Last update
2021-06-09 14:34:46

    Montana paused on the trail, panting for breath behind Olivia. “Wait a second, I need a break to drink,” she called to her friend as she pulled out a water bottle, gulping most of it down. A weird stretchy feeling grew in her chest, but she was very thirsty, so she ignored it as she completely emptied her bottle. The woman swayed as she felt her balance shift, still feeling thirsty. “Liv, can I have a sip from your bottle?” she asked.

    “You already drank all of your wat- what the why are your tits so big?” Olivia asked, staring at Montana’s chest, causing her too look down as well, realizing she’d gone up several cup sizes since they had started. She didn’t really think too much of this, since her dehydration was distracting her.

    “Huh, that’s weird. But that’s not important right now, can I please have a sip?” Montana made little grabby gestures at Olivia’s water bottle, who laughed, rolling her eyes as she gave her thirsty friend her bottle. “Thank you,” she managed to say before she started drinking much more than a little sip. She instinctively started leaning back to try and compensate for her growing top-heaviness, causing her to fall onto her butt as the plastic bottle started to crunch up from Montana sucking all of the water and air out of it.

    Olivia opened her mouth to protest her friend drinking all of it herself, but instead stared and gaped at Montana’s rapidly growing breasts, reaching J-cups before Montana drained the entire bottle.

    “Ugh, I’m still thi-” Montana hiccuped, her boobs bouncing a bit from the sudden jolt. “Still thirsty, and now hiccups. Great.” She climbed to her feet as another hiccup racked her body, neither woman noticing the two inches Montana had gained in height.

    Olivia peered around, then pointed to a nearby pond. “There’s a road right next to that, I’ll go run back to the car and drive over, then maybe we can head somewhere to get some water that won’t do… that.” She  gestured to Montana’s straining tank top.

    “Alright, sounds good,” she nodded, turning and starting to walk to the pond, using her hands to help support her gigantic boobs. Once she made it to the pond, she spent a few minutes walking in circles near the road, before her thirst started to really weigh in on her. And the pond just had so much water… Eventually she gave in and squatted down next to it, starting to drink from the pond. She felt her body swell and grow even more with every gulp she made.

    Olivia made a turn in her car, eager to get back to Montana, when she slammed on the brakes and gaped at her friend’s massive form, stooped over near where the pond used to be.

    Montana gulped down the last bit of water, her body growing one last time, before sitting up and licking her lips, letting out a massive belch that scared a flock of birds away. She stood up, a bit over 40 feet tall, her shadow falling over Olivia’s car. “Oh! I’m huge now! What the heck?” she questioned, her voice booming.

    Feeling a surge of fear about Montana accidentally crushing her, Olivia honked her horn. “DOWN HERE” she shouted. Her giant friend took a few steps back before bending over so she could see the car, giving a great view of her now almost car-sized tits.

    “Well, on the plus side, I’m not that thirsty anymore!” Montana smiled at Olivia. “Guess I’ll have to run back to town, won’t I?” she asked, standing back up. “Dunno if I’ll be able to keep up with the car, but I’ll catch up with you eventually, okay?”

    Olivia nodded, then started off down the road, hearing crashing noises every time Montana took a step as she tried to jog and keep up, her feet the only thing Olivia could see in the rearview mirror. She silently hoped that this gigantic size was temporary, or else it was going to be such a pain to house Montana, and she would probably cause quite a bit of destruction, since her giant tits kept her from looking down.


    shitpost: vaguely annoying but only vaguely meme: bad if not referring to an actual meme or used as a condescending adjective, worst if used as a verb

    dank/spicy/zesty meme: kill on sight

    memery: you die if you hear someone say this


    Gif (s) of the dayyy


    Big tits and a deep throat. Just what youexistfor



    Bike Shorts

    You showed them off the day they arrived. Your new bike shorts. They looked so good on your thighs – honed from hour after hour of training on the elliptical. They looked even better on Instagram. You were sporting so much lean muscle that you’d had to go up a size; something you were glad for a couple years later when your tastes changed, along with your appetite…

    Your thighs were hurting again. But not from training. You gave up on your workouts a while ago; first your quads withered, the muscles submitting to long and lazy days of disuse. What little firmness they had left soon began to soften. And then the softness began to grow, and grow.  

    You couldn’t help but notice the way your belly dangled when you dropped to your knees, pawing through the bottom of your closet. It made you giggle. It wobbled and shook. Some of your gym clothes had fallen off the rack - you’d hadn’t bothered to pick them up in months. Now you were sifting through the long-forgotten pile for something to remedy your new situation – between the kitchen and your bedroom, your inside legs were starting to chafe.  

    You find your bike shorts, grinning at the feeling of your fall from grace as you slipped them on. They’re tight, but not quite in the way you remembered. You stand up straight and let your thickened thighs kiss. They’re not as itchy as before. That’s good. You give yourself a twirl in the mirror. God, they make your butt look awesome.  

    And big. Very big…  

    You cast an eye over to the elliptical, smiling. Most girls would be back on in a flash, but not you – not now that you’re overweight. Not today, not tomorrow.

    Or next week. Or next month… 

    You watch them spinning in the dryer. A couple more minutes. You pray they haven’t shrunk in there, the way all your other clothes seem to have been doing.  

    Why else would your jeans have burst open?  

    A sugary doughnut slips past your smirking lips while you ponder life’s mysteries. You toddle off your knees and land on your bare butt with a squish, snacking while you wait for the end of the cycle. You fondle your belly, sinking your fingers into layers of hefty pudge. The weight’s been piling on lately. It’s changing the way you sit, the way you hold yourself.  

    The way people look at you.  

    You’re not au fait with where the stares are landing. It was so easy before. You could flex, pose, twist, toss your hair, command their eyes, watch them struggle for words. Becoming bigger has made you lose so much control. Is it your love handles? Maybe your back rolls? Or your belly hang?  

    You can’t tell. A walk to the store would give you a better idea. But you can’t do it with the three-inch tear down the side of your jeans.  

    Hence, the bike shorts. They’re a similar colour. You click open the door, fish them from the drum and prise them over your legs. Gosh, they’re skintight now. You grunt and thrust, wiggling your sides, throwing back your hair, jumping a little. Slowly, they ease up to your waist. You try to tuck your belly in the way you used to, but there’s no hope. You’re too flabby. Too wide.  

    The jeans go on next. You breathe in and fix the button. The tear whines and flexes a little more. A wry smile forms on your rounded face. You breathe out. It creaks, but it holds. A craftily tied hoodie completes the look. Now you can go to store. Perfect.

    For now. 

    It’s seven months and halfway up the stairs when you really start to feel how far things are getting out of hand. Your every step plods. Your weakened arms ache. You’re clinging to the balustrade like your life depends on it, gasping for breath, cursing the busted elevator. It wasn’t your fault the repairmen called in sick. Or that you got called when you were stuck in a drive-through queue. Or that the Skype meeting was rescheduled for today, anyway.

    Before, it was no big deal. You could take it in your stride. But you’re not looking so spontaneous any more…  

    You ignore the belly rolls bulging out from under your shirt when you stagger through the door – at last. You collapse into your wheezing office chair, and tilt your laptop camera up a little. There we go. You tug your dress and try to rein back your cleavage. It’s no use. Grunting, you pull your hair tie loose and smooth your tresses over your heaving chest. Not the greatest fix, but it’ll have to do. At least now your obesity looks presentable.  

    You hit the on switch and catch a glimpse of your pale, pinkened moon face in the reflection on screen, chubby cheeks plastered in warm sweat.  


    You kick out your legs, rolling in your chair over to the elliptical. That’s where you left your bike shorts. You strain an arm and wipe the stretched cotton threads across your complexion, twisting and shimmying back to your desk. The split ends tickle you under the chin. You scratch the soft space, re-arrange your hair, click the mouse, breathe and quickly toss your shorts, aiming for the laundry basket.  

    You miss. You shrug. You watch the meeting screen load.  

    You bite your lip.

    It’s not like you can get them on anyway… 

    Days turn to weeks. Weeks to months. No difference. It’s not like there’s much to do.

    And you don’t do much these days. Unless it involves food. Or lounging around. Or that slowly shrinking space between your thighs.  

    Or all three, like the moment you wake up, with the midday sun shining on your pillow.  

    You blink. You groan through your bedsheets. You’re all the way over here. Your laptop chocked with porn is all the way over there. And you’d have to get up, do some walking, squeeze into your chair, then find a clip and play it. And get a snack.

    So much effort. So unfair.  

    Lying still, you gradually run out of things to think about. You’ve lacking in a lot of stimulation lately – what little there’s left tends to dodge your mind and go straight to your stomach. It rumbles on cue. You sigh. Guess it’s time to move. You unfurl the duvet, lift your legs, crunch your core and heave…

    …and you barely rise an inch off the mattress.

    You flop back down, panting, a sudden rush to your panties draining what little strength you have left. You feel for the flesh beneath your belly’s thickest roll, your eyes flickering from naked shock to unrestrainable glee, then blinding arousal.  

    So fucking fat.  

    You knew how much you’d been eating recently. You knew how little you’d been leaving the house. You knew this was threatening to happen.  

    And now, it has. Your belly’s grown so big it’s hobbling you. It’s slowly pinning you down. You can’t get out of bed like a normal-sized girl any more. You have to roll yourself. Your formerly fit figure, flattening the mattress springs as you flounder from the left to the right, succumbing to the exhaustive pull of hundreds of pounds of blubbery new fat…  

    Suddenly, that’s enough. You’re playing with yourself. Your toes tense. You fingers seize hold of the sheets. Your hips begin to buck. You whimper, breaking through the stages in your mind, growing hotter and more flushed.

    You glimpse the elliptical. You let out a moan. You shut your eyes.

    You can’t do this here. Not on your bedsheets. Not again. Your last load’s still in the wash from the stuffing yesterday. Your spares got soaked when you waddled out the shower, and found your towel would no longer close around your waist.  

    God, you’re turning into such a pig.

    But you need these sheets! 

    Bike shorts.

    You moan. You fling a plush arm out and snatch the clutch of ripped fibres off your bedside table. They fit you, once. They contained you. They flattered you. They made you look so good…

    You press them between your legs and release in ecstasy. Layers of your thickness quiver and jostle. You fight for breath through your moans. Your eyelids flutter. Your breasts jiggle up to your chins. Your cheeks burn red. Your knuckles blaze white. Your eyes see stars, then your bike shorts.  

    Soaked and shredded. Ruined.  

    Another one for the trash. You sigh, woozy and sated. You take a pause, then tumble off the bed at last, huffing and puffing. You waddle to fetch your laptop off the desk. You load your browser, and flick through the tabs to the online store.  

    You’re going to need the biggest size they have.    


    The kinda whooty I like ♠️


    Jenny giggled when I asked her if she liked the idea of partying alone with Big Jason without me. He asked her to party at our place when she got off work.

    “That guy doesn’t have to be around” he grunted as he slammed his beer on the bar at the big tit cocktail lounge she worked at. Then he smacked her ass. It wobbled around heavily in her booty shorts and she let out a small moan.

    “Yeah baby I like that. That’s how a real man does it!” Jenny said loudly in front of her co-workers and my friends. They all laughed as she turned to give him a kiss right there at the bar. Her butt jiggled with an audible *wobble* aa she bounced around him.

    My big butt, big breasted bimbo babe - Jenny Juggs and her bull stud Big Jason the Big Cocked Bully - were about to start dating whether I liked it or not

    When she put on her extra small booty shorts on the way out the door that next night she didn’t even have work. She went right over to Jason’s and then I heard the party start through the wall.