Ftlftlftlftl - Content - Tumblr Blog
Nice layer of pure fat
Rock hard ballgut. Only getting bigger
belly love
belly love
belly love
When all you can do is just lay there because of how fat you and you need someone to milk your overstuffed blimp of a body.
Harun
time to feed that fat belly some more
I used to have visible abs, so it’s kinda thrilling to have this much belly now. Can’t wait for more. 😌
Becoming a muscle monster, by any means necessary. Let’s Get Massive.
XXXXXXXXL sized clothing required for this man
Nick Walker
Nick walker in vid
Nick Walker gesus… is huge
Pig Status
Nicolas Vullioud
Pig Status
Nicolas Vullioud
Nick Walker gesus… is huge
Do you have any videos? Like belly jiggle or any cool stuff you like to do?
What's your ideal date? Take us through how you'd like the day/evening to go
He picks me up and says, “Where do you want the eat first?” We go to my favorite restaurant and eat a full meal, appetizers then desserts. We have some fun, flirty chat as I eat. He eats a little too but is mostly excited to see me eat. We get back the his car and he immediately is all over my belly, we kiss too, and he says, “where next?” I name another favorite and we repeat the experience. This time it’s a little challenging to get up and waddle back to the car but he helps whispering, “Fuck, fatboy, everyone here can see what a big fat gluttonous pig you are, especially me.” Back in the car we head out, he drives with one hand because the other is under my belly, jiggling the lard. He says, “Lets let that one digest, I have an idea.” We roll into a drive thru and he orders a large shake. We park at a nearby park and he offers sips of shake as we make out, and he removes my shirt to let my belly relax. I’m in a bit of food stupor for a few minutes and when I’m rousing he says, “Another Stop or home?” I say, “Another. I need more. I’m hungry!” So we go to a third restaurant and this time he orders my favorites. I smile. It’s rougher finishing this meal but he encourages me with words, under the table belly and thigh rubs, and by desserts he teases me and feeds me with his fork. He says, “You’re such a good fatty, I can’t wait to get you home and see how we did.” I finish the meal… barely, and helps me waddle out to the car. He kisses me and says, “You can nod off if you need to, piggy.” And I do, feeling his hands lifting my shirt and the cool air of his air conditioner hitting my swollen gut. Next thing I hear is my car door opening, he shakes me gently and says, “We’re here, fatboy.” He helps me out of the car and up to my apartment. He gets me into bed and peels off my clothes. Grabs me water and says “I have to get a few things from the car.” He’s back in a flash with a few bags and boxes from my favorite bakery. He takes off his clothes, grabs a box and climbs between my legs. He’s massaging my belly, “You ate so well for me today, you know how fat I want to get you…” He keeps going, talking about me filling the bed, etc. He sees how this is getting me worked up and says, “Ready for more?” I nod and he starts feeding me creamy pastries between gulps of cool water. Sucking my nipples, kissing my chins, his hard cock is sliding between my fat rolls. He whispers, “Once you’re ready to pop I’m gonna fuck that fat pad of yours… but not til I know your full.” I greedily swallow every bite held to my lips. He kisses me deeply, I taste him and buttery frosting. I feel my gut getting full then ever so slightfully painfully so… he sees a tear forming and says, “Full up, piggy?” I smile and nod. He sits back, greased his cock up with buttercream and slides it into my fat pad. My stuffed gut like a boulder between us that he wraps his arms around as he thrusts deep. His intensity builds as I tell him how fat I will get for him, how big I want to be. His rock hard cock reaches the buried tip of mine, and we both explode. Sweaty, and exhausted he climbs beside me to spoon. I’m the biggest little spoon ever. He nuzzles against me close as my heaving heavy breath calms. He whispers, “Still hungry?” I smile.
Desires.
I want to get fat. Not just a little chubby… but breathtakingly obese. I want the walls to shake, the floors to quake if I decide to waddle my hefty ass out of bed in the morning. That fear, of course only accomplished if my one or two hunky feeders help me up. They’ll maneuver my doughy love handles and mountains of fleshy rolls just to sit me up… and then tug on my soupy, fat-laden arms until I finally rise to my round, blubber-filled feet. Though the journey from bed to kitchen is short, it can be exhausting nonetheless, as I slowly waddle, panting and puffing, my body under stress as it carries hundreds of pounds of excess lard. Just a few more steps and I’ll make it, to plop my ballooning ass down upon the steel-reinforced bench rated for 1500 pounds. Today the bench creaks as I lower my great heft onto it… and I just think it’s a shame we spent so much money on something that’s going to be useless in a few short months, when I’m packed away on the bed for good. But in the meantime it’s just easier to feast in the kitchen… the food is right there, spread out on the vast table in front of me, and I don’t have to be shy about making a greedy hog out of myself, because cleanup out here is so much easier. When all is said and done and I’m a burping, food stained, pathetic pig… my boys will pick me back up again and help me back to my bed, where I’ll rest after that exhausting, albeit short waddle.
Sometimes my feeders complain that they have to devote more time to the gym just so they can help me move anymore, but I always remind them that it’s sort of their fault in the end… they’re the ones that keep feeding and feeding me plenty. Never mind that I’m the one greedily sucking down every last crumb and guzzling back ice cream by the bucket. But they love it. They fucking live for it. Nothing makes them harder than seeing their blubbery fatboy stuff himself even fatter… even now after that big meal. We’re nearly to the bedroom, and I’m sweating and gasping for air… one of them let’s his big cock sink into my pillowy thigh and says “c’mon piggy, just a few more steps and you can have your bedtime cakes…” Ah yes, bedtime cakes. I get a little spring in my step as I fondly let my mind wander so I can focus less on the physical pain and exhaustion I’m in from hauling my tubby ass around and more on the sickeningly sweet tradition that’s ended every meal since I crossed 700 pounds. What started out as one, chocolatey, gooey, absolutely FATTENING three-layer cake right as I settled into my bed had recently become two and even sometimes three when my feeder boys were really excited. I greedily chow down on them with my face and bare hands… often getting crumbs and frosting lodged in my double chin and plump, heavy moobs. The boys just clean me up (sometimes getting the crumbs and frosting off of me with their tongues) and rub my belly until I fall fast asleep, destined to do it all again tomorrow, until the day comes when I can’t leave the comfortable bed.
With a ritual like this, it’s no wonder that I could go out in public a month and a half apart and be absolutely unrecognizable from the man I was before. The stares, the comments, the pure humiliation I get from wearing a shirt that’s 50 pounds past it’s prime while eating like a pig… that’s what I live for. I want to be fat. I want to be called fat. And I want to be made even fatter.
Sometimes you just need to show them who’s the boss…
Endlessly eating
Enornous and still. My body so big and engorged with fat that all I can do is open my mouth for more. Laying in the middle of a triple king sized bed, comfortable and warm. Moving limbs is now impossible since they are slowly being swallowed by more fat. They are far too heavy to even wiggle anyways.
Glug…glug…glug… The sound of my throat working down the flow of slop. I guess I couldn’t chew fast enough for you so you decided that being funnel fed calories was a better idea. This is what I craved, pure helplessness. Buried upon pounds and pounds of fat, so hopelessly obese and unable to even lift a finger. Excersise is out of the question. Hell, moving me from this room is out of the questions. Now all I live for is to grow so incredibly obese that I may be famous for it.
You have been excellent too, fattening me up to this point. The point of no return. I thought eight hundred pounds was heavy, I was wrong. Every now and then I can manage a stretch in, but its getting harder to move. I do love when you are feeling a bit evil and stuff thick, cheesy, greasy pizza into my mouth and watch me struggle to match your pace. My record is five large pizzas. Humanly impossible and probably disgusting to most. My poor stomach lining had been abused heavily from my addiction, but I don’t mind. I’ll make it to six large pizzas one day.
You are so forceful and firm when you push me to my limits. I know if I dont fulfill your demands you will have your way with me. Sometimes I think you want me to burst! I know you would enjoy seeing my stomach rupture right before your eyes. You would probably be proud of your work. Sick, I know. I’d probably be ok with it anyways. You scare me sometimes with how you tell me you want me to eat until I feel like I’m going to pop.
My body is so massive now that its becoming difficult to breathe. Imagine letting yourself become so obese that your body is struggling to keep itself alive and you just keep swelling up bigger. But deep down you can’t even stop because one, you are so addicted to eating that the thought of not having food in you is a terrible idea; and two, you are so fat you wouldn’t be able to get out of bed, let alone a door. So, your only option is to see how much more gluttonous abuse your body can handle before it gives out entirely.
My arms just hang to my sides now, I rub my vast growing belly while I suck down thousands of calories a day. My feeder tortures me by forcing me to do tiny workouts in between feedings. Raising my arms up, wiggling my legs, making me sit up straight. They call my a fat disgusting pig, a slob, a porker. I love it. It just makes me eat more and more. I grow out of breath so easily now I couldn’t even imagine walking, I’m far too fat now. I’ve ballooned from two hundred seventy pounds to one thousand five hundred ninety pounds in five years.
You first wanted me to reach three hundred fifty by tying me to the bed and feeding me carb loaded meals. The pounds really packed on after the first four months of being layed in bed all the time. Then you introduced me to the funneling system you set up. Thats when I kissed my mobile body goodbye. After the first two years I was nearing immobility with a five hundred sixty pound lard filled body. Huffing and puffing with every step.
I secretly adored when you let me fall over, gasping for air then forced me to eat an entire extra large pizza on the floor. You were so diligent and I was so greedy, you just rubbed my swollen gut and encouraged me to eat more. Good thing I made it to the bed because after that I never got out of it. The amount of calories and carbs you quickly stuffed into me was astounding. You really did want to make sure I never got out of bed ever again. It worked too.
Now my weight is climbing daily with no hope of shrinking down to a reasonable size. No pair of pants will fit my vast waist size and shirts just barely cover my chest now. My ass feels like an anchor holding me to the bed enabling my laziness. You used to make me wear my clothes until my fat flabby body ripped every seam out of them, I sure do miss that. Now I’m nearly too fat to wear anything at all. It was going to happen eventually.
You seem even more eager and forcefull now even though I’m far passed the weight I planned on stopping at. Maybe you are testing me to see when I will try to say “no” or maybe you already know my will power is shattered. Besides…even if I did say no, how could I stop you? I’m practically an obese blob slowly being suffocated and crushed under my own gluttony.
But I love the look in your eyes when you watch me devour thousands of calories before you. An almost evil, greedy, lustful stare that wants more from me. When your hands press into my deep doughy belly rolls I can feel your desire to push me even further, even bigger. I want to feed that desire. I’m not sure my exact weight anymore but I’m sure I’m nearing two tons. I’m not sure how much more my body can handle but I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.