indulgentjax

[indulgentjax]

desperate

God, you're so desperate for it, aren't you? You think you're good at hiding it, but I see it in your eyes all the time. When I'm getting ready in the morning and struggling to button my jeans around all this flab. When I'm wearing that spaghetti strap sundress and my arm fat jiggles as I reach for my cup to take another sip. When you can see how full I am from dinner - breathing heavily, belly bulging to the point where it's barely staying contained in my shirt - but still just can't resist ordering a dessert.

In those small passing moments, you're always paying attention. You love seeing how much of a greedy glutton I can be. How all of these choices are showing up on the jiggliest parts of my body. Knowing how much you want more, I can't help but tease you a bit. I want you to see how fat I've gotten for you. Well, both for you and because you know I can't stop even if I wanted to, of course.

You can't hide how much you want it - how much you want me. And I've gotten to the point where I can't hide it either - it shows all over my huge, blubbery body - how much I'm growing, just for you.

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rolls = art

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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.

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I used to be ashamed of my cellulite. All those small dimples put there by genetics and excess fat. I'd look in the mirror and see it showing through my clothes - thin fabric clinging to each little dimple - pulling and pulling on my clothes out to try and make it less visible. Looking down and seeing that it's not just my thighs, it's also on my upper belly rolls, inner arm flab, and all over my ass too.

Now I see it for what it is: gorgeous. Instead of hiding it, I embrace it, and I marvel at each little dimple. Some deep, some shallow, all sprinkled all over my fattest parts. Each one the perfect size for a tiny kiss. It might take hours to reach every single one, are you up for the challenge? ;)

[indulgentjax]

yes, here for all of it, but soft xwg is perfect. absolutely fucking enormous bodies deserve to be treated with softness, too!

Reblog if you're into soft XWG. Wholesome-but-extreme, extreme-but-wholesome. Scalebreaking weights celebrated with praise and caresses. Playful flirtation during gigantic all-day binges. Extreme sizes as an opportunity for tender caretaking. The warmth and intimacy of getting really fucking fat.

Often it seems like the line of division is between option 1, wholesome soft feedism with plump round tummies, and option 2, extreme weight gain and supersizes accompanied by degradation and shaming kinks. Neither of these are "wrong" ways to fantasize (as long as option 2 doesn't involve real life fatphobia), but I'm a fan of option 3.

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when you’re fat and have been for a long time, it’s easy to forget how fat you are. how much space you actually take up. how you actually look to people outside of yourself.

that’s why it’s so hot to be told how fat i look. how big i’ve gotten. how huge i look sprawled out on the couch as i reach for another bite.

pat my belly and tell me how easy it is to see that i’ve grown. how you can tell that my belly is getting heavier as it hangs down lower. that when you see me walk by, you notice my ass jutting out just a little bit more. the way you’ve noticed a slight waddle as i walk to the fridge for another treat.

really, i do forget just how fat i am sometimes. don’t let me forget.

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The anticipation of knowing that you're going to stuff me with every single thing I want to eat, lovingly poke my belly, and call me daddy's good little piggy tonight is just...almost more than I can stand.

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I know...it's so hard to stop yourself from eating, isn't it?

That's why you don't have to. Not when you're around me. I'd never judge you. I want to see you indulge yourself. To see you enjoy all of that food. And I know you want to enjoy it as well.

That's it...lay back, relax, and keep eating for me. Just like that.

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Bellies are so special. For starters, a big belly is a sign that you're unmistakably fat. You can get away with having growing thighs and a growing ass for awhile, maybe you look more curvy and thick. But when you've got a noticeably bigger belly, people see it immediately. A sure sign of some extra indulgence.

Bellies are miraculous. When a belly gets fat enough, it becomes its own thing all on its own. When it starts to hang and you can lift it on its own, it's basically its own body part at that point. A part of you that is purely just fat - squishy and soft and made up of those extra treats that have added up over time.

Bellies are warm and inviting. The way they flow and squish and hang and ripple. They feel safe and solid and soft, all at the same time. They are a symbol of abundance, an overflow. An absolute pleasure to touch and feel and experience.

Bellies are truly the most amazing thing.

[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.