#fat kink writing

[chubbyprincessbr]

A little belly play to you! 🐷🥰

Xoxo, your favorite latina fattie 🇧🇷🍔

[tummywrites]

you had the life. happy family, good grades, star of the softball and cheer team, eventually picked for your favorite sorority. every frat bro flirted with you, and every one of your sisters was jealous of you. you were a size 0, no one was skinner than you in your whole house and you knew girls envied you for it, you took joy in watching the fatties you were supposed to consider "sisters" run to the bathroom after dinners at the sorority house, the sounds of their puke hitting the toilet as they tried to purge, desperate for a body as perfect as yours. you meet a hot guy at a frat party one night, and he pours a few too many drinks down your throat and for the first time you're bloated: an unnatural roundness on your otherwise stick thin figure. you notice this and when you get back to your dorm room, drunk and stumbling and just barely able to make it into your bed and grab your vibrator, rutting your hips helplessly into your bed. your belly was so swollen, so full, and you could feel the liquid sloshing around in there, trying to making you sick, but all it did was make you horny.

why?

the next time you felt that feeling, it was at a tailgate and you were there with all your sisters & and their boyfriends, waiting for the game to finish so you could go to the frats and party. you got drunk again and this time you got hungry, so you walked over to the guy's side of the area and grabbed a slice of pizza, trying to avoid eye contact with your sisters nearby who you had overheard complaining about how "fat" they were getting (as they went from 100 to 110 pounds after spending every night partying, not eating all day and drinking all night) you laughed at those girls in your mind as you stood there in your size 0 slip dress, flaunting your body to the girls who fought to look like you. you devoured the first slice of pizza with that on your mind, and couldn't help yourself as you grabbed a second one, and with that, a few bread bites. you eyed the snack tray on the table, with baggies of chips and a cooler full of sugary sodas, but then you saw your Big sister glaring at you from across the room and you glanced down, recoiling in horror (and clenching your legs in arousal) your stomach was rounded out, pulling your dress tight across your belly in an almost obscene way. without a word, you grabbed your bag and stumbled off, embarrassed and drunk and so full, but so turned on for seemingly no reason. why would you be turned on by being so bloated from countless beers and greasy pizza, then being caught by one of the other girls there while you made a pig of yourself?

what sealed your fate was over christmas break, when your high school friends wanted to get together again and have a dinner party. you were still as thin as you had always been, but it lately you did feel a little resistance as you went to tug up your lulu pants which was unusual. your friends from high school, however, were not so lucky. your high school best friend had gained at least 40, maybe 50 pounds--a once skinny girl with a flat chest and stomach, now spilling out of a crop top and skirt, a muffin top cascading over the waistband of a skirt. your other friend, a once sporty guy who hadn't gained a day in his life, now walked in with a shirt that clung uncomfortably to his gut, which brought back that hot feeling in your pussy, your clit throbbing as you saw him, pot belly absolutely obscene to you. everyone brought a dish to welcome you home, and they all insisted you try each dish, then seconds, and thirds of this dish, this that one, and then try this one again--

good thing you had drinks.

by the end of the night, you were so nauseous you were convinced were you going to spew. you had ate so much, potato dishes soaked in heavy cream, the thickest mac n cheese you had seen in your life, cheesecakes, and at least 48 chicken wings, you had lost count after the first two dozen you had shoved down your throat in between cans of beer. you were seeing double, but you saw clearly the face your best friend was making as you chugged down another beer and before you could stop, there was a deafening pop! and the button on your jeans fell to the floor, bouncing off the cabinet and landing square in the center of the kitchen. you were so embarrassed, tears welling to your eyes. in a rush, you screamed for your friends to leave, refusing to listen to them as they tried to reason with you. after you kicked them out, you walked back into the kitchen, still crying and hot with shame, staggering as you try to bend over and grab the button that taunted you from the floor. you held it in your palm, then looked down at your belly, which was rounded out further than it ever had, and obscured your view of your feet as you glanced down, the movement sloshing all the countless cans of beer in you. your crop top couldn't hide the actual belly you were forming now, and you looked up to your reflection in the black tv. fuck. you looked pregnant. you looked at the cheesecake on the counter as you wiped your tears, one hand grabbing and the round gut spilling out of your jeans. you reached out for the tray, and without pausing ate the rest, not even bothering with silverware as you glutted yourself. before you could stop yourself, you had finished the whole cheesecake, then the rest of the mac n cheese, and then stumbled over yourself to grab the last two cans of beer, pouring them into a big cup together, throwing your head back in desperation as you drank both in seconds. you fall over chairs and tables to get over to the couch, belly so distended you let out a whimper whenever its jostled, and pass out there.

ten years later, you're 29 years old and stepping off the scale in front of your fridge. your mark your weight on the fridge, and open up while reaching for the closest bottle of wine. despite your attempts to lose weight, you've gained 15 pounds in the past month. you're 302 pounds, you wear a 4XL and a 24 in jeans, which are barely hanging on. your ass barely fits in the drivers seat of your car and your bed creaks when you lay on it. you've broken your computer chair so you moved a dining chair into your bedroom, but your thighs spilled over the side, so you had to give up the computer. you hadn't talked to most of your friends in years, probably not since new years after that christmas, where you first fell into your gluttony and addiction. you spent the rest of that break stuffing your face to cope with your feelings, and by the time you were supposed to back to school you were 30 pounds heavier and not a single item of clothing fit your growing body. you were 140 pounds, and the moment you stepped out of your car on shaky legs in front of your sorority sisters, you knew it was over. they all began to laugh, heaving and pointing in malice at the inches of overhang you had falling over your skirt, which was only zipped up halfway, covered by a shirt that looked like it was painted on. you dropped out within a few days and spent the days partying, drinking, and stuffing your face at the end of the night, rubbing your pussy until you came. you couldn't resist the feeling food gave you.

[indulgentjax]

when you’re fat and have been for a long time, it’s easy to forget how fat you are. how much space you actually take up. how you actually look to people outside of yourself.

that’s why it’s so hot to be told how fat i look. how big i’ve gotten. how huge i look sprawled out on the couch as i reach for another bite.

pat my belly and tell me how easy it is to see that i’ve grown. how you can tell that my belly is getting heavier as it hangs down lower. that when you see me walk by, you notice my ass jutting out just a little bit more. the way you’ve noticed a slight waddle as i walk to the fridge for another treat.

really, i do forget just how fat i am sometimes. don’t let me forget.

[growmydarling]

as you heave your heavy frame towards me, i gaze lovingly at the rolls and curves that make up your silhouette. plopping down on the couch, i watch as your body jiggles. my eyes are filled my fire, passion igniting within me at the sight of so much movement and so. much. fat. 'what do you wanna watch tonight?' you huff. you reach forward slowly to the coffee table, nuggets arranged in a huge pile with several sauces available for your dipping pleasure. 'you, honey.' i murmur in your ear, stealing a kiss on your cheek and grabbing your lower belly. 'i want to watch you eat.' you dig in. 'good piggy.'

[softartemisart]

temple to a god of hedonism that gradually changes those inside to best live lives of pleasure and feasting

if you visit once, and stay for only a few minutes, you might get out with only a little extra softness on your frame, easy enough to work off. if you stay for much longer, well...

theres a growing hunger in your stomach, despite not eating that long ago. but it's a temple to a god of parties and feasting - there's plenty of food available. the dishes only seem to grow more aromatic the longer you stand near them and, when you cave and try a mouthful, it's unbelievably delicious.

you're so taken with the taste, you don't notice what's happening to your body. your stomach bloats from your gorging, and then softens into a wobbling belly that tests the durability of your clothes, hanging lower and lower towards your thick thighs. leaning over the table for another plate, your ass sticks out behind you, round and cellulite-ridden. your figure is soft, swelling, a picture of indulgence.

and it's not long before the servants of this god come and show you another kind of pleasure. warm hands make contact with sensitive skin and you moan through mouthfuls of rich food. they guide you to a soft chair, lean you back, make sure your every want in this moment is fulfilled. one continues to feed you all manner of decadent desserts. several more attend to your body, removing the remains of the constricting clothes you entered in and then kissing, massaging, rubbing every growing, jiggling inch of you. your chest is squeezed, nipples toyed with. your gut is oiled and played with. once they're done teasing you, one hefts the blubbery mass up while another finally reaches between your legs.

the next day, you wake up in one of their luxurious beds, the most well rested you've ever been. you're free to leave, of course. but as the heavenly smell of breakfast finds your nose, you also notice the new set of temple robes at the end of your bed, inviting you to join their ranks

[bellyyearner]

Office life at 550+ lbs

Word count: 1061

Extreme obesity, mobility issues, work environment, feedee perspective

No gender mentioned POV

Being a working feedee is hard sometimes, especially when your gain slows down to a snails pace despite how much you've been eating. In the last 3 years you've only put on another 40lbs, but you have an easy job that pays the bills and allows you to live comfortably so you can't complain too much. The only part of this job you hate though, is the journey inside.

As you exit your car you can already feel the sweat forming between your rolls, it's been taking a few tries lately to stand up after swinging your hefty left leg out onto the concrete. You've even questioned if you should bring your car to the shop to check the suspension just in case your fat ass crashing back down onto the driver seat a half dozen times a day might be causing issues. At the very least you were thankful for your personal parking spot only being about 250ft from the elevator up to the office floor. Only 100ft from the buildings entrance and the cold AC running throughout the building.

And so you begin your slow pendulous waddle, thighs scraping against each other with every step, causing so much friction your jeans always have a distinct wear pattern only a couple weeks after buying them. One foot infront the other you waddle, repeating the laboured motion as your breath grows heavy and your belly slaps against the tops of your thighs. Halfway to the door now you hear the clicking of heels against the concrete, 2 interns whizzing by you without a word. You can't even imagine moving as fast as they do, or why they'd even want to move that fast in the first place. Your sense of urgency left you a couple hundred pounds ago.

Another 20 heavy steps later you reach the door, a mailman on the other side who was about to leave opens it for you, clearly staring at your mammoth size and brow covered in sweat. You make it inside and can barely catch your breath to say thank you before he's gone. The AC graces your hot sweaty skin and you feel relief, you spot your double wide chair HR had fought to get installed for you last year, and plop down on it with a huff. All there's left to do is catch your breath for a couple minutes, walk 60 steps through the lobby, turn right, walk 10 steps to the elevator, a minute of standing, and another 30 steps to your cubicle. Where you will then chow down on a couple snacks you brought and rehydrate before looking at spreadsheets and grazing on more food for 8 hours. A routine you had grown so accustomed to that it became second nature.

You look at the handle bar bolted into the wall and remember when you found it insulting, but now it was a necessity. Gripping the bar you start to stand hoping a second try isn't needed because of how many people were in the lobby. You can feel your heart quake and your knees whine but thankfully you hauled your lard laden ass off the seat in one attempt.

The second journey begins and the heavy waddle ensues, gut bouncing, thighs scraping, mouth open and breathing loudly enough that you're attracting attention. You try to ignore their stares but it's only fueling your appetite, already making a mental list of what you're going to grab from the vending machine once you get off the elevator. A few minutes later you round the corner and take the final few steps only to notice a sign on the elevator. You can't read it yet but you can feel your heart sinking already. It can't be right? They would've told you. They would've sent an email or a text. "Out of order".

Panic sets in, you can't climb 4 flights of stairs, you bought a one story house for good reason, you haven't had to climb more than a curb in years at this point. Your mind is growing frantic as you feel the burden your legs are under grow stronger, anticipating if you're really gonna be expected to climb the stairs.

Your phone buzzes, a text from Susy in HR

"Hey! I'm so sorry 'your name', this just happened like an hour ago and I totally forgot to tell you. The elevator is having some major issues and we don't know when it'll be fixed. I dug up that old paper work you filed 6 months ago about work from home and I'm gonna push it through asap! I've sent Lucy downstairs with a work laptop for you to bring home, just take a couple days off while we get all the paperwork in order."

Relief washes over you as you hear the distinct clicking of heels coming down the stairs. You steady your breath and try to seem unfazed, almost certain you look ridiculous.

Lucy: "Hey 'your name', here's your laptop and a cherry cola, figured you would need it before heading back to your car ;). You know I'm gonna miss seeing you around here, less stuff to talk about and no one to gawk at. You have my number so just let me know if you need me to come over to help you adjust"

A quick farewell and her heels were clicking back up the stairs, but all you could think about was how you're never gonna see the inside of that office again. With no where to go and no decency to be upheld there was no reason you wouldn't finally break 600lbs. You chug the Cola, wanting to make one final show for the coworkers and acquaintances you've made over the years, and start the final journey, one to immobility.

With a gassy belly swaying from side to side, your humongous thighs atop fattened lard laden calves carry you through the lobby one last time. Not even trying to hide your burps and groans you walk out of the building, skipping the chair by the door you once saw as a refuge. Thoughts of what takeout you're gonna get delivered and a quickly growing Walmart order forming in your mind as you slowly waddle through the parking lot one last time. All fueled by the dream of being an immobile work from home piggy

[tanuki-voice]

Obsessed with the idea of becoming a feedee hucow.

Dating someone with sinister intentions, they plump me up meal after meal, making me bigger. But then also at the same time, they're trying to make me dumber as well. Thinking for me so I don't have to, giving me a life where I don't have to do anything, I get to sit back, relax, and let them pamper me. They might even give me a bit of weed to get me high, make me dull and docile.

With this perfect environment, and all the feedings, they start putting emphasis on me being theirs, being their pet. They squish me after a big meal, show how they have control of my new, bigger assets. It feels so good, but instead of moaning, they ask me to moo for them instead. I oblige them, and they reward me for every time I do it. My mind feels so empty. There's nothing but being their fat little cow.

From now on, they start training me, rewarding me for little pavlovian actions designed to restructure my brain; eating a huge surplus of calories, using as little words as possible, mooing, letting them pretend to milk my chest, however they feel. But it's all too nice to refuse. It's too perfect to resist. As I keep getting fatter and more docile, I enjoy it all more and more.

I can just imagine myself, in their bed, 200+ pounds heavier and still growing, brain empty, in some adorable little cow print lingerie outfit they've bought me. I might even produce milk. So cute. So dumb. So perfect. No thoughts, only the compulsion to obey, and to be their fat little cow.

[tummywrites]

a nutty summertime "snack" for the calorie-addicted cows 🥜🐮

as if over 9000 calorie desserts weren't enough for you fatties, I have another recipe designed to widen that waist and pack your belly full of caloric, sinful sweets.

first, you have to get off your fatass and go to the store (or, have your groceries delivered, to save yourself some energy) and get the following ingredients.

1 pack of mega stuffed oreos (2520 calories)

1/2 cup of butter (800 calories)

24oz of cream cheese (2160 calories)

1 1/12 cup of powdered sugar (720 calories)

2 jars of peanut butter (or more, depending on how peanut-buttery you wanna go) (5320 calories)

3/4 cup of sour cream (if you want the cheesecake to have a little tang, but if not, do vanilla greek yogurt) (360 calories)

2 cups of chocolate chips (or more, again, your preference) (3520 calories)

1 cup of heavy whipping cream (800 calories)

1 family sized bag of reese's mini peanut butter cups (or more, again, your choice, fatty) (5070 calories)

this comes out to a disgusting, humiliating, repulsive 21,270 calories if you're so out of control that you can't help yourself, and stuff your fat face with every morsel of this cheesecake in one sitting.

I know you can't resist that type of gluttony, so here's how to make this sin:

listen to mommy carefully, okay?

first: make the crust

crush up the oreos to make the crust, either by hand or using a food processor until the oreos form a fine crumb texture. combine this with the 1/2 cup/8 tbsp melted butter. (if you want thicker crust, double this part. also adds an extra 3,320 calories) press this mix into the bottom of a pan that can be opened, like a springform pan. make sure you press it onto the side of the pan about 1/2-1 inch up, to add that delicious crust for the cheesecake. cover this and chill while you continue to the next step.

second: make the filling

get two bowls--in one, pour 1 cup of heavy whipping cream into the bowl and beat until the whipping cream forms stiff peaks. then, in the second bowl, beat the 24oz of cream cheese for 2-3 minutes on med/high, then beat in the 1 1/2 cups of powdered sugar until the mixture is smooth. at this point, make sure you add in your 2 jars of peanut butter, 3/4 cups of sour cream, and 1 tsp of vanilla extract and continue to beat the mixture until it is completely smooth. then, fold in the whipped heavy cream, some chopped up peanut butter cups and chopped up chocolate chips. (for extra calories, add chopped up peanuts as well.) spread this over the crust and place in the fridge for 4 hours, or until the cheesecake has gotten firm.

third: make the chocolate topping

grab yourself a bowl that can be microwaved, then pour 1 cup of heavy whipping cream into the bowl and place into the microwave for 30 seconds at a time, until the whipping cream has just begun to simmer. once it has reached this point, pour the whipping cream over chocolate chips, at least 1 bag. make sure these chocolate chips have been chopped up, so they will melt properly. after the mixture has set for a minute or two, whisk it together to ensure it is completely melted. let the mixture sit and cool for 5 to 10 minutes, and then pour the mixture over the chilled cheesecake and place back in the fridge for at least 30 minutes.

once it's set...

garnish with the rest of your peanut butter cups, chocolate chips, and, for extra calories, consider adding the following:

whipped cream

chocolate drizzle

caramel drizzle

peanuts

mini m&ms

remember, a moment on the lips is a lifetime on your hips, so savor every bite because it'll be with you for the rest of your life.

[indulgentjax]

an oreo snack

You crack open the bag of Oreos thinking you'll just have a few. You just want a taste. You've already eaten so much today, and you're trying not to overdo it…too much. These snacks need to at least last until tomorrow, and you're running out of them quickly.

You eat the first, trying to take your time, but it tastes so good. Before you're even done chewing the second, you're already greedily reaching for a third. The sensation of eating them is so delicious and fulfilling, you don't want it to end. And for that sensation to keep going, well…you have to keep eating. So you do.

You eat and eat, crumbs falling around you, gobbling almost mindlessly yet still casually aware of each cookie you eat until you've hit the end of the first row. You lick your fingers and take a deep breath in and out, feeling uncomfortably full. This is the way it usually goes. You know how much you're eating in the back of your mind, but the sense to stop simply isn't there. That must be where this swollen gut came from; the one that's hanging down, gently resting on the couch between your legs in front of you. Isn't it?

That belly, so soft and heavy, stuffed full so much of the time. The only way you know when to stop is when you're groaning and uncomfortably full, knowing full well that you can't possibly take anymore. But you know you're not there quite yet, there's still some room. You start on the second row.

As you make your way through the second row of cookies, you start to slow down a bit. Your belly is stuffed, and you let out a moan as you feel all that food stretch you out to feel so big and bloated. It's obvious how stuffed full you are - your shirt has slowly ridden up to expose your increasingly round gut. At this point, that last row of cookies feels like a stretch. It might be too much. But you can't help yourself - what's a few more?

You start on the last row, not knowing where you'll fit the rest of them in that big, full belly, stuffed to the brim. You're panting between bites now, so full that you're barely able to catch a breath. As you miraculously finish the last cookie, you fall back into the couch, the empty package as evidence of what you've done to yourself, unable to think about anything but how stuffed you are.

You put hands on your belly to relieve some of that pressure, starting to feel the relief as you rub and squeeze that aching gut. All of the sudden, you let out a huge burp and feel just a little of that bloated feeling fade. This time, no one was around to see you make such a pig of yourself or hear the embarrassing sound of your burp, but you hope maybe next time, someone will be.

[adiproseprose]

Here are some good goals for aspiring death feedee's [in an attempt at chronological order]

Drinking melted butter/ice cream/margarine/ranch dressing out of gluttony

so fat you develop a waddle

needing an oxygen cannula to breathe

unable to bend your arms due to how fat they are

heart palpations after you masturbate or have sex

your first reinforced bed

unable to make it up the stairs

belly smacking against your thighs when you walk

belly forces your thighs apart when you sit up in bed/on the couch

giving yourself diabetes

can no longer sit up on your own without being pinned by your massive tits/gut

cellulite on your face/the back of your neck

casual chest pains (while walking, lying in bed, eating taking a shit, etc.)

so wide you take up an entire couch

your first bariatric bed

too wide for a toilet/commode (bonus points if you already need a diaper)

your joints are too swollen to close

stretch marks look *angry*, violently red, borderline transluscent skin so you look like an adipose swollen balloon

unable to reach your pussy/cock anymore

reblog this with your own goals/goals you've hit already

[overstuffd]

thinking about all the amazing options feeders have to give their little piggies to drink

🥤sugar stuffed soda with plenty of carbonation to stretch your stomach to bursting point and then melt into a soft layer of blubber

🍺cold beer, lining your stomach with liquid carbs while making you light headed and easy to feed more salty treats to

🍦milkshakkeess extra thick gainer shakes with a slice of decadent cake blended in with with the icecream and heavy cream

☕coffee filled with cream and extra, extra syrup, topped with more cream and chocolate drizzle. an extra shot of espresso or two to get you craving more and more cups a day

🧃sugary juices i persuade you as a still-in-denial cutie are the healthy choice, plying you with thousands of calories of sugary sweetness on a hot day and agreeing whenyou say you have no idea why your pants are getting so tight

[cheeseburgersinparadise]

y’all I’m just so obsessed with hot fat guys eating too much and burping I don’t know what else to tell you 

[adiproseprose]

You expect to wake up to your alarm; maybe your partners arm slinking over your waist, the cat pressing itself into your space. Any of your normal indicators that it's time to wake up.

What you don't expect, however, is to feel the thick underside of a gut brushing against the bottoms of your knees, an unfamiliar dip in your sofa, normally vacant space on the couch filled in by a wide, soft expansion of...you.

The second thing you feel is something cold and wire-like being squeezed by the unfamiliar folds of your throat, coupled with cold air shooting into your nose. You reach with with a newly bloated hand, fingers tight and tingling with a numbness you recognize via hours of horny scrolling through diabetes symptoms pages. You shudder as you pull a sweat greased cord to a nasal cannula from your third or fourth chin, huffing slightly. Most likely from holding your arm up past your chest for longer than a few seconds for the first time in God knows how long.

You move onto to the main issue; hands travel down, sausage fingers wrap themselves around your third to last love handle, right under your saggy f-cups, breathing unconsciously growing harder as you wobble one of your many new slabs of meat. You smooth your hands over your belly, a pale white apron taking up your entire lap, now the size of a park bench and about as soft as a bowl of cool whip, stiff peaks melted down to a flabby mess and dripping off your thighs, burying your crotch and a swollen fupa.

You hold your arms out in front of you, cellulite and blubber dripping off of them as you think about all the times you prayed for this. Fantasizing with weighted suits, peeping at larders in public, eyes closed, hands down your pants as you wondered what it would be like to carry all of *this*. Now you're here, taking up your entire sofa, barely able to turn your blubber packed neck, wheezing from just hardly shifting your arms up and down. Amble pockets of stretch marked flab ripple across your arduous form. There's only one question that wracks your mind after you've half-processed your new reality-

"Good morning, larder."

He strolls in, grease stained plain white box wider than his shoulders gripped in both hands. You inhale through your nose, instinctively starting to scoot over to make room for him on the couch before your fluid-logged hip crashes against the arm. The act leaves your already corroded joints sore and your mouth sucking for air like a fish. He makes eye contact with you like a predator does a wounded boar. "Babe," You wheeze, the ensuing *What's going on, etc etc* cut off by a cream filled doughnut shoved past your lips. Your chins press against your throat and jiggle against your collar bone as you chew it in two big bites, taking it down your throat and sucking the white cream filling off his finger. Gulping it down leaves you panting for breath and he cuts off your struggle with a kiss, groping your right blubberous tit. You close your eyes and reach for another doughnut. Maybe you'll be fatter when you wake up...

[javierpena-inatacvest]

What if I told you I was ovulating like a horny monster and wrote a one shot breeding kink for Joel Miller and will probably be done with it today WHAT THEN HMMMMMMM?!!??!