@anarchofeederism
call me cake cuz i go straight to ur ass, cowboy

hi my name is john and this is my spank bank / 20 / He/Him bi trans man sw: 163 cw: 176 highestw: 189 gw1: 200 gw2: 267 xgw: 334 posts tagged #johnnybelly are me / grommr @giandough

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2021-06-21 20:01:58

    I love seeing you grow out of your clothes. It first happens slowly; your pants getting a little tighter in the thighs, you find it takes a little more trouble to pull your shirt down. but then you begin noticing it once that tightness in the thighs becomes tightness in the calves as well, and you can’t get your shirt to cover your belly all the way anymore. 

    and THEN you realize that someday you might be out in public and your pants might rip in the butt, and you might lose a shirt button when you breathe too hard after walking up a short flight of stairs, and your shirt can’t even get over your love handles, and everyone’s going to see that big belly of yours, everyone’s going to see those thick thighs wrecking the fabric that covers them, you’re going to get so big you can’t walk up stairs anymore, you’re going to get so big you can’t walk anymore and will waddle instead, you’re going to get so big you can’t even waddle and will have to stay put in a bed, you’re going to get so big so big so big so big so MORBIDLY big and everyone’s going to see you.

    everyone’s going to see you.

    and the cruelly delicious thing about this? when you’re afraid like that…you eat. 

    Eating has always been your comfort - of course it has been, why would you be constantly growing like this otherwise? Because no matter how disturbing the results and no matter how embarrassed your eating habit makes you feel, you persist in it. You give yourself a bowl of ice cream. You know you’re outgrowing all your clothes. You’ll just have to replace them. You give yourself a second bowl. You know you’re getting too out-of-shape to walk up a tiny flight of stairs. Elevators exist for a reason. You have another bowl. It’s going to get to the point where you can’t find clothes that will fit you. Well, I can just custom-order them online. You put the ice cream away and finish off a bag of chips, your anxiety resolved for the day.

    But you know that’s not where it ends for you. Eventually those pants do rip in public, those buttons come flying when you’re at the grocery store, you are humiliated, so when you order new clothes for yourself online, you eat a whole box of donuts to calm you down from realizing just how big you’re getting. it’s ironic and maybe you eat knowing it’ll only get you bigger.

    A Little Incentive

    prompt: someone skinny grows chubby on their partner's good cooking and insistence they eat well

    From the tempting smell of bacon and syrup that wafted into the room, I knew she’d outdone herself this morning.

    “I made breakfast,” she stage-whispered to me. I grinned and turned over in bed, feigning sleepiness even though what I really wanted was to sit right up and take that plate from her hands.

    Then my stomach growled and she laughed.

    “The others are jealous,” she said. “But I told them they already had a habit of eating breakfast. You’re the one I need to hammer it into, by any means necessary.”

    I took a deep breath and sat up in bed, pushing hair out of my face. “Consider me incentivized.” I took the heaping plate of breakfast food that she pushed at me, then the fork, and started into the chocolate chip pancakes, which were half soaked in syrup. Also on the plate lay bacon, eggs, hash browns, a muffin, and…

    “French toast sticks, too?”

    “As a reward for finishing all your exams! I know you like them.”

    I thanked her. She poked my side and smiled fondly at me. “At the beginning of this semester, you would have said this was too much. I hope you know that it makes me the happiest girl in the world that you’re eating properly now.”

    In response, I took a bite of extra crispy bacon and groaned in pleasure. As she got ready for the day, I considered her comment. Eating properly. She and I had different definitions of that, or used to at least.

    My first two years of college were hard. Working part time, taking hard classes, dealing with an awful roommate. I barely took care of myself. I thought eating properly was eating at all. But then I met her and we hit it off, became friends and then more than friends, then moved in together with a couple more roommates just barely off campus. All the while, she made a point of showing me each day what eating properly meant to her: big meals cooked in the kitchenette or piled onto plates in the dining halls, snacks throughout the day, and never forgetting dessert. It kept her chubby, but she didn’t mind. I certainly didn’t.

    “Bye!” I called out as she left for her last day of exams. She seemed confident about how hers had gone so far. Me? Not so much. I was never a good test taker.

    I finished my plate down to the crumbs. I went and leisurely washed the dishes. I had pretty much nothing to do today. From the silence coming from the other bedrooms, I knew I had the apartment to myself, too. I could go outside, but it was too hot. And like hell I was going to go to the library again until I absolutely had to. There were always video games, but I stayed up late last night staring at screens, trying to forget my poor performance on my own last exam of the semester. I felt burnt out on everything.

    I blinked in confusion when I realized I’d opened the fridge. I closed it. I literally just ate, so I don’t know why I’d…

    The next three hours, I spent back in bed. Looking on my phone, resting my eyes, worrying about exam results, and tugging on my pajama pants. They were tight because I was so full. Eventually I decided to do something productive, starting with a shower. Maybe I could drive to a café or something, hang out there.

    After showering and dressing (since I wasn’t exactly full anymore, I figured the tightness of my shorts was from bloating) I wandered into the kitchen for something to snack on. The fridge was always well stocked, and I eyed the rest of the batch of muffins in tupperware. I heard her voice in my mind: It makes me happy when you treat yourself.

    What the hell. I took out the container, opened it, and took a bite out of the cinnamon raisin muffin. I closed my eyes. Big and sugary and so good. Better than the first one, maybe, because it had cooled off and I could better taste the flavor. I ate another one. And then I treated myself with a third before closing the lid again. There were still eight left.

    I tried putting the container back in the fridge, but something stopped me. Go ahead, I heard her say. You don’t eat enough.

    Slowly, I opened the container again and ate two more of the muffins. They were just so good. Then I put the container away, firmly slamming the fridge door and biting my lip. Truth was, she stopped telling me I don’t eat enough months ago.

    I went back into the bathroom and took a good look at myself, which I’d avoided doing before. Truth was, my shorts were tight because, thanks to my partner’s cooking and our lingering stays at the dining halls and my new penchant for snacking, I had filled out more than a little. I’d put on my own chub. My shirt clung to my sides, which were soft and rounded (Is that why she poked me?), and upon closer inspection, I couldn’t deny my face looked tubbier, too.

    I stood in quiet shock for a while, gently pressing my palm to the outward slump of my belly, its natural shape when I didn’t suck it in. (When did I start unconsciously sucking it in?) After a minute of dazedly contemplating my weight, I rummaged around for a dusty scale and stepped on it with bated breath.

    My jaw fell open. My whole face, my neck, my ears flushed red, even though there was no one to see me there, finding out I was thirty seven pounds heavier than expected.

    Forty pounds? Almost forty pounds? It was impossible. I didn’t look that much bigger.

    But she had always said I was too skinny. So maybe twenty of those just filled me in? And then the rest was…extra? Forty pounds.

    The surprise waned after a few more minutes of checking myself out in the mirror. I found I wasn’t as upset as society had led me to think I would be.

    I did go to a café later that day. My newfound self-awareness didn’t kick back in until after I got a grande frappe and a scone. At my table, I thumbed the belly that now warmed a small part of my lap before eating and sipping my treats anyway.

    My shorts felt so tight after a while, I just unbuttoned them and hoped no one would notice.

    I spent a few hours there, reading and browsing my laptop and giving my soft belly secretive, intrigued touches before I started thinking about the six remaining muffins at the apartment. When I got back, I found I was in good company.

    “I really did good on these,” she said, swallowing. “Want one?”

    I took one, trying to hide my sheepishness. Did she guess it was me who ate the five that were missing? Or did she think it was our other roommates? Did she think…

    “You want to get a late lunch?” “I think I need new clothes.”

    We stared at each other. She chuckled, “Sorry, what?”

    I flushed, tugging conspicuously on my shorts, not quite able to find the words. “Need to go shopping.” I’ve gained almost forty pounds. Forty pounds! My throat constricted.

    “Oh.”

    I looked up at her. “You’re a good cook,” I said, grinning. Still a little embarrassed.

    But now she was a bit pink in the face, too. “Yeah, we should go shopping. Um. You aren’t mad. Are you? I just really like to cook and bake, and you really were too skinny and—”

    “No, no! I’m not mad. I—”

    Am I going to get fat? I wanted to ask her suddenly, and I felt very warm. I’m always eating these days. What if I outgrow the new clothes I buy? What then?

    “I hope you know I think you look good,” she blurted. My thoughts ceased. “Really good.”

    Suddenly, I was aware I’ve been sucking my belly in again. Would it be weird if I stopped? Just let it...swell out? I took in a deep breath, then let it all out, not sucking in this time. Her wide eyes fixated on my chubby lower belly.

    “Thanks,” I said, trying not to be awkward. “To be honest, I only noticed recently that I look…different.”

    Her eyes met mine and she looked very adoring. I’m sure my expression was identical. “Just a little. I was surprised how much your appetite grew.”

    “Yeah. You still want to get lunch?” I asked. “Kinda feel like the dining hall.”

    Kinda feel like going all out.

    I won’t get fat.

    Only a little, maybe. Not the end of the world.

    “Okay,” she squeaked, as if hearing my thoughts. “Good idea. After all my stupid exams, it’s time to treat myself.”

    I wholeheartedly agreed. So we went.

    I loved how she looked shyly excited the whole time, as I overdid the second and third helpings. It seemed to make her overdo it some, too. Which spurred me to make it a competition, and there we sat together, overeating like a couple of chubby fiends.

    “Still think you’re too skinny,” she taunted me, as we left, already discussing plans for dinner.

    *

    Thank you to the reader who commissioned this work!

    I'd love to write more. Check me out <3 etsy.com/shop/Chubbology

    Getting Big

    prompt: someone discovering they’re a feeder as their feedee partner gets bigger

    Sometimes you’re both in bed, distracted and ignoring each other on your phones or laptops, when you notice. Your eyes lift from your phone and notice your partner’s relaxed belly, rising and lowering with calm breath, stretching the fabric of their shirt. Really stretching it now, not just with every inhale, but by default. Not just pushing the seams a little with chubbier hips, but forcing the cotton to bow out close to its limit, forcing the stitching to cave into a belly button deeper and softer-looking than you remember. And your eyes inevitably take in the rest: thicker thighs, more shapely chest, less defined arms, softer jawline.  

    You’re aware that your partner’s gained a little weight. More than a little, but it’s fine. Probably thirty or so pounds, not a big deal, and you absolutely don’t judge them for it. Have they mentioned it at all? No, they just keep tugging at their shirts and pants. And underwear. Their underwear is getting too small for them, with weight gain making them a bit of a pear and all, but you don’t say anything. You don’t say they need bigger underwear. You don’t tell them how much you appreciate the fact that they need it. As long as they stay mum on the subject of their weight and the fit of their clothes, so will you; that’s your rule.

    Sometimes you’re both in bed, watching TV, and they’re eating their way to the bottom of a quart of appallingly flavored ice cream (super-caramel-quadruple chocolate-chunk type stuff), and you keep sneaking glances. Because you’re amazed they’re comfortable enough around you to eat freely like this—or so you tell yourself. Their eyes are so glazed with distracted pleasure that maybe it didn’t even occur to them not to gorge themselves tonight, right in front of you.

    Not gorging themselves like some kind of pig—no, it’s just, you both ordered a lot of takeout just a couple hours ago, and then they snacked on chips for a while, and then there was that candy bar they ate on a whim while you took out the trash, and now it’s a whole quart of ice cream. A whole quart. The more glances you sneak at them, the more you notice how their budding second chin peeks out when they chew. The more you notice that their bites seem hasty, as if tinged by some kind of distant, unconscious desperation.

    You lean against them as if too tired to stay upright, reaching over them casually, letting one arm rest against their belly. It’s soft. It’s bigger. Not a big deal at all, you tell yourself for the millionth time.

    And yet, you ponder their weight more. You’ve been pondering it incessantly. You can’t stop thinking about how they went to the mall two weeks ago without telling you, bought clothes a size up, and already were uncomfortably tugging and pulling on on every tight band and seam again. You can’t stop your thoughts from wandering to the idea of them sizing up again any more than your partner can stop their hands from opening another package of cookies.

    “Ugh, this stuff is so good,” they mutter, swallowing the last bite, then closing the lid on the carton and setting it aside.

    “Mm. I’ll buy more then,” you say without thinking. Its fine if they size up again, after all. You’ll love them no matter their body type. Their happiness comes first. “I’m going to the grocery store anyway.”

    Keep reading

    hucow thoughts of a sweet herd of boys, all transformed by and over indulgence in milkshakes and now each one of them produces the respective flavours they gorged themselves on, as well as having little features that indicate what their flavour might be

    a pretty pink spotted strawberry cow boy, a more sandy coloured boy with a rich peanut butter flavour, a vanilla flavoured boy with a cute white diamond on his forehead

    just cute hucow boys indulging in all the delicious flavours between them as they get fatter and fatter!

    b-i-g--g-u-y-s

    I can’t believe what I’ve done to myself, I gained 50 lbs in the last year and now I’m 405 lbs!! I’m only 19, what am I gonna do 😭😭 I can’t stop eatinnggg

    i think you answered you're own question there tbh - what are you gonna do? not stop eating. i mean, honestly. you've been fat your whole life, and now that your a young adult, what do you do? get even fatter. a 50lb gain would be a lot for someone who was a fit and healthy weight before it, but you were adding 50lbs onto an ALREADY MORBIDLY OBESE frame. most guys who grew up fat get to your age and lose it, and yet you did the opposite. you've gotten fatter than most people will in their entire lives and your still a teenager! what do you think that means for your future? i'll tell you what - it means this food addiction isn't going away. it means that and overhang that already spills oit of 5xl shirts and censors your crotch for you is only gonna droop lower. it means your tits will grow and sag further alongside your fattened biceps that are already working to overhang your elbows. and mostly it means that this picture will soon serve as a "before" photo, that 405 will soon be your starting weight. because you don't know how to be anything other than a growing piggy, and you LOVE that.