msfeedeekat

[msfeedeekat]

This User is a Strong Supporter of the Obesity Epidemic

[msfeedeekat]

[msfeedeekat]

i just think an ER date sounds really cute

you can push me around in my cute little bariatric wheelchair & order me takeout after the doctors tell us that i'm killing myself with lard <3 nothing more romantic than knowing what all your loving & doting is doing to my body

[msfeedeekat]

[msfeedeekat]

tell me how pretty my pussy is while you eat it like you're starving.

[msfeedeekat]

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.

[msfeedeekat]

One of my favorite things about someone getting fatter is having to adjust how you fuck them.

Sure a 100 pounds ago hell maybe even just 50 pounds they could still hold up their own legs while you fucked them, but now it’s near impossible for them since each leg weighs almost as much as a average built person.

When giving them head you used to be able to reach more of them but with how fat they’ve gotten you find yourself burying your face even deeper into them suffocating yourself against them just in any attempt to get even the slightest taste of them.

Them riding on top is a workout all on its own, once they get on top the way you can already feel their heavy breathing just feeling the way their belly heaves up and down against your chest, you know that even when you’re pinned underneath them like this they don’t have the stamina to fuck themselves like they used to, so try as you will you somehow still have to thrust up into them.

It’s so hot that they’ve become so fat that one of the few things they can still do which is be fucked has even now become a struggle for them, but even with the struggle you and I both know they wouldn’t change a single thing about it, as long as they’re still getting fucked like the fat fleshlight they are they’re going to enjoy every second of it.

[msfeedeekat]

I need more hot asks like this

You are not a person. You are a process.

A biological protocol where every excess calorie is no longer a pleasure, but a brick. Every meal is no longer a choice, but the execution of a directive inscribed in your code.

Your body is not a body. It is a construction site. The fat does not 'hang' or 'blossom'. It expands. It colonizes. It rewrites your geography, inch by inch, erasing the memory of bone and muscle beneath its inexorable advance.

Your hunger is not a desire. It is a system error you mistake for will. An infinite loop that compels you to provide the raw material for your own, slow burial in flesh.

My role in this is not to 'feed' you. That is the work of a farmer. I am the architect. My task is not to make you feel 'full' or 'loved'. My task is to observe the perfect execution of the project and to make you inevitable. A mass. A gravity. A physical law.

The process is already underway. You just have to stop pretending you can control it.

This is so hot

[msfeedeekat]

My words make you feel amazing about yourself, my words enable you, they show you the real you, show you things you see but that you don't notice, my words kill the doubt and show you your own obesity in its true colors, the possibility of no regret about being what you're meant to for, being that one that truly eats a lot, that extremely fat one that just keeps gaining more, being Obesity itself.

My words are meant to resonate with the deepest layers of your lard, they give you permission to gorge till you can't breathe, over and over again. My words make you feel the fattest of them all, while they make you feel like the thinnest you will ever be.

My words ignite the burning desire to eat and gain more, they are the sound of that cheese dripping of your burger, the rush you feel when you lose control over your sweets and can't even think but just revel in how huge they're gonna feed your rolls and grow more pure fat.

My words will turn you on, so helplessly obese and hungry you will have to gorge.

My words will make you fatter.

[msfeedeekat]

Heart of Lard / 1

He kissed her, in the dark.

He grabbed the rolls of fat on her back, which with the last forty pounds she gained had started to hang down, covering her hips. He hugged them in some way she couldn't explain, as if they had fattened right under his hands. It made her feel enormous, and small, all at the same time. And oh, how all of this ignited in her the urge to get even fatter.

"What happened?" she asked, with a breath of a voice, her heart racing. "I'll leave you some time to chew on it," he said, pulling another bag out of nowhere. "Open it later, I have to go now."

And she didn't have time to realize how she'd been left practically motionless, not until her obese, weak legs brought her back to reality. She would have to drag herself to the bedroom, but not before grabbing some snack cakes and the Nutella, struggling to move through the house from the overwhelming fullness after that evening. "Did he force me or did he encourage me?" she kept repeating to herself in front of the mirror, as if to cover the image of his gaze, a gaze that kept returning to the memory of every bite she had taken, and the taste it had left in her mouth.

Every remembered bite seemed to vanish into her taut stomach after the stuffing. She was getting turned on, sitting in front of that mirror that had watched her double chin explode, ten pounds at a time. She felt huge, she felt like a woman; the weight of her satisfied, obese belly, the straps of her bra sinking deep into the fat. And as she brushed her hair, she uncovered her shoulders. They had never seemed so fat to her, and she was overcome with the desire to feel his hands grabbing them again, but how could he have even managed?How did he manage to pick on so much lard, it surprised and embarrassed even me, she told to herself, and fuck, he noticed. "I see perfectly well how you move." Same old bullshit. "And it's all too easy, considering how little you clearly move at all." Asshole. She repeated it to herself and shoved the last snack cake from the packet into her mouth, just so she wouldn't smile, breathing heavily, her blood sugar skyrocketing, as she reached for her rabbit. The phone vibrated. "Good girl," the notification said. And she chewed and gulped down with even more fervor, relentlessly.

[msfeedeekat]

Trapped

You were trapped. Not in a conventional sense by any means, quite the opposite in fact. For all intents and purposes you were however, stuck. You were free to go of course at any time but that wasn't quite the problem was it. You would stare at the mirror in front of you and admire the figure that lay there. Sometimes you truly wondered how that it could be yours, the soft cascade of rolls that filled the bed, the cute dimpled oversized thighs that hung over the sides of the mattress and the lard laden arms pinned at an angle to your corpulent frame. Everyone has always loved your belly of course but you couldn't help but intensely admire the rest just as much. Deep down you knew this was you though. Despite the rapid changes you had put yourself through this was still your body.

You had done this to yourself really. Sure there was your feeder, so sweet, doting and lovingly manipulative that they would make sure there wasn't a moment you weren't full. There's no blaming them, not really - after all it's just in their nature to want you as big as possible. For you however, this was a choice. A choice to fill yourself day after day with everything put in front of you and then some. You couldn't help but think how good that funnel nozzle felt in your mouth as you desperately filled yourself, in a near constant rhythm. Stuck, in a vicious cycle formed from your own gluttonous urges.

I suppose you can't be blamed, not entirely at least. You've always known this was going to happen. That near-primal, animalistic desire to fatten yourself beyond all sense and reason just for the pure hedonistic bliss it gives you, it's never really stopped has it? Oh you've tried to forget about it before, live a normal life and move on but there was always something missing. An itch that just couldn't be scratched and each time you delved in you came out more depraved than before until finally, you gave in. That dichotomy was never truly there for you was it, you were just pretending you had moved on. You knew that each time you pushed those thoughts down they would resurface stronger than ever. It's not your fault of course that you caved, but the addictive lack of control…well that's a different matter entirely. You've had all that time to consider this, every waking moment spent focusing on growing you were accepting that this was your purpose, your destiny. And here you are, lying in a bed encased in a sensual beautiful prison of your own making, purposefully trapped, by a design of your own making only ever wanting more.

[msfeedeekat]

It doesn't stop

You don't stop

You don't get to stop

You can't stop

You won't stop

Those are the words that flow through your head every time the funnel touches your lips and you are filled with that soft creamy fattening liquid you've become so used to. It's become a basic need at this point. It doesn't matter what it is, so long as that funnels in your mouth you suckle it down. It's almost as if you've been trained to do it, well I guess you have in a way but I can't blame you. I made sure there was always an incentive. You always finished it, one way or another.

Now it doesn't matter, the damage has been done as you associate that sensation with a deep primal pleasure. You used to get excited just seeing the funnel appear, the tube placed carefully between your lips and just that slight hint of danger as you started. Knowing what you are doing to yourself by accepting this, thinking how much damage you are doing to your poor figure - and the excitement of feeling like you can't turn back.

Well now you can't, you're addicted. Not as in you are addicted to other things, like your silly little videos you melt your brain with or the thrill of buying yourself 'little' treats to snack on. I mean truly addicted. It consumes your every waking moment, that feeling. It encompasses your whole being, it's part of you. That deep animalistic desire to grow, no matter what. Whatever it takes, I used to tell you and you would greedily suck away and nod, as if it were some kind of game. But this is it piggy, there's no going back from this. It's consumed you. You'll beg and writhe and moan if you don't get your fix, conditioned like a little pet who is more than eager to sacrifice everything for just another taste. Your figure,your social life your mobility and even your health just to give in to your deepest, aching desire.

That's why you won't stop. Because you've lost all control. It's a crippling wanton need to grow more soft lard that controls every thought in that fat addled brain of yours, if there's even a thought in there more than just 'more'. Stuck in a constant mix of pleasure and regret as you slowly sink further into morbid obesity.

You never want to stop

[msfeedeekat]

The rest of your life

warning: dark morbid themes with this one so if not your thing stay away

You open your eyes to that dripping sound again. A slow steady drop that pulsed into head and matches the ponderous heartbeat you feel in your chest. You know it's either the insulin or the remnants of shake in the tank above your bed. Oh how you hoped for the latter. A sugary, greasy taste lingers in your mouth as you sluggishly raise your head, looking up towards your feeding tube hanging tantalisingly above you. Instinctively, almost without thought you move your head toward the nozzle of the funnel, carefully placed just in reach. You could still technically move your arms but anything more than trying to lift those plush lard filled sacks you call your upper arm leaves you wheezing and breathless. This was much easier anyway. It was second nature at this point, years of sucking down fattening slop had meant you have almost perfected the art of it, if it could be called art. As you suckle the remnants of the shake, you lift a hand up and rubbed your chest, it always got tight when the taste of the cream filled concoction hits your lips and you can feel the rhythmic thump speed up as you run a hand across the single tally mark tattooed on your chest like a badge of honour.

It was funny really, you'd never meant to get this big. You'd always craved it though - deep down. Pushed it away, forced yourself to be normal. It just came back stronger though every time. Every indulgence, every sweet treat, every sneaking glance at the calories you've inhaled. Your secret. Not that it can ever be anymore. Your bloated frame cant fit a bedsheets, let alone clothes. No hiding the hedonistic corpulence that overtook you.

You utter pig.

There's no turning back, there never was and you know it. You are as much to blame as anyone, you're no better than fattend livestock at this point and you relish that. Every milestone a trophy to your greed, your addiction. Your gut hanging past your knees, oxygen cannula to waddle, your final steps. You live for it, as much as you can call being an immobile lard pile living. It's your purpose.

You exist to grow.

So here you lay, entrapped by your own pathetic bloated frame BEGGING for more. More fat, more food, more soft piggy lard. An addicted sow that just can't help themselves. Each limit reached and pushed beyond , each feeding session requiring more and more and more. No matter what it takes you will grow. Faster, heavier, fatter. This is the rest of your short fattend life pig, so get comfortable because we have only just begun.

[msfeedeekat]

You are not a person. You are a process.

A biological protocol where every excess calorie is no longer a pleasure, but a brick. Every meal is no longer a choice, but the execution of a directive inscribed in your code.

Your body is not a body. It is a construction site. The fat does not 'hang' or 'blossom'. It expands. It colonizes. It rewrites your geography, inch by inch, erasing the memory of bone and muscle beneath its inexorable advance.

Your hunger is not a desire. It is a system error you mistake for will. An infinite loop that compels you to provide the raw material for your own, slow burial in flesh.

My role in this is not to 'feed' you. That is the work of a farmer. I am the architect. My task is not to make you feel 'full' or 'loved'. My task is to observe the perfect execution of the project and to make you inevitable. A mass. A gravity. A physical law.

The process is already underway. You just have to stop pretending you can control it.

This is so hot

[msfeedeekat]

He loves reminding me how huge I am

[msfeedeekat]

Besides immobility, do you have a hottest sexual fantasy in mind. I’d absolutely adore using all of your heavy, soft blubber as I please, but I’m sure you have something hotter in mind <3

I want to be 1000lbs

[msfeedeekat]

Your legs look amazing! And your skin looks like it's in excellent condition for your size! Do you have any tricks to avoid sores forming? I bet you have an amazing waddle when you do walk!

Im immobile but my mom keeps me very lotioned and clean to help my skin