#wg writing

[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

[love-and-pastries]

I have this friend that I haven't seen in a year. Last time I saw them, they were skinnier than me and barely ate when stopping by. They didn't ask for snacks or anything to eat unless I was already planning on eating something. That's all fine and good, but I saw them again after about a year...

They had clearly put on at least 100 pounds, potentially 150, and I know it sounds like I'm exaggerating, but I assure you that I'm not. When the couch barely made a sound before, it creaked and groaned against their weight. When they had no issues getting around, going up the stairs left them out of breath. When the floorboards were silent with their footsteps, they now stepped heavily around the house with the boards creaking loudly underneath them. Even their clothes, which had to be new, were struggling against their overstuffed belly.

The first thing they did was ask me for something to eat, so I gladly made them ramen. They requested two packets and a soft-boiled egg, and I gladly provided. After their meal, they asked for snacks, so I willingly gave them whatever they wanted - all that I had. They finished an entire box of cheezits and a half of a second box. They also finished half a box of cookies. They wanted hot chocolate to go with this, so again, I provided, making sure to add extra whip cream and small marshmallows. As much as I tried not to, I found myself sneaking a glance at their shirt that was now riding up on them slightly as their belly hung over their pants.

They told me they were still hungry and somewhat reluctantly asked if I had anything left to eat. I happily agreed and made a full pizza, not expecting to eat a single bite of it myself. I brought the pizza over to the kitchen table, and they took a seat, the wooden chair creaking loudly as they did so. After I added some extra cheese on top, they took a slice and quickly devoured it. Then they took another, and another. I kept them talking as they ate, somewhat of a distraction, and before they realized it, they had eaten the entire pizza. I could tell their pants were barely clinging to them, and it was clear their shirt was riding up much more than it had been before. They looked stuffed, and I could see a look in their eyes that said, "If I eat any more, I'll pop."

Their stomach, however, disagreed with their comfort and growled. Clearly embarrassed, they tried to play it off, but I knew better. I grabbed them a dessert - a tub of strawberry ice cream, a small slice of chocolate cake, ice, extra sugar, a bit of cinnamon, and a half pint of heavy cream. I pulled out my blender and made a delicious and thick milkshake. How many calories it was, I can't exactly say, but I had to be a good host to my starving friend, no? I couldn't let them go hungry.

I handed them a glass of the drink, and, hesitantly at first, they started politely drinking, but as they continued, their polite sips turned into desperate gulps, as if they hadn't drank anything in ages. They chugged the drink down - one glass became two, and two became three, and so on until the drink had been finished entirely. Their breathing was a bit more labored as they sat, seemingly pinned to their chair by their weight, and with one final gulp of their glass, the button on their pants flew off, and their belly spilled out of the far-too-tight jeans. They were extremely embarrassed, but of course, I reassured them, letting them know that it just meant there was more room to eat their fill.

As their belly hung out, filled to the brim with food, it growled, begging for more. My friend's expression said that they could barely handle more, but their stomach clearly had other ideas. With a polite smile, I asked, "Are you still hungry?"

[fatguarddog]

A devil's pact that will allow you to eat as much as you want, whenever you want for a whole year with no consequences. The perfect representation of your eyes being bigger than your stomach... though not big enough to read the fine print

You start out simple. You don't gorge yourself too much, just having a little extra food here and there. But then more people seem to just give you food, or offer it for free somehow. Co-worker's birthdays, extra sides turning up in delivery orders... soon you just became accustomed to eating more and more all the time while still maintaining your slim figure

Soon enough, it became thrilling. Eating the most insane portions at fast food places just to brag about how it never hit your waistline. Having a dozen donuts for lunch at work just because you could. Snacking non-stop for the pure pleasure of eating... all the while the devil you made the pact with sits and waits with a grin on their face

The last hour of your pact finally rolls around and the devil appears to you, conjuring you a celebratory feast to be your last "guilt-free" meal. Full of hubris, you dig in excitedly, completely fixated on gorging yourself to savor every last bite of the delicious spread. You get so absorbed in your eating that you hardly notice when the hours passes and the devil's eyes light up

You lurch back with a gasp as something warm and strange takes hold inside of your stomach. Your belly feels so tight, tighter than it's ever felt before... and it's pushing forwards, surging out with waves of softness. Your body is blowing up in real time with the fattening consequences of everything you ate all year, all at once. You plead with the devil with your eyes, but he only laughs as he produces your contract and makes you re-read the line stating that exactly this would happen. You're utterly helpless as your entire body balloons with sweet seductive softness, the devil touching and enjoying each new curve and roll as it forms on your expanding body. He's even kind enough to keep feeding you more from the feast as you're practically beached by all the new weight, not yet used to the feeling of being so fucking huge

The gain finally settles, your clothes destroyed and your face flush with embarrassment. The devil gives your immense belly a satisfying pat and jiggle as you moan. Next time you'd read the contract more carefully

[indulgentjax]

You're really not that small anymore. You used to be, but clearly my eating habits have rubbed off on you. When you walk in the room, you look sturdy and soft at the same time - to me, you've never looked better. But somehow when you're under me, you still look absolutely tiny. Probably because I'm three times your size now. Where your belly is small and barely hanging yet, mine cascades out from my body in waves ending in a low hang. Where your thighs are strong with a bit of tone, mine are overflowing with fat, starting to form rolls of their own.

As I begin to straddle you and struggle to heft myself on top, it becomes clear just how much bigger I've gotten. My thick thighs practically engulf your hips as I adjust all of my bulk in just the right way, to make sure you can really feel it. I feel so powerful here.

It used to be that my belly would hardly graze yours when I was up here. Now? It hangs and weighs heavily and reaches all the way out to your chest. I watch it fall and drape over your chest on either side, engulfing you. I wonder how it feels to be you, underneath all this heavy softness that you helped create. You know that with each pound you gain, you're inching closer to having a body like mine, and the thought turns you on. The fatter I get, the more powerful I become, and the more I help you to do the same.

You reach for the box of donuts on the bedside table with one hand and poke a finger deep into my belly with the other. "Did you work up an appetite after working so hard to get on top of me?" I nod sheepishly in response. You know how much deeper your finger has started to sink over these past several months, how each bite you've watched me take has slowly added to create this enormous belly. And you want to see it grow even more so your finger can sink even further to all that soft, squishy fat.

You lift the first soft, perfectly glazed donut to my lips, and I take a bite. Delicious. I see it on your face, you love watching me enjoy every bite. Savoring at first, and then eating faster and faster, unable to stop myself from what tastes so good. As I eat, crumbs and bits of glaze fall down onto my belly and onto your chest - a complete picture of true gluttony. I catch a bit of glaze with my finger, bring it to your lips, and let you have a taste. You smile as the sweetness hits your tongue, and you can't wait for me to crack open the second box. That one is all yours.

[ilovesquishybits]

I love a good jiggly belly as much as the next guy, but can we take a second to appreciate the rest of the body?

The appearance and softening of man boobs (or the expansion of lady boobs). I just want to kiss and squeeze and jiggle and play with those little (or not-so-little) pouches of jello. I can't describe the joy it brings me to be able to squish and hold a warm boob of any gender.

Love handles deserve love too. On someone smaller, it's this little surprise bit of squishable fat, contrasting against the comparatively hard back. And it's just the perfect shape to grab and pinch and rub. And as they grow, it becomes more voluptuous, giving their silhouette this curviness that makes it just so enticing and tempting to rub and kiss.

I really can't forget thighs either. Thick thighs that tremble with every step... The rounded curve as you trace the inner thigh from knee to hip and how it especially bulges out near the top of the inner thigh. No matter your size, that top inner thigh always has just the most delightful bit of fat, almost like a second love handle. But it becomes more glorious as the thighs thicken and that bit expands into a mound and the mounds touch and kiss each other with every step. You can just sink your face into those thighs, sticking yourself right into that soft little crevice and burying your face in their lap pillow.

But really, fat anywhere on the body is adorable. As your body pads itself, triceps become jiggly, calves become squishy; the double chin and the burgeoning back rolls appear... Even the hands and wrist become less bony and softer to hold. When you're holding hands and interlocking your fingers, you don't have to worry about your fingers getting sore from bone-to-bone contact.

Again, I love belly pics as much as anyone, but I would LOVE to see more attention given to man boobs, love handles, thighs, etc. Because I want to love and worship every inch of your pudgy body. Every bit deserves to be played with, kissed, and admired. Every squishy bit drives me wild.

[420faggyactivities69]

I have always been into feedism. The big, soft, jiggling tummies just always did it for me and after gaining weight on accident I decided fuck it, why not join in on the fun.

After all, I have a lot of self control, I can always just stop and loose the weight if I don't like it...

So I stuffed myself for the first time. And the second time. And the third time. And soon enough eating because I'm bored became the standard. I didn't notice it at first but slowly I was blowing up.

My clothes started to fit more snuggly than they used to, my thighs started touching, stretch marks appeared on my hips, what was once a flat tummy now had a considerable softness to it.

It made me horny beyond belief. Days off were spent doing nothing but stuffing myself silly and masturbating. On all fours, a pillow under me and between my legs, and the image of my body fattening up stuck in my head.

One day, I was doing just that. I layer there, on my knees, fat ass sticking out, playing with myself after a big stuffing. I came harder than ever before, the waves of pleasure making me curl into myself. And that's when I felt it. My belly slapping the top of my thighs for the very first time.

After riding out the orgasm I stood up to looked in the mirror and saw it - my, still bloated, belly had an ever so slight line where it was pushing out from my body. I sat back down onto my bed and finally noticed that my belly was actually starting to sit in my lap.

I felt so proud I celebrated with stuffing myself even more. After that day it became really hard to restrain myself around food. I ate anything and everything that came in my general vicinity. I'd eat a meal big enough to feed an entire family while fondling my growing belly and I'd still get a snack afterwards.

I was on cloud nine, my body was plumping up so quickly, I could actually feel the fat cells multiplying after every meal. I couldn't get my hands to stop rubbing my softening belly at every chance I got, I couldn't stop putting on old clothes that used to be oversized only to watch the buttons on them pop off, I could stop GAINING.

One day I was trying to actually cook for once and my back started aching. I felt the sack of lard pulling on my back muscles and my legs vere hurting from standing up for so long. Heaving and plopping my belly onto the counter to rest my back I told myself

"okay, maybe I got a little too fat. I had my fun but now I should really loose some of the weight. I mean, it won't long, after all, I have a lot of self control..."

So I finished cooking the meal, or something that was originally meant as just one meal, and took only about a third, thinking that I'm just gonna finish the rest some other day. I also promised myself that I'm starting working out tomorrow.

Of course, that didn't last very long. After finishing the meal my belly felt completely empty and within half an hour I went back to eat the rest. Needless to say the working out routine I planned got forgotten as well.

So I just kept my old habits up and denied even weighing that much. I mean, the scale must be broken, I'm not ACTUALLY that fat, and again, I have a lot of self control, if I REALLY wanted to, I can just work this extra weight right off. And so I kept gaining. And kept gaining.

And kept gaining.

And kept gaining...

Until my entire body jiggled with the slightest of movement. My enormous belly hanged halfway to my knees, a heavy sack made entirely out of pure fat. Big, shapeless, cellulite ridden thighs always touched, and the friction of them chafing against each other made it harder to walk. My head now always rested on a big double chin that wobbled every time my hand with sausage like fingers bought something up to my mouth.

I was in deep, and I knew I really needed to start to take it seriously. Attempt after attempt was made to loose the excess weight, but it always bought even more lard on my body. I couldn't stop shoving food down my throat, no matter how much I tried. I became unrecognizable to the people who knew me and loved ones started to get concerned about me.

But of course, I was too proud to admit that I got too fat actually couldn't help myself. In my mind, I was still in the "slightly chubby" phase.

And even I DID get too fat, I have a lot of self control, I can always just stop and loose the weight, right?

[pecanwriter]

Not Big Enough (WG story)

Themes: fantasy-setting, body worship, fat-centric society

Words: 3053

Part: 1/1

Dainon was freezing to death. He managed to survive another night, huddled behind a smithy, where the furnace's heat radiated through walls, making even the nasty winter in Grothol survivable. His exhaustion was bone-deep. Soul-deep, even. So when he managed to sneak up behind the smithy without anyone noticing, he let himself fall into a deep sleep like a fool. Had he gotten up early, before the smiths started their day, he could squeeze in another few nights in this new hiding spot. But he didn’t get up, he didn’t even try, huddled up next to the warm wall and feeling like a baby in his mother’s womb, he slept on soundly until the very moment strong, calloused hands grabbed him by the rags he called clothes and kicked him out into the main street, where mud was ice. 

He fell into a puddle, the water so unbelievably cold at first he thought it was boiling. Dainon scrambled back to his feet, already shivering. A gust of wind swept through the street, penetrating his rags completely. His trousers were more holes than they were trousers and the patchy shirt was missing one sleeve. Despite his meagre stature, the coat he was wearing was way too small for him, he suspected it might have been made for a youth. Stretching the too-small garment over himself was better than nothing in the dreadful cold, but he could feel the seams coming apart more and more every day, wind and chilled air seeping in and assaulting his malnourished body. 

Dainon was the youngest son of a relatively wealthy merchant from a port town in the south of Grothol. His father was a strict and unyielding man. To his customers, to his workers, and to his children. Dainon’s sister left the house young, got married and had children of her own. His brother joined the army and that was the last time anyone saw him. And so his father’s ambitions about keeping the business in the family came full force down on Dainon. It wasn’t that he necessarily hated commerce, he would just much rather do anything else. When he suggested to his father that maybe he could get an apprenticeship as a kitchen boy to become a cook for a wealthy lord, his father beat the idea of out his head so forcefully that Dainon never dared to voice his opinions again. 

When Dainon turned eighteen, his father decided he was ready to prove himself. He gave Dainon a horse and a cart of goods and sent him on his way to the Gothol’s lavish capital city. “Bring back three times the value of the goods, or don’t come back at all,” his father told him, and Dainon knew without a shadow of a doubt he meant it. 

He made it to the capital, he even managed to make a few transactions that would make his father’s scorn soften. But then, just as he was warming up to his role, Dainon was robbed. They took everything; the goods, the card, the horse, even his shoes. 

There was nothing left for him to sell to gain passage back home, but even if he did, he couldn’t go back. Through spring, summer and autumn he managed to scrape by somehow. There was a lot of commerce everywhere and labour workers who would slave away all day for a piece of bread and a tanker of piss-poor beer were always needed. 

But then came the winter. 

Dainon, dragging his feet, so cold he could barely walk, stumbled into one of the smaller streets where shameful business was conducted. There was a high chance one would get robbed, but he had nothing to be robbed of, and at least they wouldn’t shoo him away like the smiths. Unable to walk any further, so sick and cold he didn’t even know where the icy mud ended and he began, Dainon squeezed himself between two barrels and the side of a gambling house and waited. For death or for an opportunity to rob some drunk fool. Whichever came first.

Doors opened on the opposite side of the street and a group of people stumbled out in a cloud of perfume, smoke and ruckus laughter. 

Dainon’s exhausted, nearly delirious brain made it seem as if the warm light pouring out of the door was pure gold. He stared at the people coming out. 

It was a whore house and a good one from what he heard. The people that emerged appeared to be two whores sending their client on his way. The whores were barely wearing any clothes, seemingly unbothered by the cold. As if enchanted, Dainon stared at the whores. He stared at their plump bodies, round, blushy faces, their smiles and thick, lustrous hair. One was a woman, and one was a man, but he had tits almost as big as she did, resting on top of a big, fleshy belly swaying in front of him proudly. Their thighs jiggled and rubbed against each other as they walked, pushing the drunk client along the street to the stables where his horse presumably waited. 

Dainon’s stomach was so empty he didn’t even remember how food tasted or how it was not to be hungry all the time. Even when he was asleep, he was still completely aware of the fact he was starving. The whores were coming back and Dainon looked at their enormous backsides jiggling, at their side rolls, at their arms so plump and soft their elbows were only dimples. He couldn’t imagine how amazingly rich and filling their meals had to be for them to be so big. Another wave of nauseating hunger and paralyzing cold rattled him so hard he had to close his eyes. When he opened them again the golden light of the brothel was no longer spilling into the street and the whores were gone. Dainon wept, his tears scorching hot on his freezing face. 

The door opened again and the beautiful light spilt out. Another boy was escorting his client to the exit. He was even bigger than the first two; his tits spilling to the sides of his enormous belly and his thighs so thick and fleshy he waddled as he took the few steps to see the client out. 

Dainon stared as the whore waddled back inside and he knew that if he couldn’t see that beautiful overfed body again he would simply die. 

This really was a good brothel, he realised. To have so many well-fed whores? In Gothol fatness was the sign of good fortune and prosperity. The King was expected to go to war, so he was usually lean or muscular, but it was traditional for the King’s consort, be it a woman or a man, to be as fat as possible. The fatter the consort, the more prosperous Gorthol was. Two hundred years ago, there was a plague that nearly threatened to undo the whole country. At that time, the King’s consort was so thin he didn’t even have a belly. Nearly all portraits of him have been destroyed for fear of casting bad fortune over the land again. The upper classes followed this trend diligently, every Lord and Lady stuffed themselves to grow bigger and fatter than their rivals in court. Amongst the lower classes and peasants, it was very uncommon to see someone appropriately fleshy; they couldn’t afford it. The only truly fat, well-fed peasants were whores. The customers spent nearly as much on the services as they spent on the food they bought to keep their whore nice and plump. With a fat, well-fed whore every simple man could feel like a King for a day. 

Driven by a desperate need to survive and with the memory of that golden light filling his heart, Dainon stumbled to the brothel doors. 

A young, slim whore opened the door. His hair was long and orange like the sunset, he cocked a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 

“Go away!” He barked “There’s nothing here for the kinds of you!”

“No,  please!” Dainon rasped, his voice scratchy “I want to work. Please, I will do anything. Please.” 

“Go away…” The man started saying again, but a hand with multiple golden rings on each finger ceased his arm and pulled him inside. 

“Move away, Robin, don’t you have something to do?” A woman who was past being middle-aged, but diligently tried to keep up the appearance stood in the door. The rest of her was as richly adorned as her fingers, gold was hanging off her every body part and she seemed to float in a cloud of pipe smoke and perfume. She looked at Dainon with a shrewd, keen eye of a Madam. 

“I want to work, please.” He repeated. 

She looked him over, grabbed his chin, looked at his face from every angle, and then grabbed his arm, examining his skin, its deep umber colour stood out even more against her pinkish fingers. 

“We have enough skinny boys.” She said with finality. 

“I don’t have to be one of the skinny boys!” He blurted out, almost desperately. His merchant senses smelled an opportunity and he grabbed it immediately “You don’t have to pay me! I will work just for food until I’m big enough for you to start making good money on me.” 

She gave him a steady look and Dainon forced himself to not break the eye contact. Her poker face was good, but he could see the change taking place deep inside her mind. The ring-clad hand wrapped around his arm and he was dragged inside, into the golden light. 

“Robin, Cuckoo, wash him and help him get ready to work.” She pushed him towards a pair of whores, the red-haired one from before and another skinny one with ashen blonde hair and pale eyes. “From now on,” She said, giving him one last measuring look “Your name is Starling.” 

And Starling let the young whores lead him deep inside the golden light and warmth of the warehouse. The smell and heat filled him so completely that he felt born anew. 

*

General Forthros jumped off his horse and let out a juicy curse as his boot landed perfectly in a pool of mud.

“Hello, good sir, may I welcome you…” He tossed the reigns to the stable master along with a purse of silver coins. He was in no mood for talk. It’s been way too long and he was prickly with need. It crawled under his skin like slow-acting poison. 

This brothel was way outside of the upper district, but Forthros heard stories. He heard they had whores here like nobody dreamed of; so soft and overfed, with their enormous rumps jiggling, their soft tits resting on top of round bellies, their faces with double chins and round rosy cheeks… 

Just thinking about it made his cock stir, but he had to keep himself in check. The last brothel he heard similar stories about turned out to be ludicrously expensive and the young man they gave him didn’t even waddle. 

None of them were big enough. Just not big enough. 

He dreamed of flesh so soft and filled with fat he could sleep on it as on a pillow after he’d fucked its owner into a whimpering, needy mess. He wanted a whore who would laugh at the feast he brought with him and demanded more food. He needed a whore so fat two others would have to be called to help him stand up. 

Forthros walked across the muddy street and opened the door, stepping out of the grey, dirty world and into a land of gold, potency and sweet smells. 

“Welcome!” A woman appeared as if out of nowhere, her hands and wrist so completely covered by gold jewellery that her skin was visible only from elbows up. “We haven’t seen you before in my fantastic establishment, Lord.” She said, not able to keep the glint of greed out of her eyes as she eyed his expensive clothes and the massive basket filled to the brim with lavish, expensive foods only made in the upper city. “How can I serve you? I have everything you could wish for, every girl and every boy the absolute best quality!”

He gave her an unimpressed look. She rubbed her hands, visibly slightly worried, but not dropping her selling pitch. She pressed on:

“Will it be a girl or a boy you’d be wanting, my Lord?” 

“I want a boy. The biggest one you have.” He said. “Money is no object.” 

Her eyes were ablaze with opportunity. 

“Of course, my Lord!” She bowed deeply. “Boy, fetch Swan.” She ordered the scrawny servant. He took off down the corridor. 

Swan was appropriately named; he was tall and pale, with a long neck and rosy lips. He had a soft chest and a flabby belly, he was smiling coquettishly. Forthros stopped him with a hand. 

“Not big enough.” He said. 

The Madam shooed Swan away and he retreated with a pout. 

“Bring me Blue Jay, boy!” She ordered the servant. 

Blue Jay was likewise appropriately named; he had some Djinn blood in him which was evident by his bright blue skin and navy blue hair woven into two thick braids. He sauntered over, shaking his big, round gut and plushy thighs. Forthros was intrigued but he was just…

“Not big enough.” He repeated and the Madam tsked but shooed the Djinn’s bastard away. 

“Bring Sparrow, be quick about it!” She snapped and the servant ran. 

Sparrow was brown-skinned and brown-eyed. His tits were big and soft, falling on top of a prominent, soft belly that swayed in front of him as he walked. His legs were thick and swollen, and Forthros' dick hardened as he saw him waddle up. This one was beautiful, but…

“Not. Big. Enough.” He said, looking the Madam right in the eyes. 

A sly, appreciative smile spread across her face. She slapped Sparrow’s jiggly ass, sending him away. 

“I see you are a connoisseur.” She said, bowing in acknowledgement. “Follow me.” 

He followed. They passed an open room full of whores killing time, waiting for clients. He spotted Sparrow sprawled on a mountain of pillows, idly popping sugar-coated grapes into his mouth. Forthros’ cock stirred again. If the Madam’s most priced possession didn’t prove to be satisfactory, he’d come back for Sparrow. 

The madam stopped in front of a door and opened it with a flourish. 

“This,” she said theatrically “is Starling. But he’s not cheap.” 

Forthros had to rest a hand against the door to keep himself upright, almost dropping the feast in the basket to the floor. He put it down with reverence at his feet and fished a purse out from his inside pocket, tossing it blindly at the Madam, still unable to look away from the sight before him. There was more coin in the purse that she probably made off all her whores in a day and they both knew it.

“Enjoy, Lord.” She bowed deeply and closed the door behind herself. 

The man on the bed, Starling, was a vision out of a dream. No, he was more beautiful than any dream Forthros ever had. 

He had dark umber skin that seemed covered with scented oils and perfumes that floated around the room. His dark hair was curled and adorned with gold, and two enormous emeralds hung on his ears. He was so big his hips spanned almost the entire width of the bed. Forthros took in the beautiful flesh, overstuffed to the brim with fat and folding on itself in fascinating, enchanting ways. Starling’s legs were shapeless as if formed of hefty sacks of jiggly fat folding in on themselves with the swollen feet at the end that Forthros doubted touched the floor often. The beautiful legs were spread wide to accommodate the gargantuan mass of Starling’s belly, that pooled in front of him like a see of soft flesh. Forthros couldn’t see a belly button but he guessed it was buried deep underneath fat where the upper and lower fat fold of Starling’s belly met. His breasts were blubbery and saggy, pushed to the sides by the improbable accumulation of soft flesh on Starling’s midriff. The nipples were dark and stretched and Forthros could feel his entire body tingling. Starling’s robust arms rested at almost acute angles to his body, unable to land any lower for the numerous chunky fat folds pushing outwards at his sides. His shoulders and chest were so thoroughly encased in fat he almost had no neck. His face was round, with incredible, fleshy cheeks and multiple chins. 

This was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man Forthros had ever seen, but what struck him most, was the man’s face. He was beautiful, of course, with a slightly hunched nose and wide-set dark eyes. But that wasn’t what it was, still. The striking thing was the expression on that angelic face. His plump lips were stretched into a smirk that seemed to hold all the secrets of the world in it and the dark eyes that stared at Forthros from underneath dark, heavy lashes were sharp like a fox’s. Quick wits and shrewdness were immediately apparent in that gaze. That, and immense satisfaction. Just his face alone seemed to be saying “I am everything you ever wanted and I know it.” 

The biggest whore he had before this, many years ago, was somewhere between Sparrow’s and Starling’s size, he was beautiful but the food had dulled his mind. His eyes were always glazed over, sleepy, almost unresponsive; he saw this happen to some people when the food was too much for their bodies to handle and they seemed almost dim-witted. Although that man was beautiful, Forthros couldn’t bring himself to fuck him, he didn’t want to fuck someone who barely knew what was happening. 

But Starling… Starling was perfect. 

Forthros swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, his cock almost painfully hard.

“I’ve brought you a feast, beautiful.” He said, hauling the enormous basket overflowing with the greatest delicacies Grothol had to offer to the bed. “I hope such a feast is to your liking?” 

Starling looked at the basket and then, looking straight into Forthros’ eyes with an almost devilish grin he said: 

“Not big enough.” 

[feedingintostupor]

Well, it’s almost that time of the year again to drown your greedy stomachs in chocolate, sweet, fattening and even greasy morsels. You know, I’ve been thinking about it pretty hard, actually. So many of you been getting quite the attention, comments, and even looks from just how much you’ve let yourselves go.

“B-but it’s not my fault. The food was so good, a-and it’s not like I didn’t get my fill..it was just that couldn’t help myself.” Such an odd statement if you ask me. Almost like you’re making an attempt to cover your oversized asses from the toll this lifestyle has taken on your pathetic, out of shape and inexcusably fat bodies that’d make a whale jealous by the blubber you’re tearing seams with.

Tell me, tell me just how much you want another bite while having each of your folds caressed, squeezed, and played with by fat-obsessed hands, greedy hogs. Oh, don’t tell me how “I-It’s not like that..but you can feed me whatever and how much you want..please..” Because we both know you weren’t going to put up a fight now that it’s too hard for you to even get dressed without feeling winded.

I’ve played nice and lost my share of dessert because of the plush, greedy lips that let out an embarrassing belch after the fourth helping. Hell, I even lost focus because of how immense your girth is, but now you’ll have to show me how all of that conditioning paid off by getting down on all fours and making damn sure that I don’t see another crumb or speck of food on that plate before being lead to the trough lardasses.

[softartemisart]

getting fattened up by someone unwittingly.

maybe my barista has been adding a little extra syrup or a little extra cream to my order every time i come in. i come more often as the drinks just seem to get better and better every time i have them.

my neighbour always seems to make too much of whatever they make. they bring round containers of delicious meals, insisting that no, really, you'd be doing me a favour taking this off my hands. i don't notice that their offerings get more frequent as time goes on, or that the serving sizes get larger incrementally.

my partner brings home sweet treats and snacks all the time, leaving them about the house. they indulge in them themself, of course, but it's mostly for me to graze on, unconsciously. my hand is never far from a bag of crisps or a chocolate bar. im never hungry at home anymore, thanks to my constant snacking.

and im left confused, wondering if my clothes shrunk in the wash or if im really that damn fat now. and meanwhile, my secret feeder gets to admire their handiwork as my body gets so round and soft, jiggling with every step, growing heavier and heavier with every passing day.

[thetumarchive]

Feedist Christmas Prompts 🎄🎅🎁 MDNI

A decides to put on a few pounds to better fit in their santa costume.

A hits several Christmas dinner parties in one day after accidentally agreeing to attend them all.

A gets a “special toy” as a gift for ripping the seams on their ugly Christmas sweater.

A believes in Santa and always leaves an entire table filled with festive desserts instead of just cookies. Secretly, B plays the part of Santa, so they sneak down when A is sleeping and take a bite out of everything. B has a tummyache in the morning but A is so happy to see that Santa came.

A is burning up due to their size but B is ridiculously cold. They compromise and A holds B close while they watch christmas movies with the ac on.

A has a sweet tooth, and luckily for them, they get plenty of stocking stuffers to satisfy it.

A has been struggling to wrap presents as well as B, so B gives them a personal lesson in wrapping by tying up their chubby body shibari style.

A wants to leave milk and cookies out for santa, but B keeps eating them all.

Alternatively, A is making a gingerbread house but it ends up in ruins because B keeps eating the parts.

A and B build snowmen of each other. A gets a bit jealous because B is so attentive as they shape the snowman’s belly.

The snow king/queen thinks A is far too thin and has their servants feed them sweets made by the sugarplum fairy.

A is on the naughty list this year and they get magically punished with rapid weight gain.

A always puts the topper on top of the tree, and B always lifts them to do it. But this year, A put on weight and is far too heavy to be lifted.

A is a mall santa and B is the excited and oversized adult about to sit on their lap.

A slips on some ice and falls in the snow, they’re far too full and tired to attempt standing up again. B lays next to them and makes snow angels while A recovers.

A catches a cold and is too sick to go to the christmas dinner party, so B stays with them and they order lots of take out.

A feeds B from a spread of food that gradually increases in size over 12 days.

A is B’s secret santa and doesn’t know what to get them. Eventually they decide to just take them out to eat, which ends up being a good decision.

A and B are wearing matching pajamas except B is basically bursting out of theirs.

A drags B to church on Christmas sunday with the promise that they’d be eating afterwards. B’s stomach growls loudly throughout the entire sermon, somehow even louder when A is singing in the choir, red in the face.

Elves are supposed to be small but A is almost too big and fat to come to work.

A teases B while their tongue is stuck to a metal pole.

A is visited by the ghosts of christmas breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

A gets some unwanted attention while Christmas shopping, prompting B to feel them up in public.

A, B, and C all accidentally get D the same gift. D doesn’t mind, because the gift is edible and they were hungry.

[fatguarddog]

Pat my belly possessively

talk about it like it's all yours

ask "how's my fat belly doing?" as you push a treat past my lips

tell me to lift up my shirt so you can see how full I am, make me eat more if it's not enough yet

Treat my belly like you own it and make sure I know it ❤️

[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.

[buttermybiscuit]

The lovely sight of a skinny feeder’s unknowing growth. How their once lean, even fit physique fading into the all so familiar softness they once felt on their feedee’s frame, their fingers sinking into the blossoming plush. It was an inevitably in retrospect, one can only proselytize gluttony for so long before it’s temptation enraptures their mind, even if they do not realize it as the sweet taste brushes against their tongue, and they finish things they did before. The influence of gluttony could hide behind the loosened waistband and sized up shirts for only too long before the facade cracked. The indent of their belly jutting over the rim, the battle against their butt to pull it over, the chafing of their thighs, their shirt riding up as they walked, an unfamiliar feeling in their stomach. They pressed their fingers against their chin as they questioned it for the first time, only to feel something they had never had; a developing double chin. They saw themselves in full for the first time, how they had filled out. How unfamiliar their body was. They didn’t know it, but they were too far gone to turn back. They’d let themselves go too far, and grow too fat. There was no turning back.

[growmydarling]

i will bake weed cookies for you to binge on. by the time you're sober enough to stop, you will be bloated and a few pounds heavier

[plumpfaun]

This still fits right? It's just a little snug. Probably shrunk in the wash...

Okay, maybe I'm a little bigger but I'm not like... Fat

Am I?