existentialspaghetti

[existentialspaghetti]

Mmmm, my big boy... look at you struggle. You ate so much all you can do is let out wet burps that echo against the walls. Most people would feel nauseated by witnessing such gluttony. But not me. I love your appetite; your hedonism.

You mumble, "I need to get to the bathroom..."

My eyes don't blink. I love every opportunity to see you struggle to move. You grunt and groan as you wiggle yourself to the edge of the couch. Then there is the usual rocking back and forth... I can't look away. Hundreds of pounds of fat jiggle as you desperately pull yourself into a standing position.

Once you were up, you looked around for your cane. You were surprisingly strong... over 700lbs of fat, and all you needed was a cane to assist you. It wasn't there to hold the load, but just to steady you as you waddled. Sometimes I wanted to hide it from you... to see you heave your belly, back and forth as you waddled without assistance. It reached your knees, and you had a hard time controlling it enough to keep your center of gravity. It's why you needed the cane.

I heard another loud burp and saw your fat hand reach down to your bloated, full belly. You paused your waddle, just to touch yourself. I heard you groan, "Oh, God... I'm so fucking full..."

Yet again, all I could do was smile and watch. You seemed to recover, and you continued your trek to the bathroom. Waddling towards the bathroom, I couldn't look away from how large your ass was. It was a shelf of fat below your back. Each cheek jiggled as you stepped. The rolls of fat making up your thighs followed suit. I wanted to take you right there, but I knew it wasn't possible while you were standing.

I'd wait until you returned... looking at your belly swaying in front of you. When you plopped back down on the couch; then I could enjoy you.

[existentialspaghetti]

put on my old workout top this morning because i was running late.... i didn't realize i had maybe put on 30-40 pounds since i last wore it.... its a bit snug now, what do u guys think?

[existentialspaghetti]

Good job fatty~ I would absolutely grab that gut, push you into a chair or a bed, sit in your lap and push more greasy food in to make sure you're topped off, too fed for your own good~

Your mind's already that far gone huh? This is exactly what you deserve for being such a meanie to fatties. Well, real punishment might have been you never experiencing the pleasure of your true calling in life: livestock. But the ironic punishment works far better for me to enjoy. You deserve each and every pound of soft lard that's gonna make your fat gut sag, your thighs rub together, your chest too heavy to lift, your arms too flabby, your chins multiply, your groin be out of reach.

Fatten up you piggy, and endlessly hear in your mind what your thin and fit past self would have told you for being such a massive piece of livestock. Get turned on thinking about all the pleasurable ruination you'll make yourself live through~

(it's @makemybellyhang 's fault for this)

[existentialspaghetti]

huff & puff & get the jeans on!! 🤭😅🐷

[existentialspaghetti]

love how my fat just absorbs the doorknob

[existentialspaghetti]

You don’t need a goal weight

Some people have their milestones mapped out, right from the start. Some people carefully chart their desired journey, perhaps starting at 250. Planning to gorge themselves up to 350 or 400lbs, knowing they’ll then need to be pushed past their limits until they finally arrive at 500, overshooting by 30lbs with worrying ease.

Others might begin nervously, gingerly creeping up the scale, pound by pound, feeding by feeding. Of course, once they breach 200lbs, things suddenly become very real. They find themselves craving the next hundred, then another hundred, and then the hundred after that. Maybe they want to get heavier still, maybe their feeder wants them to stabilize, maybe they both make a compromise and agree to stop at 700lbs. Maybe they set a secret goal of 770, as a treat.

Others still might only realize that these options even exist after meeting a partner, weighing in for the first time in years, and unexpectedly thrilling at the sight of their soon-to-be feeder’s wicked grin after watching the scale flash “ERR”. They think “1200” is an impossible number as they head steadily in that direction, encouraged and helped along the way. The months and years marked only by buying scales of increasing capacity, until one day they themselves decide to change the goalpost, crossing out the “2” and replacing it with a “6”.

I, however, don’t believe in any of that. Is it exciting? Sure. Is it frightening? Probably a little. But is it really the most effective way for you to grow? Don’t get me wrong: there will be measurements, charts and graphs to reflect every thickening roll, each added fold, and all the new jiggle. But you’re not going to be like any of those people. You’re different. I have just one goal in mind for you - speed.

I’ll start you off small, having you gain one pound a week. Easy, manageable. You could almost do it in your sleep, and you certainly don’t need any help. A couple of weeks roll by and you’re crushing it - you don’t feel any different, other than the comforting warmth of knowing you’re doing such a good job. Then, I’ll have you move up to three. You’re probably already there anyway, but I want to see you keep it up. One month and 11 pounds later, you simply need an extra stuffing or two to push you over the finish line, no big deal. But then, a new week means you have to do it yet again, and on top of that, now I need you to get to five. How long will it take to get used to making that happen, week in, week out?

Maybe this is where you start needing a little help. A session to test your limits once or twice a week, on top of all the grazing in between meals. Maybe you get a little too used to the new routine, shooting up by seven pounds - impressive! Just don’t forget, you still have to do five more next week, you don’t get to roll over those two extra pounds - they’re just icing on the cake. Heavy, sweet buttercream for you to keep wherever you like. Tomorrow, you’re back to zero.

Your eating habits have had to change to keep up with gaining 20lbs each month, but you’re doing great. You’re starting to really feel bigger, too, going up a few more sizes and occasionally knocking things over with all the new inches going to your butt. It’s desperately cute, but you know you won’t stay this way for long. You also know you aren’t going to be growing five pounds per week for much longer, either - next stop, seven pounds.

That’s a pound a day, every day. Your stomach is used to the stretch, it takes a while to get full now, and you can handle being hand-fed long after you’re too full to get off the couch, even if you do stagger to bed in the middle of the night because the couch gets lonely. But that was then, and this is now. Now, this is less than the minimum. You have to tolerate more. You need to do this every day, as much as you can. You’ll gladly accept help, of course, but now you’re getting used to stuffing yourself, then needing help to eat even more after that, at least three times a day. The idea of every meal requiring help is exciting, but this is the new norm now. This isn’t an experiment that stops one day, this is just how your life is. You don’t remember the last time you felt hungry.

You are tearing through sizes. You’re outgrowing furniture. You’re too wide for some seats, and too heavy for most benches. Getting wedged in tight spaces is a thing of the past - you simply can’t maneuver your enormous body anywhere without plenty of room to work. Your stomach is practically bottomless, you’re being hand-fed more than you’re feeding yourself, and you’re still setting personal bests for calories consumed. You’re regularly more then eight pounds fatter every single week now, and it didn’t really take that long for you to get there. You’re doing so very well. By most standards, you are huge.

Being huge, however, isn’t what you’re training for. You know what’s coming, and you’re prepared for it. You wonder what the next bump will be. Does this mean you’ll need to get filled with a funnel and tube? What if you like it? You know you haven’t found your real limits yet, though. You can take more, a lot more. Can you do 12lbs in a week? Can you do 15, then do it again the next week and again the week after that?

You don’t get hand-fed on the couch, long after your heavy arms hurt too much to lift, any more. You don’t get to snack between meals, because you mostly don’t have meals any more. On special occasions, if you’ve been particularly good, you might get to eat food like you used to, even if you do need a lot more of it than you have the stamina to deal with before being fed the rest. All you have to do these days is lay reclined in your bed, breathe through your oxygen tube, and rest your hands on the sides of the top slope of your belly as it grows upwards and widens, ever so gradually, but surely. Always full, always being made to stretch just a little more to support your size. Always in motion, the thick layer of fat covering it sloshing lazily as you breathe. Dwarfed by the expanse of your lower belly, stretching out forever in front of you, as far as you can tell.

Every couple of hours, you drink from a tube. Sometimes there’s a funnel, sometimes there’s a bag, sometimes you can control the flow, other times your jaw is held open with a gag and all you can do is try to open your throat and feel it flow into you. You no longer wince in pain as your stomach becomes more and more burdened, you’re used to it.

Before you sleep, a small, flexible tube is threaded through your nose, into your stomach. As you sleep, a pump makes sure you never dip below “painfully full”. You’re not sure how much fatter you’ll be by the end of the week, but it doesn’t really matter - you just know that you’re finally growing, comfortably, to your potential.

If someone asked your goal weight, you’d probably say that you haven’t really thought about it.

[existentialspaghetti]

i’ve taken to lounging around like i’m a widow attempting to eat myself to an early death

[existentialspaghetti]

jelly arms 💖

[existentialspaghetti]

I love every pound on you, and now I have hundreds and hundreds of pounds to love.

Your body is hypnotizing:

The way your fat jiggles and sways with every movement.

The way you struggle and grunt and groan with every basic task.

The way your appetite controls you.

The way your absolute NEED to be as big as possible influences your decisions.

Your impossible weight gain started with an innate desire that you had been ignoring all your life. Deep in your memory, you had always wanted to be fat. Not just fat... but immobile. As a young man, you never indulged in it; how could you? You cared too much about what people thought. But now that you're older, all you want is to see that desire become reality. And you got your wish.

Who cares what people think? You're happy. In fact, you're ecstatic. Your existence is pure hedonism. Every waking moment is filled with enjoyment and pleasure... from food to sex, you're always indulging.

Society sees your fat body in public. They laugh at you. They think you're an incel. If only they knew how active your sex life was... they would be jealous. Multiple times a day you get stuffed silly with food and then forcibly fucked. You burp and moan, your body filled with the ambivalence of uncomfortable fullness and sexual release. At this point, you know gluttony leads to sex. They are intertwined. They are both required. Gluttonous abandon always leads to cumming. And cumming is always followed by a feeding. It's a never-ending cycle: food and sex, feeding and fucking.

You are living your dream. And there is no limit. You are excited to see how big you can get... you look forward to the day you join the half-ton-club. It's coming sooner than you think.

You used to weigh yourself all the time. You'd measure your body with a tape measure, recording every inch gained. But now, it doesn't matter. Who needs the statistics when they are nearing a thousand pounds?

You will hit that goal sooner than you think. You want it more than anything. And if you put your mind to something, it will happen.

So dedicate yourself to it.

Enjoy the ride.

It might be a rollercoaster that you will be strapped in forever. But it's everything you've ever wanted.

[existentialspaghetti]

Outgrown Closet: The Series: Part 2:

The Hostess Uniform

Used to host and serve at a local burger joint right after turning 21; was about 280lbs back then, when this uniform was only a little bit snug.

I now have more dough than the fresh baked cheddar buns i once served!

[existentialspaghetti]

I absolutely adore the “you have to at least be twice as fat as me feeder mentality” doubly so if there’s a day where you weigh in bigger and immediately go grab the funnel to double the weight on your suddenly concerned feedee who realizes you getting fatter will just double itself on them.

Also side note but your audio melts my brain and I just discovering your blog had an all out 5,300 calorie stuffing last night listening to them🔥

It's great, you get what I'm putting down! I'm a big girl. I love being a big girl. It's just... I like my men extra EXTRA large. I love the sound of the grunting and the struggle and all the little extra motions a man has to do when they're just... too much for themselves to handle. When they have to whine, or ask for help. When they NEED something that's just - just too much. Too cumbersome. Because they are too big and too cumbersome themselves. Fuck, I'm blushing just thinking about it.

[existentialspaghetti]

Uhmmmm look at my (lack of) neck and my arms/shoulders and how the dress strap is digging into my squish 🥺😳

[existentialspaghetti]

Some b&a’s😉

[existentialspaghetti]

BEFORE

DURING

AFTER

heavy weight champ 🥇

(feeder pushed me to my limits again)

[existentialspaghetti]

Grabbing a man by the overhang of his belly and leading him to the fridge is so hot hot hot. By the way. Just manouvering them by that gut.

Grabbing that sweet, fattened swell and pulling him where he belongs.

[existentialspaghetti]

Feb ‘24 & 460 lbs // July ‘25 & 550 lbs

[existentialspaghetti]

I wake up early, getting your breakfast ready for you, just carrying it to your bedside while you sleep, your burden of a body snoring, trying to sleep.

Then I want to slide back into bed, waking up the sounds of you having woken up, filling yourself again as my hands lazily rubbing at your gut. The food will tide you over until we’re ready to actually get up.

You huff and puff. There’s just so much of you you jiggle all over, especially as my hands roam over your body.

Every roll. Every stretchmark attended to.

“Hungry man…” I murmur, still half asleep as I place kisses on your fat back. “Good boy… my pretty piggy.”