up again, your clit twitching. Smacking your swollen belly, you laughed.

The night was far from over.

You spent hours getting yourself off and rubbing your aching, overfull tummy. At one point, you'd tried to button your pants over your belly and found that you couldn’t, which sent you into another horny tizzy. The fact that you went over your daily recommended calories was also too much for you to handle. By the end of the night, you were so worn out, you barely had the energy to clean up before plopping into bed.

It would turn out that you'd gained 2 pounds from your all-day stuffing. And soon, you were touching yourself like it was the last time you'd do so.

Liv and you were awkward for a bit, unable to meet each other’s eyes, but things smoothed out pretty quickly. Maybe Liv didn’t think you were too weird. It made you happy to know your brother accepted… this.

It was exciting, knowing you would be supported in this way. And seeing the results of your efforts in your daily life was intoxicating. From your personal to social life, everything was changing with every pound you put on. You couldn’t wait to see where it all led you.

[echotums]

His Projected Cravings

Your boyfriend's been struggling with his weight for as long as he can remember. In order to beat his unhealthy cravings and lose some weight, he decides to push them onto someone else; you.

CW: weight gain, stuffing, bloating, extreme humiliation/degradation/teasing/bullying, (seemingly) forced weight gain, fat shaming, force feeding, slob, gas, downgrade, 2nd person POV, transmasc reader.

“Takeout again? I don't think I can handle much more of this, Nick.” You look at the grease-stained paper bags warily, hand on your fattened stomach. It gurgles in response, enticed by the smell of fried food despite your words.

Sucking his teeth, Nick simply opens the bags and takes out a seemingly endless supply of food, way more than what he would usually order for his boyfriend. His cravings are strong tonight. So it’s not about you thinking if you can handle it, it’s you handling it whether you like it or not. He says, “of course you can,” and places an oily burger in his boyfriend’s pudgy palms.

The other looks at it for a moment, face queasy before sighing and taking a bite out of it, a tired but pleased moan following after. “Nick, I can’t keep eating like this. All you ever get me is junk food and it’s… really, really starting to show.” You shift then, pants creaking dangerously around your waist as you pat your protruding gut.

“I thought you liked this kind of food?” Nick counters, eyes sharp as a hawk as you finish your first burger in record time. He quickly goes for another, taking a handful of oily fries and a large gulp of soda too. Despite your complaints, you seem eager to stuff your round face.

Mouth full of food, you swallow and release a small burp before muttering, “I do, but-“

“Then enjoy yourself. You work hard, you deserve it,” Nick interrupts, words eloquent and voice convincing. It makes his boyfriend pause, shoulder slumping in defeat before nodding and going right back to eating. God, Nick’s turned you into such a pig. And that was no easy feat, mind.

You used to be a bit of a health nut, constantly working out and counting calories, the epitome of healthy and fit. In that sense, they’ve switched places somewhat.

When the two of you first got together, Nick was a bit on the chubbier side, while you were all lithe muscle. Nick had always struggled with his weight, never being able to beat his cravings for junk food. When Nick got a craving, it hit hard. He couldn’t control himself, he had to buy it and eat it, gorge himself on it until he couldn’t move. It made it hard to exercise or do much of anything when his stomach was constantly digesting pure grease and sugar.

This is, unfortunately, where you come in. One night, Nick had ordered himself an entire pizza despite having just gorged on countless bags of chips earlier. His need to have the food outweighed his actual capacity for eating it. Unable to even eat a slice, Nick asked you if you would be willing to eat it; he hated leftovers and didn’t want it to go to waste. And so, the amazing boyfriend you were, you managed to eat the entire thing. Although you lightheartedly complained that Nick was ruining your diet. You’d ended the night with a hugely bloated, aching belly. And, settled beside you, rubbing away the ache he’d caused while finally having beaten his cravings, Nick hatched an idea.

If Nick could just… push all his cravings onto you, live vicariously through you, maybe he would stand a chance at getting in shape. Yeah, it was maybe a little backhanded and sneaky, but Nick never claimed to be a beacon of moral upstanding.

And so it began, though, not without difficulty. At first, you were resistant, kept denying the food, and needed a lot of coercion to eat, especially with the quantity and frequency Nick was buying junk food. Most of the time, Nick ended up hand-feeding you, rubbing your belly and murmuring how good you were being.

It was hard at first. Your stomach wasn’t used to so much grease and sugar. You’d often end up painfully bloated and gassy, tummy loud with indigestion. Nick took great care in making sure his boyfriend was all right.

Then came the next part of his plan. It turned Nick on. A lot. Seeing his boyfriend all gross-feeling and bloated, often gassy and whiney and pained… it was a lot for him, turned him on something fierce. And when you inevitably started packing on the pounds? Nick was positively defenseless. He had no idea he would react like this, but Nick’s self-control was always shoddy at best. So why deny himself this pleasure?

Nick thought if he could derive pleasure from it, why couldn’t you? Maybe that would make these forced stuffings a little less one-sided. And so he trained his boyfriend like one would a pup. Every time you were stuffing yourself or were bloated beyond belief, Nick would get you off, would rub and lick and fuck your pussy until you cried.

From there on out, Nick noticed that you would get horny on your own during stuffings, even if you were clearly ashamed of yourself. You didn’t initiate often due to that embarrassment, but Nick could tell. Oh, could he tell. You had tells when you were horny; your thighs would clench, legs would bounce, brows would furrow, your voice got whiney and your cheeks would flush. In one word, you got shy. And Nick was all too keen to take advantage.

It was easy to persuade you from going to the gym at that point. With a constantly queasy belly full of unhealthy calories, it didn't take much convincing for you to stay home.

It was motivating, in a sense, to see someone so fit and perfect fall from grace so badly. To see someone who swore by salads and vegetables take on all of his most unhealthy cravings. To watch a former gym rat barely deign to get up off the couch. To watch as you lost all manners and became something of a slob. To watch as a conventionally attractive bombshell turned themselves into an absolute blob.

And you didn’t do anything to deserve it. You were always supportive and sweet over Nick’s weight. Always there for him despite how hard it was for him to show vulnerability, despite how catty Nick could be. You didn’t deserve to be turned into a whale against your will by his scheming boyfriend. But Nick couldn’t help it. He needed this. Needed to get control of his cravings, his health, his weight, his life. And if switching places with you is what does it, then so be it.

A hearty belch and moan interrupts Nick’s inner monologue. He focuses his eyes on the image in front of him, biting his lip. You’ve gotten your hands on two of the cookies Nick also bought. You have them sandwiched and dipped in milkshake, moaning around each mouthful. “Mm, so good,” you whimper. Nick notices your thighs begin to shake. Good.

Gliding his thin hands along your plush stomach, Nick rests them on the top, where it domes out hugely. He presses along the doughy flesh, kneading it as such. “I thought you didn’t want to eat it?” Nick teases, but there’s something serious in his tone; accusatory. He’s trying to get you to admit you like this.

It takes a moment for you to respond, your cheeks full of cookies. You take a hearty sip of your milkshake to wash it all down before saying, “I don’t! I just,” you paused to burp, chubby hand patting your belly after. “God, it’s just… I really shouldn't be eating so badly all the time. Look what you’re doing to me, Nick! I just…” Despite the words leaving your lips, Nick watches as you shove a handful of oily fries into your mouth. You're completely enslaved by your gluttony, mindless in the face of it.

Nick raises a perfectly trimmed brow at you, watching as your face, seemingly distressed, grows more frantic at Nick’s next words. “You just…?”

A whimper from behind a mouthful of burger and soda, then. You go to reply, but think better of it, choosing instead to stuff your bloated face with more greasy and sugary shit. And what a cute face it is. A thick double chin with a growing roll underneath, completely obscuring what was once a slender neck. Your cheeks are plump and sag gently into jowls. Sometimes, it looks like your cheeks squint your eyes and purse your lips. Nick’s never seen a face so soft and obscured with fat.

You used to have a model’s face and body. Ruining it and taking it for his own is Nick’s greatest accomplishment.

Slender, lithe, graceful; all words used to describe you once upon a time. You were perfect, handsome; someone to envy in your ethereal beauty. You were outwardly beautiful, of course; small but strong, muscles peaking along your strong bones. But you were also active, smart, responsible. You were the epitome of health and fitness, had great drive and motivation. Nick used to envy you.

Not anymore.

Using those words to describe you now is laughable.

Now when people describe you, it’s about how he’s changed; how much of a downgrade he’s become. You're morbidly obese, beyond just fat. You're lazy, a gross slob, dumb as a pig. You're a cautionary tale, a dodged bullet, what no one wants to be. You have no manners and sit on your growing ass all day, eating yourself fatter and fatter.

Where there was a flat stomach with abs now lies a huge sack of bloated fat. With a deep belly button and skin riddled with stretch marks, your gut is a site to behold. It’s in two rolls, creasing at your belly button. Though a slight one is forming under your sagging, once perky tits. And another huge pocket of fat has formed underneath your gut; a fupa that hides just about everything interesting down there. Not that anyone but Nick is ever going to want to look anymore.

Dainty hips turned into billowing love handles that muffin out ridiculously in your too-small clothes. Those fat sides cause the bingo-wings of your arms to rest funnily outward at all times.

The fat travels and plumps your body from your fingers to your toes, thickening and cratering your thighs and ass with cellulite. And your ass is more wide than round these days, no longer perky and firm. It gives you a distinct apple shape, most of the weight settled on your flabby gut. Unattractive as they come.

From the lard shrouding your face to the bloated look of your cankles, you are no longer the pretty model you once were. And you never will be again. All thanks to Nick.

Each pound you gain is as good as permanent. After gaining too much to be a model and after a certain incident at the gym, losing weight is an impossibility.

Nick remembers the one time you tried to go to the gym, only to come back soon after, completely quiet and flushed; humiliated. You’d initiated your first binge session then, all on your own. Had raided the fridge for leftover takeout and cake, gorging yourself until the fridge was empty. And after hours of prying, Nick finally got you to admit your old gym friends had teased you for letting yourself go, at being unable to do half the workouts you used to be able to, at your obviously too-small clothes. And that had subsequently led to you eating yourself even bigger.

He’d fucked you stupid afterward, shushing your whimpers when he’d burp from being jostled around too much. With your big gut sloshing and wobbling between them; your tits and fupa bouncing with every thrust… and the angle making your already prominent double chins even bigger; It was some of the best sex you’d both ever had.

Nick takes great pleasure in ruining his boyfriend. He revels in your humiliation, the switch of their weights and habits. And the best part? You seem to be in denial that you like it too.

Which is why it’s so easy for Nick to get you to eat. Deep down, you love letting go, love how he’s ballooning and love the slob you have become. Nick has either genuinely conditioned you to like it; or has unearthed a hidden desire. Either way, it makes Nick want to ruin you even more.

And so Nick stops you from eating, steels himself against the puppy eyes and glare and says, “what were you going to say?”

You shiver, bite your plump bottom lip, and, with your deepened, once sensual voice, admit… something. Your mumbling is hard to decipher. When you try to reach forward and take more food with a piggish grunt, Nick pushes you back down with ease. He smirks as the lard on your body wobbles almost comically. You really are cartoonishly fat.

“Answer me properly.” Nick’s voice is demanding, taunting you. “Or no more food.” A smirk falls into place and he pushes the wrapped goodies away.

Indignation floods your expression. “Huh? What do you mean? I can literally just get it myself.” Scoffing, you glare. It would probably be more effective if your face wasn’t so ridiculously fat.

Smiling sweetly, Nick says, “then get up and get it. Or are you too damn fat?” His smile turns malicious.

With a growl of, “what the hell, Nick?” You try to get up. You plant your chubby feet on the floor, pudgy hands on your thighs, and lift. You get about a quarter of the way before you slam back down on the couch, wincing as it creaks in warning. You try again, one hand on your belly to prevent it from jostling so much. All this attempt elicits is a mighty belch from the pressure. “Come… ngh, on!” You huff, round cheeks turning red from exertion.

The more you try, the more aroused you look. You keep licking your lips, keep mewling in the way you do when Nick rubs your clit hard enough to bruise. You're enjoying this. And so Nick decides to push just a little further.

“Are you even trying? Fatass.”

With one final heave, you fail and slam back down into the couch. Only this time, the couch lets out a loud snap as the whole thing lowers substantially. Silence.

“Did I just…?” Your voice is a mixture between need and mortification, a delicious concoction Nick wants to drown in. You can’t believe it. Nick can’t believe it. His blob of a boyfriend just broke their couch.

“Break the couch? Yeah, you did. You’re too heavy now.” Nick bites his lip, feeling his cock harden almost painfully. Fuck, nothing gets him off more than humiliating the lardass in front of him.

Left speechless, you sputter, hands going to your belly when it growls loudly in hunger. You look to Nick then, eyes wet and pathetic. The same look you get when you really, really want a cock in you. Only this time you seem to be begging for food, like a dog.

“And yet, you’re still hungry.” Nick whistles lowly. “You say you don’t want to eat this shit but,” he grabs a burger and shoves it in your fat fucking face. “You can’t stop, can you?” He shivers when you moan around the mouthful, and watches with heated eyes as you meekly shake your head. Nick sucks his teeth, “say it,” he demands. “Admit that you can’t stop stuffing yourself, can’t stop fattening yourself up bigger and bigger. Admit you’re just a fat, greedy pig who likes being a fat slob,” he snarls.

And surprisingly, with an orgasmic whine, you acquiesce. “I can’t stop eating.” Shame drips from every word, arousal swimming in your eyes. “Can’t stop blowing up like a fat fucking balloon. I don’t know why, I don’t want to be this fat, to eat this much all the time.” You jump up when Nick pushes the food closer to you again. “I can’t stop!” You cry out, shoving more greasy food in your bloated face.

He genuinely can’t stop, Nick realizes with a bone-deep arousal. You're addicted to this, completely at the mercy of your greed and gluttony. Nick did this. Nick ruined your body, your life, your everything and you're both getting off on it.

But you're not done, now that the gates have burst open, all that’s left is a flood. “Oh my god, it turns me on so much, being such a fat slob, such an ugly pig.” You whimper and finish your burger, getting grease all over yourself. You reach for a cup of soda next, moaning out between mouthfuls, “I don’t know what you did to me… I used to hate junk food, loved being active; people used to look up to me! I was perfect.” You shudder. “And now look at me.” You wobble your gut, watch as the sack of lard jiggles almost endlessly. “I’m a whale.” With a massive belch, as you finish the large cup, you turn to Nick and say, “all because of you.” Nick swallows thickly. Holy shit.

“You ruined me, Nick.”

Nick molds himself to your blubbery side, kisses your oily lips, and licks into the sugary wetness of your mouth, hand gripping your gut painfully. He can taste everything you just ate, can hear your stomach gurgling with everything that’s been crammed in there, can hear swallowed-back burps and held in gas, can feel grease from around your messy mouth. It should repulse him, disgust him. But it just serves to turn him on even more. He pulls away with a gasp and wipes his mouth free of oil. You cringe in shame, and try to apologize, but burp instead.

“Look at you. Such a fat mess.” He smacks and bounces your belly meanly. It jiggles like jello, soft and squishy as a marshmallow. Nick tries to go in for another kiss then, tries to grind on your hip, but your stomach growls in hunger. The fatass turns away, and has the gall to say, “mm, no. Please, feed me, Nick. I want more. ‘m so hungry.”

All bets are off.

Nick growls, a feral thing, really, and shoves a handful of fries into your mouth. He doesn’t wait until he’s finished before shoving in more. Nick ignores your shaking head and panicked noises as he pulls your greedy mouth open and dumps the rest of the large package into it. He pinches your nose and smirks when you struggle to chew all that’s been shoved into your mouth. “What’s wrong?” Nick says sweetly. “I thought you wanted more?”

Barely waiting for you to finish your mouthful, Nick releases your nose and pushes the straw of one milkshake between your greasy lips. “Drink, you’re the one who would rather eat than fuck.” He delights in the little shiver that runs down his boyfriend’s roll-filled back. “You’re in no place to deny sex, with how you look. You’re lucky anyone even wants to fuck your lardass.” Nick’s really letting loose, letting out pent-up sexual desire and frustration. He says what he felt about himself, what he feels about you now, except now it’s tinged with heat.

“Do you even have a hole to fuck? Your pussy’s completely covered!” Nick roughly grabs your fupa, the large chunk that can no longer fit in your pants. “You used to be a model, for fuck’s sake. Your body was your everything.” He pulls away the finished milkshake container and cringes when he gets a nasty belch in response. “Now look at you,” Nick smacks your gut again, wobbles your sagging tits for good measure. “Disgusting.”

A whimper is what he gets in response, then a loud fart partnered with a shy look. Nick sneers at you, “really, that’s all you have to say for yourself?” He picks up a burger and waves it near your face. Pinching your wobbling, drooping chins, Nick presses, “c’mon, fatboy, what happened to you?”

The name makes you throw your head back and groan, hands going to soothe your growling belly. “I don’t know,” you start, voice frantic. “I just… feel so hungry all the time, love being so full. I like getting fatter, I don’t know why! I’m ruined!” Nick laughs and shoves the burger into your mouth, whole.

“Fuck yeah, you are. You ruined your life because you couldn’t stop eating and gaining weight.” With a deep breath, Nick asks, “remind me, pig, how did you lose your job again?”

Looking down in shame, you chew your food and seem to lose yourself in the memory, eyes going hazy like he’s fading into a type of subspace. Nick sucks his teeth, grabs you by your puffy cheeks and snarls, “answer me, you dumb pig.”

“Ah, uh. I,” you’re stuttering in that way you do when your mind is blank, overtaken with nothing but pleasure. He’s used to hearing that when you two fuck, not when Nick is actively making fun of you for your weight. “I got too fat,” you start, eyes meeting Nick’s, as if he’s asking to be humiliated for the story about to leave your lips. “They kept warning me, saying I was getting fat, the clothes were getting too small, and it wasn’t… wasn’t a modeling gig for pigs.” Whining, you lean back, stick your gut out further and make your double chins look worse. “They said I was ruining my body, ruining their brand. I got fired when…” You take a moment, shiver to yourself. “When my belly ripped out of my corset during a public photoshoot. There was an audience and everything, so many cameras. Uh, so many articles written about me, so much laughter.” You bite your lip and mewls, thighs trying to get at and rub your buried clit.

Nick cackles, he remembers that vividly, so many people had looked and asked Nick if he was okay, as if your shame, your ballooning waistline was something he had to be embarrassed about. He regales that, evil glint in his eyes. “And now, you just sit on your ass and eat all day.” A chuckle, then, “remember how people kept asking why I was still with you, if I was okay? Because being seen with you, being associated with you, was so disgraceful?” You nod vigorously, take the offered stack of burgers Nick gives you and start in on them. But Nick isn’t done with you yet. “Who else saw those videos of you publicly humiliating yourself? Hm?”

Mouth full of food, you whimper, “my ex and yours.”

“And what did they say?”

You gulp down the food and answer shyly, “your ex said, saying it was funny. That you got what you deserved for breaking up with her. Nn, then she ordered takeout to our house for me to eat. To make me fatter, to make me worse.” You look positively humiliated at the memory, at the victory lap Nick’s ex had taken at seeing you ruin yourself. But you look so, so turned on, keep bouncing up and down, seemingly hoping your fatpad will provide some friction.

“‘nd then mine. My ex, he… He posted the video and laughed at me, said I was a dodged bullet, that he felt bad for you for being with such a fatty. Kept going on that I got what I deserved for leaving him too. Ngh, it was so embarrassing.” You sob out, shoving your face into your food. “People were talking about it for weeks.”

A smug look is what you get in return. “Who are those tears for? You’ll get no sympathy from me, hog. You ate yourself into the blob you are.” Nick says, looking into your wet eyes. “God, you were even on some news websites, remember that? Your before and after photos plastered on the TV and internet. Even in trashy magazines. If only they could see you now.” Nick watches as you finish the burgers, leaving more grease on your face.

“They’d laugh at me.”

Nick agrees. “And you’d love every second of it, wouldn’t you?”

Shamefaced, you nod.

A loud, watery gurgle fills the room and you wince. Your stomach never has quite gotten used to your new diet of only junk food. You are always nursing indigestion or are backed up or something. It’s really embarrassing for you. Nick loves it. He recalls the one time you both went to the doctor’s because you hadn’t gone to the bathroom to relieve your gut in over a week. It turned out it was constipation caused by severe overeating and a bad diet. You had been mortified. Your doctor never truly stopped badgering you to lose weight. You've been your patient since you were a model, and now he’s a morbidly obese slob.

Grinning at the memory, Nick says, “and everyone always feels bad for me. Always wonder why I’m with such an ugly blob.” He offers you the last milkshake he bought, and the hog slurps on the straw right away. Never mind that your gut hates dairy. “People still flirt with me. Remember that girl who tried to pick me up in front of you? Said the choice was obvious.” You just nod and moan into your milkshake. You have a hand on your belly now, rubbing slowly as it bloats up loudly. “I mean, who in their right mind would be with someone who breaks scales just from standing on them? Who gets stuck in changing room stalls and pops buttons in public?” You, slob that you are, pass gas in response.

And speaking of buttons, the one on your jeans is creaking beyond loud. Just a little more and it’ll pop. They’re the biggest pair of pants you own. Bigger than Nick’s ever been.

Finishing the shake, you belch and whine when your head is tilted back and greasy fries are poured in.

God, Nick can’t get enough of this. Of fattening his boyfriend up. The fact that you like it too is beyond wonderful. Everything is falling into place, into the perfect shape that leaves Nick on top and you at the bottom. To see what was once the epitome of perfection become effectively useless delights him beyond measure. Where you used to stand on the top of the pecking order, Nick now does. And Nick wants to share his victory, wants to see the look on your face when you realize what Nick’s done. With the way things are going, being the fat whore you are, you’ll probably moan. And if you’re upset, well, what are you going to do? Eat your feelings? Make your situation worse? You're too fat for anyone but Nick now. No matter what you do, you’ll end up bigger than ever.

“Want to know something funny?”

Your greedy mouth full of fries, you only grunt.

Nick smiles. “I fattened you up on purpose.”

Your eyes widen.

“And I’m going to make sure you never lose it.”

A moment passes in which you look positively stunned, eyes huge and face horrified. And, okay, now that his words are catching up to him, Nick’s realizing how fucked this all is. He forced his boyfriend to become a morbidly obese mess. Cost you your job, social standing, body, mental prowess. It’s hot, but it’s a little, well, very messed up. But in Nick’s defense, isn’t that how most things that are arousing are?

Biting his lip, Nick feels a very real spark of fear that you genuinely are upset with him. But then, as he had hoped would happen, his boyfriend fucking mewls. A high-pitched, warbling little thing that sends a shiver down his spine. You gasp, “y-you-? You fattened me up? Made me gain all this weight on purpose?” Another moan as you shake your flabby belly. You glare, but your eyes are heated, molten in their desire. “You ruined me!” You sob a little, stomp your foot and send your fat rippling. Nick remains silent, letting you have your little tantrum. “I was perfect, I had everything! Smart, skinny, popular, successful… everything!” You grope your sagging lower belly and bounce it, whining frustratedly. “Now I’m an ugly fatso who can’t stop eating!” And yet, as you say it, your cheeks redden, round and blushing, sweet as an apple. You’re horny. This is turning you on.

Nick ruining you is a turn-on.

And so with a grin as sharp as a knife, Nick grabs three large cookies and shoves them in your red face, laughing at an evil thing when you whine at you. “And you love it,” he growls. You simply chew your food, and every time you seem to get your bearings to protest, Nick’s there with more food to keep you docile. “You love what I’ve done to you.” You don't even try to deny it.

“I didn’t even do this for you, y’know,” Nick starts, pressing his flat stomach against the bloated ball that is yours. “I did it for myself. I was tired of being fat, of having these cravings and giving into them, only making my situation worse.” His voice is filled with venom, acidic and dire as he gets out years of frustration. “Hated how I was living, just a fat fucking loser. But then you came along,” his voice turns cold then, but there is an underlying, thick note of pure love. As evil as he is, he loves you. So much. “Mister perfect. Perfect body, perfect mind, perfect life, perfect everything. And you fell for me somehow. Always so sweet, even though you struggle with it.” Even now, Nick is shocked at how he managed to bag someone like you. So sweet and kind and understanding underneath it all. “And I thought that maybe, if I pushed everything I wanted, everything I was, onto you, maybe I could change. Maybe we could change. An exchange of places, of lives.” He looks to you, at the pathetic thing he has made you into. “And you fell for it so damn easily.”

A manic laugh, then, as Nick grabs whatever food is left on the table and mushes it into your mouth, ignoring your sobbing little whimpers, ignoring the shaking of your thighs.

“Every time, you always said you’d work it off, or your metabolism would handle it… Said I didn’t need to feel bad about feeding you so much, about making you eat so badly. You called me beautiful, said I was fine the way I was. And when I started pushing it onto you, you were so patient. So easy. You encouraged me to work out while you sat there, digesting a mountain of calories.” Nick grins as he shoves the unholy combination of a cookie and nuggets into your mouth, followed by soda. “You taught me how to eat healthy while gorging on the junk food I was craving. You lost your modeling job and social status while people started flocking to me for being so fit and healthy.”

Nick hums, delight leaking from every pore, “you gave me everything.” Nick runs his lithe fingers over his modelesque body, a complete contrast to the bloated mess that your body is now. “And all it took was destroying you.” He presses a kiss to your messy lips. “Thank you, love.”

For your part, you keep eating and eating, ravenous despite the revelations and your stomach audibly groaning in protest. Nick sees the empty ice cream gallons in the recycling and knows you were gorging yourself beforehand. You can say you hate your diet all you want but-

“I hate what you did to me.” You mumbles through a full mouth. You're eating everything Nick’s giving you at top speed. “I hate my diet, hate what a loser I am now, and I hate my fat body.” You shiver. “And that just turns me on so much, fuck! I don’t know why!” Confusedly, you whimper, squishing your thighs together, begging for stimulation.

“Damn right, you do, you disgusting pig.” A bit of glee flutters in his chest as Nick shoves the last of the food in your blubbery face. Nick watches for a moment as you finish your meal, listens to your stomach groan loudly, watches as his once-dominant partner falls into submission next to him. He observes every fat roll and bloated mound of lard covering your body. His eyes trace every stretch mark, every patch of greasy skin, every pocket of cellulite…

And then, even more of his pent-up frustration comes pouring out, he sees what he could have been, what he perceived himself as, what others called him. What you are.

“God, what happened to you? You used to be so hot, now look at you!” Nick pinches your, frankly massive, double and triple chins. “Hard to tell there’s a pretty face under all this lard.” He smirks at your mewl, at how your thighs start rubbing together even harder. “Most people don’t have three chins. You fat, no-neck pig.” Nick places the last cup of soda in your chubby hand. You know what to do. And, lo and behold, a moment later you are sipping from the straw, groaning nauseously as your stomach visibly bloats out further. Your jeans creak dangerously.

Pinching your partially exposed fupa, then, Nick sneers, “God, look at this. Your pussy used to be so small and hot! I can’t even see it anymore.” Rubbing a little lower, he tickles his fingers over the tangible wet spot. “That big t-dick you were so proud of growing, all swallowed up by fat.” Nick pats the pocket of fat above your pussy. “You’re lucky I’m still willing to go looking for your fat cunt.” You start drinking faster, your tummy growing bigger and louder, your whimpers getting higher and higher.

Finally, Nick looks at your massive, fat gut. Your crowning achievement, always stuffed, always bloated with something or another. It is in a constant state of digestion, churning all the greasy, sugary shit you eat into more blubber. Nick slinks up semi-behind you and slaps at your belly like a toy drum, listening to the tight smacking noises it makes. You're full all right. You burp nastily in response, moaning in pain and pleasure, the masochistic, fat bitch you are.

“God, and look at this gut of yours. You used to have abs, your bones used to stick out all pretty.” He sucks his teeth and lifts your belly by your belly button. It wobbles, obscene as it settles back onto your chunky thighs.

Looking down from behind you, Nick sees your body the way you do. A mountain of fat bloating out your whole person, always growing, always gaining. It completely blocks his view of anything else. Can you even see around it? Nick kneads into the fat surrounding the hard organ of your stomach, smiles softly when you press your belly into his hands, mewling sweetly for him. You're so pathetic.

Nick continues, “now look at this thing. Always digesting, gurgling loudly as it melts all those empty calories you eat into more soft fat. Making you bigger…” Nick kisses along your flabby jowls, smiling as he sinks right in. “Even now. Everything you’re eating is slowly changing into more fat.” His voice is sensual, now; low and husky. You shiver. “It’s always making you so gassy too.” He squeezes your lower belly and delights when you pass gas loudly, ashamedly.

Nick goes on, “you’ve got this muffin top, these massive love handles… you look like a fucking parade float.” Nick laughs to himself, pulling and bouncing the fat in his palms. Your jeans groan.

“Not to mention your tits.” Nick gropes them, a note of admiration in his voice. “They used to be so cute and perky. Now look at them! Saggy like cow udders.” He squeezes them, almost painfully.

“God, and you like it, don’t you? You like what a blob you’ve turned into. That you can’t control your appetite, that you can’t help but keep gaining weight, getting fatter and fatter.” Nick laughs to himself, watches as you nod, shamefaced and horny. “You like that your dumb piggy brain can only think of eating more and more food like an out-of-control glutton. You like that everyone makes fun of how fat you are. You like being a disgusting, fat slob, don’t you?”

You just nod.

By now, you have finished your soda, drop the cup with a hearty belch as you let Nick use your body like a fat toy for him to play with. You eye Nick’s skinny hands as they press into your thick fat; listening to his voice degrade you. Your belly is loud and you can’t stop burping and farting and moaning and you look like you’re going to fucking cum. Nick can’t get enough. He goes on, “you know, it’s been funny watching you blow up like a balloon. People always laugh about you behind your back. Call you names, take pictures, point, and laugh at the fat freak you are.” You shiver.

“They make bets on how big you’re going to blow up to, how much more lard you’ll inflate with. There’s an ongoing bet about your weight right now…” Nick chuckles, asks, “how heavy are you, by the way?”

You shrug, to which Nick furrows his brow, “we just got a new scale, fatty, and I saw it lying around. So how much does my fat piggy weigh?”

A small mumble.

“Louder.”

“I don’t know!”

Nick looks at you, baffled. So you explain, “the scale caps at 400, and when I checked today it… it said ‘error’… so I don’t know.”

It only takes a moment before Nick is on you again, kissing you roughly. He growls into your oily mouth, “you disgusting, fat fuck. Made yourself into such a pig that not even a scale can tell you how fat you are.” He rubs at your belly more aggressively, shakes it, and delights when he feels gas bubbles build inside. “You had it all, but you threw it away for nothing but greed.” He kisses you again, but you try to push him away, Nick can hear your stomach roar desperately. He smirks and presses down harder, and-

You burp into his mouth.

Nick pulls away, gagging, but his cock is rock-hard. You’re whimpering, mortified as you burp at Nick’s face and fart loudly. Nick grips your fat face and snarls, “you gross hog.”

Your pants are making a horrible stretching noise now. Just a little more and they’d pop. Eyes scanning the table for something to shove in your mouth, Nick notices a lone cookie, half-eaten and hidden by wrappers. That simply won’t do. Grinning maniacally, he shoves the cookie in your ashamed face, shuts up your frantic apologies and whines.

“Shut up,” Nick says. Smacking your belly. “God, you’re disgusting. Just a fat slob, aren’t you? Fucking pig.”

You swallow the cookie as you hum out little noises of pleasure and agreement. A loud tearing noise fills the room suddenly, and-

The button on your pants finally pops off.

Your belly and fupa flooding forth, you wail, “‘m such a fat pig!” Your body goes taut, jiggling with little shivers and whimpers. Your face is one of pure ecstasy.

Nick stares for a moment.

Did you just cum? Untouched? From having your belly played with and with Nick degrading you?

When you continue to seemingly cum, Nick whispers, “that’s it. Cum for me, pig. This is all you are now. Just a dumb, useless pig who eats and gets fatter, a hedonist who wants nothing but pleasure. All. For. Me.” He feels his cock throb in his pants, grinds frantically against your side, loses himself to your buttery rolls as he growls, “you’re mine. My pig. I did this. I ruined you. You hear me?” When he gets a frantic nod in return, Nick grinds faster, he’s close. And so he snarls, “say it.” He wants to hear it, to have you admit it.

And you do. “I’m yours! Y-your fat pig! O-oink! Your dirty fucking slob. Yours to-o ruin and make fun of and fa-fatten up. I’m yours, Nick.” And Nick cums. It’s one of the best orgasms he’s ever had.

The two of you take a moment to calm down, panting and riding your highs. Still rubbing your belly, it’s Nick who breaks the silence. “That was amazing.” He turns and kisses his boyfriend hard, resting his forehead against yours for a moment. You nod, still panting heavily.

But you are never this quiet for so long. So Nick hedges, “are you okay?”

You simply laugh, breathy and sweet. “I’ve never been better, Nick. Fuck. That was so hot. I can’t fucking believe you! You’re insane!” You scowl at him, but it quickly fades to a tired smile. “But also so fucking hot. Ugh, it feels so good.” As your eyes begin drifting closed, Nick blinks at your serene face.

“You’re not mad?”

He gets a laugh in response. “Not really. You just gave me the best orgasm of my life and fucking… unlocked some weird kink I didn’t even know I had. Fuck.” You open your eyes and smirk lazily at Nick. Nick’s heart flutters. “Now c’mon. There’s a cake in the fridge and a bed with our name on it.”

Nick stares at you, face red and shocked.

You continue, delighted, “you better make good on your promise.” You burp and lean back into the cushions, “you’re gonna make me so big,” you hum.

And Nick smiles.

“Bigger than you ever thought possible.”

[echotums]

You're a Prized Piggy

Your cruel feeders take their prized piggy to a buffet to show him off.

CW: Weight gain, stuffing, bloating, bathroom control, extreme public humiliation/degradation/teasing/fat shaming, slut shaming, AMAB reader.

Grinning as you struggle on the bed, Jace and Meg stare at you in awe.

“Holy shit, we really fattened him up, huh?”

They watch as their fat hog wobbles around, stuck on your back, pinned by your own hedonistic indulgence… however forced. You roll and sway from side to side, akin to a turtle on its back.

“Look at our fat whore.” Jace’s tone turns saccharine, filled with twisted want, expression morphing into a delighted snear. “Must be pretty embarrassing, huh? Being so big… so fat and vulnerable.” He slips away from the Meg, circling you like a sleek predator about to slaughter its prey.

“Your skinny little body… gone and replaced with this fat, blubbery mass.”

Your gurgling gut fills the silence.

“You fat bitch.”

Jace smacks your stomach roughly, gripping the plump flesh painfully tight, his bones creaking at the pressure. You whimper, your belly whining at the treatment. The two laugh at your plight, watching their fattened blimp wobble around comedically.

It is Meg who smacks and grabs your gut this time; repeating the motion again and again, just to see you cry, just to humiliate you. Her hands sink into the doughy flesh and every movement sends a rippling jiggle through your body.

“This is what you deserve. I bet you regret ever being such a bitch.”

Meg growls, “I want you,” she points to a bench with clothes tucked on it, “to put those clothes on.” She giggles afterward, watching as you roll to your feet and stand slowly, waddling and swaying clumsily to the bench. The room shakes with every step, blubber quivering unattractively. The two laugh, smacking your gut and taunting you as you pass by.

You slowly pull the pants and shirt on. They’re a struggle, you grunt and groan as the too small clothes struggle to pass your massive muffin top, caught on the plump love handles.

As you struggle, Meg cackles, “Those are about… three sizes too small.” She pretends to clean under her manicured nails and grins, “just to show just how much of a hog you’ve become.”

“Of how much we’ve ruined you.”

You whimper then, “I can’t button them.” You’ve managed to get it over your belly, but it refuses to button, unable to pass over the mass of fat between the two jean flaps. Your stomach rumbles in protest and pressure. You then struggle to pull the shirt over your moobs and gut.

“I’m too fat!”

Meg laughs, watching you jiggle around ridiculously. Jace sneers. After all you’ve done, you can’t even get your fucking pants on? With a look to Meg, he nods.

Meg speaks forcefully. “Make. Them. Fit.”

You force the pants to button and zip, yelping at the pain, Meg grinning all the while.

“Is something wrong?” She says innocently, your shirt is roughly tugged down, forced near your waistband. And finally, she tugs the belt shut, pulled as tight as it can go. You shriek, hands flying to your giant belly. It sloshes and churns painfully, causing you to cry. You look like a round blimp, fat body encased in overly tight clothes and belly framed like a gluttonous masterpiece.

You look hilarious, honestly. Forced in too tight clothes, your body constantly jiggles from how it drowns beneath pounds upon pounds of pure fat. You’re as unattractive as they come now, almost akin to some bloated toad or overweight caricature of a human to display the dangers of morbid obesity. They’ve destroyed your body like you destroyed their lives.

Revenge is sweet.

Jace echoes the sentiment with a smarmy grin, the two cackle, watching as you rub at your rumbling belly. Meg smiles. “Now, let’s show the world just what a fatty you’ve become.”

Jace groans, giving Meg an appraising look before yanking you forward. You waddle behind Jace and Meg.

“We’ve conditioned you so much, you’ve become such a fatass.” Meg sighs as she reminisces, “And so much of it is just... you breaking and submitting to us.” They watch you in disgust as she continues, “you finally realised just who you belong to, what you’re good for.” She smirks into her hand, giggling at what you have become.

Their fat whore.

“And don’t forget he’s plugged up tight! He hasn’t gone in a while.” Jace hums, “He’s bloated as can be!” Your bowels groan painfully at the reminder. Your underbelly is greatly distended, filled with digested food and gas bubbles, swollen and aching.

With a sigh and gesture, Meg asks, “you ready for your debut, Fatass?”

You whimper.

You all walk down the street for a while, and you note that it's the longest you’ve walked in a very long time. It's no surprise then, that you’re starting to break a sweat.

Pedestrians are looking at you in disgust, laughing at the whale waddling his way down the street. Camera flashes go off and disparaging comments chase your roll-filled back.

“Try going on a diet!”

“Hey, Butterball!”

“Can he even see through all that fat?”

Most of the fat has piled onto your belly area. You’re almost all muffin top, waist and belly a thick, blubbery mess. A great mass of lard. But the rest of your body morphed into a ball of butter as well.

You used to be skinny. You used to be thin and beautiful, all graceful limbs and protruding bones. But now, with your constantly ballooning weight and waistline, you are anything but. You look nothing like the svelte, gorgeous man you used to be.

Your body has widened and fattened up, graceful dips and curves swallowed, buried under pure blubber. You have slowly inflated with fat, blimping up into a grotesque representation of gluttony and obesity.

You are now reminiscent of a comedic caricature one commissions at a fair or sees in funhouse mirrors. All bloated and fat in all the wrong places, wobbling with lard and inflated like a blimp. You’re a gross hog unable to control its gluttony, responding only to the name “pig”.

Previously concave cheeks are filled with ugly, sagging jowls, so thick with fat your eyes are squinted and lips permanently pursed. The spherical, unattractive jowls rest on a multitude of wobbling chins, replacing a previously chiselled jawline. They line your neck like fat tires, flabby and suffocating.

Those four (or is it five, now?) chins rest amongst sagging breasts, plump with fat and round where they grow. Your sides are adorned with flabby bingo-wings and sausage fingers; so swollen with adipose they can barely form a fist. Your arms stay raised useless and flailing at your sides either way, sticking out hilariously due to the endless rolls of fat on your sides. They can’t even reach all the way around or behind anymore.

A burgeoning gut takes up most of the space on your body. It rests upon thick thighs that rub together and is even bigger than your fat ass that jiggles with every step. Your belly wobbles and sloshes with every breath, bloated and filled with pure blubber. It sticks out a good metre from your body, soft and squishy and loudly gurgling. It bursts through buttons and the way it protrudes and bounces causes pointing and laughter wherever you go. Your fat gut is always full and always being smacked and mocked; a true indication of your disgusting, rampant gluttony.

Your gut usually sits heavily in your lap, gooey fat moulding to his thick thighs. But as you walk, it now smacks and bounces. You’re waddling more than walking, and stomping more than stepping. You toddle side to side, body swaying as your whole body bounces and ripples. Your weight causes a huge stomp with each step, ground shaking and your butterball of a gut rumbling. It jiggles and shakes with every gurgle, sending ripples and waves of movement through sagging rolls and folds.

Just as you’re starting to wonder how much further you have to go, you turn onto a street filled with restaurants and stores. Meg leads everyone into an all you can eat buffet and your mouth starts to water.

Meg reminds, “he hasn’t eaten all day… so this should be good.” With a dark grin, she utters, “I want you to gorge yourself to your absolute limit… and like it.”

Thus, the group settles down at a small table near the buffet and Jace waves a hand towards the food in invitation. His voice fills the silence, “make us proud, Fatty.”

It's all you need to jump up and grab a plate. You’re spoilt for choice and aren't really sure what to get first. You want to try everything, so first you just pick one thing from each of the starters. You head back to his table and your feeders take turns to get their own meal. They’ve seated themselves at the table beside you. Who would want to be seen with a gross hog like you?

You make your way through chicken, burgers, deep fried chips, and spring rolls before anyone has finished their first plate. You return to the buffet and pick up a few burgers before moving to the main dishes. You pile alfredo pasta, sweet and sour pork, club sandwiches, and fried rice onto your plates before returning to the table.

Jace looks up from his servings in surprise. “He’s eating more than me! I can never get used to that!”

Meg barks a laugh, “of course he is. Don’t forget, you’re not some fat fucking glutton like him.”

You whimper before turning back to your food, feeling yourself start to fill up. Your pants are tightening, accentuating your blubbery muffin top and bulging love handles. Your pants creak in warning as your belly rumbles. You ignore it, there's more food you need to try and you’re not going to leave until you do. By the time the plate is done, your jeans feel even tighter and you struggle to stand. You look ridiculous, shirt slowly riding up and engorged gut swelling out of your clothes. People are staring, murmuring in horror at the huge binge taking place.

“Is it even possible to eat that much?”

“The poster boy for morbid obesity, right there.”

“God, he really can’t control himself, huh?”

Nonetheless, you waddle to the buffet. You pick out more dishes, filling your plates to the brim. When you make it back to the table, you belch shamelessly and start eating again.

More people are noticing, some sneakily throwing food scraps at you and others just dropping off their plates in front of you... which you eat uncontrollably, hedonistic moans falling from your red lips. Disgusting belches fall from your lips and bubbles form in your gut from the trapped gas.

“Hey, fatass, mind finishing this off for me?” A bowl piled with spaghetti and garlic bread.

“Ever heard of a diet or self control?” A deep dish of greasy refried beans and a glass of milk.

“Just dropping my leftovers at the garbage disposal.” Two bowls of thick, creamy mushroom soup and a pitcher of Coke.

“I know you’re not supposed to feed the animals, but you’re clearly starving and in need.” A bowl of yoghurt, a plate of cookies, and two cups of coffee.

You slow down a little as you start on your deep fried ice cream. The cream is heavy and all the food is starting to catch up with you. You push yourself to finish the plate but your gurgling gut looks huge in front of you and you know you’re not going to be able to stand up to get another. Your belt is straining to hold back the mass of gluttonous fat that is your gut. The button is on its last threads, too. Your sagging fat is overflowing. You look like a blown up blimp, a fat, beached whale. So full and fat, pinned under the weight of your own, humiliating gluttony.

A patron drops off two whole pizzas and a gallon of coke when you’re not looking. You indulge in the deliciously calorie-laden food.

“How are you holding up, Pig?” Meg asks you.

“Full.” Your gut seems to agree, as it whines and burbles loudly, struggling to digest the fatty foods you’re gorging on.

“Too full for more?” Meg asks.

“Too full to get up for more... I’m sorry.” You let out a rumbling belch like the ugly slob you are. You feel like an inflated balloon, swollen to bursting. You look like one too, holding your inflating gut and pinned on your back like an overblown tick.

Meg groans, “you’re disgusting.” She stands up and walks to the buffet, Jace following suit. They return a few moments later with plates of everything you haven't tried yet: an entire blueberry pie, a large, greasy steak, deep fried donuts, cakes, deep fried turkey, and fries drowning in oil and cheese. A good gallon of sugary juice is held in Jace’s grasp.

Your stomach aches just looking at it all, but you make yourself pick up the fork. The two return to nibbling at their food and watching your every move. The food is good, but you struggle to swallow every bite. Each swallow prompts an ominous whine and groan from your grossly distended gut. Your fat belly is bulging over the waistband, right where it cuts in deeply. It looks ridiculous as you swell and expand with every bite and gulp, wobbling and gurgling noticeably.

The waiter gives you a concerned look when he comes to refill your soda jug, watching as you chug a gallon bottle of milk. The man’s eyes linger on your overstuffed belly, inflating like a balloon. He can clearly hear it gurgling ominously, loud squelches rumbling from its blubbery mass. Your shirt is stretched tight over it and riding up, forcing your giant muffin top to be on display. The waiter is eying the button and belt, stretched thin over your fattened gut. You’re bloated beyond belief, a round glutton too fat and full to move. Gorging yourself until your clothes are about to burst with fat.

Your face flushes in embarrassment as he walks away, shifting as your thick love handles push into the chair. Still, you keep eating until your plate is clear. Meg smiles at you when you put your fork and cup down. You feel glued to your seat, like you couldn't get up if you tried. You don't know how you’re going to walk back home. Your public binge is definitely taking a toll on you. Your gooey soft, swollen belly is on top of the table, forcing you to move the chair back.

But soon, the waiters join in on the games, dropping off scraps and ingredients; sometimes even spoiled food.

“Do you think you could finish this week-old sushi for us?

“We ordered too much olive oil, can you drink these jugs so it doesn’t go to waste?”

“This milk expired a while ago, mind chugging these couple gallons?”

“We ordered the wrong brand of butter, could you finish these tubs and clean up?”

You look to your feeders with pain in your eyes, pleading with them to give you this small mercy. But Meg simply smiles.

“Eat it all and do not throw up.”

And so you eat and chug it all, whining and sobbing as you gorge on the gross food, stomach churning queasily at what it is being fed. You feel your gut and intestines bloat with indigestion and gas, begging for a release it isn’t being granted. It roars and cramps and stings; bringing you to tears. It’s grossly swollen and full of rotten gas, drink, and food. The farts you let out barely release anything and your belches are monstrous. The gas bubbles expand and fill and churn until you’re blown-up like an overfull, fat balloon. You’ve never been in so much agony. It cramps and whines with pressure, desperate for relief Meg made sure will never come.

Your overpacked stomach begins turning red, skin pulled too taut and filled with too much. It grows and grows, the spoiled and raw food and drink causing it to bubble grossly, almost like a kettle. The establishment seems to rumble with the force of it, your gut’s grotesque, wet gurgling echoing off the walls as you eat and gorge like the gross hog you are. The patrons can only look on in disgust.

By the end of it, you are clutching your roiling belly where it sticks out grotesquely, face red with pain, humiliation, and nausea. Your fat, overburdened gut is as vocal as ever, trying in vain to expel or digest its terrible contents.

You are big and fat and gassy and so disgustingly obese and gluttonous that you can’t help but feel ashamed. You used to be the definition of perfection. Maybe a total bitch but, beautiful at least. Now...

Now you’re nothing more than a slobby, unnattractive, morbidly obese blob.

Soon, Jace finishes the small bit of food on his plate and makes to stand up. “Just one more thing,” Jace says deviously. He gets up, confidently walking back to the buffet with Meg, disappearing into the crowd. You remain pinned under your fat gut, the patrons watching in disgust. You moan softly at a sharp cramp and particularly loud gurgle. You massage it deftly, attempting to calm it down. It is loud enough to be heard, and definitely big enough to be seen.

How humiliating, gorging yourself like this, making such a pig of yourself where everyone can see. You burp softly, trying to make room, attempting to pull the waistband away from your swollen belly. But it’s as tight as can be. Patrons are giggling, phones recording and insults chiming. You pretend to ignore them, looking down as best you can with your multitude of chins and sagging jowls in the way.

You sigh when Jace and Meg return. They’re holding a pitcher of milk, that seems to hold a gallon, and a whole cheesecake. It’s huge, deep fried and topped with decadent frosting, fried ice cream, cookies, and chocolates. Jace grins, “they just brought this out, and this jug… They left out some heavy cream that was supposed to be added to the chocolate fountain.”

You moan pitifully, your gut agreeing. This is almost too much. They smile, “dig in, Fatass.”

You start by cutting a slice of cheesecake and pouring a glass of heavy cream, barely a dent in either portion. With a deep breath and muffled belch, you dig in. Your bites are small, trying to allow yourself time to digest. But with the two’s expectant eyes on you, you hurry it up.

The pattern continues for a bit, until you’re a quarter in. It’s then that Meg just takes the glass and little plate away. She rolls her eyes at your indignant squawk. “Come on, just eat like you normally do, Piggy. You’re not fooling anyone.” You startle, looking around and seeing the waiter watching in pure disgust. Others are watching too, whispering, pointing and laughing, still filming on their phones. You suddenly feel immensely ashamed… But surprisingly aroused. Something conditioned into you, maybe. But perhaps, you just like it. Like being a disgusting pig.

With a whining gurgle, your gut seems to dread what is to come. Dairy always did cause you indigestion and bloating, but dear God did you love it. The waiters’ “food” from before is already doing a number on you, a little more couldn’t hurt. Groaning gutterally, you clutch your throbbing, ballooning belly, expanding with fat and roiling grossly. You feel inflated, sick, and humiliated… and patrons can’t get enough.

“Bro, he’s gonna blow!”

“See, that’s what you don’t want to become. No one likes a slob.”

“He looks like a parade float, oh, my God!”

With a groan, you take a giant swig from the jug, and dig into the cake directly. You get another quarter in before your stomach starts to ache even more, pants restricting and belly gurgling. You’re stuffed full, bursting, but you have to do this, have to please Jace and Meg.

And so you continue, forcing yourself to eat despite every sharp cramp, every stare, and every warning roar your gut gives. It’s when you’re on your last bite that it happens. You shove a giant mouthful of cake in, and with one mighty swallow, you’re done and-

Rip. Tear. Pop. Zip. Gurgle.

Your stomach groans in appreciation as it is finally freed. Your shirt rips near the front, your creaking belt rips off, the straining button pops off, and the weakened zipper breaks. Your engorged belly surges forward, breaking through all your clothes as it wobbles and sloshes unattractively onto your lap.

You gasp, hands flying to your gut, scrambling to pull the torn shirt down. Unfortunately, your fat rolls are too thick, preventing your comically stuck-out arms to barely be able to do much. With a whimper, you rush to rebutton your jeans, struggling to find your belt, which now is broken in half. You whimper before struggling further. People are laughing now.

Your obese gut is in the goddamn way, flopping and jiggling as you struggle to get your arms around it. You fight with your bloated underbelly to find your waistband before you finally grasp it. With a mighty tug, you pull them up and back around your gut. Only then realising even your love handles had pushed them down and are now accentuating your oozing muffin top.

Unfortunately, the two sides of your pants don’t come close to meeting over the bloated dome that is your gut. You then realise the button and handle of the zipper are missing. You moan, falling back onto your abused chair. Your gut flops back into place, pushing your shirt up again and pants down. Your fatpad bursts forth, nestling on your thighs under your gut.

Your belly gurgles loudly as you smack your hands on top of it, seemingly surprised at your own gluttony. People are whispering about and laughing at you, judging the hugely overweight, fat fucking pig who gorged himself full. Who couldn’t stop bingeing on fattening, greasy foods. Who stuffed himself stupid until he got so fat he literally burst out of his clothes. You burp as your gut grumbles loudly.

“You got a little bit of the heavy cream left, Fatass.”

You look up to him blearily, before dragging it forward and chugging it down. What a fat fucking pig you are, eating even after you fattened yourself out of your clothes. And just like that, the entire deep fried cheesecake and gallon of heavy cream are gone. Churning around in your overly fat gut. What a slob you are.

And then the chair you are on comes crashing down. It creaks and wobbles before finally splintering and sending you to the floor, obese gut pinning you to the floor. Raucous laughter and jeering fills the room.

You moan, smacking your gut as you massage it, easing the pain a bit with a mighty belch. The waiter watches with that same horror in his eyes. Your blubbery dome of a belly is proudly on display, pulled taut and blushing. It quivers with every obnoxious gurgle and spills out of his clothes, pinning him down.

“I’m going to gain so much weight, get so fat…” You moan softly. One hand rubs the peak of your mountainous belly, while the other rubs the bursting underbelly. Both are stuffed full and painful, creaking under the weight of your gluttony. You groan.

“We’re leaving,” Meg states suddenly, standing primly.

“Which means get up, let’s go, Fatty!” Jace says, muscled body stretching gracefully.

You moan and burp in response. You brace yourself on the floor, trying to gather as much leverage as possible to push yourself to your feet.

But you can’t. And so you cry out, “help! I’m stuck.” You see your feeders stop walking and turn to you, faces repulsed.

“Seriously? What’s wrong?” Meg groans.

“‘m too fat to get up,” You mumble, shy.

Jace steps closer, voice carrying sharply over the jeering of the patrons and staff, “what was that? You need to speak up.”

The beautiful, perfect pair stare down at you, smirking. It makes you aware of how far you’ve fallen. From a beautiful, successful thief to nothing more than an ugly, fat blob. There truly is no greater fall from grace, a completely deserved one, too. You hate that you love it.

You whimper, “I’m too fat to get up.”

It just makes the two cackle, Meg points at you, poking your gut as she calls, “the fatty’s too big to get up!” Roaring laughter is her response.

With a grimace and mighty tug, the two help you up, wiping their hands on your torn shirt afterward, faces filled with revulsion.

You stumble as your gut sways and jiggles, causing you to lose balance. Your shirt front is ripped, pants, belt, button, and zipper broken and undone. Leaving your nasty, fat gut to hang out for the world to see. How humiliating. You hold your ballooning belly as you waddle out, gut rumbling in warning with every step. Indigestion has set in, causing it to bloat even further, grumbling inhumanly loud.

It sloshes and ripples with every step, leaving people to watch in horror as this lazy, obese hog waddles out, grossly engorged gut bursting from your clothes for them to scrutinize. The floor quakes with every heavy step.

Meg smiles, biting her lip, “You’re finally getting the attention you’ve always wanted, that you deserve.”

People laugh and call you names as you leave, taking videos and pictures. They point and jeer, creating enough noise until the entire restaurant is looking at you in disgust. Some even go to you, smacking your belly, letting it ripple and bounce. Some poke and prod while others grab and jiggle. You’re too embarrassed to do much and the group just laughs.

“Jesus, look at that whale!”

“He’s fucking massive, oh my god.”

“He let himself go!”

“That’s so embarrassing...”

One patron even stops you fully. He whirls you around, your plump ass on his svelte front. He laughs and yells, “Guys look!” Before he smacks and shakes his gut. It gurgles angrily for everyone to hear, wobbling around like jello. “He’s so fat, holy shit. Can you guys hear his stomach growling from there? Yeah? Oh, my god, that’s so gross!”

You burp.

“What a slob.”

You’ve never felt so humiliated.

“Look, look!”

The man plays with the torn hem of your shirt, before roughly travelling down the dome of your gut. He grins as he touches the tightest part, slapping it around. You burp in response.

“Like a big ol’ drum!” Someone laughs.

The man roughly shakes your gut, horrific sloshes and noises resounding from its’ engorged depths. He giggles, “oh, your tummy’s mad!” The gas and substance inside audibly churn and tumble around in your behemoth gut. Fuck, you’re so fat.

There are tears in your eyes and a warmth in your pants. You moan pathetically as the man jostles your gut and tugs up the ruined waistband of your unbuttoned jeans.

The man first tries to re-buckle the belt… then tries to close your jeans, and finally tries to zip them… Before realising all three are broken completely. He continues pushing the two open flaps of your jeans together, squishing your belly, before letting it wobble back onto your lap unattractively.

“What the fuck, are his clothes ripped?”

The man cackles, “Yeah! Didn’t you see? The fatass ate himself out of his clothes!” Your belly squelches wetly then, as if recounting the memory. He fondles your muffin top roughly, still trying to get the two sides of the jeans to meet.

“Jesus, he literally gorged himself like a prize pig.”

“That’s so gross. Imagine having so little self-control you let yourself go like that...”

“God, I’ve never seen someone so... fat. That’s so embarrassing.”

“And he’s only going to get fatter…”

The waiter pipes up suddenly, “He had… 20 plates of food and 5 gallons of drinks. That’s… well over 30,000 calories in one sitting.”

Then the man laughs in disbelief, letting go of you and backing away in disgust. Your heavy love handles push your pants down, belly flopping onto your thighs. Your fupa bulges out and your crack peeks out from behind you. The other patrons cackle and jeer as you rush to where your feeders await by the exit. Some get in one last touch as their taunts follow behind you.

“You fat pig!”

“Shameless Glutton!”

“Fatass whale!”

“You gross hog!”

“Disgusting Fatty!”

“You fucking blimp!”

“Look! It’s Jabba the Hut!”

They step out into the cool air and you have to stop. You press your hand against your audibly groaning stomach, feeling just how full it is. It’s packed to the brim and you feel like you’re going to explode. You take a few more steps that feel like stomps with how big and heavy you are. God, you are going to gain so much weight from this.

“I don't think I'll be able to make it back to the house,” you say quietly.

The two turn. Jace’s eyes rake down your body, lingering on your unattractively rounded, blubbery gut. He smirks, stepping behind you and smacking your belly, watching as it wobbles around.

“Jesus, you’re really huge. Such an ugly, fat fuck. Ate yourself out of your clothes in front of the entire restaurant. Such a shameless fat pig; a stupid, obese slob.” He shakes it aggressively, listening to the resounding sloshes and gurgles. He smirks, “You’re fucking disgusting.” With a resounding smack to your grossly bloated and stuffed gut, he heads to where an Uber is waiting, van large and sleek.

You practically roll yourself into the vehicle. It creaks and dips audibly when you sit, belly groaning loudly as it resettles onto your lap and open jeans. The two pile in the eight-seater as Meg reiterates the address to the driver, who turns in confusion.

“You mean you want me to drive you lot down the street?” The driver asks.

“I'm sorry, but yes,” Meg pipes up. “Our friend here ate a little too much, he can't make it back.”

The driver glances at you and you wince as his eyes go wide. You’re sure that you look a mess. Pinned under the weight of your gluttony, bloated, engorged gut hanging out of your broken clothes, rumbling loudly.

The driver shakes his head in blatant disgust and turns back around before starting the engine.

Jace sighs forlornly, “I’m sorry. He’s really let himself go… He even burst out of his clothes because he couldn't stop eating. He used to be so thin too, it’s so embarrassing.”

The driver nods empathetically, “Must be tough for you, being seen with such a whale. Jesus, he’s massive…”

Jace nods, smirking back at your teary eyes. “Yeah, look how big and bloated he is, man. He’s stuffed full! God, he’s turned into a real pig.” He turns and smacks your gut, jiggling it above your lap before it smacks back down heavily. You moan as a burp is forced out, belly gurgling angrily.

The driver shakes his head from where he looks on in the rearview mirror. “Jesus, that's gross. I can’t imagine letting myself go like that, to get so big, he’s drowning in fat!” At a red light the driver plays with your belly, like Jace had. Poking and prodding, wobbling and jiggling. He stops when it lets out an ominous gurgle, shaking as it settles heavily in your lap again.

“God, and he walks around with that gut hangin’ out too? What a shameless pig. Looks like a total slob.”

You close your eyes and try to ignore the shame twisting in your gut. You really are a fat slob. So big and bloated that you broke your clothes, so shameless you gorged yourself like that in public…

Meg whines in faux sadness, “and to think how much bigger this binge is going to make him… He’s going to gain so much weight!”

The driver gasps, “God, how fat are you going to get?” He looks over at you, “Fuckin’ hell, what an uncontrollable fatass…”

But before you can even get your head straight, the car is stopping again.

“Here we are then,” the driver says bitterly. His eyes roam your jiggling fat.

You struggle to get out of the vehicle and waddle towards the front door behind your feeders.

Jace smiles, “Go back to the basement and rest, Pig. We have more planned for you.”

Your gut gurgles.

[echotums]

You Get Filled

You shoot down a fat guy who likes you, embarrassing him publicly for his weight. Your friends decide you should have a taste of your own medicine.

CW: Rapid weight gain, stuffing, bloating, extreme public humiliation/degradation/teasing/bullying, weight gain revenge, fat shaming, bathroom control, force-feeding, slob, gas, AMAB reader, 2nd person POV.

Sitting in a buffet, your friends glance at the menu. You have your best friend, his brother, a friend who happens to be your ex, and her own closest friend with you. You spare no glance at the menu. You already know what you're having; lime and water. Everything else seems to be covered in grease. The chubby waiter would know, you sneer as he smiles brightly, waiting kindly for you all to choose.

"Just some lime and water, please. I’m watching my weight." You say eventually, pointedly looking at his gut. He blushes, but recovers astonishingly fast.

"Oh! Sure thing. Could I… maybe give you my number with that?”

"Lose a few hundred pounds, pig; then we’ll talk."

The smile drops from his soft face before he hurries off, eyes wet. The table next to you murmurs amongst each other, shooting you appalled looks.

You smile to yourself and pull out your phone, preparing to take a selfie for your millions of stupid followers when your friend huffs at you. "What?"

"That was a dick move. Seriously, was there any need for that?"

You shrug while putting on chapstick, sighing out, "it’s not like Jabba the Hut over there has feelings."

Another poor friend sighs, “one day, karma's gonna come back and bite you in the ass."

And bite it did. They need to teach you a lesson

“Okay, sure. Whatever,” you laugh as your flash goes off.

Soon after, the sorry waiter comes back. You roll your eyes at his tear-dried cheeks, the thing had clearly been crying. You don’t even say thank you as he leaves, taking a sip of water before… nothing.

When you wake, you're heavily restrained by chains, making you stand upright. You are in the middle of the restaurant, patrons filming on their phones and watching, a vicious glint in their eyes. Film crews from news organizations have also set-up base and were prattling on delightedly.

Everyone walks over to you, smiling. "We’re going to teach you a little bit of a lesson."

"What?" You frown.

"Shh,” a friend coos. "Best if you stay still for this bit." Your ex picks up a tube and a mouth gag, inserting the mouth gag before the tube. You choke but can't dislodge any of it. Fear courses through you as your best friend and her goes over to one of the many large tanks, each containing at least 10 gallons of… something.

“Skinny bitch, you’ll get what you deserve.” Your ex sets up another tube that leads to… somewhere.

One friend signals ominously to the onlookers and group. Cameras beep and begin recording and laptops flash comments with donations from streaming websites. They grin as they poke around your skinny body.

“Our fattening revenge will be streamed for everyone in the world to see,” She smiles deviously, patting your strong, lean torso.

“While also being in front of this jam-packed restaurant.” Your friend’s brother grins, patrons giggling.

Your ex watches in vindictive amusement. “Everyone’s going to watch as you get what you deserve; watch as we ruin you.”

"Say goodbye to your healthy, perfect little body… Let’s see who needs to lose a few pounds after all this." The brother says, then laughs as the girls switch on the machine. Immediately liquid pumps through it and all you can do is swallow. It is thick and oily, difficult to consume, making you slightly nauseous with how it makes your mouth feel thick and slimy.

Greasy, viscous liquid slowly fills your trim tummy, making you heavy with it. It sends your insides into a rumbling tizzy as you slowly fill with grease and… fat? Are you getting fatter? You watch in horror as your flesh plumps-up and begins to jiggle with your now ever-expanding belly, whining and struggling weakly. What was once a concave tummy is a rounded-out beer gut, thick and sloshy, leaving you feeling full, heavy and slow. The group simply laughs and continues on, watching as you inflate.

“This mixture is made of lard, butter, margarine, oil, grease, fat, and a couple tubs of weight gain powder. With a little something extra to digest quickly.” A friend states, eyes squinting in mirth. He chuckles at you patronisingly.

“After we’re done with you, you’ll never be thin and pretty again.”

Your little potbelly soon turns into a bulging gut, which roars in response, gurgling as it wobbles and blows-up with fat. The deep rumbles shake the room and shake your new, burgeoning fat. You feel queasy and gross with how full of grease you are.

“GLOOOOORP!”

The restaurant laughs, people walking up and smacking your bloating belly. The slaps to the crest of your stomach are tight and muffled, while the ones to areas away from the organ are wobbly and loud.

“Oh, your tummy’s mad; I can hear your gut gurgling from here!”

“You fat fuck, you look like a parade float!”

People take turns jeering and mocking you, watching as you blimp-up hilariously.

Soft, billowing fat slowly grows onto your bloating frame, adding rolls and folds that weren’t there prior. Your clothes strain over the squishy fat, creaking as you whimper in agony and humiliation; sleeves slowly cut into puffy arms and the neckline accentuates a quickly growing, thick double chin. Jowls form and your belly slowly peaks out from your waist-high jeans and tight shirt. Though, there’s a thick bulge budding under your newfound gut, slowly swallowing your cock.

You groan as you finish the first 10 gallon vat, grunting and panting as two friends remove the old tube. The others prepare a new vat for you.

But first they let you speak.

“You’re really packing on the pounds, huh? Anything you want to say to the millions of viewers and everyone watching, fatty?” Your ex walks over and smacks your rounded, overfull underbelly while another friend caresses your slowly sagging tits.

You groan, feeling something building up, but decide to try and speak anyway. “What’s happening to me? I’m blowing up like a balloon! And I’m getting so fat! Please, no m-OUUUUURP!”

The entire restaurant cackles, high fiving each other as they double over laughing. They howl and point, poking your protruding, wobbling flesh. It all leaves you blushing in pure humiliation. What is wrong with you?

With a grim smile, your ex leans down to your fattening face.

“What was that, jellybelly? You want more? Even though you’re so big?”

“No- WOOOORP!”

“All right then!”

And you are sucking on a tube again, thanks to your best friend. People keep poking your gut, fingers sinking into the soft, jiggling fat. They shake it around and play with your thickening fat rolls as the new mixture enters your mouth.

“This is filled with dairy. Gallons and gallons of heavy cream, ice cream, cheesecake, eggs, milk, yoghurt… and of course weight gain powder. And now it’s all going down your greedy gullet.” He smiles smugly, listening to the raucous, pained gurgles coming from your expanding gut. He grins in delight.

“You’re blimping up into a greedy, fat glutton.”

You struggle here, you're lactose intolerant and the build-up is giving you the bubble guts, and everyone can hear. Your belly roils and roars violently, desperate for release it's not being granted. As the fattening contents make their way through your body, your insides cramp with each moment your guts painfully expand. You feel like you're going to burst, a container filled with lard, liquids, food, and gas. God, you're such a fat slob.

At a particularly large gas bubble, your intestines slosh and churn angrily. But when you prepare to finally release it... you find that you can’t. It is only then that you realise they had shoved something in you while you were asleep; a thin tube through your pants. How had you not felt it before? You wiggle your sagging ass and look around in panic. A friend smiles as you pick up on this, informing the others. Everyone points and laughs once again before your ex pushes a few buttons... and now the tube is forcing more thick, fattening liquid inside you, blowing you up from both ends, mixing with the gas and waste trapped inside.

“GLLLGRRGURRR!”

Everyone laughs as your overly engorged stomach burbles and groans in agony as it's forced to rapidly protrude further. You can feel the massive buildup of gas and waste inside yourself, swelling at an alarming rate, unable to release; the most you can do is try to fart around it. Your gut bubbles and gurgles as you expand to an unimaginable, enormous size, cramped and painful and obscenely bloated. You feel like you're going to explode; rapidly inflating with fat and gas. Your button and belt creak where they struggle to contain your growing blubber

“They’re blowing up like a balloon! Look at them go, fattening themselves up!”

“Fuck, revenge is sweet. Look how fast they’re gaining weight.”

“Ew, you gross cow! The weight does NOT look good on you.”

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen! You were so pretty and popular… now you’re nothing more than a fat, lazy slob.”

The button and belt on your jeans burst off easily, they can’t take the strain of your fattened gut and endlessly increasing girth anymore. Your gut sloshes audibly as it pops open your pants, surging forward as it takes-up more space greedily.

Your belt lay useless at your sides, the busted jean flaps framing your enormously fat gut (and fatpad). It wobbles and jiggles where it groans and grotesquely bloats bigger and wider; as if it has a mind of its own. You have a gross plumber’s crack going for you now, your fat being squished and pushed out into an embarrassing spare tire. Weight isn’t even sticking to your ass, it’s flat now compared to the rest of you. The weight sticking to all the wrong, unflattering places. You have a sausage-like look to you with how tightly your clothes are squeezing you. Your fupa is massive now, taking the space between your jean flaps easily, oozing over your cock until nothing’s left.

Soon, a third chin is wobbling onto your fattening face, effectively hiding your neck. Your jowls slowly purse your lips and obscure your vision, leaving your face a bloated, disgusting mess. Your thighs dimple and stomach blimps, huge tits slowly sag even farther off of it, drooping as if to meet your massively swollen, gooey love handles. Your muffin top oozes from your overly-tight jeans, bursting seams and tearing threads. Your hands are so porky and filled with lard that they can’t even close anymore. You even grow cankles, legs now giant, lard-filled blobs with no shape. You cry in pain and humiliation. You are so soft and big now.

When the next 10 gallon vat is empty, your best friend and his brother remove the tube to let you speak again before pointing to the camera, hands flopping your blubbery chins and smacking your jowls around. The girls heft and bounce your weighty gut to and fro, squishing and jiggling your saggy fupa too.

“Anything you want to say to the millions of people watching right now, fatso?”

Your friend smiles, her and your ex smacking the taut, bloated upper portion of your blown-up belly. You are so full it sounds like smacking a drum.

Your gasps and grunts are muffled behind your now permanently pursed lips. Your eyes are also always squinted due to your lard-filled cheeks and jowls.

“Fuck I’m- BURAAAAAAP! Sorry! Please, I’m gonna bur- WOOORP!”

They hum in satisfaction, patrons murmuring amongst each other. The brothers slap your rumbling, bloated underbelly while the girls roughly massage the upper portion. You have really blimped up; looking akin to an overblown balloon or gorged tick. Big and round and swollen. A ball of fat; of greed and gluttony.

“And what are you sorry for, butterball?”

They play and toy with your wobbling rolls as you speak, heaving your grossly giant body with every shuddering breath.

“For making fun of that guy’s- BUUOOORP! Weight!”

Your ex smiles, grabbing and squishing your engorged love handles and hips.

“Who’s the pig now then, huh?”

You hesitate a moment too long and they grow angry, your ex smacks your gut harshly, causing it to slosh and shake. You look and feel overindulged and gluttonous, drowning in your own hedonistic feeding. An uncontrollable, overweight, overly obese glutton.

“SLUOORP!”

Your belly will not stop making monstrous, ominous noises, constantly churning and gurgling. It is so embarrassing. You look and sound like a grotesquely obese monster.

“C’mon, fatass! Who’s our pot-bellied pig?”

They smack your giant gut again.

“Ow! I am! I’m- HUUOOORP! I’m a greedy, disgusting hog! BWOOORP!”

Your ex laughs as she shoves the tube in you again, turning on the other.

“That’s more like it, doughboy. Finally enjoying your just desserts.”

They move onto sweets after that, constantly feeding you more and more. Blended cakes, cookies, frosting, soda, mentos… more weight gain powder.

Your massive belly spills further over your jeans, it's so swollen with fat. In fact, as it slowly fattens further, it begins to hang by your knees, gigantic muffin top sagging and rolling over your hips, closely followed by your fatpad. Even your shirt can’t contain you; it's hitched around your chest, torn and barely holding your flabby man boobs, suffocated in your chins, jowls, and back rolls. You look comically overweight and unattractive, every piece of you drowning with lard.

Your friend slips some more chemicals in your “food” to make you explode and balloon with more fat and gas. People cackle as they poke and smack and jiggle, bouncing your hanging flesh and adipose around like jello. Like a toy.

“What a shame, they used to be so skinny and hot. Now, they look like a fat, bloated toad!”

“The fatty’s gonna blow! Look at them go!”

“I can’t even see their face under all that fat.”

“Fuck, they look disgusting… so funny!”

“Ew, I can see their ass and belly! Disgusting slob, ever heard of going on a diet?”

Gone is your model thin body. It is replaced now with three sagging chins, gigantic unattractive jowls, and floppy bingo wings. Your pecs become jiggling manboobs and your gut a metre wide and long, burgeoning where it's cradled by billowing love handles, forming an ugly muffin top. Your ass and thighs are cellulite-ridden and saggy, limbs swallowed in fat. Your arms are released from their binding, only to be useless where they stick out of your bloated sides comedically like pins in a cushion.

With a whimper, you rub over your rumbling belly, trying to ease the pain and stop it from thickening with your stubby hands. You push the burgeoning fat as if to stop it from bloating and growing further, but it's useless. You look ridiculous and disgusting; like a monstrous caricature of pure gluttony and morbid obesity. Your gut groans in agony, the thunderous squelches vibrating the room.

“GROOAAR!”

People laugh as the girls remove the tube and mask, pausing the second and preparing to gorge you on the next 10 gallon vat.

“Oooh, fuck! I’m so-OUUUURP! Big and fat! So ugly-HWOORP!”

The room shakes violently at your slobby belch, jowls and chins quivering grotesquely as the rest of your body wobbles. You are cartoonishly ugly in how rampantly bloated and obese you are. Your best friend and his brother press against your softening flesh.

“What was that, tubby?”

“Can’t hear you over your disgusting gut, fat boy!”

People smack your belly again, fondling your flab, kneading the gelatinous fat. It wobbles obscenely and moulds to their rough hands like soft dough, pendulous where it swings back and forth. You’re like a ball of pure, greasy lard. You whine, eyes rolling up and panting as you feel yourself gain weight and widen further, rapidly ballooning.

“I’m so huge and full, my belly won’t stop growing and gurgling! Help-BURAAAAAP!”

“C’mon, lardass! You still have more to come.”

They all snicker, your ex checking if the recording equipment is still streaming as people begin to feed your massively, morbidly obese self spoiled and fibre-rich foods. Rotten beans, sprite, bananas, ginger-ale, spoiled milk, beer, weight gain shake, and prune juice through both tubes. More and more and more... shovelling them down your throat. Your stomach cramps and you moan as a low rumble ripples inside of you, stretching you to your limit.

“GLOOORPGRR!”

The chains break, sending you crashing to the floor on your back. Your body ripples and jiggles in waves from your giant gut to your sagging jowls, room trembling with the force of impact. You roll and sway hilariously, stuck and pinned by the weight of your own overindulgence. You look like a beached whale, an overfull balloon ready to pop.

"Wow, you really are a pig, aren't you? Stuffed tight and full like a bloated, fat turkey." Your ex laughs, prodding your belly. It wobbles, causing you to cramp up again; a loud, particularly wet sounding gurgle echoes grossly.

Everyone teams up to make you eat and fill up on more spoiled beans, used grease, oil, and butter, washed down with another gallon of spoiled milk, heavy cream and prune juice. The laxative qualities cause rampant indigestion to set in, loud, raunchy gurgles and groans rumble from your gut’s blubbery depths as more gas accumulates. It causes the room to vibrate and your squishy layers of fat to wobble. You groan in pain as you expand and expand with no end in sight, overstuffed gut melting all those calories into thick, gelatinous fat. People point and laugh as you try to roll onto your fat ass, body and belly too fat and bloated to budge.

One friend tries to close your tattered jeans but is unable to. And it’s not your nasty gut, no, it’s your sagging fupa that gets in the way, puffy and unattractively fat. Your shirt fares much the same, unable to cover any of your disgusting blubber.

“Blew right out of your clothes, huh? You're an insatiable blubber boy; can’t stop gorging your fat gut.” They heave you up, forcing you to sit on your cellulite-ridden, flat ass. Your ex slaps it, bouncing and rippling your multitude of ugly back rolls.

“Is that why you tease fat people? Because you’re a secret fatty? A closeted fatass?”

Another pinches your massive, muffining love handles, huge and soft from where it frames your enormous, monstrous gut and swollen fupa.

“Millions of calories and gallons of fattening drink… all churning inside this giant, greedy gut. You’re finally getting what you deserve.”

Your best friend holds your weighty tits in his palms, wobbling them around in their palms.

“Gained so much weight, fattened yourself up so much for us. What a good piggy you are. Taking your punishment so well.”

They smile as they caress your giant fat rolls, fingers sinking into the doughy flesh.

“You’ll never be thin and pretty again. You’ll always be this fat, immobile slob. You’re so fat and ugly now.”

They rub your roaring, taut underbelly, playing with the stuffed and lard-filled flesh before flopping your belly around by your deep, cavernous belly button.

“You weigh over 1000 pounds now, and you used to weigh 120. Now you have this big, fat, bloated gut. You’re nothing but a gluttonous, obese blob.”

The more weight you pile on, the uglier you become. Clothes in tatters on the floor, body blown up and overly bloated with soft, pale fat… You feel so ashamed. You look grotesque and are grossly obese, your ballooning waistline so out of control. Five chins, flabby limbs, over a metre-wide and long mountain of a gut, sagging love handles, grotesque muffin top and spare tire. Your dick is gone, swallowed in your massive fatpad. You are drowning in lard. The extra padding, the thick layer of fat coating your body widens you beyond belief, making you look almost inhuman. You are a fat, immobile, greedy slob. You’ve never felt so disgusting, so ashamed.

Everyone picks up on this and thus, once again, begins teasing you about your massive, out of control weight gain.

“Someone’s let themselves go. Maybe try actually working out and getting exercise?”

“Looks like a fat blob, this is so fucking funny!”

“I’ve never seen someone so fat, oh my god.”

“Stupid fatass, you get what you deserve!”

“You used to be so skinny and pretty. Now look at you! So fat and ugly, ugh.

The build up of wind and waste and fat is so extreme that you rip your already worn out jeans, mountainous stomach expanding far too much. It emits a high pitched whine, a cry of agony at its treatment, before rumbling ominously, violently jiggling your lard. Onlookers nearly die laughing, watching your giant spare tire ripple and wobble like jello.

"C'mon, Jabba the Hut, time to let you see your adoring fans... if they even recognize you." They untie you as you belch again and rise from the ground, showing off your body drowning in blubber. The tube is removed from your lard-ridden ass before they plug you up, preventing you from losing the agonising build-up inside of you.

“BWOOOOORP!”

You groan as you totter and waddle, adipose-laden body swaying comically as it tries to find its balance amongst all of your disgusting fat. Your gut sloshes painfully and the ground shakes when you burp, move, or when your gut gurgles. You are a giant blob of fat. You would be immobile if it weren’t for the shit they put in your food. They did it so you could still leave the house, you realise. So people can make fun of you.

“BLUBLUB!”

You really got what you deserved.

By the time you ease up and stomp your way out of the restaurant, legions of news reporters and fans are there, watching in wide-eyed horror. Your blubbery gut rumbles and churns and squelches audibly, a belch making its way out of you.

“BWOOOOOOOOOOOUUUURP!”

"Wait… that’s them? Aren’t they famous? What happened?"

“Ew! What the fuck? Why do they look like that? Why are they so fucking fat?”

“Oh my God, this is hilarious! They’ve totally blimped up!”

“Weren’t they the pretty one? They really let themselves go…”

“Doesn’t even look human. They’re way too fat.”

You can only belch and grunt as you're publicly humiliated, your morbidly obese blimp of a body being broadcasted worldwide from phones and cameras. They laugh and poke and scoff at how disgustingly obese you are, looking on like you're some sort of freakshow.

Listening to your monstrous gut gurgle wetly and nauseous, they feel disgusted… but also smug with satisfaction. It was about time you were knocked down a peg or two… or ten. Your gut roars and expands further, indigestion and weight piling on. Your fat cheeks redden with embarrassment as you keep belching.

What goes around, comes around.

“SLOOOOSH!”

"Told you Karma would come back to bite you in the ass."

And you got your fattening comeuppance.

“BWOOORP!”

Is all you can say in response, whimpering as the crowd descends on you.

That night, the videos would go viral worldwide.