squishy-squish-deathfeeder

[squishy-squish-deathfeeder]

To be serious

Howdy guys, this is the account operator, W. I know posting has been far and few in-between as of late and I'd like to apologize for the zero interactions.

So allow me to explain, seeing as I've gotten quite a few ask in my inbox.

I work and go to college full time. And at the moment, I'm currently undergoing testing and screening for cancer to see if that's what's affecting my health, as well other disorders. As one can imagine, this doesn't leave much time for this blog. So I ask that you wonderful followers please be patient and I'll get to posting new content when I can.

[squishy-squish-deathfeeder]

Knights

Noble and proud and strong~ gallivanting until a filthy tavern maid gets her claws into them.

First it comes with the overflow of free drinks, free hearty meals for a sweet, charming suitor for his jousting victory.

Then comes the creaking of armor that strains to fit over his massively overstuffed belly. Red and angry folds of jiggling fat, filling out every speck of space in his plate mail. Skin and cellulite rising like dough fitting into a pan, as he's forced to have stew and thick cakes shoved into his helm. It'll be eat or suffocate thanks to his face plate forcing his bulbous thick neck fat into his entrapped face.

It ends of course, with a knight so grotesquely obese his armor is uselessly bursted aside. He's crushed his favorite stallion, and for every report, his gargantuan ass must be pitifully rolled into court for all to see. A blob, a ball of pure lard, whimpering and wheezing for breath before his lord. Unable to utter a plea for mercy before his lungs are crushed beneath hundreds of pounds of greedy blubber and a team of horses has to pull his body away to an extra large sarcophagus. ❤️ 🏰🐎

[squishy-squish-deathfeeder]

Hello everyone!

I'm making this post to get a few things straight about my lovely blog and to answer a few things I've been getting asked lately.

I do in fact have a partner, while he doesn't endulge in my fetishes he's the love of my life and I don't use this blog to actively seek out a partner.

This blog is an outlet for fantasy based fetishes and while I enjoy the premises and such, I don't intend to actively harm anyone irl. Or take things past pornographic material.

I rarely respond to direct messages due to the two answers above, that and irl I do work several days a week. So I apologize to anyone expecting timely responses that aren't from the Asks section.

My fetishes include.

- Male death feeding

- forcefeeding/ unwilling male feedism

- belly bursting (permanent death ideally)

- mpreg/rapid male preg

-bdsm/ bondage

- tubefeeding

- healthplay

- immobility issues

My no- nos for fetish material include

-inflation (such as food, liquids, at a realistic level never that whacky balloon nonsense)

-females. (Just not my cup of tea.)

- minors in any way shape or format.

- slobishness/skat or bukaki

- flatulence

I hope this helps give some exposay to my blog. If anyone has anymore questions regarding these limits please feel free to send an ask.

[squishy-squish-deathfeeder]

Is it too much to ask, that a man gets so hopelessly, grotesquely fat that his bulging stomach folds cover his legs, and his juicy, bulbous moobs threaten to smother him any time he lays flat. To have him gorge on so many of my sweet decadent treats his enormous, cellulite ridden body begins crushing his organs. Or that his heart feels like it's going to burst beneath hundreds of pounds of lard. Or that every wheezed breath he takes oozes with grease and melted cheese I've forced down his whining throat. Drowning out his begs for me to stop.

Is that really too much to ask?

[squishy-squish-deathfeeder]

Medical expertise

Cw: health play and sadistic feeder

I have recently adored the thought of a health care worker being a feeder. I’d imagine an insanely sadistic doctor who is hell bent on making you as unhealthy and massive as possible. They start you off by offering to curate a meal plan for you maybe not disclosing that they want you to gain. As you notice the changes they insist that exercise isn’t necessary for the meal plan to work. You begin to gain weight and complain and they reassure you that they love your new size and hint that they almost like it more. They steadily update your plan to keep you growing nice and plump as you stay complacent and well fed.

After a while they tell you just a bit of their plans and whip out the funnel for the first time and now you’re in standard feedism territory. Getting fed more and more often and with bigger doses. You notice a diet change with more vegetables in it which your large piggy self obviously complains about but they assure you it’s for the best because what they’re not telling you is that vegetable increase stomach capacity. Your lack of exercise begins to catch up to you and you rely on them more and more. They begin to decrease your protein so your muscles weaken and are replaced with succulent lard.

You don’t even realize that your body has been carefully curated to be as useless as possible. You don’t even notice as your autonomy slips away. They have curated a diet that directly contradicts everything they’ve learned about keeping a person healthy. Your lard begins to slow you down at around 400 but god it feels like it’s got to be way more. They take you in as a special patient which of course means mandatory bed rest. You switch to a pure liquid diet consisting of lard ridden weight gain shakes that seem to get heavier every time.

They begin to experiment with your intake toying with your massive body as if you’re nothing but a test to them. You don’t even notice as your shakes basically become pure empty calories. You don’t even move anymore and gosh your body is getting hard to operate. You only ever use your fat hands to play games but even then you do it less and less due to their insistence that you focus on your feedings.

Eventually your body fills the large sized medical bed you’re in. Your gut spills off and your limbs don’t lift. Your mouth is constantly filled with weight gain shakes and you haven’t stopped eating in ages. You’re hooked up to oxygen tubes and a heart rate monitor and constantly complain about how tight your chest feels. They always just silence you and say “shush my little pet you agreed to let me ruin your health. Plus I think you can handle a few hundred more pounds before you can’t take it anymore”

[squishy-squish-deathfeeder]

I just cant get these bouncy moobs out of my mind. <3

[squishy-squish-deathfeeder]

I got an extreme fantasy for ye:

By the time I’m 900 pounds, you’d have long since set my fate in stone. It was clear for anyone to see. A breathing tube always pumping air into me now that my massive moobs crush my lungs. A tube that connects to my far deep buried cock under my fat pad and belly that will suck me off every so often when you want to watch me squirm in my prison of lard I can a body. My bulging, useless legs so grotesquely fat you can’t tell where my thick becomes my calve, come to a massive nub where you amputated my feet. Long before immobility, you made sure I’d never leave, the world is oh so dangerous, much too scary for a weak pathetic fat boy. I’m safer inside, with you. Why would I need feet if I don’t need to leave? You reasoned. You thought it was cute telling people it was because of Diabetes, but they still thought it was strange how much excitement was in your eyes as you explained it.

For a time now, you’d already been looking online. sometimes you’d hook up my feeding tube, pump me full on mind softening drugs and lay on my sprawling body, scrolling through accounts, finding good candidates. You’d tell me about them. Where they are starting, you’d read their posts, their little horny writing about how badly they want to be fattened to the size you’ve made me. You’d show me their beginner bellies and starting weights. Comparing them to my start points and old photos. I think you enjoyed seeing the rush of emotions that flashed in my eyes as you showed me my coming replacements before the drugs kicked in and my eyes relaxed into lazy glazed over gazing into space.

You move him in, and introduce me to him. From that moment, I’m nothing but a sideshow pet locked in this room. You spend your time with him, keep me pumped with intense gainer shakes and drugs. In your mind I might be more of a pet, or a farm animal you passively keep, waiting for the right time. But I kept growing and growing and growing. After you shave me bald and keep me naked, I become a total pile of incomprehensible lard. My mind to numbed and rotted I’m barely even conscious or sentient. I sit quietly in my room verging on a weight you can’t wait to find out after I’m gone, but clearly well over 1000. When suddenly my heart monitor will ring out loudly, rapidly increasing. Gurgling choked muffled coughs ring out from my tube stuffed mouth. You and my replacement rush in knowing it’s time. Finally! My body convulses what little it can under the crushing weight, my eyes still glazed over and emotionless despite the pain, it feels like my heart is swelling. Pressure everywhere, in my skin from the fat, in my stomach from the shakes, on my lungs from my moobs, my heart from everything. His cock bulges in his pants and you breathe rapidly with excitement. In a mad rush of sexual rage, you both begin to fuck each other on top of me. I feel my heart rush faster and faster from both your weight now on me as the funnel seemed to almost rush more shake into my choking mouth. In my ears all goes quiet but for a building thump, thump thump, thump, almost on cue, matching the rhythm of you madly riding his cock, already half buried in a developing fat pad. And as if on cue from both of your intense orgasms, my heart erupts in my chest as we all finish.

And after im done, and you’ve had your fun with me, all emotional connection to me is gone as I’ve fulfilled what you wanted for me. He clears out as you take a moment to marvel at my massive motionless form. All your hard work paid off. And now for the profit. You climb up on top of me and give me one final kiss on the flabby cheek and reassure me that I won’t go to waste. Your new pig has big shoes, or a big bed, to fill. You jiggle my rolls and grip one in your hands. Who knows how many calories are in there. How much lard. How much meat. You can finally try those special gainer shake recipes you’ve been wanting to feed someone. With that, you reach beneath my bed and pull out a large case of fine cutlery and get to work. Your new pig in the other room, jerking off already from how horny he is thinking about his future. He grabs a handful of, of his belly fat and jiggles it as his mouth waters hearing the ring of sharpening knives.

Such a glorious fatting story.. god~ a perfect piggy dream ripe for the making.

[squishy-squish-deathfeeder]

are pics allowed in dms?

While I do enjoy a lovely larder pic, I don't accept actual photos unless I can be sure the fatty in question is 18+ no minors are allowed here, darlings.

[squishy-squish-deathfeeder]

Oh fatty boys, please send me some asks on what I should do with your 800+ blubber mass bodies after Ive had my fun. The darker the better and the darkest might even get a surprise from me❤️🐄 🐮 🐖 🐷 🥓 🥩

[squishy-squish-deathfeeder]

I want to be put under house arrest until I reach 300 pounds. I want to be forcefully stripped at the end of every day of enforced nonstop feasting so that I can be groped and have my every measurement precisely noted.

Oooh a lovely idea for a naughty little hog boy.

You haven't finished your plates. You're starting to work out more and go on walks to your feeders dismay.

When they suddenly use their police networked job to torment you, one little slip about your stash of feasting weed and your fat ass is all theirs for the taking. Unable to escape the relentless fatting meals your cruel partner forces into you. Always saying, that once you reach 200.. then 300, then 400. Soon enough you're pinned to a mattress on the floor, weighed down by ungodly amounts of hedonistic cellulite and a heart so filled with fat it's crushing the air out of you.

And only once your tubby sausage like fingers couldn't so much as wiggle, does your law enforcement feeder clip your ankle monitor.

Cruelly telling you "you're free to go, hog".

[squishy-squish-deathfeeder]

Last night I got so stoned. I went to my dining hall and kept eating plate after plate, I was so full and turned on lmao. But it still wasn’t enough, I ended up taking a to go box back to my room with so much food packed in the box couldn’t close lmao. And later I chugged a quart of melted ice cream 😵‍💫🥵 I just want to get so much fatter!

Mmmh darling. That's utterly divine. However, you made one mistake.

Sitting there, stuffed beyond bursting your buried member ready to spew forth from how full that gelatinous stomach of yours is..

You shouldn't have left darling. You should've crammed even more into your gullet, so the whole cafeteria could marvel at how much of a glorious, blubber filled cow you've become. Grazing on everything there was to eat, leaving you whining and mooing for a bit of public milking. 🐄

[squishy-squish-deathfeeder]

oh @plumpybread!!! I absolutely love your work. I adore your delicious chubby boys, I can't help but admire how gloriously hefty and out of breath they are. Your skills are unmatched and I tip my bonnet to you darling!

Commission for donutdurgn on Bluesky!

[My November commissions are open! But only for furry content. If you're interested, my furry dedicated art account is Sunflare Fats 🔞 comms open (@sunflarefats.bsky.social) — Bluesky ]

[squishy-squish-deathfeeder]

Oh God this is making me drip. A fat blimp whining, crying for release as their feeder gently soothes them down despite their growing pain and discomfort. All the while shoving more and more down their gullet until the lard fills every single inch of give their skin can manage, then 🍾 💥

I'd you to an all you can eat buffet and just funnel feed you anything and everything. Forcing you to swallow continuously as your shirt buttons pop and your stomach lurches. Soon breaking the chair and pushing against the table as you continue to swell without an end in sight. We've finished with the appetizers and you're sitting on the floor. By the time we're done with the main course, you're a useless puddle of lard on the floor that I'm perched on the stomach of, telling you how good you're doing. By the end of desserts, you're practicing spherical, having filled out all that extra skin with milkshakes, cakes, brownies, cookies and so much more, all going as a slosh down your throat that you don't even bother to taste. When we get to the drinks, I hear your stomach groan in distress and I kiss your stress marks. You're practically a blimp, wobbling and barely keeping balance with pinwheeling arms that have all but sunk into your fat, the same can be said about your legs. The other patrons have all left, too scared or worried about your sheer girth that doesn't seem to want too stop expanding. You're practically the side of the room by now, and I'm sprawled out on your belly. As I crank the soda machine to dump it quickly into your guts, I watch your face turn a bright red as you choke and try to burp around some of the carbonation, but I rub what I can of your belly and ask you to hold on just a bit longer. By the time the funnel starts drying up and the hose is simply done, your stomach touches one end of the building and your swollen ass touches the other. For a moment, I think you're okay, so I kiss your cheek and tell you how good you're doing. But a distinctive gurgle and the sound of stretching skin tells us both that you're prime to pop....

It's been a few, but couldn't hold back in sharing this gem with the audience. These asks and fantasies make my days, it's so dang hot. 🔥🔥🐖 idc how extreme, tell me all about it 🥵

[squishy-squish-deathfeeder]

A very naughty thinking kaneki-kun. ❤️

evil sadistic rize bullying kane/ki will forever be a fave of mine to draw!!

[squishy-squish-deathfeeder]

Mmmmhhh soooo cuttteeee!

[squishy-squish-deathfeeder]

Truthfully, I always get asked what my goal weight is, and I never knew how to respond. Until now. My GW doesn't exist. I want my feeder to have total control over my body,my weight, how much I walk, what I think about. I would love to have the ultimate extreme feeder with little to no limits for me.

Control is what you're after.

A sweet, doting partner to straddle you and force delectable treats into your gullet till your belly's pinning you down like an anchor.

It's funny, you think you'll get to decide if you have a goal or not. When the only thing you'll be doing is choking down whatever your dom feeder whatever they put in front of you.

Hell, when you're the perfect hog there won't even be any thoughts in that lard smothered noggin of yours other than eating and how much your feeder can tease your buried member can take before it explodes, taking out your overworked, blobby body with it.

So good luck, and don't forget to swallow. ❤️ 🐖