i just want to experience a single snap-kick that’ll completely drain me to where i’m a husk of a man, clutching his aching nuts on the ground, face-first in my own drool and tears as i groan in agony.
the way night vale and piffling vale are the same but in opposite directions… night vale being an unusual strange and eerie place with the most ordinary people with ordinary tasks and attitudes, while piffling vale is the most normal little british village with the strangest silliest people youve ever met. and both are the most earnest loving narratives about love and loss and people and relationship. cmon now
Whoever is inside just getting a slow shot of your giant, globular, hanging gut jiggling and barely constrained by your shirt, a good few seconds before you come into view because all you can do now is waddle everywhere
Can’t wait for my belly to be so big I physically can’t tuck it into any known pair of trousers. So instead I’m just walking around with it hanging over the waistband, just barely covered by a huge tent of a t-shirt, the bottom of it just peeking out with every step.
Thinking about my belly getting so big that I lose more and more flexibility because it just gets in the way
- first I could no longer touch my toes, not with the way my stomach bunches up and makes leaning forward fully difficult
- then its hard to ties my shoes, or even put them on. I’m forced to lean and twist awkwardly to the side because my bulging belly makes it impossible
- then its hard to lean forward at all. especially after a big meal. most of my time is spent sat back on the sofa, and the rare occasions I have to sit forward to get up are such a struggle that the very act leaves me breathless
- one day, it will be so large, I won’t be able to do anything because of it. I’ll spend my days pinned to the sofa, its soft hang dangling between my widespread legs. Or, I’ll be in bed, which now creaks and groans underneath my impressive weight. I’m stuck on my side, belly spread out before me and so heavy I can barely even roll over, so all I’ll be good for is eating, stuffing my behemoth gut desperately until it is eventually satisfied.
There’s something magical about lying here, shirt pulled up, belly fully exposed. I love how ridiculously warm and soft it is, I love the feeling of pressing my fingers deep into all that fat. I’m so unbelievably round and soft, I’m made for just sprawling whatever piece of furniture can hold me, having my belly rubbed and fed for me, until that softness gets firm and full.
You’re so tiny when you first arrive at my doorstep. By the dirt on your face and the way your clothes were hanging off your shrunken frame, you must’ve been wondering the forest for days before you found me. You seem scared at first, intimidated by my strange appearance, but when I invite you inside, the threat of cold, starvation, and wolves howling in the night meant you couldn’t resist.
My hearth is already lit when you step into the living room. I gesture to the plush red sofa placed right in front of it, and you settle down, sinking into the soft pillows, so small you look like you could get swallowed up by it. I tell you I’m running you a bath, but when I step out of the room, it only takes a flick of the wrist to fill the old tin bath with steaming water. I return a few minutes later, and lead you to the bathroom, leaving you to get cleaned up.
I make a beeline for the kitchen, quickly pulling out my cookbook and flipping through the thick pages of the old, heavy tome. My fingers trace along the words, searching for just the right recipe, and the right spell, for the situation. Quickly, I find what I am looking for. I swish around the kitchen, humming as I pull out the ingredients from the various cupboards. Flour, eggs, lots of sugar, plenty of butter, an obscene amount of chocolate… With just a few gestures, the perfect amount of each ingredient separates itself into a bowl, and I place a wooden spoon inside, leaving it to mix itself as I prep and grease the pans. As the mixture is nearly ready, I bring over a few more unusual ingredients. Sprigs of wild herbs with strange properties, drops of water from ancient pools long forgotten, honey made from a rare flower. I add each component carefully, making sure to add just the right amount. I speak ancient words from a long dead language as I do so, imbuing the batter with magic. When the ritual is complete, the kitchen is filled with an irresistible sweet scent. The temptation to taste the batter is almost overwhelming, so I separate it out into the pans and put them in the oven, already heated to the perfect temperature.
As it bakes, I start making the icing. Something creamy and simple, but with a little bit of magic to increase your appetite. By the time that’s done, the cakes are ready. When I pull them out of the oven, the aroma is even stronger, so much so that even I am struggling to resist the desire to stuff them into my mouth. I wave a hand over them, cooling them, and quickly scoop a third of the icing out onto one. I spread it out and place the second cake on top, covering it and the sides with the thick, chocolate-y icing. I take a few delicate pieces of chocolate and place them on top as decoration, thoughtlessly licking a bit of stray icing off my finger. My stomach immediately growls with intensive hunger, and I quickly take the cake out into the kitchen, knowing I won’t be able to resist for much longer. As I’m setting it down on the table, you wonder back into the living room, face clean and hair damp. Your eyes widen in wonder as you spot the cake, and you subtly lick your lips and place your hand on your empty stomach. I gesture down with a warm smile, telling you to help yourself as I sit in a nearby armchair with a book, opening it and peering curiously over the top.
I left you only a fork, so you have no choice but to just take a chunk directly out of the cake. As the food touches your lips, you moan with pleasure as if there was no one watching. Already, I could tell that you were filling out your too loose clothing, your face and arms looking slightly softer. Not noticing the changes, or perhaps too hungry to care, you take another bite, and another, and another, each one bigger than the last.
Everytime you swallow, I can see you getting a little fatter. A gut is starting to form under your shirt, thighs thickening in your trousers, getting less loose by the second. Even still, I can see the hunger in your eyes as you keep going back for more. As you lean in again, I can see you having to subtly adjust the waistband of your trousers as they start digging into your new potbelly. You are unphased, however, as you keep going back for more, a couple slices worth of cake consumed in a matter of minutes. Despite how much you’ve already eaten, you don’t even slow down, the icing doing its work and making you more and more hungry.
You start to eat even faster, your whole body plumping up at an incredible rate. Now, your once loose clothes are starting to look tight, a sliver of your heavy belly now exposed as your gut fills your lap. Your thighs expand even further, taking up a whole seat on the sofa that once made you look tiny. Huffing with the exertion of leaning forward against your swelling belly, you pick up the remaining two thirds of the cake, resting it across your softening chest and growing belly as you continue to eat unaided. You abandoned the fork now, shovelling cake into your mouth with both hands, getting bigger with each alternating bite. Your shirt has ridden up your belly completely, only covering your plush chest now. Your trousers are starting to split at the seams as your ass spills into the seats on either side of you. Your arms are getting meatier, enough that I can see its getting harder for you to move them, especially as their fat presses against the fat of your torso. You’ve sprouted several new chins, each one jiggling and covered in crumbs.
As you start digging into the final third of the cake, there’s a great tearing sound. Your trousers have finally given up, and as they shred to pieces, your gut and ass spill outward and sideways, but you just sigh in relief and carry on eating. Your love handles are now brushing the arms of the sofa, and it’s letting out a mighty groan at bearing all your weight. You spread your legs out, letting your massive belly hang between your knees, growing closer to the floor with every bite. You are so soft now, barely more than a ball of fat, wider than you are tall and utterly immobile. Each mouthful is a struggle now, your movements so sluggish with how heavy your arms are. Still, somehow, you manage to bring the last handful to your lips. You let out a sigh as you swallow, and the last surge of fat is all the sofa can take. Its legs snap cleanly beneath you, and the whole thing collapses to the floor, bringing you with it. You let out a little cry, landing with a heavy thud that sets your whole body jiggling. Your belly stretches past your knees, and your back is covered in countless squeezable rolls. Heavy jowls frame your face, neck completely hidden in chins and fat. You are so, so fat. Immediately, I stand and head to the kitchen, bringing back a huge basket of cookies. You look at me with wide eyes, mewling with hunger, and I sit on the floor beside you, fondling your massive gut with one hand as I feed you cookies with the other, and you eat each one with vigour, a contented smile on your face.
I cannot overstate how affirmative joining this community has been, and how much its done for my self esteem and my love of my appearance.
I’ve never cared much about what other people think, but when society is always telling you that your body is disgusting and something to be hated and ridiculed, it does have a significant effect.
But now that I’ve actually seen people find my body type attractive, and even tell me in no uncertain terms that they find me attractive, its helped so much with how I think about myself and my body, like I’m capable of seeing how beautiful it can really be. So uh, thank you all for that I guess
