fatyote

[fatyote]

The sexual tension between me and my shower brush as it works between my rolls and folds and gets to all the places I’m far, far too fat to reach

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It’s funny (and hot) that whenever we order food delivery my partner’s part of the order is always only 1-2 things while mine is 6+ 😅

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Got a state tax rebate and y’all already know I’m gonna spend every cent on food 🤤

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My favourite body modification is intentional weight gain

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I’m not really a believer in hypno, but man if I don’t feel those fattening mantras repeating in my head all the same 😵‍💫

More…

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concept: contrast with a partner but like, not just contrast in weight

contrast in eating habits

contrast in daily routines

contrast in mobility

contrast in health

etc.

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I have a mental list of intense gainers who I check up on sporadicly, only to be shocked by how big they've gotten ... Yeah you are on there

Honored to be included 😇

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Love when folks are turned on by my intensity when it comes to gaining, by my obsessive gluttony and hedonism. My absolute need for More, no matter the cost.

Mm.

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Hey, you.

Yes, you.

You should make me fatter.

[fatyote]

Step 1: Grip my belly by my side rolls

Step 2: Wobble gently

Step 3: Enjoy the show

[fatyote]

Freeing the flab after my doctor’s appointment

(Pay no mind to the food stains, oops)

[fatyote]

Freeing the flab after my doctor’s appointment

(Pay no mind to the food stains, oops)

[fatyote]

Date Night

Tw: Health issues, fat shaming, nonconsensual gaining

What’s the matter babe, something wrong with your food? It never takes you this long to polish off a family meal deal. Usually, I can’t even get to the next drive-thru before you’re tilting your head back to choke down the last of the fries. You know I love seeing those pudgy hands pouring the crumbs and salt and grease down that blubber-covered throat of yours. But we’re almost there and you’ve barely finished the second burger — what’s going on?

Ohh, the cashier at the last place really got to you, huh? Yeah, they don’t usually play along like he did when I try to fuck with them. It’s always funny to see how uncomfortable they get when I talk about how big you’re getting, how hard it is for you to get around when you’re fat enough to take up the entire backseat of a car, how all this fast food is the last thing in the world you need but I keep getting it for you anyway. But not him, though. He was ready to give you a lecture about what all these processed foods — the ones loaded with saturated fats and sugars and sodium — are doing to your body. Called you a fatass right to your face! From the drive thru window! Man, I wish I’d recorded it; your fans would have loved to see that, you getting redder and redder from blushing, shifting your flab around while he went on about diabetes and heart disease and fat, lazy customers.

You’ve got to admit there’s something to what he was saying, though. I mean, you didn’t used to have to take a break just getting into the car. It hasn’t been easy for you for a while now, but to already be out of breath and panting like a dog by the time you’ve barely gotten to the car, sitting on the edge of the backseat with your fat filling up the door frame? It’s obvious you’ve gotten a lot heavier and a lot more out of shape, really damn fast. You had to spend a good five minutes with one huge blubber-packed leg and a good foot and a half of belly and side roll hanging out of the car before you were ready to start scooting those hundreds of pounds into the middle of the seat. With all the rocking and jiggling and wobbling you had to do, I wasn’t sure what was going to give out first: you, or the suspension. I’m not looking forward to trying to get your fat ass out when we get back home, not after you’ve stuffed ten or fifteen thousand calories’ worth of greasy junk into your bloated gut.

It has to be obvious to you how you’re steadily ruining yourself. Wrecking your body. Sabotaging any chance you might have left of living a normal life. If you had even a little self-control, you could probably level off your gains here, come up with some kind of a fitness routine that even a fat cow like you could manage, and start getting back down to just being regular fat instead of reality-tv fat. But you can’t resist it, can you? However unsettled someone like that cashier makes you, however much they might make you stop and think about what you’re really doing to yourself, you’re going to have me drive us through our usual date night cycle of fast food, aren’t you? You’re going to stuff burgers and tacos and fried chicken and ice cream and donuts and chips and candy bars into that blubbery sack of fat in your lap, and wash it all down with sodas and milkshakes and slushies until you look like a tick ready to pop and you’re barely coherent anymore. And then I get to have my real fun.

So you may as well make your peace with all this. Know that you’re not going to be able to make your future anything more than an endless round of trips through the drive-thru until, finally, you’re too porked-up even to get hauled around for that anymore. Until you’re almost unrecognizable as a person under a belly that’s heavier than most people. Until your arms and legs are so heavy with lard and bloated by your indulgence that you can barely lift them without help, let alone use them. Until there’s not a car left anywhere that’s wide enough for you to cram your dump-truck ass into. Until just sitting upright and staying awake is a workout that leaves you out of breath.

That’s when the food will start coming to you. I’ll miss our little outings like this, but having a date night at home will be a different kind of fun. The endless parade of delivery drivers, showing up every half-hour or so with enough from your favorite fast-food stops to feed a small party. I’ll be there to help you through the food coma, keep you focused and eating, even as you can feel the grease starting to flood your arteries and your breathing slow and your eyelids droop. Giving you all the stimulation you need to keep choking down more garbage and make it that much more impossible for you to do anything on your own again. Isn’t that what dates are supposed to be for anyway? Bringing you closer together as a couple? I don’t know about you, but I think it’s romantic.

Because we’re a team, and there’s nothing sexier than knowing I’m feeding you into the fattest version of yourself. Whether you like it or not.

[fatyote]

Freeing the flab after my doctor’s appointment

(Pay no mind to the food stains, oops)

[fatyote]

Doctor went well. They had to use a thigh blood pressure cuff to fit my arm, oops.

Food time 🤤

[fatyote]

I saw a tweet that said "Wolve//rine can lactate" and I got inspiration to draw this

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Someone allowing you the privilege to help them grow fatter is such a romantic gesture and should be talked about more, feedism is such a romantic and caring kink