#Magical weight gain

[chubby-ghostt]

Feedist Kinktober Day 3: Date Night/Creepy Cookies 🍪

[fatguarddog]

Weight gain witchcraft 🔮

Candle that you carve someone's name into, they gain 1lb for every minute it burns

Crystal ball that shows only true visions of your future. You get fatter every time you look into it

Bonded dolls that make their target gain weight when filled with stuffing

Rapid expansion potions of all kinds

Living cauldrons, people made to have huge bellies with an ironclad stomach, perfect for witches to mix their potions inside a large bellied cutie

[tastescomics]

Poor Sebastian... new living arrangements AND a heat wave 😔

[chubunited]

Behold!! the embwomphenning of the fops....

[horzagobuchul]

Revisiting the forest that makes you fat with the new model. This will probably find a use in some coming animations I'm considering~

Horza tightened the straps of her brown leather jacket, the familiar creak of worn leather offering a small comfort. The forest before her was dense, shrouded in a mist that clung to the twisted trees like ghostly vines. Locals called it the Whispering Wood, a place of old magic and older secrets. But Horza was not one to heed superstitions; she had a relic to find and a reputation to uphold.

Stepping onto the moss-covered path, she felt a chill run down her spine. The air was thick, each breath heavy with the scent of damp earth and something sweet she couldn't quite place. Her white t-shirt fluttered slightly as a breeze whispered through the branches, carrying with it an ethereal melody that seemed to beckon her deeper.

As she ventured further, an odd sensation settled in her stomach—a warmth that spread through her body like liquid sunlight. She dismissed it as nerves, pushing forward with determined strides. But soon, her steps grew sluggish, her boots sinking deeper into the soft ground. Horza glanced down, perplexed to see her jeans tightening around her thighs.

"What in the world?" she murmured, stopping to inspect herself. Her legs felt constrained, the denim pulling taut against her skin. She tugged at the fabric, but it refused to give. Panic flickered at the edges of her mind as she noticed her hips pressing uncomfortably against the seams of her jeans.

She tried to retrace her steps, but the path behind her had vanished, replaced by a wall of thick foliage. The sweet scent in the air grew stronger, almost intoxicating. Horza's hands flew to her midsection as she felt her belt digging into her waist. Her fingers encountered the soft flesh of a belly that hadn't been there moments before.

"This can't be happening," she whispered, her heart pounding. She attempted to run, but her movements were hindered. With each passing minute, she felt herself growing heavier. Her jacket strained against her arms, the sleeves squeezing her biceps. A loud rip echoed through the silent woods as her t-shirt split along the sides, revealing the pale skin of her expanding belly.

Desperation set in. Horza pushed through the underbrush, branches snagging on her clothes as she searched for an exit. The weight was overwhelming; her legs ached with the effort of carrying her increasing mass. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her breath coming in labored gasps.

Another tear resounded as her jeans gave way, seams splitting to expose her thighs, now full and pressing against the remnants of the fabric. Her embarrassment was acute, a flush spreading across her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around her midsection in a futile attempt to cover herself, but her belly hung lazily over the waistband, swaying slightly with each strained step.

"Help! Is anyone there?" she called out, her voice tinged with fear. The forest answered only with the rustling of leaves and that haunting, sweet melody. The ground seemed to pull at her feet, each step more arduous than the last. Her jacket refused to close, her t-shirt now a torn vestige clinging to her shoulders.

Weighing nearly 250 pounds now, Horza stumbled into a small clearing. She collapsed against a tree, the bark rough against her back. Tears welled in her eyes as she grappled with the surreal nightmare. The reality of her situation pressed down on her—she was trapped, and her body was betraying her in the most bewildering way.

Determined not to succumb, she mustered her strength and stood once more. But her body had grown unfamiliar; movements that were once effortless now required immense exertion. At 300 pounds, her ankles wobbled, and her knees threatened to give way. The forest around her seemed to mock her struggle, the whispers growing louder, more insistent.

Her clothes were in tatters. The leather jacket hung open, the sleeves torn, revealing arms that had grown soft and heavy. Her exposed belly caught the dappled light filtering through the canopy, each breath causing it to rise and fall noticeably. She felt exposed, vulnerable in a way she had never experienced.

Reaching out to steady herself, Horza's hand brushed against a glowing symbol etched into a tree trunk. The warmth emanating from it pulsed through her fingers, and suddenly, the weight gain halted. The oppressive sensation lifted slightly, though her body remained changed.

"Who are you?" a voice echoed in her mind. Startled, she looked around but saw no one.

"I'm Horza," she replied hesitantly. "I don't know what's happening to me."

"You entered the forest seeking something," the voice continued. "But you did not ask for passage."

"I didn't know," she pleaded. "Please, reverse this… curse."

There was a pause, the forest holding its breath. "Balance must be restored," the voice said finally. "Carry with you a reminder of the respect nature commands."

As Horza leaned heavily against the ancient tree, trying to steady herself, the ethereal voice returned, now tinged with a mocking undertone that echoed through the woods.

"Look how the mighty falter when burdened by their own disregard," the voice mused. "Did you think you could trespass without consequence?"

Her muscles quivered under the unfamiliar weight, each movement a strenuous effort. Horza tried to push herself forward, but her legs wobbled, unused to supporting her transformed body. The added mass made every step a challenge, her balance precarious as she navigated the uneven forest floor.

"Please, I didn't know," she pleaded, desperation creeping into her voice. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, both from exertion and the acute embarrassment of her situation. The remnants of her white t-shirt clung to her, torn and inadequate, exposing her midriff. Her belly, now softer and fuller, moved subtly with each labored breath, the cool air brushing against her skin.

The voice chuckled softly. "Ignorance does not absolve disrespect. Perhaps this lesson will teach you humility."

Determined to escape, Horza summoned all her willpower to move forward. Each step was a monumental task; her thighs brushed against each other, the torn jeans failing to contain the newfound fullness. The fabric scraped against her skin before giving way entirely, leaving her legs exposed to the forest's elements. Her brown leather jacket was on the verge of bursting, the sleeves straining, barely containing the now considerable bulk of arms that now carried a softer contour.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she pressed on, the weight of her ordeal bearing down both physically and mentally. The jiggling of her altered form was a constant reminder of her predicament, each motion amplifying her self-consciousness. She felt vulnerable, her dignity stripped away along with the shreds of her clothing.

"Do you feel it now?" the voice whispered. "The weight of your actions?"

Horza's vision blurred with tears, but she refused to succumb. She focused on the slivers of light piercing through the canopy ahead, a beacon guiding her escape. Her breathing was ragged, each inhale a struggle as her body strained against the unfamiliar exertion.

The ground seemed to conspire against her—roots caught her feet, and low-hanging branches pulled at her hair and clothes. Yet, she pressed on, driven by a mix of fear and determination. The whispers of the forest grew fainter, the mocking tone dissipating as she neared the edge of the woods.

With one final push, Horza stumbled out of the tree line and into the open. The sunlight was blinding, and she squinted as she tried to regain her bearings. Her legs finally gave way, and she sank to her knees on the soft grass. The cool breeze caressed her flushed face, her fat cheeks warm and tinged with the redness of both exertion and embarrassment.

Behind her, the forest stood silent, its shadows no longer reaching out to ensnare her. The ethereal voice offered one last remark, softer this time. "Let this be a reminder of the respect nature commands. Carry it with you always."

Horza sat there catching her breath, the reality of her transformation settling in. She looked down at herself—the tattered clothes, the altered physique—and felt a complex mix of emotions. Shame was there, certainly, but also a sense of survival and resilience. She had made it out.

Slowly, she rose to her feet, unsteady but resolute. Every part of her felt different; her movements created subtle ripples through her body, a sensation she would have to grow accustomed to. Clutching the remains of her clothing around her, she began the journey toward the distant village lights.

[softartemisart]

in terms of cursed objects that make you fat, a large leather harness is nice.

if you don't fasten it tight enough, then your body will grow to fill the available space. if you only leave a little bit of extra breathing room, then it's not too noticeable. just a small layer of pudge all-over, easily brushed off as some pounds you just didn't notice creeping on until now. looser still, and you'd feel the weight hit you, feel the doughy flesh ooze between your fingers until you fit snugly into the garment. if you fastened it at the loosest setting? well. unless you get it off quickly, it won't stop until you're straining the leather, new stretch-marked skin bulging out around the tight straps, every inch of you soft and swollen and wobbling and fat

[love--bites]

In love with the idea of a feeder who takes their feedee out to dinner and buys the feedee food. The feedee feels flattered and maybe even a little pressured to finish it all, despite the somewhat large portion. But then the food just doesn't stop coming. The feedee continues to cram more and more food down the throat, although the stomach feels like it's about to burst, because they know the feeder is paying for all of this delicious food, and they couldn't bear seeing it go to waste. They don't understand why the feeder keeps order more and more, though, and even as the empty plates begin stacking into piles, the fattening orders don't slow down. Eventually, the restaurant runs out of food to provide, and the pair are asked to leave, but the feeder has to help the feedee out with all that newfound weight dragging them down.

[greenlotusleaf]

What if you were a knight, and you were on a brave mission to rescue your princess from a terrible dragon. The quest is perilous, but you had to volunteer: you've always been secretly in love with the princess, though the difference in your station means you can never be together.

After your long and dangerous travel, you run up the stairs, reaching the lair at the top of an ancient, ruined tower. The starlight though the missing roof lights the massive pile of golden treasure with an otherworldly gleam. No dragon is in sight.

But wait! Lounging on the pile of stolen treasure is a huge, swollen figure. You step forward cautiously, hand on the hilt of your sword. Then, a cloud uncovers the moon and in the new light, you see the figure is not a dragon, but a vast, bloated woman, wearing nothing but gold jewellery.

At your approach, she turns heavily on her bed of gold. There's a clink and scrape of coins as the motion of her enormity sends bits of treasure cascading down the pile. Her gravid belly is impossibly, obscenely round; each dimpled, wobbling thigh is wider than your entire body. Each swollen breast is as large as most pregnant women's bellies ever grow, and as she rolls over to face you, they flop down beside her, leaking milk that runs in thin trickles down her body, moistening the treasure beneath her.

You are stunned at the sight of her like this, so she breaks the silence. "My brave knight," she intones, jiggling as she speaks. Broad, golden necklaces ripple over her enormous breasts and down into the vast valley of her cleavage. You know you should look away, sparing her royal dignity, but you can't. You've often imagined her body, bared for you... but that was before. The princess was slender, then. Now? Your body is flooded with a mix of conflicting feelings, but lust is still among them. You feel yourself growing weak with it.

"My brave knight, I knew you'd come for me." You are mesmerized by the way her hand rubs lazy circles on her enormous belly. You kneel and lower your eyes, as is proper with royalty, but you can't stop yourself from flicking little glances back up, astonished. "It's unfortunate, my champion, that despite your bravery, I cannot return with you to the castle. Not anymore. But...." Coins jingle, and you realize the princess is slowly spreading her vast thighs, opening for you. "...If you still wish to be of service to your princess, I can give you one final quest, of personal urgency."

You've dreamed about this too many times. You couldn't possibly refuse her.

Kneeling reverently before her, you kiss her delicately, at first. You crave to see the look on the princess's face, but her enormous, swollen belly blocks your view, leaving you only her gasps and sighs and pleas as encouragement. Her hugeness, her heaviness, is a new kind of regality, and it mesmerizes you, drawing you in like gravity. You pleasure her more fervently, as if possessed.

So absorbed in your service, you don't mind when the princess twines her fingers into you hair, holding your head in place between her thighs-- why shouldn't she command her most devoted knight thus? You don't even notice the spreading shadow of wings over you, or hear the quiet landing of the creature behind you over the sound of your princess's words of encouragement. When the talon moves with exquisite slowness, shearing through the straps of your armor, you are frozen with fear, but your princess soothes you, begs you not to stop, to grant her relief.

When the dragon enters you, hot breath on your back, the princess shudders in ecstasy, crying out your name like you always imagined she would. When the dragon fills you, floods you, she strokes your hair, praising your bravery and steadfastness. When the dragon departs, wordless as it arrived, its seed spilling out of you in a molten gush, the princess sits up with a great effort, bends over you, kisses you chastely on the forehead. "Now you cannot return to the castle, either, my perfect knight. Now you must stay with me...."

As the princess pulls you up beside her onto the bed of treasure, you finally understand. She lays a plump hand protectively on your still-toned belly, many rings glittering, as she smiles a peculiar smile. She gathers herself onto all fours, swollen breasts pressed together between her fat arms, overripe belly dragging on the bed of coins, as she retrieves gold bangles and chains to adorn you, all far too loose.

You don't even mind the coins digging into your back as she climbs on top of you, crushing you into the treasure heap. A pulsing warmth rises within you, and it's more than just your desire. "My valorous hero is going to be so irresistible," she muses. "Now I must give you a reward befitting my *greatest* knight...."

[alphasunpup]

Feedist Kinktober Day 13- Gothiccc

Sorry for this being so late, sleeping at a friend's while in the process of moving so these posts will be chaotic for the next week. Also very sleepy so another bullet points story!

You inherent a very spooky castle from like an estranged great relative you never heard of

Castle is absolutely beautiful and looks like a Gothic cathedral

You're a broke Grad student so of course you accept the money, the castle, the estate, and everything in between

The castle has some modern parts like the kitchen and bathroom but th bedroom is still a testimony to the Gothic period of which your great relative lived in or was inspired by

You now have servants which is hard to get used to

They dress you up in linen button ups, tight laced up leather pants, and leather boots

You are served delicious meals everyday

Your clothes slowly grow tight on you until a seamstress one day appears and resuits

All of a sudden you have new clothes and the servants double the portions

You slowly forget about school too busy enjoying the revelry of your fat bulging against your new clothes

Clothes made from real silks, linens, and cottons

You finally leave your castle one day and finally go to class all for people to either ask you if you're a 16th century duke or a vampire or both

Now everything clicks for you and you don't care

You rub your tummy struggling against your red and black vest. The cumberband about to be undone, your silk shirt accentuating every curve of your fat chest, your leather laces burst through. All you can think about is your next meal and next fitting

[fattlestacks]

TammyTwoPaws Commission July 2023

This is a commission for @tammy-two-paws I hope you like it, thanks so much for commissioning me!

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Jaymz Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/jaymzeecat

[tastescomics]

#4 Leashed "Imagine, every hour that you're a good pup I'll add ten more pounds to that plump body of yours."

Token and Fer are up to something a bit more... spicy >v>

[softartemisart]

magical weight gain over the course of one working day. trying to work a customer service job as you become less and less professional, feeling yourself grow and spill out of your clothes a bit more with every customer

[sheepsfluff]

A poll pops up on your tumblr dash, imploring you to pick how much you want to grow. You choose one of the options, mainly just for the satisfaction of pressing a button, and idly reblog the post to pass it along to your followers. Scrolling on, you feel your stomach rumble slightly. When you look down, you realize that your pants are a little tight and reach down to undo them, assuming you must have overdone it on your last meal without realizing. However, once you do this your belly surges even further forward into your lap and rumbles again. Glancing back at your screen you realize that the post you just reblogged is being bombed with likes and interaction from blogs you don't recognize. Looking back at your stomach you see it's surged even further, and the feeling of being lifted slightly on your ass confirms your suspicions; you actually are growing by the second. You stand so you don't get stuck in your chair and stumble a little under your newfound weight, your now even larger belly pulling you forward. Stumbling towards the door, you hope that you'll still be able to fit through it by the time you get there. Depending on which option you picked, maybe you do still fit, or maybe you keep growing until your fat touches every wall of the room before you can even get to the door. Either way, by the end you're starving and not likely to be capable of thinking about much more than your next meal ever again...

[exponentialmass]

Definitely one of the more unique weight gain commissions I've done, but I've definitely had a good time drawing this anime gal getting bigger!

Commissions remain open and ongoing!

Crossposted from: https://twitter.com/ExponentialMass

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

I am... fully obsessed with the magic doll story you wrote. Is there any possibility one day getting an expansion (heh) that included other aspects of the ask, like getting Bucky drunk or making him horny and cum from a distance?? Sorry, I had no idea I would like it that much 👀

This magic doll

I'm not sure how much this expands on the original idea, but... I just blacked out and came back with this, so 🤷🏻‍♂️ have it 😂😂

(Also, tagging @bnb-atnite because she went feral for that story 👀)

Warning for unbeta'd stucky belly kink. Mostly rapid and magical weight gain, some vague dubious concent vibes but not really, etc.

I’d like to think that Steve likes to take his boy toy out on the town, showing him off, the media thinks they’re dating, but they don’t know that this pretty, young twink is Steve’s toy. Paid for and still pampered by Steve’s wealth.

As a result of Steve taking him out to the most lavish, expensive dinners, showing him off, alongside Steve’s need to keep his reputation (relatively) controversy-free… Steve has to unstuff the magic doll when they go out for the aforementioned high society vanity and practical reasons. For vanity, paparazzi would ruin them (as hot as it would get Steve) if Bucky waddled out of their building, thighs not only rubbing together but spilling out against each other, all that fat jiggling and forcing his legs further apart than they normally would be when he walks, turning his smooth walk into a wide-legged, ponderous staggering. The whole time he would need Steve to hold onto, his balance so fickle when he’s that fucking big. Steve’s arm fighting to make it all the way around his thick, soft waist and getting lost in between those heavy, overflowing rolls; Bucky’s chubby hand tight on his muscular forearm, clinging to him, complete contrast; Bucky huffing and puffing, his chubby cheeks red and misted with sweat, pure exertion from all that weight packed onto his frame and being forced to walk the short distance from the elevator to the lobby to their waiting, chauffeured car where he needs Steve to help stuff him into the backseat, fighting all his blubber, it’s a good thing that they don’t buckle up in the back because even with an extender… Bucky wouldn’t fit, meanwhile, Steve isn’t out of breath at all, not a hair out of place, nothing but a cocky smile on his lips, after all, with his workout regime he could skip the elevator down from their top floor penthouse, run the flights of stairs, down, up, then down again, and still be fine. But not Bucky. Bucky’s overburdened frame, overflowing with this soft, luxurious blubber, would cause quite the media frenzy, feeding off of him. And God knows there’s enough to feed off of. Steve would get off on it, but he doesn’t do it. For practicality, they can’t leave the penthouse with the magic doll, and subsequently with Bucky so round and heavy, because Bucky can’t move very well when his body is stuffed with fat. When the magic doll - always in Steve’s pocket, ready to be manipulated and played with whenever Steve feels like it - nearly bursting at the seams with so much fiberfill, Bucky can hardly maneuver around the penthouse, much less the outside world. In the penthouse, he knocks stuff over with his shelf-ass, he gets stuck in doorways (and even in Steve’s impressive, huge shower stall), he finds it difficult to waddle more than a few inches before becoming exhausted, he complains about having to use his arms because when he does his heavy, big tits get in the way, and, just, anything that isn’t sitting on his ass, mounding out underneath him like a thick cushion, is hard. So, when he’s so huge, he sits and lets himself be pampered. However Steve wants him, so long as it’s resting, he’s good.

However, as much as it makes Bucky pout when he’s unstuffed, returning to that little twink he was when Steve first bought him, it’s totally worth it once they’re done with their little date and he gets to experience being supersized all over again. There’s nothing like a public dinner date filled with foreplay, knowing that the real fun begins when they get home where Steve can have him to himself and mold his body into whatever form he wants, all for him to play with him. Touch him, fatten him, grope him, spank him, fuck him, even fuck his rolls. Whatever he wants. It’s about what he wants. Bucky is a toy, his needs don’t matter, he’s just here to be Steve’s. And Steve’s going to play with him. Roughly or softly, he’ll play however he wants.

So, their date is foreplay in the form of Steve buying courses and courses and courses of expensive, fancy food that come in tiny portions that Bucky always swears will never fill him up, only to sing (pant, really) a different tune in an hour when the plates are still coming and he’s not so sure he has any more room. If not for Steve demanding that he keep eating - he paid for it, didn’t he? Bucky isn’t sure if he’s talking about the food or Bucky himself. Jesus Christ, that’s hot. - claiming he wants to have to hold him close to his side when they leave so the cameras don’t catch that Bucky’s popped at least one button off of his shirt, the pressure of his swollen belly just too much for the expensive cloth and thread. And if he doesn’t pop a button, if he doesn’t finish all his food, well, maybe he’ll have to go to bed without an orgasm and without all the fat he so desperately wants to be packed back onto him, addicted to how soft he’s grown (ha) used to being under Steve’s pampering care.

So.

Bucky eats.

He eats and eats and eats, always moaning at the rich tastes of the decadent foods, easily letting Steve continue to fill his wine glass until he’s satisfied with Bucky making a pig of himself in public. Stuffing his face. The evidence is clear on his body - his belly distended into a tight, pregnant-looking globe.

In the bathroom before they leave, Steve slaps his tender gut a handful of times, weakening Bucky’s knees until he’s leaning against Steve’s chest, panting hard, his eyes rolling to the back of his head with a whimper as he feels all the food inside him shift and churn, he’s so full and Steve’s being so mean. The burn of his slaps is barely diffused by his tight, tight shirt. The smacks are just to make him focus, though, Steve knows how dumb his spoiled toy gets, and he needs a reminder to suck in as much as he can while they walk to the car. Keep up the reputation. Then, once they’re inside, he can let his greedy belly bloat back out. Nearly moaning into his collar, practically drooling on him, Bucky nods and struggles to right himself.

They stumble through camera flashes into the car to go home.

Bucky whines and moans through the car ride, Steve’s heavy, hot palm resting possessively on his starter belly for the night, the bulk of his body close, leaning into him. His lips are pressed close to Bucky’s ear, whispering about how he can’t wait to watch this chubby belly swell into a real fat gut and… hmm, y’know, maybe he can’t wait. Maybe he’ll pull out the magic doll in the interior pocket of his suit jacket and start puffing him up right here. Wouldn’t that be fun? He could give Bucky huge, big tits again and then force him to walk from the car to the doors of their building with them wobbling and spilling out of his shirt. Wouldn’t the gossip rags have fun with that? Talking about how this tiny little twink went and got himself big, mommy milkers… or maybe, maybe he should stuff his ass, make it huge and give everyone in the city, hell, with Steve’s business being a household name, everyone in the country something to jerk off to. That big, fat ass.

Bucky is panting. Forget foreplay, this is… it’s midplay? Just play? It’s so much more than simple foreplay to get him riled up. He's past riled.

His belly is stuffed to the point that he might burst and he’s so hard in his slacks, his belt biting into his waist, that he’s achy. He wants Steve to play with his dick right now. He doesn’t care that he’s pretty sure Steve wouldn’t do any of that, and he’s just talking. He doesn’t know 100%. And he could. Bucky is his to play with. He could do whatever he wanted to him. If he wanted he could take his clothes and make him do the walk of shame up to their building, streaking with his stuffed, glutted middle bulging out in front of him like Steve’s fucked him so good, so often, that he’s defied the laws of biology and impregnated him despite his lack of uterus.

Steve caresses his tender middle, dragging his fingertips just hard enough over him, that he shudders. A soft, “please,” comes out in a whine.

Steve just nips his ear, hushing him.

Bucky swears that he nearly dies, his heart pounding so hard in his chest, on the way back to the penthouse. He’s too turned on. He’s gonna explode. Anticipation and fullness are so overwhelming together.

Once they’re behind the heavy, solid wood door of the penthouse Steve stops dragging him along, possessive but also reasonable because Bucky’s not sure how he’s still walking, he’s not even that heavy, he’s just too turned on, there’s nothing going on in his head. So, Bucky stops in his tracks, Steve goes to the kitchen for… something, meanwhile, he sticks to the door, leaning against the cool surface, trying to catch his breath.

It doesn’t hit Bucky that it’s intentional on Steve’s part until, oh, God -

He’s squirming in pleasure with the tingling, stretching feeling of his body expanding. It’s magical. Literally. But it feels magical, too. It’s so much better, after a break of being back in his “normal” body, he’s fucking dying here, feeling himself balloon right back up. It will never get old. It’s tight and tingly, his skin fighting to keep up with the pure lard that’s exponentially filling him, almost like the sensation of pins and needles. So, so intense. It’s hot like fire spreading through him. It’s such a stretch that it takes his breath away, he feels like an inflatable parade balloon. Fuck, he’s about to be the size of one, too.

Bucky moans, tortured by the sensation and by the fact that he can hear Steve, his footsteps on the wooden floor, chuckling as he waltzes out of the kitchen and further away from Bucky - it sounds like he’s heading for the bedroom, which, fuck yeah, but Bucky can’t move! He’s still expanding!

Heavier and heavier, wider and wider.

It feels like he’s swelling to fill the whole door frame. Like he’s gonna get stuck again! He moans loudly at the thought, there’s really nothing as sexy as Steve coming up behind him to unstick him, teasing him for “letting” himself get so big (as if he has any choice with the power Steve has over him), and then getting his hands all over his body, sinking into his soft, plush fat, grunting with the effort of shoving and shoving, making the parts of his body that aren’t wedged in tight jiggle and wobble in waves until he stumbles forward, dazed from how turned on it all makes him.

Bucky’s still swelling.

What’s better or worse-? Getting fattened in the blink of an eye, suddenly woomph, hugely obese and incredibly off-balance and so aroused, or having it accumulate just fast enough for him to feel his body struggling to keep up, his heart pounding as he knows what’s coming.

“Buck?” Steve calls, beckoning him forward.

He struggles through a few steps, his new weight making his muscles tremble while his mind weakens. He’s shaking. He’s already so close to begging out loud. He just wants more already. He wants it fast. He wants it now! Fatten meeee! Swell me!

Bucky uses the walls and furniture along the way to the bedroom to steady himself, fighting to keep walking when he really just wants to fall to his knees to enjoy the sensation that’s overtaking his whole body.

Swelling.

Filling out.

Inflating.

Bloating.

Shit, it’s so good.

By the time he gets to the end of the hall that leads back to the master bedroom and bathroom, he’s sweating. Steve is standing there, leaning against the door frame, smirking at him, eyes dark as he watches his struggles. He’s holding that fucking doll and a mass wad of stuffing. Bucky’s heart leaps into his throat, his dick twitching like an excitable pet hearing the word “dinner.”

Then -

“OH!”

Steve forces all of the huge mass of stuffing into the little magic doll, making it bulge.

At first, it all settles right into the doll’s belly, the biggest open space available. It’s so much that Bucky stumbles and falls onto his suddenly massively, massively round gut. The thump sound of his impact would be laughable if it weren’t so fucking obscene. He is so excessive. SO fat. The air is knocked out of him. His head is spinning. He’s so fucking turned on. He could come like this. He could. He’s on top of his gut, his legs forced to spread so wide around the massive shape of his gut, and -

A whole long moan that’s almost more like a wail leaves Bucky, emptying his lungs of all oxygen as Steve takes the ungodly huge chunk of stuffing straining the doll’s limits in its tummy and massages it. He smooths the big ball of fiberfill out, distributing it more evenly throughout Bucky’s frame. Bucky can’t breathe. It feels like there are hands all over him, touching him, touching him, touching him, squishing, squeezing, and groping his fat. He feels like a pillow being fluffed. But a heavy pillow. It's so heavy that he doesn’t think he’s ever going to walk again. Guh. How does he ever get used to this feeling between their public outings? It’s mind-melting. With Steve touching him without touching him, his belly shrinks, but the whole rest of his body thickens, evening out, leaving Bucky much chunkier, but on all-fours rather than resting on top of his gut.

Of course, once he’s done massaging him, Steve stuffs him more. Filling the freed-up space.

More.

He makes his body so thick, his arms and legs blubbery and his belly nearly sagging to the floor while he trembles on his hands and knees. To deal with the weight, Bucky arches his back, but it doesn’t help him deal with how turned on he is - if anything, it makes him hornier because he can feel how his thick ass jiggles and pops out more. He could get fucked like this; if he’s not too fat for Steve’s dick to reach his hole yet, he could get fucked like this; he wants to be fucked like this. So bad. He wants Steve to fuck him, grope him, jiggle him, and fatten him.

More.

He’s so fucking spoiled. Weakly, plaintively whining, begging without words as his arms and legs slide farther apart under the still-increasing weight of his body. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck meee. If Steve keeps pushing him he’s gonna be laying on top of his fat rather than crawling on all fours soon. He’s too soft and weak! Absolutely spoiled.

“Buck, honey-”

Steve’s voice makes Bucky stretch his head up, blearily looking at him through the haze of arousal.

His voice has softened “-quit playing around and come to bed, baby. I know your tummy hurts after dinner, c’mere and I’ll rub your belly in bed, don’t you want me to make it better?” he’s too good at playing the doting, innocent husband of an overdue wife considering that he’s the one doing this to Bucky, fattening him, driving him insane with too much and not enough pleasure.

With a whimper Bucky tries to crawl forward again, wobbling, his body fighting so hard to do something so simple that’s so hard when he’s so fucking heavy. He can’t make it and he opens his mouth to beg for help, he can’t do it! He’s too big! When -

A truly shameless, obscene sound comes out of Bucky. Before he knows what’s happened and why he’s suddenly so hot and so sweaty and so close to coming, Bucky is going down. He’s suddenly crumbling onto the floor face first, putting his weight on his tender gut and belching through another desperate moan. He can’t take it. He can’t -

Steve.

Fucking! Steve! So mean!

Just barely, Bucky can make out that Steve is holding the doll, not passively stuffing whisps of fiberfill into its body but now rubbing it. He’s rubbing the, the…

Oh, Jesus, just looking at what he’s doing to the doll, and thus doing to Bucky, makes embarrassment riot inside him. It’s so dirty!

He’s rubbing the crotch of the magic doll. He’s pleasuring it! Pleasuring Bucky!

His eyes roll to the back of his head, going limp in stunned arousal.

It fucking feels like he’s pouring pleasure straight into his body through his dick. It’s like being jerked off and sucked off and humping his own fat all at the same time. It’s like nothing else, he’s never felt something so good. It’s melting his mind. It’s ruining him for any other pleasure that doesn’t come from being so gluttonous and out of control.

Bucky can feel himself quivering on top of the cushion of his squished, fat belly. He can feel his dick, trapped where he can’t reach it under all his heavy, thick blubber twitching and leaking. He’s sweating so much, running the hottest fever. He’s wailing, voice breaking, when without fucking touching him Steve jerks him off to orgasm. It’s hot and wet against his own skin but Bucky can’t see it, the dirty evidence is hidden by his swollen body. The whole time, Bucky can feel Steve’s eyes on him, focused and burning, as captivated with him as a cat that’s just spotted an impressively fat mouse, deepened with the sadism of a predator whose only pleasure is unraveling its prey like a spool of thread. And just to make it worse, dragging him through the last twitches of his orgasm, Steve pinches the doll’s belly, undeniably delighted to hear how Bucky’s moans change tune.

It hurts to be groped so hard - his belly is under so much pressure already with him on top of it, and adding to it is… it’s, it’s unbearable. It feels so good. All he wants is to be touched and he is being touched but he wants Steve to actually touch him, he doesn’t want magic, he wants it to be real, and he’s already aching for more. Spoiled. He wants to be hefted into bed and turned over, rolled onto his back where he’s pinned and made into a bloated, swollen playground for Steve to touch, grope, hump, and climb all over. He wants Steve on top of him, grabbing handfuls of his thick blubber, jiggling it, and grinding into it, getting red in the face as he reaches his own high, getting off on what he’s done to Bucky. How he’s ruined and perverted him. How he owns him. He can do anything he wants to him, and Bucky will lick it up and beg for more like the greedy boy toy he is.

Me rn:

Did I realize AFTER I wrote this whole thing that I neglected to talk about Bucky's clothes tearing off of him as he got fatter? Yes. Is that evidence of my brain being horny scrambled? You bet your ass it is 😂

[tummy-stuffing-king]

concept: a magician or noble who has a particular dignity and figure to maintain. Their duties often come with extended formal dinners and salons, and they simply can't afford to be unruffled in any way. Being seen not finishing their food, or somewhat indisposed after indulging, would be a sign of weakness to their enemies. So instead they simply outsource the strain to someone below them. They craft or commission a spell that allows them to consume as much as they desire, and once they have had their fill, their bonded servant becomes the one to bear the weight.

so while the master effortlessly negotiates and politicks, the servant is left standing at their post, feeling their uniform grow tighter and their middle heavier as the night goes on, filled with someone else's feast. They continue to serve drinks and clear plates and stand in perfect poise even as their skin grows taut and their breath becomes short. The master, with no indication of when to stop, simply continues to clear course after course, filling their poor servant far beyond what they thought they could handle.

By the end of the night, the servant is sweaty and redfaced with the effort of simply continuing to stand at attention, yet still they are forced to gracefully and demurely attend to their master and escort them back to their rooms.

Maybe the master begins to use their servant even when they have no need for keeping up a facade, enjoying the taste and experience of lavish meals without any of the discomfort. Maybe they even begin to share their servant with trusted allies or companions, so the servant is forced to bear the intake of not one, but several people over the course of an hours long engagement.