Bread And A Circus Writings - Tumblr Posts

movie date but I make you drink enough soda to make your shirt tight around your rounded stomach. The almost constant chorus of gurgles from your stomach draws the annoyed attention of other movie-goers who can't hear the movie over your sounds. A cacophony of digestive noises as your stomach tries to settle despite my instigation of further reaction via rubbing and gentle jostling of your ballooned stomach. I hold your hand as you squirm, the arm rests now digging into the side of your taut skin, leaving red marks which I soothe with gentle kisses and kitten licks. You whisper and ask if we're almost done, and I hush you gently and reassure you that we are. I've still got an array of different sodas in big litre bottles under my seat though. And I don't intend for us to be done until you can't see the screen over the crest of your stomach.

A trip to an amusement park. Near noon you start insisting you're hungry for lunch so I start making breaks to accommodate. At every stall I toss out a couple dollars and buy you something to eat till you're mumbling about your pants being tighter than they were this morning. But it doesn't seem to slow you in your eating. Turkey legs, churros, bubbling sodas, tacos, burritos, burgers, fries, candy bars, cheese fries, funnel cakes and more. Your fingers are coated in grease and crumbs and I help you lick them clean, gently rubbing your front as I ask if you're full yet. We sit on a bench in the shade and we hear it creak under your weight, a sign that we may be going to far with you, but neither of us want to stop yet. Instead, I walk over and get you a few ice creams which you quickly devour with your seemingly insatiable appetite. Near the end of the day, we decide to go on one more ride, and we quickly find that your swollen and engorged belly seems less than eager to let the lap bar come down. You're barely contained in the already squished seat as it is, but your belly refuses to give up the space it occupies. Your shirt rode up long ago and now we both just stare and sheepishly blush at the worker who insists that the situation of the bar pressed tight into the fat of your gut isn't safe. You're about to fight your way out of the seat in defeat when the button on your jeans finally gives way, allowing your stomach to lurch forward and shoot the safety bar back even further. I chuckle nervously at the situation but in all honesty I'm just thinking about how I want to straddle your rolls and ride you way more than any attraction at this park.

A ginormous monster girl depositing her eggs into her human boyfriend to help relieve the pressure and buildup inside of her

You've always thought you were the perfect boyfriend, bending to just about every whim of your monstrous partner. But this?

With an obtrusive ovipositor shoved so deeply into your ass you were sure you could taste it, and the knowledge that you'd be carrying her spawn for nearly a year after this? It didn't exactly inspire confidence in your chivalric actions. Though when you were met with the warm gale of her exhale on your bare back and the small whimper that passed her lips, you swallowed up your pride and some amount of survival instinct before signaling her it was okay to begin. Almost immediately you felt an object fighting at the tight ring of your already stretched asshole. The ovipositor inside you squirmed and tensed before you felt it expand, allowing the egg enough space to pass through and settle in you. This ordeal brought a cry to your lips and you were almost sure you'd be torn in half. The egg felt massive in your ass, and you'd wager it was around the size of a soccer ball. Though you had little time to think before you felt the ovipositor pull and push back into your overstretched hole, nudging the first egg further into you and promising more to come.

~

Wheezing, whimpering and whining. Stuffed, bloated, swollen. She'd finished depositing her clutch in you and now sat across from you, looking over your now misshapen form. You stomach was easily the biggest thing about you. A canvas of varying bulges across the taut skin that had expanded so much you could've easily been mistaken for swallowing two full yoga balls. Your legs were forced to spread in a straddle position in order to accommodate the girth of your stomach and all the eggs that were fighting for room inside. You couldn't reach the front of your stomach, but you did feel the gentle finger of your partner caress it for you. The chilled slime she excreted left a tingling sensation on your skin. But it wasn't as though you could protest, much less move to get her to stop.

Who knew though? Maybe you'd grow to love it like the eggslut you were.

Gf slowly feeding bf yet he doesn't notice until it's too late and he now loves being fed

"Taste this for me."

"Tell me if it needs more salt."

"is this too sweet?"

These were the comments you were used to hearing on an almost daily basis from your overly zealous, self-proclaimed chef of a girlfriend. It had seemed like every day now there was maybe half a dozen things that you needed to taste for her, and that she'd gently feed to you so you could give your verdict. She'd insist that her hands were already dirty with food and yours weren't so that was why she needed to feed it to you.

Though she knew exactly how it tasted, she would always purposefully over or under season it so she could call you over again and hand feed you another bite. It was a habit she was well aware of, but one you didn't seem to pick up on. The affects had appeared nearly a month afterwards, a shirt that was too tight now or your chair squeaking in protest when it hadn't before.

As time went on, a dozen taste tests turned to twenty, then thirty. And pretty soon you were sat on a stool next to her as she worked, eagerly awaiting for when she'd turn to you with an entire tray of brownies, bowls of pasta, entire cakes or any other number of treats to feed you. Shirts that had been too tight now barely seemed like crop tops considering your bulbous gut that seemed fit to pop or rival an expecting mother of twins.

Even if the meal seemed like too much, she'd always whisper sweet nothings to you and encourage you further. Wiping crumbs and sauce from your face before gently massaging the straining skin of your gut.

"Just one more bite for me, big boy."

A shy, nervous woman being inflated into a blueberry by a mischievous partner

The clothes hadn't seemed that small when you'd initially picked them out. They seemed modest, maybe even conservative if anything. But now as you held them up to yourself in the mirror, all you could see was the seemingly obnoxious curves of your form. Your jaws worked anxiously on the stick of gum you'd been given by your partner. It seemed that anytime you went shopping, you got nervous, and to prevent you from wringing your wrists, biting your nails or scratching, your partner had ensured you always had gum. This time, you found yourself slightly comforted by the overwhelming flavors of blueberry pie and ice cream. Must've been a new brand, you didn't think you'd had this one before.

"Can I see?"

The voice of your loving partner called through the changing room door. And as much as you wanted to ask them to see if they could find something else for you, your voice seemed less than eager to oblige. So instead you called back in a sheepish tone:

"Yeah, just one second."

You lined your legs up with the holes of the jeans and stepped into them, feeling how the material now seemed to bite into your skin as you fought the zipper up. The lacey blouse was next, though after you slipped it on, you noticed a blemish on your face. You thought it might've been ink. Maybe you'd touched a leaky pen and then wiped your face without noticing? Though when you rubbed at it, the spot didn't budge. If anything it seemed more eager to spread. You stifled a yelp as you watched your face turn a vibrant shade of violet, observing the colour cover your chest and then beginnings of your arm as well before disappearing under the tightening waistband of the pants.

The pants physically hurt now, the material digging into your stomach which you found yourself quickly seeking to amend by yanking them off. Though you found the zipper less than eager to go down, and the material seeming to hug your body tighter by the second. As you stared, you watched your stomach begin to lurch forward, swelling and bloating as though someone had shoved a hose in your mouth and cranked the water pressure up. Your stomach ballooned behind the pants and you felt the rest of you follow suit. The seams of the pants began to tear and you watched the blouse begin to dig angry red lines into your doughy gut as it rode up. You attempted to waddle to the door as your flesh continued expanding. You'd barely managed a yelp when the zipper of your pants shot off like a bullet, followed by a chorus of seams as your outfit burst to shreds and allowed your girth to continue uninhibited.

You'd stumbled and fallen now, though your ballooned stomach didn't allow you to fall far as it had swollen out to an almost comical amount, your ass and chest swelling in sync. You attempted to stand but found your legs soon engulfed by the rotund curve of your waist, following a similar path as your arms sunk into the doughy flesh. Engulfed by your now bright blue body.

A few moments more and you filed the entire changing room, your body pressed snug against all four walls and you prayed that this was the end. That whatever this was would stop. But you weren't so lucky. A groan resounded from your stomach which was soon met and matched by the groans of the changing room walls and door which quickly broke under the pressure. You attempted to yelp again but your view and mouth were soon engulfed by your body.

You could feel the air conditioner of the shop blowing cool wind over your massive, heaving form. And you couldn't even be sure how many eyes were on you now. Though you felt a gentle pat on your stomach which rippled throughout, as though they'd patted a water bed.

"Looks absolutely lovely on you, babe. Or at least what's left of it anyways. Blue's really your colour, y'know?"

Getting you on the train in the first place was practically a losing battle, though now that we're sat on the rickety seats, it seems as though we'll be able to relax on the ride home. You take up more seats than you should, with me leaning against your side as the train jostles to motion. A lengthy feeding session at an all-you-can-eat-buffet left you less eager than usual to walk home, and in all honesty neither of us are sure your clothes could take it either. They were tight to begin with, but after the sheer amount of calories we packed into you, you can barely bend your knees without hearing a few seams pop. Your shirt looks like a crop top at the moment, already having been forced to rest on top of the crest of your stomach, leaving your straining skin on full display as we sit. The stares are definitely noticable. The judgement is practically palpable, hanging like a thick syrup in the air as the ride continues. After a few minutes, the other passengers seem to find their manners again and resume minding their own business and for a while, all seems quiet and peaceful. Though what snaps their attention back to you, is the sudden and obnoxiously loud rumble that your stomach decides to make audible as we sit in otherwise dead silence. The low moan that leaves your mouth as you practically harmonize with your gurgling belly from me sinking my fingers into the plush folds of your swollen stomach plays a good part in that too. I hope this ride goes on for a while longer.

No. The dozens of bags of Halloween candy in my cart aren't for the trick-or-treaters. The hundreds of thousands of calories in caramel, chocolate, nougat, cream, and just pure sugar aren't for the eager kids who'll come by my house next month.

They're for the lovely hog that lives in my house. The one who lays on my couch with a stomach that weighs nearly twice as much as me. The one who can't get to their feet without audibly groaning in exertion as they try to will their legs to work. The one who wears shirts that barely cover their chest, but can't even begin to cover the absolute yoga ball of a stomach that they've developed. The one who asks me to rub their belly when their arms can no longer reach the swollen front of it after a hearty stuffing session.

The one who I'm going to put in a tight, sexy costume and help hand feed the candy to on Halloween night, only stopping when the costume's seams finally pop and all the weight we just packed into them becomes easily visible as their rolls fall forward.

Along the same vein as the bloating singer, but imagine someone's standing behind a podium and they have to keep stalling and talking because the minute their speech is over, they have to leave the podium. The only issue is that something's been disagreeing with them for the past half hour, letting air bubbles find their home in the round curve of their belly. Maybe it might not have been noticeable at the beginning of the speech, and if they'd been quick, they might've finished the speech and gone away without much fuss about the subtle curve of their stomach. But now their stomach is tight enough to cause discomfort as they fight to not unbutton their expensive suit. Every sentence is a gradually losing battle against the chorus of burps that attempt to leave their mouth anytime they utter a single syllable. It's getting bad now, nearly every other word is beginning to be a glutinous burp that resounds into the podiums microphone, and they can see the confusion or disgust from the audience. But their bloated stomach looks akin to a puppy with a belly full of worms now, and they're hoping with every fiber of their being that their suit can hold on a little longer and all of this will just go away. Their forehead is beaded with sweat as they belch into the mic again, attempting to stifle it with their palm before eventually getting the burp to stop. Though rather than silence, they're met with a disproving groan and gurgle from their stomach before the lowest button of their suit shoots off, hitting the podium with a soft plink as their stomach pushes forward with the trapped air bubbles.

Gotta be honest I think ‘gluttonous belches’ is gonna be stuck in my head for the next few days, that is a great descriptor-

Also this is some good imagery anon 👀 Generally I’m not that into professional characters belching unless under very specific circumstances but I do like the idea of them trying to hide their growing stomach under a suit 👀

Going with a BF who always tries to work out but he lets me prepare his pre-workout and protein shakes for him. So naturally, after a while I start trading out his protein shakes for mild gain shakes. At first it's not that noticeable and he's still able to burn most of the calories he's taking in, but as time goes on, I keep upping the severity of the gain shakes. And he soon begins making excuses as to why he's skipping his trip to the gym. And no matter what, you know his genuine reasoning is always that for him it's two embarrassing to go to the gym after he develops a muffin top over his sweat pants. His abs turn to flab and then rolls and he begins mumbling about needing to up his workouts on the few days that he does actually go out to the gym. But by this point since he's mostly at home and it's easier for me to pack him full of calories, you don't think it'd help much. Offering him food when he's not fully paying attention, giving him sweets but claiming the calorie and sugar intake is lower than it is. Eventually he just stops caring and the pounds really begin to pack on. Outgrowing almost all of his clothes till only his sweatpants fit him, and even those are hanging on by their last seams. Every trip up the stairs leaves him grunting and panting as if he'd just done one of his old routines. Every drive past the gym leaves him embarrassed, but the shame doesn't seem to last, as he scarfs up the 6 double cheeseburgers and two large sodas I just got him. I tease him but he insist he's just bulking for whenever he starts going to the gym again.

Opening this again, but you can request really anything now though

send inspo anons and I'll write little feeder/feedee/wg/inflation/eggpreg blurbs for them <3

write about someone being blackmailed to gain weight and hating watching it happen to themselves? ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

That stupid letter.

"68kg by the end of the month. Or else I air your dirty laundry."

Dread had been clear on your face as you reread it half a dozen times. Truth be told, you were convinced you could work off the pounds the minute the black mail ended, whenever that would be.

You'd bulked up your shopping list to includes chips, cookies, brownies, cakes, milkshakes, processed and sugary foods practically dripping with calories. After nearly 10 minutes of staring, you'd finally begun working your way through the calories.

Now here you were, 3/4s of the way through the month and your pants had begun to ache on your waist. Each chew brought your newly made double chin bobbing on your collarbone and a disgusted grimace on your face. Your shirt has ridden up a good deal now, showing your potbelly that had swollen to rest on your legs. Friends had shot you dirty glances and judgemental stares and you were well aware why.

Before, you'd have been being praised for your slim figure, but here you were, laying on your couch with a stomach that felt like a stone weighing you down in place. The box of donuts rested on the crest of your swollen gut and the cream filling had dribbled down your chins, but you knew you still had a dozen or so pounds to go. With a strained groan, you got up to grab your phone and order a pizza. Nothing fit any more, and a pair of sweatpants had gone from "barely used" to "hanging on by a thread" as your body bloated from all the unused calories.

Your belly swung as you stumbled forward, grabbing a table for support as you moved with sluggish steps to your phone. The minute this was over, you'd be right back at the gym, working off every pound, fighting to get yourself back to that slim figure you knew so well. Then you wouldn't look a bloated swine.

Though the end of the month came. And all you got was another letter. And this one proclaimed no release. Instead, proclaiming:

"70kg. End of next month. Make it happen."

Requesting a piece about fattening up your totally obedient and loyal pet, please~ Especially if you can do it from the pet’s pov~

You feel them ruffle your hair as they praise you for another swallow of the food they pushed past your lips. A groan in your stomach signals the stuffing session might be reaching it's end, but you still enthusiastically open up for another bite.

"Look at you. Y'look like a puppy with worms. Don't even know how you'll fit in your bed like that."

Your stomach rests heavy on your thighs and you watch them reach forward and begin to rub your belly while repeating the words "You're just a good dog, huh?"

The mostly skimpy outfit they asked you to change into is on its last threads, the tights riddled with holes from your swollen thighs, a that has ridden up to hug around your collarbone, and your waistband seems fit to snap. Though every bite you take makes your owner happy so you don't think you'd have it any other way. They look over the remainder of the food on the table before pulling a large gainer shake towards you. You go to reach for the glass but are stopped when your owner tips it back to your mouth instead, startling you for a moment before you start obediently chugging as the fattening shake drips into your mouth.

Another groan from your stomach and their free hand is back on it, massaging around the naval as they tell you how good of a pet you are. As the last drops fall into your mouth, and they wipe any of the dribble that had begun to make it's way down your double chins, they focus their attention on your stomach. Kissing it, rubbing it, massaging the taut skin as they showed you with praise. "Such a good pet." Is the most common one. And while your excitement is unmatched, it's hard to do anything but pitifully squirm as your stomach weighs you down in your chair. You're such a house pet.

Prompt: Feeder takes their new feedee back home to meet the parents for Thanksgiving. The feedee is about to find out who the feeder learned it from.

The table was starting to dig into the newly stuffed stomach of your figure. Every few seconds, another offer.

"Some cranberry sauce, dearie?"

"Want some more turkey?"

"Got any room for mashed potatoes?"

And every time, you were too polite to deny them and instead just nervously smiled and accepted the heaping portion on your plate.

Your partner had been eager to bring you back home for Thanksgiving, and you'd been excited to meet their family in turn. You'd worn something baggy to accommodate any pudge you put on, maybe a handful of pounds over the course of your stay. "They'll stuff you bigger than the turkey." Your partner had mentioned with a chuckle and an elbow jab. And true to their word, here you were, stomach already groaning and straining your outfit on the first night.

Your partner had their hand in your lap, gently rubbing the underside of your swollen belly as their family eagerly watched you push bite after bite into your mouth. You felt fit to burst, and you kept having to move your chair back to allow your stomach a few more inches of grace, but you kept filling the new space every hour or so.

When they brought dessert out, you nearly groaned at the heaping portion of pie and ice cream that they plated you. And you watched their eager eyes as your partner helped get the fork past your lips seeing as how you seemed closer to going into a food coma than anything else. Despite this, you kept awake, and opened when he asked, chewed and swallowed and repeated. Everything ached and you tried to rub your bloated belly as you swallowed another bite of chilled ice cream.

What stopped them even if only for a moment, was when your chair creaked and then splintered as it shattered under the immense weight you forced it to carry. You yelped and hit the floor with a meaty thud, sending ripples along your stomach and fat as your partner moved to quickly comfort you. Though you found that after they'd checked that you were okay, their hands quickly went back to offering food and beginning to rub your stomach as you sat bloated and stuffed on the floor, your stomach now touching the cool tile.

Bigger than the turkey, huh?

The pet one was super hot~ Any chance you could do some more like that...?

The collar was digging into your neck by this point and you attempted to tug at it with your pudgy fingers, though your owner took your hand away and loosened the collar for you. They might've claimed you were their house pet, but you felt more like a cow or a pig at this point as you clutched and rubbed your stretch marks.

They told you what a good pet you were as they pushed another brownie into your mouth. Behind them was a cake they'd bought an hour or two ago as well and you knew that was the main course. Dallops of sugary frosting and rich chocolate filling that would soon stuff your stomach till you felt you'd burst.

You chewed and felt your owner pat your belly, stirring a groan from your stomach as everything that they'd already packed into you, settled. They rubbed the front of your stomach and told you what a good pet you were, how obedient and docile you were. A "proper" house pet.

Your pet bowl had become a trough, and after that it became hand feeding to pack you tighter than you ever would on normal circumstances. And the pounds had piled on in the dozens after decided to become their pet, though you didn't find reason to complain. You got to be someone's fat house pet, what more could you want?

OMG that pet story was soo.... hot....

id love if you could do that, but with immobility...

the idea of being a fat pet too bloated to move is just... so hot... <3

You'd outgrown your pet bed, now you lay stomach up and all encompassing on the couch. Your body was a maze of stretch marks and cellulite that your owner traced and kissed frequently between stuffing sessions.

A few months before, you'd stopped being able to move. And in all honesty you weren't sure you wanted to. You got to lay back and have entire holiday meals worth of food pushed into your mouth daily as you lay there rumbling and groaning between bites. Your clothes barely fit anymore, and you suspected you'd need to get a new custom made set again as you'd done since fattening past the size that any store carried.

Rolls of your blubber practically spilled over the side of the creaking leather couch and you honestly weren't sure how long the furniture could hold out. Though you'd cross that bridge when you came to it.

Another bite of rich food was pushed to your lips and another chugging of a soda bottle started and ended with your stomach gurgling. Your owner tossed the now empty can to the side and pressed another kiss to your forehead as they adjusted the collar charm that barely remained visible underneath your chins and neck flab.

"Such a good pet."

You're such a good writer, sweetie~

if it's not too much, would you be so kind as to do another on the immobile pet~?

Thank you, pup~

A rumble leaves your stomach as your owner sits perched on your mountain of fat, practically sinking into it as they lean forward to feed you another slice of cake. They've gotten into funnel feeding you for ease, and it's only served to make you look seconds away from popping nearly perpetually. Which is to say, exactly what you wanted.

The day before, you'd had an entire freezers worth of melted ice cream funneled into your mouth as you kept swallowing like a good pet. Each bob of your neck fat brought a pat to your stomach as your owner praised your hard work.

They'd chased down the ice cream with liters of soda, and then a mix of milkshake and donuts blended into a sludge that slid down easily and rested in your stomach like a stone.

A groan left your throat as your stomach gurgled in distress from your owner's weight on you, but you were less than willing or caring enough to accommodate. Your owner said to finish that cake, and you would like a good pet. They pressed another slice to your blubbery lips as you opened your mouth to accept the dessert.

Maybe you could write something about a fat pet being fed so much they're gagging and spitting up on themselves? 👉👈 (With plenty of belly noises of course) ☺️

A whimper passed your lips as you wiped at the second appearance of the cake in front of you. Only now, it was dribbling down your shirt and not sitting daintily on a platter as your partner described the sheer amount of calories inside it. Your stomach gave a pathetic whine as you rubbed it, attempting to settle its rambunctious protests now that it sat practically empty, though still heavy, on your thighs.

Your partner hushed you as you began mumbling apologies and they instead just joined you in rubbing and putting the rolls of your stomach despite its groans.

"We'll just have to start up again with some ginger ale and crackers." The chipper solution was declared by your partner as they finally began tuning the shirt over your head, letting your stomach lurch forward properly and shake despite it's now non-existent contents. A gurgle resounded through the room as it settled again on your lap and your partner left to toss the shirt in the washer, leaving you with your belly.

You began to gently shake it, waiting for some second wave of nausea as it to confirm "and you won't cause anymore trouble now?" And despite its bubbly gurgles that swelled inside you, the nausea didn't reappear, so instead you began to shake it harder, lifting it and dropping it in your lap to ensure you were actually alright now. And again, you were met with groans and wet gurgles but no actual protest.

Your partner reappeared and took their seat on your lap again, laying their hand on your rumbling rolls before smiling warmly at you.

"Ready to try again?"

Nerdy guy who just got juiced by his girlfriend, but is now slowly reinflating into a blueberry again

"This used to fit."

Was the anxious call of your mind as you wiggled out of your pants. You were sure your girlfriend would deny it, after all, why'd you go through all that trouble to squeeze you dry of all the juice if you were just going to swell up again?

First it was your boxers. They usually practically hung off your hips, but as the week had progressed, they'd gotten snugger to the point that when inspecting yourself in the mirror, every line and trace of your skin was practically pushing against the cloth and on display. And you couldn't lie and pretend your ass hadn't felt heavier as well.

Then your thighs. Puffier in the waistband, having to loosen a belt notch further than you normally would. Grunting as you stuffed yourself back into your pants.

Though what caught your attention the most today, was when you'd jumped slightly to try and force yourself back into your pants, and noticed the hearty slosh that came from your stomach which seemed to swell forward a couple inches in symphony with the sound. A low gurgle rumbling out which you quickly attempted to hush, wrapping your arms around your middle to hold your stomach in place as it groaned. A glance up at the mirror in front of you revealed a steady crawl of blue spreading across your face alongside the beginnings of a second chin dropping low on your neck.

Fuck, not again.