~BBW, Funnel feeding, ~Sex, ~XWG
"Do you know why you are here?" The man asked the question with all the energy of a toll booth operator at the end of his shift.
"Honestly, I don't. A friend made the appointment."
The man mentioned my friend's name, and asked if this is the right person, and I said yes, at which point he scribbled a few notes on several sheets attached to a clipboard and I glanced around the rather antiseptic room. White walls. A metal sink and a dispenser of pink liquid hand soap. The room felt like it belonged in a doctor's office aside from the overstuffed red couch on which I sat. Two things occurred to me simultaneously, that this was the only vibrant color in the room--and that I was taking up more space on the couch than I'd anticipated. Sitting, I realized I had a much fatter, fully belly than I remembered.
"The doctor will be in to see you soon." The man left before I was able to ask for a hint as to why I was there.
I don't remember much else. I do remember a man entering and asking me a few questions. He had a bit of a combover, but I'd never recognize him on the street. He told me he was the most powerful hypnotist on the east coast and I remember him telling me to relax, then he gave me two sets of medication that I took for three weeks after that visit. I looked them up online. One is used to slow down the body's metabolism. It's used for people with hyperactive thyroids who get dangerously thin. The other one somehow inhibits the body's ability to feel full. These memories reside in my history as an unconnected moment. I know it means something, but it's as if there is a block, it's as though I can't make sense of it, and don't really care to but I feel it must be important, it must explain the unceasing hunger that I've felt for the past six months. What's odd is that I forget these facts as soon as I remember them, so I have started taking notes, even reading the beginning of this paragraph is a revelation. I've already forgotten its contents but I believe it to be true.
I remember everything else that lead up to that day, and of course the time after. But what I remember most is that she was a blonde. Why these things always start with a blonde, I don't know but that's what she was. A bit older than I, well off, confident, with quite a rack on her and a love for blouses that were a little too low and a little too tight. She was the type to wear gold jewelry, and a little demi-cup satin bra that was totally inappropriate for her chest which was pressed tight against her blouse. Big eyelashes. Bright lipstick. You know the type. Very flashy, sexy as hell and knew it. I met her in a bar and despite the description, I wouldn't have noticed her except for what I saw when she stood up from her stool.
She was fat.
I should mention that this is what I like. I like fat girls. Not zaftig. Not voluptuous. Not plump. I like fat. This one wasn't really all that fat, but she had a belly on her. Instead of a drink, I bought her a burger, then another one. She ate them and winked and I took this as a good sign.
Things went well. Incredibly well and I ended up back at her place for what I figured would be a bit of standard fun until she had me on the bed, propped up on pillows, and straddling me. She sat like a cat, back on her thick haunches; her belly a round pudgy ball hovering over my flat stomach, her hands gripped my hips. I was ready--but she wasn't. This was a tough thing to hear when she said it. The lights were dim, and I had a woman who looked like a two hundred pound pinup rubbing her satin-covered self against my crotch. So I asked her what I could do about making her ready because I wanted to do whatever she needed, and fast.
This is when she introduced me to the funnel. I'd heard about funnel-feeding from feeders and feedees. First we weighed her, she was 212 lbs. if she was an ounce. Out of curiosity, I clambered on the scale. 192 lbs.
I told her that I have often ended up with women who have at least a hundred pounds on me. She said that maybe that would soon be the case. You should have seen the way she said it. Gave me the big eyes, the big smile.
"Don't laugh," she said, "but, I have difficulty getting aroused unless I feel very full and fat."
"Cool by me," I said. I didn't care. If she'd wanted me to juggle carrots for ten minutes to get her hot I would have done that.
I slipped on one of her robes and followed her into another bedroom, my eyes fixed on the way her thighs joined several inches about the knees, and the way her panties strained against her soft rear. Forty inch hips, I thought to myself. A bit too thin for me, but still nice. She seemed to carry most of her weight in her belly which was quite round and distracting enough that at first I didn't notice the windowless room and the contraption over the bed. Thin tubing uncurled from an unobtrusive, looking television cabinet housed a few feet above the pillows. Inside, instead of a Sony, was a small barrel the size of a pony keg. I'd say it was easily 3/4 of a gallon in size. The tube connect to its bottom. A lever was on its base.
"Gravity starts the flow," she said. "If I need to take a break. I just press my tongue against the tube and I can stop it."
I didn't know what to say, so I asked her what I needed to do and she told me to flip the switch then I could do whatever I wanted to her to make her feel good. Even in the dim light I could see she was getting a pink flush to her neck. Her nipples had swollen into fat thumbs and poked above her bra cup.
"Out of curiosity," I asked, as she positioned herself upon several large pillows. "How much have you gained doing this?"
"Oh...fifty pounds in the last two months." She said this quietly, clearly wondering how I would react.
"Jesus you're a regular piggy," I said, without thinking. Great, I thought, I'm going to get kicked out. Sent packing. No fat fun tonight.
"Say that again," she said, her voice gone gravelly. "Say it when I'm...swallowing."
I thought: holy crap. And that's a quote.
Then I flipped the switch and a thick mass began working its way down the tube, she began sucking greedily and it reached her within a couple seconds. The flow seemed just fast enough for her to swallow in easy gulps. Something clicked overhead and I saw an overhead projector I hadn't noticed in the near-dark. A cool white square appeared on the blank wall opposite the bed. I looked at the fatty's face and her eyes and eyebrows motioned toward a book case upon which was a small laptop. I opened a folder on the desktop titled---with a nice lack of subtlety--"Fat Slideshow" and images were soon projected against the wall. I lay down next to her, placing my hand on her belly, and almost jumped when I realized I could feel it grow beneath my hands. On the wall, were two sets of images. On the left was a photo of the woman when she was smaller. She'd been quite thin once. A twenty inch waist. C cups at best. Flat stomach. In the photo she was clothed, in a tight-fitting ribbed white turtleneck, black pants and three inch pumps that were unambiguous in their message. Her hair was still neatly blonde and falling past the shoulders. The same red lipstick. The same red fingernails. Long, thin fingers. High cheekbones and a thin, serious nose. Eyelashes like Betty Boop. A gold watch on a wrist I could have circled with my thumb and forefinger. I couldn't believe how slim her hips were.
"You may have gained fifty pounds in the last couple months, but you've been porking up for awhile," I told her and she smiled in response. A small amount of the liquid crept past her red lips which I noticed were staining the tube red. I wiped up the dollop with a finger and tasted it. It was barely semisweet. Mild actually. I put my hand back on her belly and opened her robe so that she could feel my cock against her soft hip. She moaned when I did this and I rubbed her belly a bit as an experiment.
"You like that fatty?" I was still unsure of myself, hoping I was doing the right thing. She groaned in a way that sounded like "uh-huh" and I glanced at the screen. To the right of her thin image were alternating black and white photographs of of corpulent, nude women posing to accentuate thunderous thighs, fleshy arms and protruding stomachs. Most of them looked to be more than four hundred pounds. Her thin image morphed to a new photo. She wore the same clothes but was clearly a bit fleshier. Small changes: like fewer wrinkles in the sweater. And then a new photo. In this one, she wore a tight I "heart" New York t-shirt and black pants. She had a thing for black pants, I guess. The shirt sleeves revealed pudgy arms and fat that spilled upward and over the pant line, raising the shirt by an inch and preventing her zipper from closing completely. She pointed this out with a smile and a judiciously placed forefinger pointed at her crotch. In the next photo, she was fatter still, and approaching her current size. Closing in on two hundred pounds, it looked like. The pants were on--technically--but you wouldn't want to go out in public in pants that can't button or zip. A triangle of pink panty appeared and her belly was looking like it would jiggle when she walked.
I had an idea.
The Growth of a Fat Blonde Piggy and Her Bellyboy
by Big_Fan72
by Big_Fan72
"Do you know why you are here?" The man asked the question with all the energy of a toll booth operator at the end of his shift.
"Honestly, I don't. A friend made the appointment."
The man mentioned my friend's name, and asked if this is the right person, and I said yes, at which point he scribbled a few notes on several sheets attached to a clipboard and I glanced around the rather antiseptic room. White walls. A metal sink and a dispenser of pink liquid hand soap. The room felt like it belonged in a doctor's office aside from the overstuffed red couch on which I sat. Two things occurred to me simultaneously, that this was the only vibrant color in the room--and that I was taking up more space on the couch than I'd anticipated. Sitting, I realized I had a much fatter, fully belly than I remembered.
"The doctor will be in to see you soon." The man left before I was able to ask for a hint as to why I was there.
I don't remember much else. I do remember a man entering and asking me a few questions. He had a bit of a combover, but I'd never recognize him on the street. He told me he was the most powerful hypnotist on the east coast and I remember him telling me to relax, then he gave me two sets of medication that I took for three weeks after that visit. I looked them up online. One is used to slow down the body's metabolism. It's used for people with hyperactive thyroids who get dangerously thin. The other one somehow inhibits the body's ability to feel full. These memories reside in my history as an unconnected moment. I know it means something, but it's as if there is a block, it's as though I can't make sense of it, and don't really care to but I feel it must be important, it must explain the unceasing hunger that I've felt for the past six months. What's odd is that I forget these facts as soon as I remember them, so I have started taking notes, even reading the beginning of this paragraph is a revelation. I've already forgotten its contents but I believe it to be true.
I remember everything else that lead up to that day, and of course the time after. But what I remember most is that she was a blonde. Why these things always start with a blonde, I don't know but that's what she was. A bit older than I, well off, confident, with quite a rack on her and a love for blouses that were a little too low and a little too tight. She was the type to wear gold jewelry, and a little demi-cup satin bra that was totally inappropriate for her chest which was pressed tight against her blouse. Big eyelashes. Bright lipstick. You know the type. Very flashy, sexy as hell and knew it. I met her in a bar and despite the description, I wouldn't have noticed her except for what I saw when she stood up from her stool.
She was fat.
I should mention that this is what I like. I like fat girls. Not zaftig. Not voluptuous. Not plump. I like fat. This one wasn't really all that fat, but she had a belly on her. Instead of a drink, I bought her a burger, then another one. She ate them and winked and I took this as a good sign.
Things went well. Incredibly well and I ended up back at her place for what I figured would be a bit of standard fun until she had me on the bed, propped up on pillows, and straddling me. She sat like a cat, back on her thick haunches; her belly a round pudgy ball hovering over my flat stomach, her hands gripped my hips. I was ready--but she wasn't. This was a tough thing to hear when she said it. The lights were dim, and I had a woman who looked like a two hundred pound pinup rubbing her satin-covered self against my crotch. So I asked her what I could do about making her ready because I wanted to do whatever she needed, and fast.
This is when she introduced me to the funnel. I'd heard about funnel-feeding from feeders and feedees. First we weighed her, she was 212 lbs. if she was an ounce. Out of curiosity, I clambered on the scale. 192 lbs.
I told her that I have often ended up with women who have at least a hundred pounds on me. She said that maybe that would soon be the case. You should have seen the way she said it. Gave me the big eyes, the big smile.
"Don't laugh," she said, "but, I have difficulty getting aroused unless I feel very full and fat."
"Cool by me," I said. I didn't care. If she'd wanted me to juggle carrots for ten minutes to get her hot I would have done that.
I slipped on one of her robes and followed her into another bedroom, my eyes fixed on the way her thighs joined several inches about the knees, and the way her panties strained against her soft rear. Forty inch hips, I thought to myself. A bit too thin for me, but still nice. She seemed to carry most of her weight in her belly which was quite round and distracting enough that at first I didn't notice the windowless room and the contraption over the bed. Thin tubing uncurled from an unobtrusive, looking television cabinet housed a few feet above the pillows. Inside, instead of a Sony, was a small barrel the size of a pony keg. I'd say it was easily 3/4 of a gallon in size. The tube connect to its bottom. A lever was on its base.
"Gravity starts the flow," she said. "If I need to take a break. I just press my tongue against the tube and I can stop it."
I didn't know what to say, so I asked her what I needed to do and she told me to flip the switch then I could do whatever I wanted to her to make her feel good. Even in the dim light I could see she was getting a pink flush to her neck. Her nipples had swollen into fat thumbs and poked above her bra cup.
"Out of curiosity," I asked, as she positioned herself upon several large pillows. "How much have you gained doing this?"
"Oh...fifty pounds in the last two months." She said this quietly, clearly wondering how I would react.
"Jesus you're a regular piggy," I said, without thinking. Great, I thought, I'm going to get kicked out. Sent packing. No fat fun tonight.
"Say that again," she said, her voice gone gravelly. "Say it when I'm...swallowing."
I thought: holy crap. And that's a quote.
Then I flipped the switch and a thick mass began working its way down the tube, she began sucking greedily and it reached her within a couple seconds. The flow seemed just fast enough for her to swallow in easy gulps. Something clicked overhead and I saw an overhead projector I hadn't noticed in the near-dark. A cool white square appeared on the blank wall opposite the bed. I looked at the fatty's face and her eyes and eyebrows motioned toward a book case upon which was a small laptop. I opened a folder on the desktop titled---with a nice lack of subtlety--"Fat Slideshow" and images were soon projected against the wall. I lay down next to her, placing my hand on her belly, and almost jumped when I realized I could feel it grow beneath my hands. On the wall, were two sets of images. On the left was a photo of the woman when she was smaller. She'd been quite thin once. A twenty inch waist. C cups at best. Flat stomach. In the photo she was clothed, in a tight-fitting ribbed white turtleneck, black pants and three inch pumps that were unambiguous in their message. Her hair was still neatly blonde and falling past the shoulders. The same red lipstick. The same red fingernails. Long, thin fingers. High cheekbones and a thin, serious nose. Eyelashes like Betty Boop. A gold watch on a wrist I could have circled with my thumb and forefinger. I couldn't believe how slim her hips were.
"You may have gained fifty pounds in the last couple months, but you've been porking up for awhile," I told her and she smiled in response. A small amount of the liquid crept past her red lips which I noticed were staining the tube red. I wiped up the dollop with a finger and tasted it. It was barely semisweet. Mild actually. I put my hand back on her belly and opened her robe so that she could feel my cock against her soft hip. She moaned when I did this and I rubbed her belly a bit as an experiment.
"You like that fatty?" I was still unsure of myself, hoping I was doing the right thing. She groaned in a way that sounded like "uh-huh" and I glanced at the screen. To the right of her thin image were alternating black and white photographs of of corpulent, nude women posing to accentuate thunderous thighs, fleshy arms and protruding stomachs. Most of them looked to be more than four hundred pounds. Her thin image morphed to a new photo. She wore the same clothes but was clearly a bit fleshier. Small changes: like fewer wrinkles in the sweater. And then a new photo. In this one, she wore a tight I "heart" New York t-shirt and black pants. She had a thing for black pants, I guess. The shirt sleeves revealed pudgy arms and fat that spilled upward and over the pant line, raising the shirt by an inch and preventing her zipper from closing completely. She pointed this out with a smile and a judiciously placed forefinger pointed at her crotch. In the next photo, she was fatter still, and approaching her current size. Closing in on two hundred pounds, it looked like. The pants were on--technically--but you wouldn't want to go out in public in pants that can't button or zip. A triangle of pink panty appeared and her belly was looking like it would jiggle when she walked.
I had an idea.
