fatfox142

[fatfox142]

nnfnfhfh its normal to drink butter after fast food its normal to drink butter after fast food its normal to drink butter after fast fooood

[fatfox142]

Rookie numbers smdh. We've all gotta step it up if we want to get these to an acceptably high level

[fatfox142]

how does 240lbs look on me~? it's not nearly fat enough yet, is it?

[fatfox142]

[fatfox142]

Feedism isn't just about gaining weight. It's about decadent overindulgence in anything you desire.

[fatfox142]

wanna see me get even fatter?

[fatfox142]

Overeating is a fake term. Don't stop. Turn off that brain and eat.

[fatfox142]

I've been keeping myself well fed.. one of my legs is giving me a lot of mobility issues so I've been solving it by ordering more takeout than before.. a good idea no?

Tonight I had 2 XL pizzas with every meat topping, 12 chicken wings, wedges, garlic bread, 4 cookies and topped it off with 4 litres of pepsi.. this is to give me energy to move around more after all, right?

So do you think if I keep eating like this it'll help me? Or maybe I need to try different takeaways.. all I know is my body is begging for more and I can't stop..

[fatfox142]

A full day of stuffing. 🤤🤤🤤 I can definitely say this will pack on more pounds to this belly.

[fatfox142]

I LOVE having my fupa jiggled while I'm funneling milkshakes 🥵

[fatfox142]

Helpless fat boy

[fatfox142]

Finally warm enough to spend some time shirtless on the balcony. Wonder if a neighbor saw me grabbing and jiggling my belly 😅

[fatfox142]

What do you get when you gobble down sweets, eating as much as an elephant eats…

You become a fat piggy! 🐷🐷

[fatfox142]

what we lost when you grew me

1200 words · 5 min read · emptyheadedhousecow.tumblr.com · October 2021

I remember how I used to be able to fuck you. I loved climbing on top of you and earning your love. I loved learning your every want, I loved exploring the intricacies of your body and your orgasm, and most of all I loved feeling useful to you. We weren’t far into our relationship when I was no longer able to do that. I couldn’t hold myself up for long, and later, it was difficult to climb on top of you at all. I was so scared that my growing arms, wobbling in exertion, would fail me and I would fall, crushing you — or at least smothering you. Your eye gleamed when I shared that concern, and you told me to do it. You told me you wanted it; you wanted to feel my whole body boring down on you. But I couldn’t do it. I didn’t dare.

I remember how you used to be able to fuck me. When I could no longer get on top of you, you would get on top of me. I felt pathetic and weak, more like a thing than a person, knowing that I didn’t even have the option to switch places if I wanted to. You reassured me, telling me that this way of doing things was more than normal, even for vanilla couples; and you told me that so long as you could fuck me, I’d still be useful to you. But I don’t think those couples faced the same issues we did. First all you needed to do to get to me was push aside the fat on my thighs. Later, you’d have to also lift up my ever-lowering belly fat. Later still, you also had to dig around in the fat that swathed my crotch to find me. That didn’t give you much trouble, at first, and you’d crack jokes about my buried treasure. But, given time, you had to rummage for longer and when you found it you had trouble mounting yourself. You had me hold apart my legs or lift up my belly as best I could, to open myself to you as much as possible, but it wasn’t enough, and later, I struggled even with that.

I remember how you used to be able to fuck me with your mouth. My growing belly meant there simply was not enough space for your body for traditional sex — perhaps we could have tried other positions, but it was so hard for me to shift myself around that you couldn’t bear to see me do it. But while you could no longer fuck me properly, there was still space for your head between my thighs, and if I strained you could reach me with your face. It was never particularly comfortable for either of us — I had to contort myself into a position where I could pull towards me as much fat as possible, which quickly exhausted me; my lower body had to be raised with pillows and such to make me accessible to you, which forced more fat backwards by gravity and made it difficult for me to breathe; you still had to hold apart the fat covering my crotch, which tired even you out; and even then there wasn’t quite enough space — you had to really push yourself into me, which can’t have been comfortable, and take breaks to breathe yourself. Our one-sided sex made me feel awful, leaving me no method with which to prove to you my love. It wasn’t workable for long.

I remember how you used to be able to fuck me with toys. Once we’d exhausted all other methods, props were required. At first, these worked wonders. Where you could no longer reach, or could only reach with your hands and even that with difficulty, our new toys seemed to have no trouble accessing. Once it had made contact, it didn’t need to be moved much, and that meant we could both relax. My fat was pliable enough that there was still some wiggle room for the toys that needed motion — it was a workout for you, but you somehow managed it. But, given time, it became ever more difficult to find the right spot and more tiring to keep it there — especially after I’d reached the point where any attempt of mine to help you didn’t achieve anything. I couldn’t bear watching you put yourself through all this when I could never do the same for you, so I tearfully asked you to slow down. It pained you, but you agreed.

I remember how you used to be able to fuck me. Now, we rarely fuck at all. It’s simply too difficult; too taxing on both of us, both physically and mentally. Sometimes, I grow so desperate. I forget my guilt; I crave your touch. There’s no hope of me touching myself, so I beg you. You laugh, and tell me “honey, you know that you’re too big for that.” You grew me a body that you can’t get off, and I grew a body that wants nothing else. I’m forced to find release myself, often through feeding, and often amplified by the knowledge that there’s simply no other way.

I remember everything we had, and I see how much of it is lost.

Keep reading

[fatfox142]

I want you constantly high and intoxicated just as much as I want you constantly snacking. I want to see for myself how you'll look when you lose your grip on both reality and your weight, just so I can make all of the "sane" decisions for you - deciding what you'll do, wear, eat, everything. It's so much fun to watch you slowly become the docile cow you were born to be.

[fatfox142]

Make me fat to the point where my weight becomes your excuse to keep me sedentary.

Oh, I'm too heavy for the chairs at a restaurant and I can't fit in the booths? Might be best to stay at home where I can sit on the couch or lay in bed. I'm sure they deliver anyways.

None of my clothes seem to fit like they should. Why worry about decency if the only person around is you? I can just throw on some pajama pants with a t-shirt that doesn't go over my chest.

I can't fit through the bedroom door frame! Not a problem, I can try to push myself through later. Why not go back to bed where you can bring me the snacks I wanted.

It's taking a lot of effort to get out of bed. Why bother struggling to get up when you always offer to get what I want. You always say how I shouldn't waste calories on such trivial things.

[fatfox142]

I've always wanted

To be someones dark web piggy.

A pet for some deranged feeder with far too much money for their (or my) own good.

Waking up tied up to a king sized bed every day with a hose stuffed in my mouth. Forced to consume whatever is being funnelled into my body.

Spread eagle in tight clothing, the only way to get out of them is to outgrow them.

Begging for them to set me free while my body bloats fatter day by day until the seams tear and my clothes fall off around me.

Fuck, I'd love it.

I've always wanted it to be recorded live too.

So every other feeder and feedee could watch me grow fucking huge before their eyes.

I'd want to be stuffed so much that I would be in tears, ready to burst. Breathing would be painful and moving would be impossible.

On top of all of that I would want random feeders to be invited to help feed me as well.

To feed me until my body is so packed with fat that I'm left helpless and dependent on my feeders.

No mercy for this poor piggy.

Just eating, sleeping, and getting fucked.

I wouldn't stop at 500 pounds either.

Oh no

I would stop when either my heart stops or my belly bursts open from eating far too much for my body to handle.

I'd be a true glutton.

Like my followers would want.