#breathing exercise for belly fat

[fitnessmantram]

Inhale Exercise for Bellyfat#shorts #inhale #exhale #exercise #fitnessm...

[beaverpooeatstrash-blog]

I look so silly exercising. Wish I could just never move again~ grow and grow, fatter and fatter~ but for now, here I am. Jumping jacks.

[sugurizz]

(Smut/ NSFW +18 - minors DNI !)

Yoga instructor! Geto who starts your private session together with the brightest smile and the kindest words. He helps you unwind with some breathing exercises then tells you to mirror his movements and positions. He even gently corrects your stance to perfectly match his own.

Yoga instructor! Geto notices that your muscles are still tense and that your body needs to loosen up a bit more. So he invites you to sit in front of him and starts massaging your neck and shoulders. his slender yet powerful fingers are hitting the perfect spots in your body as if he was inside it, driving every hint of stress away through your skin.

Yoga instructor! Geto who pushes the sighs of satisfaction out of your lips. Slowly getting you all loose and putty in his hands as you try your best not to moan from his melting touches.

"I'm glad my lovely client is enjoying my small service." He whispers deeply next to your neck, eyes filled with fiery lust hiding under his dark lashes.

The heat you felt in your cheeks is now pooling in your belly, then burning down into your sex. His touches are getting painfully slower. But he's still as cool and unbothered as always, only taunting your senses and driving your heart insane for his own heart's content.

You somehow decide to strip off to your sportsbra, telling him that it makes it easier for him to reach your pressure points.

Yoga instructor! Geto who agrees with a little smirk, but now just to be fair, he gets to take off his black tank top as well.

Your back is now rubbing against his abs. His arms are caging you tight on either side and his long fingers roam dangerously lower, from the curves of your breasts down to him strocking the fat of your stomach, carressing your hips and ghosting over your wet pussy.

Yoga instructor! Geto who notices you giving him the cutest puppy eyes. You never break eye contact with him as you spread your legs wide, take his hand in yours then place it on the spot that's aching for him the most..

"Sorry...It felt a little warm. maybe because of the stress.." you drift your eyes away only for them to meet his again, cheeks squeezed between his fingers.

"Aww, is that so ??"

"Yeah.."

"don't you worry love. I'mma take care of it"...

Yoga instructor! Geto who's now face buried in your cunt cause 'he needs to relieve your inner tension'. His silky tongue is smoothing its way between your folds you and shamelessly making out with your pussy lips. His eyes are smiling at you as he releases your clit with the cutest "pop" sound.

Yoga instructor! Geto who's now pounding you in a full nelson with your legs on both sides of your head. His large hands keep your head still as he promises you he's gonna chase all your tension away.

"hnngh..how does it feel now, cupcake? ah-fuck.. is the stress gone yet?"

Yoga instructor! Geto who tells you to come more often, because he won't be charging you for your private sessions anymore.

[jujutsusimp]

More than a weapon

🌸Gojo notices some change in his body due to his domesticated life with you and you love it.

Truly this is just a some self indulging fluff and cheesy romance but I needed it.

Content: Gojo x fem!reader, fluff, Gojo being insecure

“I really let myself go huh?”

You peek your head out of the book you are reading on the bed, watching Satoru look himself in the bedroom mirror, pinching a tiny bit of belly fat on his lower abdomen. This man is still carved like a Greek god, but finally, he has something more than muscles and skin.

“I will need to work on that,"�� he muses absentmindedly, which makes you frown and answer instinctively: “Don’t you fucking dare.”

He raises an amused eyebrow at your intense declaration, looking at you with a teasing smile. “You like this, Babe?”, he demands with a chuckle while you let go of your book, getting up to embrace him. He doesn’t resist when you wrap your arms around him, burying your head in his chest.

"Yes, I do”, you state firmly with a pout, tightening your grip almost protectively.

“Yeah?”, he insists with a smile in his voice while he gently pets your hair.

“Yes…”, you assert, inhaling his scent, his odor is still discernible despite the flowery perfume of your soap. He always washes with your soap, and you love that. “I am working very hard for this, you know...”

He laughs, and you feel his chest vibrating against your face. “Are you trying to fatten me, my love?”, he says with a teasing voice.

“Not particularly”, you answer softly, feeling some kind of happy melancholia, “but this little belly, it’s proof of all the time you stayed hugging me on the bed instead of exercising...”, you start, peppering his rock hard abs with kisses. “… of all the time you stayed watching a movie with me instead of babysitting the whole sorcery world…” In your eyes, his body being slightly more relaxed is proof of your years of domesticated life together, and you cherish it.

You breathe deeply, digging a bit more your fingers in his back, noticing his hands had stopped petting you. In fact, he is really quiet, which is abnormal for him, and you raise your head to look at him. He appears so vulnerable right now that you feel your heart drop.

“I am allowed?”, his voice is barely a whisper, carrying so much emotions. So much fragility. You wished you had the strength to hug him harder. You wish you weren’t so small and you could shield him in your arms like he does with you. “Yes, yes you are, my love, of course you are. You are allowed to live for yourself… to let yourself go”, you affirm, echoing his first words.

“There are a lot of people counting on me, you know…”

You pout at his protestation, finally letting go of his torso to grab his cheeks. “I know, I am not telling you to stop saving the world, just that your whole life doesn’t have to revolve around your work.”

He seems deep in thought, hesitant, and you cut all further protestation by getting on your toes to plant a kiss on his face, until he is the one lifting you so he can kiss you back, loosing himself on your lips with a tranquil passion. There is no hurry in this kiss, just prolonged contact and devoted tenderness until he withdraws his head to contemplate you, his hands still grabbing you by the waist and upper thighs. There is so much love in those blue eyes, but also some doubts lingering.

“What are you worrying about, love?”, you ask softly, knowing he is still tormented. He looks confused, mumbling a bit as he thinks about it seriously for a moment. You don’t press him, caressing his hair gently in a soothing motion. Only an indecent amount of patience and love can make a man like him voice his insecurities.

“Useless… I don’t want to become useless.”, he finally admits lifting you a bit higher so he can bury his face on your chest and hide how troubled he looks right now.

He didn’t say powerless, or weak. He said “useless”. You contemplate his words for a second before kissing the top of his head affectionately. You still have a lot of work to do.

“You are not a weapon Satoru Gojo, you are a person, my lover, an incredible teacher, and a funny and passionate man. You don’t have to be useful, you have so much more to bring to the world than muscles and powers.”

You feel his grip tightening a bit on your body, almost painfully, but you don’t mind, closing your eyes while you dig your fingers into his hair.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me yet, I will just repeat it until you know you are enough, you are wanted, you are loved strongest or not.” You hammered with an unwavering voice, holding all your stubborness for things that truly matter.

“Alright, alright”, he finally relents, his emotions vibrating in his voice but coated with sweetness. You look down at him, watching him lift his eyes out of your chest. “I believe you”

You smile proudly, borrowing his signature cocky smirk, which makes him smile fondly in return. Still holding you with one hand, he removes a strand of hair from your face, gazing at you with love. “I guess as long as I am strong enough to do that, it’s okay.”

You lift an eyebrow at his mischievous grin forming behind the tenderness. “Do what?”

Before you finish your sentence, he is making you twirl in the air into his arms, and you gasp, clinging at his hair to not fall with a delighted chuckle he soon echoes.

Yes, it was more than enough.

[ki-yomii]

hit the gym | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader

➥ word count | 1.5k

➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; hair pulling, mild dirty talk, established relationship, oral (m receiving), mild body worship?, teasing, hints of exhibitionism/voyeurism

➥ summary | stopping now would ruin all the fun.

➥ notes | yes it's true, i would give jungkook the sloppiest of toppies ✌️also greysweat pants iykyk. a random short one, hope you enjoy 🩶

🩶 masterlist | inbox | AO3 🩶

“Baby.”

Jungkook’s never looked so undone; his eyes hooded and hungry, his mouth raw and red-bitten. Wants so, so badly he’s practically vibrating with it.

And yet, he’s still holding back.

The sound of his knuckles popping as his hands clench into fists beside his hips echoes through the otherwise empty gym. It’s almost kind of precious how much he’s struggling against the urge to throw you back against the wall.

To take, take, take until you’re nothing but a trembling, soaked, thoroughly fucked mess.

You hum in response, digging your nails into the nape of his neck to feel the little shiver that zips down his spine. "What's got you so worried, huh?"

The fact he still has the restraint to resist railing you right then and there - even though he clearly wants to - is so intensely hot you almost choke on your own spit. When his eyes cut to yours, you almost moan at how intensely he stares.

“I just,” he trails off, hands flexing as he catalogs the darkened wall of windows, the entryway, the open space, "I don't think this is a good idea."

Right now, you're the only two in the gym.

While that could change, it's edging closer to midnight.

After several months of joining Jungkook for his exercises, you've found most people aren't as eager to hit the machines at all hours of the day like he is.

The likelihood of getting caught is significantly low which works perfectly for you because it's a high payoff with half the associated risk.

You pretend to think, "Mm, no. I think it's a great idea." Palms dancing over his tense shoulders, you tease your fingers along the loose neck of his t-shirt. "Don't you?"

Jungkook bites off a curse, his body rolling up into your touch. He works his jaw as his teeth tug on his lip piercings. You know he's just itching to drag you into a darkened corner.

"I-I... really, baby, can't we just - y'know? Why does it have to be here?"

No amount of half-hearted protests hides how hard Jungkook is. Deciding to wear grey sweatpants today works against him, the soft cotton slung low on his hips and clinging to the thick line of his fat cock.

You raise a brow, glancing down at where he's digging into your hip, "You were saying, Kook?"

A perverse spark of pleasure lights up your spine at the way his eyes slide away from yours, his throat bobbing when he swallows and shies away.

"Sh-shut up..."

Serves the tease right.

You've had to watch him work out, disheveled and sweat-slick for hours. Hear him grunt and whine from the strain of lifting heavy weights. It's only fair he gets a taste of his own medicine.

Anyway, the thought of being so exposed (without actually getting caught) is kind of exhilarating. Gets your blood pumping and arousal pulsing through your body. A pool of liquid heat blooming low in your belly.

After watching him struggle a little longer between what he wants, and what he thinks he should do, you make his decision for him.

Only as soon as your hand slips past the elastic waistband, your breath stutters in your chest. Where you expect to feel soft cotton, there are miles of smooth skin. With wide eyes, you trace along a hipbone before sliding the tips of your fingers down to brush through a trimmed thatch of pubic hair, stopping once you feel the silken base of his cock.

Jungkook's eyes flutter shut, a full body jolt rocking him into you as his mouth drops open in a guttural moan. Tendrils of arousal coil between your thighs, your pussy throbbing when your fingers close around his bare shaft and he throbs against your warm palm.

If you’d have known he decided to go commando, you’d have been on your knees within the first ten minutes.

Chewing on your lip, you give him a few slow pumps, tightening your grip on the upstroke. The heavy weight of his shaft glides through the circle of your fist with ease.

Your thighs clench.

“What were you saying again, Kook? Cause it looks to me like you worry too much.”

He hisses through his teeth, burrowing his face into his shoulder. The tips of his ears burn bright pink, a creeping blush sinking deep into the apples of his cheeks.

Without waiting for a response, you tug his sweats down as you sink to your knees. His flushed cock springs out, curving up towards his belly with a wet smack.

“Haah - don’t!”

You laugh - a breathless, eager sound - as your hands pet his tense thighs, watching as fat drops of pre-cum ooze down the swollen head, sticky strings clinging to dusky skin.

Fuck, you can't wait to get your tongue on him; to feel the weight of him in your mouth, the tang of his skin, and the taste of his cum as he fucks into the circle of your lips.

To hear the absolutely delicious groans of masculine pleasure that shoot straight to your clit.

“How can you say that when you’re so wet and ready for me?”

“That’s cheating,” Jungkook groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. He peeks down at you through the gaps in his fingers, gulping at how pretty you look on your knees with his cock in your hand. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

You hum, eyes sparking mischief as you dip down to brush a kiss along the strap of muscle above his hipbone. The smell of his bodywash surrounds you, tickling your nose. “Yeah, but you love it, don’t you?”

The sight of him looming over you, his hair a tussled mess and a starved glint to his coffee-dark eyes, is a visceral sucker punch that has your heart stuttering and your mouth watering. Wanting to sink your teeth in.

“You know I do,” he mumbles.

Brought to the very edge of control, left teetering; you wonder how much further you have to push until he breaks.

A blooming warmth hooks into your belly, spreads down to settle between your thighs. The crotch of your shorts is soaked through, every shift of fabric dragging along your sensitive folds. A whisper of friction that drives you insane.

“Mm, now are you ready, baby?”

Taking his silence for the acquiescence it is, you dip down and run your tongue along the thick vein on the underside of his shaft. His cock bobs, a fresh bead of pre-cum welling to the surface.

Watching him from beneath your lashes with a coy smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth, you clean him up with a kittenish lick. Following the trails of salty arousal with your tongue.

Jungkook grunts - choked-off, wounded sound that punches its way out his chest.

You hum, and slide your hands up over his thighs. Stopping when palms rest against his abs, your nails dig in, drag down. The muscles clench, red welts developing in the wake of your touch.

Satisfaction warms your blood, Jungkook’s next breath is a low hiss as he stutters, rocks forward before catching himself with a murmured curse, “S-Shit…”

His fist pounds against the wall - once, twice, three times. His jaw works fast as he scrambles to regain his slipping control. You know what buttons to push and with every careful caress, every calculated hint of rough, his body sparks to life.

He’s almost there, you can see it; all his savage edges creeping in, pressing against his skin. You can’t wait. It’s always so explosive between the two of you when he gives in, allows himself to truly whet his appetite.

He tangles his hand in your hair, digging a thumb into your bottom lip to watch as your mouth stretches around him. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

The grit of his voice, dark and full of hunger cuts through you. You moan around a mouthful of him, eyes fluttering shut as your veins fill with liquid fire. Your thighs rub together for relief from the ache in your pussy.

It’s so difficult to tease him because more often than not, you want nothing more than to pull off and hop on. To let him ride you hard. Put you away wet and thoroughly used. 

But you can’t, not yet.

Stopping now will spoil all the fun.

Trying to distract yourself, you suckle on the head, roll your lips, and flick your tongue over the spongy flesh. When you dip into the slit, he whines, “Ohh..my god, oh ffuuh..ck yes.”

Those broad shoulders hunch forward over your head like he took a kick to the chest, a full-bodied shiver wracking his frame. He yanks on your hair and you clench in response, the little tremors in his thighs stroking your ego as you pop him out of your mouth.

“Mm, I think I do,” you purr, rubbing your tender, spit-slick lips along the shaft. “Now let me show you what you do to me.”

[the-californicationist]

The Window (Ch. 03)

Ch. 01 // Ch. 02 // Ch. 03 --- AO3

TW: breeding kink, reverse harem

You were sweating buckets in this brush cover, waiting for the enemy to pop their head over the fence. Beads of salty perspiration ran down your face in thin rivulets, threatening your eyes and soaking into your keffiyeh. 

“You alright, little bird?” Price whispered down to you breathlessly, passing you his canteen. 

You nodded, drinking from the plastic container, slaking your thirst. You shouldn’t have been having such a hard time with the Urzikstani heat, but you were. It didn’t help that you’d gotten sick yesterday off of a bad MRE. You were just ready for this mission to be over with. 

“I didn’t hurt you last night, did I, Spar?” Ghost asked, checking his sights again, not taking his eyes off of the target. 

“No,” you shook your head, “I’m alright.”

Ghost’s comment made your memory of your night together rush back, bombarding you with ghosts of your mens’ tantric sensations all over again. 

Price had read another book about fertility, some ancient text from a few centuries ago, translated into English. And he’d been convinced that tantra was the way to go. 

“Slow down, Simon. Keep your breathing up, yeah just like that. From your belly. Tha’s a good lad,” the captain coached. 

John’s setup was very specific. All of their bodies were sandwiched around you as you lay with your back on Price’s chest, propped up into a lounging position, and Soap and Gaz were glued to your sides, each worshiping a breast at their commander’s instruction. 

Soap’s hand was glued to your belly, just above your mons, pressing down gently, squeezing you. Gaz’s hand was on your midsection, hopefully covering the right chakra, and Price’s hands were on your chest and forehead, holding your eyes up, staring into Simon’s struggling face. Meanwhile, Ghost was sheathed deep inside of you, rotating his hips without fully removing his cock, churning himself inside of you like a big, burly engine, breathing like he was running a marathon. 

You, too, were breathing. In when he breathed in, out when he breathed out. All of you were rubbing and massaging and inhaling and exhaling. It was overwhelming. You’d never been so wet in your life. You were so soft and pliant inside of your core that you could feel every micro movement that Simon performed. If he had actually been pounding into you like he normally did, you would have been a screaming, crying mess. 

“Alright, little bird. Don’t forget your exercises,” Price reminded you, kissing your neck. You could feel John’s drooling cock as it lolled against your lower back, twitching as he watched his lieutenant work you into a froth. 

You did as you were told, completing the ritual by squeezing your smooth, internal muscles around Ghost’s impossibly fat dick on every down breath. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Ghost grunted through his teeth, baring them like a wounded wolf, “I can’t…”

You raised your hands to cup his cheeks, feeling the jagged scar that cut across his mouth, and you guided his lips to yours, kissing him as gently as you could, barely letting your tongue dart out to taste him. 

Between your throbbing pussy and his soft kisses, that was all it took to push you both over the edge. He came in hot, thick bursts, more than you’d ever felt from him, and he ground his hips into yours almost menacingly. 

“Alright,” Price kissed your cheek, his face so close to Simon’s it made your head spin, “You ready?”

You didn’t respond. You just felt your legs being spread apart by six strong hands. Then, each of Price’s men began to finger you, slowly pressing their longest digits into your come-filled hole. They began to gently — ever so gently — rub Ghost’s thick cream into you, as deep as it would go, stretching you and playing in you in a life-altering way, bringing you beyond the point of orgasm and into some sort of other-worldly bliss. 

For the cherry on top, your captain began to swipe long, wet circles over your clit. You were screaming so loudly that he had to use his other hand to cover your mouth, shushing you but not stopping his ministrations.  

“Tha’s a good girl. Let it out, little bird.”

You passed out from the overstimulation before you could witness Price’s orchestrated tantra come to a close, and you wondered if you would survive round two. 

Now, as you crouched behind these scratchy bushes, you weren’t sure how much more effective tantric sex would be at getting you pregnant, but it didn’t matter. 

You already were. 

You hadn’t told them yet. From everything you’d read, these first few weeks were a toss-up. Anything could happen, and the last thing you needed was to get everyone’s hopes up. You were also being deeply selfish. What would your relationship be like when you finally found out who the father was? You didn’t want to lose out on the incredible bond you’d built with them over these last three months. 

Your eyes saw movement. Then, you heard the cracking and popping sound of bullets striking the side of the building you were huddled against. Suddenly, a loud bang rang out overhead and all was silent once more. Soap came on the radio and said, 

“Target down.” 

“I’m hit,” you whispered, staring down at your leg with disbelief. A bullet must have ricocheted and struck you in the calf. In and out. A clean wound. 

“What?” Price said breathlessly, staring down at you as the blood began to stain your pants. 

“Oh, fuck!” Gaz scrambled over to you and scooped you up, rushing you back inside. He put pressure on the wound and wrapped it up tight, opening up his comms, “Hey! We need med-evac right fucking now!”

Johnny came down from his crow’s nest and knelt in front of you, holding your hand, 

“Those fuckin’ bastards,” he looked furious, “I wasnae fast enough.”

“It’s not your fault,” you shook your head, feeling your blood pressure rise, “I think it was a stray shot.”

You heard Price’s low growl as he came over the radio, screaming at Laswell’s extraction team, 

“Where’s my fuckin’ helo?”

You watched as Price and Ghost stripped the makeshift base back to its bones, stuffing all of your gear into the bags. Gaz and Soap were on you like glue, forcing you to elevate your leg and to drink water. Rubbing your forehead, trying to relieve the pain. 

It was a long thirty minutes back to the base. Price held you in his arms all the way through the building, pushing everyone out of the way. You were flanked by the others, like one big, sweaty bodyguard squad, just for you. 

The medics took you from Price, ushering your team out of the infirmary, fighting their protests to stay with you.

“It’s a GSW to the leg, captain. I think she’ll live,” the doctor rolled his eyes and shut the door. 

After that, the only thing you could remember was coming around, still groggy from the anesthetic, listening to the doctor’s voice just outside the room, muffled and murky,

“...no complications. Should heal up in a few weeks. The baby’s lifesigns are all norm—”

“Baby?!” 

The door to the infirmary shuddered like a bomb went off, and all four men poured into the room, still dressed in their gear from your mission. They hadn’t even gone back to their quarters, worried sick, pacing the hallway. Now, here they were, wide-eyed and staring at you for some explanation. 

There was a long pause as you tried to figure out what to say. But then, Soap said it for you, a hint of hurt in his voice,

“You knew.”

It wasn’t a question, so you didn’t answer him. You simply put your hands over your belly, protectively, stammering an excuse,

“I didn’t — You shouldn’t get your hopes up. It’s too soon.”

They all spoke at once, an eruption of emotion in the tiny room, 

“...should’ve told us at once! We…”

“...you felt you had to hide it…”

“...could’ve been killed on this mission! How could…”

The doctor came back inside, huffing at the scene,

“What the fuck is this? Mamma Mia? Get the hell out! She needs rest. Get! That’s an order, Captain.”

Price and his men were silent, sorely cowed by the doctor’s orders. Soap came to your side, kissing your forehead,

“See you soon, bonnie.”

Ghost gave you a soft smile and followed him out. Gaz brushed the hair out of your face and put his hand over yours as they lay across your belly, waiting for flutters and kicks that weren’t there. His full lips found yours and he left you wordlessly.

John was the last to leave. He looked like he was at war with himself, fighting over what to say and how to say it. His boonie hat was twisted in his hands, rolled in his palms, crushed by his immense strength. He didn’t kiss you. He didn’t even say goodbye. But, those bright blue eyes bored into yours, telling you everything you needed to know. 

You were released with a pair of crutches the following morning, and while you didn’t need them there, none of the boys showed up to help you like you thought they would. You made it all the way back to your quarters before you ran into Laswell. 

“Hey, Sparrow. How are you feeling?”

“I’ll live. Where is the 141? Is there a training or something?”

“No,” Laswell knitted her brow, not wanting to share her news, “You’ve been… temporarily reassigned. They have redeployed on another mission. Three days in Aqtabi. I’m sure they’ll touch base when they get back.”

“Reassigned?” You couldn’t believe it. You knew Price was protective, but this was going too far, “I’m… He took me off the team?”

“It’s temporary. Just until…” You watched in disbelief as her eyes trailed down not to your wound but to your belly, “Well, anyway, congratulations, soldier.”

She gave you a soft smile and left you standing in the hallway, experiencing every emotion at once, and landing on anger. No, not anger. White-hot rage.

[woodywood101blog]

Experimental: 22 Weeks

Yazan could not understand why his belly continued to grow, even as he was cutting down on his meals, increasing his exercise frequency, and anything else he could do to make the belly disappear.

The following weeks were a blur of working out for three hours every evening, six days a week, plus cutting out all fats and sugars and going on a strict low carb diet. The only thing the changes did to Yazan was make him more tired and stressed at work. Plus, the belly kept growing.

He was sitting in his office at the hospital, absent-mindedly rubbing the belly when he felt flutters within his stomach. He gasped, and was in such shock that he leapt to the sink nearby and threw up his poor excuse of a lunch.

Randy was hoping to ask Yazan about a patient of his, and knocked on Yazan’s office door. He peered inside when Yazan responded with a groan, and saw Yazan perched over his sink, spitting out the last of his vomit.

“You’ve really got to get this bug checked out, Yaz.”

“Something moved.”

“What?”

“I mean it, something moved. Come here and feel this.” Yazan unbuttoned his tight shirt to expose his belly. Randy was firstly surprised with how round and globe-like Yazan’s belly looked. Yazan always focused on fitness, so seeing him go from just a bulk to something more extreme meant his mental health was rough, he was highly stressed, or a rapidly growing gastrointestinal cancer. He walked towards Yazan and prodded the belly, feeling that it wasn’t soft like regular abdominal fat. Instead, it felt solid. Then he felt it - a brief flutter. He looked up at Yazan in confusion. “You felt that too, right? I swear, I’m not going crazy!”

“Let’s go across to imaging, shall we?” Randy offered. Yazan groaned, not because of the need to go and find out what was happening, but because it meant he needed to try and button his shirt again, which was getting harder each day. 

“Let me know when you’re done moaning!” Randy said as he was walking out of Yazan’s office. Yazan chuckled and got himself ready. He could feel pressure building on his back, so used his palm to apply some pressure to his lower back, which seemed to help as he started moving towards the imaging ward.

Once in imaging, he saw Randy already set up with the ultrasound machine. “You know the drill: shirt off, belt off, lay down and deep breaths.” Randy occasionally considered working in radiology, but found his main calling in paediatrics. Regardless, it felt second nature to him using the various machines, such as ultrasounds.

Randy squeezed some gel onto the wand, and started towards the lower front area of Yazan’s belly, near his belly button. The answer was almost instantaneous.

“What the fuck is that?” Yazan asked.

“1… 2…”

“Randy, why are you counting…”

“Shh, 3…”

“Don’t you fucking dare shush me!”

“4 foetuses.”

Yazan fainted almost instantly.

***

Mike was growing more and more nervous with the lack of content he saw on Yazan’s social media. I really hope there are no serious complications from whatever is happening, Mike thought. After three more days of limited content aside from text-only Instagram stories, he decided to bite the bullet and message Yazan.

Hey there Yazan, not too sure if you remember me, but I’m Mike, the Australian doctor you met while in Sydney for the medical conference. I was wondering if you were free for a video call sometime soon, just to see how you’re going…

Yazan was sitting at home, feeling the odd flitter of movement in his belly when he felt a buzz from his phone. “Instagram: New message from @drmikeallred” As soon as Yazan saw the message from Mike and clicked on his Instagram profile, the dinner at the Oxford Hotel immediately came to mind. 

“I was living my normal life when I suddenly had this hot flush… and then had this urge to be fucked by anyone… and now I have four babies in me? Wasn’t Mike one of those researchers on… male pregnancy? Oh hell no!”

He ignored the message. There’s no fucking way Mike is the one who caused all this, Yazan screamed.

***

Each morning, Yazan woke up feeling his stomach stretching more tightly than the previous day. He found it astounding that he probably wasn’t even half-way through the pregnancy and already felt like he was full-term with a single baby. Any vague sense of relief he had from lying in bed immediately disappeared when he sat up and gravity caused his belly to drop into his lap. From there, the babies would start to wake up and stretch by pummeling his stomach and diaphragm.

He eventually got up from his king bed and slowly walked his way to his bathroom. Every time he flicked the lights on, he was gobsmacked by the growing belly and its gradual transformation. He started to notice every crevice, every hint of stretch marks and his losing battle to maintain his fitness. 

Yazan swayed sideways to see how much further his stomach extends. He can vaguely see the top half of his feet when he looks down, but he knows it’s only a matter of time before he loses the ability to see his feet too. One of his babies moves at that moment, and he looks back up towards the mirror to see the ripple across his belly. He shudders.

While looking up, he notices his pecs are starting to soften, and that his nipples are now a darker shade of pink. He lifts one of his pecs up and notices his pec feels slightly fatter than before. He dreads how much more will change with them.

After his morning care routine, he eventually got dressed into his work clothes, which in itself has become more of a struggle than before. He started ordering some larger shirts a couple of weeks ago, but even those shirts burst at the seams trying to keep his belly in place. He resorted to buying “Big and Tall” branded shirts to try and keep some sort of dignity, even though he never thought he’d have to wear those types of shirts, unless he went down the route of becoming a bodybuilder. At the moment, his pants feel fine, aside from his butt and thighs feeling slightly thicker.

Yazan’s patients were starting to notice the sudden growth around his belly. “Looks like you could use some of the advice you give us, Dr Yazan!” one of his patients joked.

“Ah, well…” and just as he was about to continue, Yazan briefly gasped as one of the babies moved around the top of his stomach aggressively. The patient raised one of his eyebrows at Dr Yazan, who looked back at the patient sheepishly.

How much fucking longer, Yazan thought.

***

How much fucking longer, Mike thought. Yazan hadn’t replied to his message for weeks at this point, and he was getting more nervous that something had gone terribly wrong for Yazan. All Mike wanted to do was check that Yazan was alive, and that if he was pregnant for some miraculous reason, he was okay.

One lazy Thursday evening after a day at the research lab at the university, Mike got a reply back from Yazan.

Hey, sorry for not replying sooner. Some things have popped up recently… Are you free for a chat soon?

Mike immediately leapt at the message. He got a video call request from Yazan, and with a deep breath swiped to accept the call. Mike saw Yazan in a white singlet that appeared tighter than usual. However, he could only see from the chest up.

“Hello there, stranger.” Mike tried to say suavely.

“Hello. Let me just start by saying that I don’t know what is really happening, but…”

(picture by @bigmpregnm)

Yazan swapped the camera around to show him standing in front of his bathroom mirror. Mike’s eyes bulged when he saw what he could only describe as a gigantic belly that is barely covered by his super tight white singlet. He had only seen these sizes when he was helping women carrying multiples. But there’s no way -

“... there are four in here.”

“Wh-what?”

“You heard me. FOUR! I have either four humans, or four fucking aliens, growing inside me. You better tell me what’s going on!”

Mike was genuinely speechless. His experiment was not meant to work. The hormones shouldn’t be lasting this long, let alone remain strong enough to sustain a pregnancy. Multiples? It should be impossible. And yet, here he was looking at a man that he had a one night stand with, carrying quadruplets. “D-Do you know how far along you are?”

“According to my friend Randy, I should be about half-way now, so I guess around 22 or 23 weeks?”

“Normally for quadruplets, ‘full-term’ is really around 28 weeks, so I guess you won’t be carrying them for much longer?”

“Are those really your words of support?”

“Sorry… Do you reckon you could come back to Australia? I want to check that you, and the babies, are healthy.”

Plus maybe write up some detailed observations for the next paper - for good measure - Mike thought.

“Do you think I’m really going to be cleared to fly in my condition?”

“Bring your friend Randy. He’s a doctor, get him to medically clear you.”

“Are you crazy?!”

“Clearly I am, because a man shouldn’t be pregnant, and yet here you are, so I might as well keep on going and see it in the flesh.”

Yazan chuckled, but it cut short with a jab at his side from one of the babies. He brought the camera down to show the ripples across the belly. Mike was mesmerised. He did that to the hottest male doctor from the United States.

“Look, I’ll think about it and let you know, alright?”

“Thanks, Yazan. But please, don’t be a stranger...”

“Alright, Mike. Chat soon.”

***

Randy was walking through the hospital wards when he decided to slip by Yazan’s office. He couldn’t quite believe it when he did the ultrasound of Yazan’s belly. Four babies? How was this even possible? Is Yazan intersex? Is this an ectopic pregnancy? Surely the pregnancy would not be viable beyond the first trimester, yet he’s now about 24 weeks along based on when he went to the conference in Sydney?

All these thoughts were swirling around in his head, but there was one thought that kept springing to mind: I want to be there for him.

Randy has always wanted kids for as long as he could remember. When he realised he was gay as a teen, it was one of the first things he worried about in the process of telling friends and eventually his family. How would he become a father?

Yazan being pregnant - weird as it was to say out loud - gives Randy an option. He had no idea whether Yazan wanted to keep the kids or give them up for adoption. If he says he doesn’t want them, Randy was more than ready to become the four babies’ father.

Randy got to Yazan’s office and knocked.

“Come in!”

Randy walked in and saw Yazan leaning against a bench. He was wearing one of the last sweaters that could stretch tightly across his bump. There was no denying that he was pregnant. He could even see his pecs look slightly perkier than before.

Maybe Yazan is intersex?

“When you’re done gawking at me, you can answer my question!” Yazan said.

“Oh, sorry Yaz! It’s just…”

“Yeah, I know, it’s pretty weird.” Yazan smirked at Randy. Randy smiled back.

Randy’s newest thought? I think I want to have kids with Yazan.

[epigstolary]

On Your Own

The alarm buzzing on your phone announces another day of struggling to navigate your narrow, confined world. After a few minutes of burying your head under the pillow, you muster the strength to reach a heavy, puffy, flab-covered arm out to hit the snooze button. A couple of rocks back and forth with one of your shapeless legs and its bulging, wobbling sacs of fat, ready you to heave for the edge of the bed; and you feel your belly weight begin shifting and cascading over the side, helping to pull you toward an upright sitting position. You feel the now-familiar sensation of the thick layer of blubber burying every inch of your body sloshing with your movement, its weight pushing you down into a crater divoting most of this side of the bed. Your heart races and your breaths come shallow and labored as you recover from this extraordinary exertion, trying to collect yourself for the final push to stand up.

This hadn’t been the plan, not by a long shot. You were supposed to have a feeder, someone to take care of all the details like prepping your vast meals, getting the extensive grocery list needed to keep the overworked kitchen full, tidying up and performing all the personal care rituals you’d gotten too fat to do yourself without it taking a literal workout. And for a while, you’d had one. Someone who was happy, even eager, to see you gain as much as you possibly could. Someone who would have been far from disappointed to see you overwhelm your bed with your lard-packed body and keep eating. And someone who was willing to put in the work to help you make it happen.

He was there, cooking before and after work, making sure you had the piles of alternately greasy or fatty or sweet or salty food you needed to keep your waistline expanding and the rolls covering your body growing. He was there restocking your snack cabinet and your soda fridge and your containers of prepped meals so you rarely had to do more than waddle to the kitchen to find a couple thousand calories waiting for you. He was there to admire your growing bulk, watching as that heavy swollen belly swallowed up your lap, that ballooning butt anchored you more and more firmly to the couch, that double chin and those tits and that bicep flab piled up around your chest as if to bury you.

He’d eventually fed you to a point beyond what you’d have ever thought possible. He made sure you were tantalized by food 24/7, always able to have something tasty and fattening on hand at any moment of the day, never not thinking about your next snack or meal or indulgence. His encouragement left you with a permanent craving for something at all times — a craving he was always ready to satisfy. You didn’t worry about what his doting attention was doing to your body, or your stamina, or your health, because he was there. He was taking care of you. Even if you wound up in bed and too fat to ever move again, he’d be there to make sure you had everything you needed. You could get as big as you wanted, and know that he would always find a way to make it work.

And then he was gone. It wouldn’t do any good to dwell on how, again, for the thousandth time. The stark fact was that now you were on your own — no job, nothing like the amount of food he’d kept stocked up, struggling even to move under the 700 lbs he’d fed into you. You managed to avoid disaster — dusting off your resume and finding remote work, setting up a service for groceries, getting a monthly pass to keep your lifeline of fast food deliveries coming. But you knew how precarious your situation was, and how little it would take for your morbidly-obese, food-addicted self to be in real trouble, if you put on just a few pounds or had to try and travel hardly any distance.

Because you definitely weren’t getting any smaller. Fear didn’t keep you from picking up the fork; if anything, it made you shovel more junk down your throat. And how else were you supposed to lose weight, join a gym and start exercising? You knew you could bounce along on a treadmill for two or three minutes at most before your pounding heart and burning lungs would force you to quit. You’d be reduced to a wheezing, overheated mound of blubber desperately trying to collect yourself in front of a gym full of fit, healthy, judgmental people. You’d have to make do at this size for as long as your luck would hold out, hoping against hope that you wouldn’t grow and lose what little mobility you still had.

And so you do your best to stumble through your morning routine — your ass and belly squeaking as they rub against the sides of the shower stall they’re too big for, your chubby arms and bingo wings quivering as you reach into the grease-soaked paper bag for another fast-food breakfast sandwich, your couch creaking ominously as you settle in for work with your laptop and your chocolate-caramel-laced excuse of a coffee. You know, somewhere deep down, that there’s a ticking clock counting down — this is not a stable situation that can last forever. You know you can’t stop gorging and gaining. Things aren’t desperate enough yet for you to want to; but even if you did, you know you couldn’t. The day is coming when you’ll be stuck here, too big to help yourself anymore, no way to save yourself from snowballing growth. You know you can’t stop it.

And you realize why, for the first time. The voice you hear in the back of your mind, telling you how hungry you are, how tasty that little snack or dessert would be, is his voice. When you run your fingers across the soft, yielding flab spreading out from your body, it’s his touch, his hands that you feel. And when that yearning, aching, burning desire to eat even more and grow even heavier overtakes you, it’s his desperate lust that you feel. “I need you so much bigger, babe… I need you fat enough to fill this bed, so the real feeding can start.”

It doesn’t matter that he isn’t around anymore. That living independently and being a half-ton are a complete contradiction. That caring for yourself and being a bedbound lardpile are irreconcilably exclusive. You might be on your own, but he insinuated himself into your psyche a long time ago. After him, there was no going back to your merely chubby former self. His encouragement was corrupting to your very soul; and you were chained to him and his wishes as surely as if the ghost of his memory were the living, breathing man, delicately forcing another fattening morsel between your lips.

You were his. You are his. And he wants you fatter.

[liz-on-leash]

Hit us with that muffin top kink ;)

Could have done better with this one but oh well, consider this an exercise for a kink that I just discovered has a term for it, lol.

You spot Natty, strutting her stuff down the hallway, her thick frame barely filling out her skimpy outfit. 

Her flat stomach, barely covered by a cropped top, jiggles slightly as she walks, revealing a hint of what you crave—that soft, plump muffin top. 

You feel your dick twitch with anticipation. This Thai slut is gonna get the fucking of her life.

As she passes by, you grab her by the arm, your fingers digging into her delicate skin. 

Natty lets out a startled squeak, her big eyes widening. "Ugh, what the fuck are you doing?" she hisses, trying to sound tough, but you can see the fear in her trembling body.

"Shut the fuck up, you fat bitch," you growl, tightening your grip until she winces.

Dragging her towards an empty dressing room, you throw her inside and slam the door shut. The room is dimly lit, perfect for what you have planned. 

Natty tries to back away, her eyes darting around for an escape, but there's nowhere to go.

"Please, no, fuck..." she whimpers, her voice shaking. "I-I.. Don't hurt me."

You laugh, a deep, menacing sound. "Oh, I'm gonna hurt you, you fucking tease. Been showing off that hot body on stage, making fans drool over that goddamn waist and those plump thighs. But you know what I want, don't you?"

Natty's eyes flicker down to her midsection, and she swallows hard. "N-no, please..."

Without warning, you deliver a sharp punch to her exposed midriff, the sound of your fist connecting with her soft flesh echoing in the small room. 

"Oof!" she grunts, her body folding over as she clutches her stomach. You've barely warmed up, but already her eyes are watering from the pain.

"That's right, bitch," you snarl, grabbing a handful of her hair and forcing her to look at you. "You're gonna take this punishment like a good bitch.”

Kicking her legs apart, you tower over her, your boots inches from her face. "Check out that fucking muffin top.” You run your hand roughly over her distended belly. "So fucking soft and squishy. Bet it jiggles like a bowl of jelly when I pound your cunt."

Natty whimpers, her face contorting in humiliation and pain. You lean down, your hot breath against her ear. "Gonna mark this pretty delicious body, make it clear who owns this sweet meat."

Your fist connects with her stomach again, and again, each blow leaving a red imprint on her pale skin. She's crying now, snot and tears mixing as she begs for mercy. But you just laugh, spitting in her face.

"Begging isn't gonna save that pretty belly of yours, slut. Gonna punch and kick it until it's black and blue, till you piss yourself.”

You pull back your leg and deliver a brutal kick to her abdomen, the force lifting her off the ground. 

Natty screams, a high-pitched sound that fuels your sick desire. She's writhing on the floor, clutching her stomach, but you're not done yet.

"Scream for me, bitch," you pant, your dick throbbing with excitement. "Feel that pain, feel it deep in your gut. Going to make you hurt so good."

As you stand over her, ready to deliver another blow, you notice a warm wetness spreading between her legs. 

Natty's eyes are squeezed shut, her face contorted in agony. She's pissing herself, just like you wanted.

"You filthy whore," you whisper, your voice hoarse with barely contained lust. "Let it go, let it all out. Feel that shame.” 

You give one last vicious kick, and her body goes limp, her cries turning to whimpers. Her jean shorts are soaked, the smell of urine filling the room. You stand there, catching your breath, admiring your handiwork. 

"Fucking perfect," you mutter, stroking your aching cock through your pants. Natty's soft, abused body lies at your feet.

You're buzzing with excitement, ready to claim this bitch's body and mark it as your territory. You kick off your pants, freeing your rock-hard cock, already leaking pre-cum. 

Natty's eyes go wide as she realizes what's about to happen, her fear-filled gaze locking onto your throbbing member.

Then you rip her shorts, the fabric tearing easily under your strength, exposing her plump, shaved pussy. Her pussy lips are swollen, already wet with her piss. 

You can't resist the urge to touch, so you reach down, smacking a handful of her cunt, squeezing it roughly. Natty lets out a pitiful whine, her body trembling.

"Fucking love it when they're this wet," you grunt, your fingers digging into her soft flesh. "Been dreaming of this tight Thai pussy, just waiting to be fucked raw."

Your other hand goes to her top, tearing the flimsy fabric, baring her ample breasts. Her tits are perfect, big and round, with pink nipples that stand erect from the cool air. 

You slap one breast, then the other, the sound of flesh on flesh filling the room. Her back is arching, but you just laugh, enjoying the power you have over her.

"Such pretty tits, shame they gotta get ruined," you say, squeezing and twisting her nipples until they're red and bruised.

Natty's body is a mess of red marks and bruises, her cries filling the room as you continue to abuse her. 

But it's time to take this to the next level. Positioning yourself between her legs, you line up your cock with her pussy, the head pressing against her swollen lips.

"Stay away… Don't rape me..." she begs, her voice vibrate from screaming and pain.

Ignoring her pleas, you thrust forward, penetrating her in one motion. Natty screams, her body convulsing as you fill her tight cunt. Her pussy is hot and wet, gripping your cock, but you don't hold back, pounding into her hard.

"Oh fuck, take it deep, you bitch!" you grunt, gripping her soft waist, the flesh spilling over your fingers. "Feel my big cock in your guts."

With each thrust, you watch her tummy jiggle, the soft flesh rippling with every stroke. The sight drives you wild, and you pound into her harder, your balls slapping against her ass. 

Natty's screams turn to incoherent babbles, her body shaking as another wave of urine escapes, soaking the floor beneath her.

"Keep pissing yourself again," you groan, loving the degradation. "This sweet pussy is mine now, and I'll fuck it till it loosened."

You reach down, gripping her hips, pulling her onto your cock with each thrust, making her meet your vicious pace. 

Natty's eyes are rolled back, her mouth open in a silent scream as you violate her. Her body is yours to use.

As you feel your climax building, you quicken your pace, your balls drawing up tight. With a deep thrust, you explode inside her, your cock twitching as you empty your load deep in her abused cunt. 

Natty's body spasms beneath you, her cries turning to whimpers as she comes down from her pain-induced high.

Pulling out, you admire your handiwork, your cock still semi-hard and glistening with cum and pussy juice. You slap your wet dick against her swollen tummy, spreading your seed, making her skin slick and sticky.

[reedrfeedr]

let’s see how you like it.

(You don't actually want to get fat, do you? CW: weight gain encouragement, fat stereotypes)

You say you want to be a fat fuck, do you? You say you want a big blubbery body you want to feel wobble with every lumbering step? Are you sure?

You know what, I dare you to fucking do it. You won’t. You probably can’t handle it. You know you’re going to need to re-learn how to walk; fuck, you’re going to need to re-learn how to stand with as fat as you want to get. You know how they say to lift with your legs, not your back, right? Turns out, that’s still good advice when the only thing you can carry is yourself, too. Keep that in mind, fatass, if you’re going to keep pushing donuts down your greedy maw.

Is your furniture even reinforced enough and ready to handle the new, out of shape, pile of you that you want to be? Yeah, I know you’ve jerked off to the idea of breaking a couch under your fat ass, but let’s see you try doing that more than once and not regretting that second lunch you sneak out for every day. Then I want you to come back to me and tell me what a great heads up I gave you that you completely ignored because you think property damage is hot.

And you know what, it is! …the first time. But once you hear that definitive creak-SNAP under you, and you get hit with that sinking feeling that starts with your chest and ends in your center of gravity, those consequences are going to catch up with you just like the ice cream you stuffed yourself with catching up to your waistline. And you’re never going to feel like more of a fat fucking pile of lard than in that moment, your body still jiggling from the force of the drop, your ass only slightly sore from the reinforced padding you gave yourself. You sure you’re ready for that?

Speaking of consequences, you know you can’t wear ‘that’, right? It doesn’t matter what the ‘that’ is, it won’t fit those great big plans you made for yourself. Have you internalized what that means? You don’t just have to clothe the imagined you that exists at the end point of you becoming the massively fat person you imagine (if there even is an end point for you, you greedy pig), you also have to clothe every you in between, and that means looking at least a bit like a slob, with cheap, unflattering shirts marked with grease stains you can’t help but wear until your belly peaks from the bottom of, OR cutting into your food budget. And I think we both already know which one YOU’RE going to pick, tubby.

Dressing like the out of shape, slovenly fatass you know you want to embody isn’t even the only way your social life is going to be affected, either. You won’t have that light, spritely body you ate yourself out of anymore. No, instead you’ll have a slow, lumbering, waddling one, wideload. You better hope wherever you go has reinforced benches (see above) for you to plant your fat ass into after your tanked stamina gets extinguished from hauling the permanent fetish gear you decided to design your life around.

And you WILL have to design your life around your slower, more greedy, more impulsive, less active self. It’s not just the furniture, or the clothes, or the sedentary social life, it’s…everything. The you that fills a doorway, the one that could wreck a buffet? That’s the same you that can’t go a couple hours without stuffing some food in their mouth. The one that needs their partner on board with their fat fuck lifestyle so they can have some help shoveling Twinkies in their mouth because it gets exhausting doing it alone. The same one that forgot how to exercise their moderation and couldn’t slow their own widening if they tried.

But you won’t bother with all that, would you. You couldn’t manage it anyway, shrimp. You don’t want to hear people whisper about ‘that land whale’ under their breath when you waddle into the room. You don’t want to do the mental math every time your heels hurt from walking a few dozen feet on whether the wooden bench you’re moseying toward would hold you. That’s way too much for someone like you to handle, isn’t it?

Or is that doorway filling you the one desperate to make themselves comfortable in their body? The version of you that eats for a family of four, is THAT you?

Go ahead then, make that who you are.

I dare you.

[fitnessmantram]

Breathing Exercises For Bloated Stomach #breathingexercises #bloatedbell...

[weightgainworld]

Eat with me

I am going to make sure you are eating enough fatty. Go grab some food, a bag of burgers and fries from a fast-food place, leftovers from last night’s feast, or a tube of ice cream that you have been saving for a rainy day. Whatever you have is going down your throat while I tell you what a greedy calorie hog you are being. Are you ready to eat? Good, you haven’t been getting enough praise for all the work you are doing growing so huge. Don’t speak. Just keep your food hole filled while I speak. That gut has gotten bigger again. It doesn’t matter what the scale says. One look at you and anyone could tell you are much bigger than you should be. All that late-night snacking has been catching up with you. Now you are a soft jiggle ball of blubber. You won’t be for long though. I want you to keep eating till you feel like you are going to pop. I am not here to help you eat a small snack; I am much too mean for that. I am here corrupt and tease you while you gorge on food. Don’t forget to keep stuffing yourself by the way. I don’t want you to slow down anytime soon. If you aren’t anywhere close to being done with eating for me. Keep those fat saggy arms moving fatass. This is the only exercise I will allow you to do. If you are going to sweat, it better be from being too full to get up without being a huffing mess. Keep eating all those extra calories to keep those pounds on. I want to hear your labored breath as you lick your hands clean of any sauce or crumbs. Every bit of food is going down. Don’t even try to stop yourself. You know it feels too good being told to eat like an overgrown piggy. You can’t fight the pleasure, and you know I don’t care how full you get. I only care about seeing your desperate struggle to fit into your clothes at the end of this. I hope you have something stretchy since your belly won’t fit into any button-downs you may have on. If they still do, you better be ready to get more food. For now, those, grunt, groan, oink if you want to. There is only me and you are here. Be the nasty fatty you want to be. Consume without a care in the world. If your belly is round and tight, then who cares how messy you get? The faster you eat, the fatter you get. Be careful not to choke though. Drink lots of water to get everything down, or more likely, drink lots of sugar. I want you to be scared by how much you are eating. However much you normally eat, I am going to make sure you get quite a bit more in. Don’t stop eating. You can rub your aching belly if you need to. Maybe even get some burps out, but you will keep eating. If you are out of food, go get more. I don’t care if you have to make more, order extra, or start eating spoonfuls of butter, I want your belly to ache. You know you want it too. When your belly hurts so good, you know you are getting fatter. You might even grow some stretch marks at this rate. Do you know how you can satisfy me? Finish whatever you are eating and take a nice long look at yourself. Look at how round you got for me. You are so fat you know that, but you are a good piggy. You just kept gorging till I said so, didn’t you? You need to do this every day. Think about how sexy you would look with a belly too full to move. Think about being in a pile of thousands of calories all meant to turn you into a whale. Keep eating till you think I am truly satisfied. Here is a hint, I want you moaning uncontrollably. Keep being a fat fuck you sexy glutton.

[rahhhhhtbrbbsbwbbsbaj]

Monday

You woke up hungry, for more food and more fat. You checked the time and groaned. You'd overslept and the food you ordered was going to arrive at any sec- Ding Dong. Your doorbell rang, you quickly stood up and rushed the 15 metres from your bedroom to the door. You pulled down the handle after jiggling around the key and swung open the front door. The man standing outside was holding your 2 boxes of 12 donuts from Krispy Kreme. Suddenly you realised that your sleep shirt probably should've been retired once you gained the first 10 pounds. Now it pulled tight over your gut, fully revealing it's shape. It was also a little food stained as midnight snacking had become a nightly ritual at this point. Before he could react you took the boxes and retreated back inside the house muttering a quick thank you as you closed the door. Thank god you left a 15% tip to make up for that sight.

You sat at the dining table with the donuts laid in front of you, boxes opened. You told yourself you only had to finish 12, the full 24 was just a back up. Your stomach grumbled and you took a bite. You were surprised at this fact because you'd told yourself a moment earlier "no donuts untill I have a drink" and here you were, finishing the first donut and onto your second. You held it in your teeth as you poured yourself a large full sugar soda and began to make up two large sugary coffees that could rival Starbucks in calorie content. By the time you'd sat down with the drinks 4 rings were gone. You found yourself incredibly turned on by this fact. Your appetite had overridden everything else in that moment. You took a sip of your drink and began to eat.

8 donuts down and you started to feel yourself getting full, you felt your stomach stretching to accommodate the volume of food. It felt so good you just had to reach down to pleasure yourself. Before you new it the donuts in the first box were gone. You felt full and a little painful but you could keep going as long as you didn't stop. You reached for the 20th donut and knew you couldn't take it anymore. You brought the donut to your lips and then finished. 4 donuts could be eaten another time.

You let out a large burp and suddenly felt relief. Pleasantly overstuffed you lent back to give your belly some room while you rubbed small circles across it's distended surface. After a moment to compose yourself you got up, marveling at the added weight pushing down with every step as you walked (waddled) to the bathroom. You washed your hands, purposefully ignoring your stomach, and then stepped back. Wow. You had never seen yourself this swollen before, it almost seemed impossible.

You heaved three heavy breaths before deciding that you should probably go and lie down. You grabbed your phone, laptop, and half of today's snacks (Pringles, Reece's, peanut MnMs, soda, and a cup full of heavy cream). You weren't hungry yet but you knew snacking was your weakness and the moment some of your fullness subsided you were going to start grazing instantly.

You were right. Laughing at something on your screen you barely noticed that you had already made your way through a pretty good portion of the snacks. You unconsciously started to speed up and soon you were finished. You felt yourself reaching for the next item only to find nothing. You frowned, surprised, it had only been about an hour and a half. Pent up gluttony from years of diet and exercise was finally being let loose. Lunch was an hour away and you were glad of it, you needed time for all this food to settle yet craved for the day where you would feel like you were starving despite eating mere minutes before.

Still swollen about 15 minutes before the delivery was about to arrive you pulled on a muscle shirt. You looked down to see it was way too tight so you pulled on an oversize hoodie. This was probably what you were going to have to be using whenever you went out in public from now on. You readied your lunch time beverages, beer and soda, before hearing the doorbell ring. You opened it, thanked the delivery driver and took your food. You unwrapped and set out 2 humungous burritos and an order of queso from a local Mexican place. Now with the food in front of you the strangest feeling started to occur. You could still feel how full you were from this morning but your brain was making you feel ravenous. You eagerly tucked in, chowing down on the overfilled tortillas. Once you had finished you realised that you had pushed past uncomfortable and were now encroaching on bursting. The beer was definitely messing with you because you still felt hungry. Unable to resist you took down another cup of heavy cream before grabbing the rest of today's snacks and heading to bed.

You woke with your distended belly in your hands and your heart racing. You could feel the excess sugar and calories begging to be worked off, instead you started on your snacks before scrolling on your phone. God it was hot to know you were in so so much excess. Hours past before you got up to inspect your belly. Wow it was huge. You could see a faint red mark, barely the length of your pinky nail, on the side of your stomach. Was that a... stretch mark? It was too soon to tell but knowing how rapidly you were growing made you let out a deep throaty noise. You checked the time, dinner was only about 10 minutes away, you needed to feel fuller, stretch more.

Again you set up for your meal, got your food and dug in. 2 large Domino's pizzas was a little excessive, but you knew you could do it. Ripping through them with a speed and intensity you didn't know you possessed you took down the pizzas along with the drinks you prepared. Once dinner was finished you set a timer for 2 am and then got ready for bed. You really needed time for this food to settle.

Before that though you went to have a shower. Seeing yourself this big in the mirror astonished you. As you cleaned yourself you seemed to be going over and over your belly. Trying to touch it and feel it from all angles. Learning this new version of yourself would be so amazing. After your shower you set up a little something and then went to sleep.

Your alarm blared at 2am. You knew you had to interrupt your sleep to gain the most fat. Sleepily you got out of bed and went over to your prepared desk. The 4 Krispy Kreme doughnuts and 2 cups of cream sat Infront of you. Barely noticing you took them down before dragging your swollen form to the bathroom scales. You were instantly wide awake as soon as you saw 165. 165? You knew the water weight was going to be a lot but only about 3 of those pounds were supposed to be fat gain. You smiled to yourself knowing what was in store before you went back to bed and drifted off.

[epigstolary]

Lecture

TW: References to medical fatphobia and health conditions.

Your eyes dart nervously back and forth, from one side of the lecture hall to another. Surely they’re not going to see you like this and just sit there? Surely someone is going to step in and help?

But your hopes are disappointed. You’re met, to the extent the audience looks you in the eyes at all, with blank or half-bored stares. The uncaring look of people who see you and the half-ton of lard filling your body as a technical exercise, and little more. The lecture drones on next to you, and after a few minutes, you’re finally able to focus on what’s being said.

“…recall that yesterday’s subject exhibited signs of severe morbid obesity with excessive deposits of adipose tissue almost exclusively at the anterior abdomen. Today’s subject, by contrast—” at this, you feel the lecturer’s gloved hand grasp one of your bulging love handles, squeeze a solid handful, and lift as he continues “—supplements this distribution with deposits throughout the inguinal, gluteal, and posterior thigh regions, and to a lesser extent, in the pectoral and inframammary regions.” You feel one of your tits being lifted as the lecturer holds it in the palm of their hand, pointing out further details with the other. “So as you see, adipose distribution can vary significantly, based on a number of factors…”

The audience continues listening and taking notes. Occasionally, you see two of its white-coated members whisper to each other, gesturing at some point or other on your expansive body. Your mind wanders from the lecture again, and you begin to look around the room, to the extent the restraints on your bariatric exam chair allow. Despite the audience’s lack of direct attention to you, you’re keenly aware of how exposed and on display you are.

The angle of the chair allows your wide, doughy belly to spill down your lap and between your knees. It spreads your lumpy, shapeless legs into a split that leaves the bulging sacs of fat on your thighs and calves in full view. Likewise, because of the backward tilt of the seat, your head is also tilted back, bringing your chin level with your triple chins and emphasizing them along with your wobbly cheeks and jowls. Restraints tie your arms against padded extensions on either side of the main chair, holding them in a T-pose that causes the flab on your forearms to hang down in puckered globs and the bulk on your upper arms to pool around your shoulders, further squeezing the fat around your face. It’s a position in which, if there were any doubt, you’re shown off as the thoroughly, completely, and probably irrevocably fattened blob you are.

Eventually, the display screens on either side of the hall catch your eye — specifically, the unfamiliar shape appearing next to some inscrutable pixelated numbers in black and white. Then, suddenly, something in the lecture strikes you and the image clicks into stark comprehension.

“…86% body fat, with the result that additional strain on the musculoskeletal structure produces the characteristic bend in the vertebral column to compensate…”

The ill-defined shape on the screen, viewed through the lens of an MRI machine, is a person — is you. You knew you were huge, of course, but your breath catches in your throat to see your gluttony presented in this way — the cross-section showing the muscles and organs and skeleton of a normal person, but floating, buried, smothered in a sea of white-yellow tissue, spreading out shapeless in all directions. Hundreds of pounds of fat, dominating your body, captured with the indisputable precision of medical imaging. You are an anomaly. A curiosity. A pathology. A disease, needing to be treated.

You barely have time to process all of this before you feel two attendants beginning to undo the restraints holding back your arms and legs. You feel your feet spring forward slightly, no longer held down and now pushed out by the bulk of the fat hanging off your calves and thighs. Your arms fall immediately to your sides — or, at least, as close to your sides as the tremendous piles of rolls fighting your bingo wings and forearm flab for space will allow. You slide down from the tilted half-chair/half-gurney to a standing position, and feel a hot ache radiate through you, your body crying out at your full weight being put on your frame for the first time in a long time.

“We’ll see if we can get a demonstration of mobility. Clearly, physical activity isn’t this subject’s strong suit.” A stifled but derisive laugh ripples through the audience at this first flush of color commentary from the lecturer. You turn to look at the lecturer, standing at the lectern, and they gesture to the far side of the hall. A set of double doors, wide enough for you to go through, with a bright “Exit” sign above them, stand about thirty yards away.

Is this it? Are you free to go? After being fattened and poked and prodded for so long, are they finally going to let you just walk out?

You have to try. Slowly, deliberately, and with a shock of pain at every step, you lift your blubber-laden legs one at a time, putting your bare foot down with a wet-sounding plop, as you work your way closer to the door. You look around from the door to the audience to the attendants, eyes widened almost to the point of panic. You see all the audience now paying close attention to you, many of them looking back with genuine surprise, apparently somewhat impressed to see a person as fat as a small cow able to walk at all. But seeing nobody move to stop you as you continue your degrading waddle forward, you try to pick up the pace. Your flabby arms swing in a wide circle, trying to counterbalance the movement of the vast bulk hanging off your midsection, the belly and tits and side rolls wobbling chaotically with each step forward.

“As you can see, mobility is diminished as a result not just of the added weight, but also the severe limitations on range of motion caused by the excess adipose tissue.”

Barely halfway toward the door, you can hear the sound of your heart beating over the drone of the lecture, pounding as if it’s about to burst out of your chest. Sweat dims your eyes, and the heat radiating from your body — but, it feels like, especially from your florid face — makes you realize how fatigued you already are from walking just this limited distance. Walking this distance — but with an extra eight hundred pounds or so more than you’re used to, you think to yourself.

“Note, too, the compounding effect of the excessive weight and the lack of resiliency in the subject’s cardiovascular and respiratory systems due to a prolonged deficit in physical activity. Blood pressure and body temperature rise precipitously, stamina diminishes, breathing becomes labored, blood oxygen plummets. Hence, the elevated risk of cerebrovascular accident, embolism, myocardial infarction…”

You barely have the energy to feel angry at the lecturer’s patronizing indifference by the time you reach the door. Breathing ragged, soaked with sweat, barely able to concentrate and on the verge of collapse, you stumble into a lean against the door frame, desperate to catch your breath so you can finish your escape. It’s right there — you can reach out and touch the push bar, hear what sounds like street noise outside — but your body won’t let you. Your clouded mind won’t focus, your bloated legs won’t lift, your wobbling arms hang limp by your heaving, flabby chest. Exhaustion and despair rise within you in equal measure as you hear the gurney chair being rolled across the room, feel your body being jiggled and manhandled back into a sitting position, and see the exit doors and all hope of help receding as you’re rolled back to center stage, defeated.

Numb and indifferent now, you offer no resistance, sensing the tube and mask being fitted into your mouth as if watching it happening to someone else from a distance. You utter little more than an involuntary groan of complaint or protest — it doesn’t concern you, any more than does the flow of something cold you can feel pooling in your stomach.

“…typical example has a maximum capacity of barely two to four liters. However, consistent overfeeding with a diet that includes a sufficient volume of fiber at appropriate intervals has demonstrated the ability to reliably expand stomach volume to a maximum capacity of 14-16 liters, with p of .05 in our internal studies…”

The sound of the lecture flows past you, mixing with the buzz of the pump filling you with more and more of the chilly slop, and the low creak of the gurney as it takes the added weight. Your eyelids droop, drowsy with the food and your exertions; and you drift away to sleep, the gaze of the audience trained on the slow, relentless expansion of your tumescent belly the last thing you see before your tired eyes close shut.

Credit to the incomparable Mairari/@hyenaddict for the original post that inspired this story

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Tips To Relieve Everyday Bloating

As someone who has dealt with chronic bloating for a lot of my life, here are some of my thoughts, observations, and recommendations. HUGE disclaimer: I am in no way an expert on this, a medical professional, nutritionist, or anything of the sort.

Especially for women, bloating can be a sign of gynecological issues (endometriosis, PCOS, hormone imbalances like estrogen dominance, and even a warning sign of ovarian cancer). So, if you experience constant bloating that doesn't get better with improved digestion, schedule an OB/GYN appointment ASAP to ensure that everything is okay on the women's health front.

Everyone's triggers are different, but for me, these are some of the common causes of bloating that I've noticed:

Lack of sleep

Stress

Eating too quickly or while stressed

Lack of movement/walking

Not drinking enough water

High-fat meals

Chewing gum

Carbonated drinks/alcohol

Here are some of my best tips, habits, and product recommendations to manage & minimize bloating:

Engage in a 1-minute diaphragmatic aka deep-belly breathing exercise in bed right after waking up and right before going to sleep (place one hand on the middle of your chest and the other in the central "hollow" area right below your rib cage)

Get at least 6-7 hours of sleep a night

Have a bowl of oatmeal (made with plain oats and water) with cinnamon and fruit every morning

Drink water before any coffee in the morning; Only having at most 16oz or one large mug of coffee before breakfast in the morning

Chew my food slowly, taking time between bites

Drink at least 8 large glasses of water daily

Take my Vitamin B12 and Vitamin D supplement daily (I love the Deva brand!)

Have avocados/use avocado oil as my primary fat source (I love nuts/nut butter, but they really bloat me, so find your trigger foods!); I've found a large salad with a romaine lettuce base, some veggies, avocado, and an ACV-based dressing works wonders to settle my stomach or steamed spinach with roasted root vegetables/potatoes

Use digestive enzymes when necessary (These digestive enzymes are my favorites!)

Take at least 30 minutes to walk/move around daily (Pilates, yoga, or bodyweight exercises also work)

Drink ginger tea or some herbal-based tea nightly (my long-time favorite is Bigelow Benefits Calm Stomach Ginger Peach Herbal Tea!)

Don't eat anything for at least 3 hours before bed

For trapped gas: Try lying on your stomach, engaging in the downward dog yoga position or fetal position on the left side, or doing an abdominal massage (rubbing in a circular motion from the right side of your pelvis up through your rib cage down and around the left side) all work well!

[feederheart]

The boardwalk creaked as if it were crying out for help as her fat-laden bare feet stomped loudly on the ground. Several of the beachgoers walking by did a double take as we stepped past, staring right at her stretch mark-laden belly as it jiggled and swung like a pendulum over her unbuttoned daisy dukes. Her ass, now the size of an exercise ball at the gym, bounced as she walked, each cheek moving with each step from her tree-trunk thighs. Her breasts threaten to break free from her bikini top that had clearly been ordered several sizes too small (oops). Her juicy arms also swayed and jiggled as she walked just like her belly as she greedily gulped down her XL peanut butter milkshake. Even the fat on her beautiful, round face seemed to quiver. Her body was adorned with fine diamond piercings on her ears and cavernous belly button that matched her wrist and ankle bracelets. On her neck was a leather collar adorned with a shiny golden cowbell; I loved to decorate my prized cow.

We didn’t get very far before she began to slow down and beg for me to turn around; we only passed three shops and a beach hotel. I obliged and we turned around as she exerted what effort she could to keep her fat, quivering legs moving. Her body began to glisten with sweat and she was short of breath, almost gasping at the hot summer air. She desperately gulped down her milkshake faster, hoping the thick, frozen calories would cool her down. At last, we waddled all of the way back to the car. She took the last sip of her shake and reached into the trunk for the cooler for a bottle of cold water. She then tucked one underneath her gargantuan belly, shivering as it touched her soft and supple skin. She then grabbed another one and yelped as she dumped it all over her body.

“S-s-so are you happy now?” she asked me casually as she dried off with a towel large enough to cover her and probably a small sofa. “You got to show off your ‘prized cow’ like you’ve always wanted.”

“I’ve never been happier,” I answered truthfully. “Or more turned on.”

“I see,” she said as she glanced at my shorts. “Well I’m glad you had your fun.”

“Oh don’t pretend you didn’t love that,” I teased her.

She responded by pretending to ponder that, one hand sarcastically stroking her chin while the other rubbed her massive gut.

“Well, I love making you happy so of course I did,” she teased back.

“Okay, well now that ‘I’ve had my fun’, you can start coming to the gym with me,” I offered dishonestly. “Or instead, we can get you another one of those milkshakes.”

She continued to ponder sarcastically, rubbing her belly even faster. She then looked me in the eyes and beamed at me.

“Oh who am I kidding, I want another shake!” she finally admitted.

“That’s what I thought,” I replied with satisfaction. “I know you love being a fat lazy cow.”

“I do,” she whispered seductively as she reached up for a kiss. “So how about we get that shake now?” she added greedily.