On Purpose

[Guest fishcow1]

http://soft-and-wide.tumblr.com

Just posted it to my tumblr. Its my only post. Let me know what you think. I want critique, not just praise

[Guest fishcow1]

I grew up at a normal weight. I could be as active as I wanted without any difficulty. I could button my pants with ease. I had a very regular life. I began gaining weight when I was eighteen. The summer before senior year I stopped talking to all my friends and spent my entire vacation eating in bed. I knew right away that this was how I wanted to live, relaxed and lazy, sleeping long hours and spending the remainder of each day at rest, eating until I was overfull and snacking until I was hungry again. Being overweight never occured to me. With the metabolism I had back then it took some months to show results. Gradually I developed a little round gut, and slightly larger tits, and I retained that shape for a little under a year before I blew up. When I first noticed it, I was oblivious, thinking myself stuffed or bloated, but when I saw that it was fat, I was astounded. In time I found the desire was sexual as well. I soaked through my panties every other day in math class while I secretly rubbed my tummy, hidden under a baggy sweatshirt, and daydreamed about binge eating after school. Overeating in my parents house was difficult, but I managed to sneak an extra bowl of ice cream or slice of pizza wherever I could. Thinking back on it, the quantity of food I forced down back then would today leave me famished and wanting more, though at the time I was perpetually stuffed. During lunch I always got extra from the cafeteria. During my free period I sat in the library and ate the lunch I brought from home. During every class that allowed it, I snacked. Everybody could see that I was eating more. Though, being very young yet, I didn't gain more than a couple pounds a month, if that. I stood in front of my mirror at night and admired the slight curve of my tum, the hint of a second chin that had yet to really emerge, my budding side-rolls that would one day become one fully formed roll around my torso, and excitedly noted every little change as it formed. My room was always messy and the floor was littered with clothes that didn't fit me. Getting dressed could be frustrating in the morning when picking up pair after pair, but my mom got upset when I discarded clothing so I had to keep them around.

After graduation I caved and put on a ton of weight. I took the money my family had given me and spent every cent of it on food. I boxed up my whole wardrobe the first half of summer and replaced it all with stretchy or baggy clothes. I knew I'd be gaining weight, but I never fixated on how much and I never dreamed I'd be as heavy as I am now; I really just wanted to binge. By the time I moved into the dorms I had grown into my shape. My belly had become something I could no longer hide or suck in. My muffin top had spilled over into thick, decadent love handles too big to even hold. The other freshmen could only have thought I had always been fat, but I still drew stares from all of them as they watched me grow fatter. During my first month alone, I must have ordered out from every fast food place in the area. At the cafeteria, I would always stay after my classmates had left so that I could get a second tray. "Go on without me," I would say, "I'm going to stay and eat more". In classes where food was prohibited, I would become anxious and squirm in my seat as my tummy growled for food. As my appetite developed further, I would have to step out just to use the vending machine. After the first semester, I made sure most of my classes were online. Having to walk from class to class was the majority of the exercise I'd been getting, and it was the last time in my adult life that I'd walked anywhere.

During that time I had a brief relationship with a classmate. He didn't have a love for plus-sized women or anything like that but when we started dating I was still reasonably pretty, still put on makeup sometimes and wore cute clothes. He didn't like that I kept getting heavier or that I spent most of my free time in my dorm room eating fast food. I gained sixty pounds with him and most of it went toreasgut. I think the final straw for him was when my face got fat. I was surprised also, as my face had softened at a very gradual pace throughout my gain, but in the span of about ten or fifteen pounds I lost all my defining features. My jawline, already going away, was hidden by a thick second chin which today covers most of my neck. My cheekbones gave way to chubby cheeks that flowed into my neck fat at the sides of my face. A small roll formed at the base of my neck. I wasn't the same girl that he had met. Few people could recognize me anymore. Camera angles could no longer make me appear thin or even chubby. The best thing he did for me was giving his bathroom scale. He obviously wanted me to lose weight and be thin again like in photos I'd shown him from not even a year prior, but that was never going to happen. I just liked the scale because I found out how arousing it was to watch the numbers climb higher. We broke up over a trivial argument, but I understood the actual reason. Our sex life was highly intimate. For a long while I missed the way he would cradle me while he fucked me, one arm under my shoulders and my head in his other hand, using the mattress to ram my body onto his dick. He was a tender lover and although he disliked the belly, he still gave it lots of attention. I filled the void in my heart by eating more than ever before. By the end of college, a two-year span, I was only 20 years old and already 300 pounds.

Once I began work, my weight settled at 270. No longer growing, my body redistributed much of the weight I had gained in my belly and I found myself plumping up in other areas- my thighs began rippling with cellulite and bursting the seams in my leggings. My arms, already thick with fat, began to soften and hang and little stretch marks appeared along their undersides. My breasts expanded as well and so I returned to the hourglass figure I’d always had, wider and fuller than before but now I was able to conceal most of my belly-fat. I accepted these changes because I was able to get on with the social aspect of life without looking like I was pregnant or habitually bingeing and still admire how large my belly was when the clothes were off. I dressed in high-waisted pants and even skirts if I was trying to be professional. My discrete figure also allowed me to pursue a career, as I knew heavily obese women were not promoted, but that was when I was still thinking about compromising my dreams for security. That was before I met my feeder.

I thought that I was as fat as I was ever going to be, but then at twenty-three I met him. I had yet to discover the fetish community, as I had never been focused on gaining weight, only living the lifestyle I wanted, so when he loved my body the way he did, caressing my rolls and folds, kissing and jiggling my belly, grabbing thick handfuls of back fat, I was overwhelmed and bashful. I became like a teenage girl discovering sex for the first time and we fucked like rabbits in every position imaginable. Back then I still had an aggressiveness to my sex drive and a flexibility in my joints that has now been buried beneath an additional two hundred pounds of fat. I would ride like hell, bending down to make out with him and sitting back up without having to pause or steady myself. I could wrap my legs around him and arch my back. One night after sex, smoking cigarettes on the couch, he told me he wanted me to start eating more. That he loved me and wanted to have more of me. I had gained back twenty pounds with him, and it was already starting to have an effect on our sex life. But he didn’t care whether I was capable of being active in bed; it would be more of a turn-on for him if I weren't. We talked about numbers and 350 seemed like a nice goal. A week later covid hit and I was furloughed by my job. I agreed to give myself over to him, and since then I have lost control of my weight.

I was already fat for a lot of years before I met my feeder. And I had always carried the weight well. My gut hung suspended over the band of my pants and my upper belly, the ring of fat around my torso, provided a natural platform for my breasts. When it was easier for me, I sometimes liked to pick it up and drop it just to feel it bounce. I could rest it on the bathroom sink while brushing my teeth. I would rub it when lost in thought or having anxiety. It was a distinct part of my body, always distended and round and, even heavy as it was, became drum-taut after every binge. It was a special comfort to me, and I enjoyed knowing it was there. My feeder introduced me to heavy cream and I gained rapidly. Within the first few months of being fattened I watched it descend over my pussy and down my thighs and out of every pair of pants I owned. As it expanded, it also softened, losing its shape and density, merging with my love handles into one thick mass of dough that enveloped my waistband and covered my entire fat-pad, which though I can no longer see in the mirror, has grown substantially as well. Trying to feel my way into the slit is embarrassingly difficult as my pussy is almost the size of a small melon and I can barely reach it because of how much weight I’ve put on around my waist. My belly also lost its smoothness, something which at first I was surprised and even disappointed by, but I have since gotten used to being coated in rippling stretch marks again as new marks grew over the old ones. Their total coverage has turned the surface of my belly into one vast erogenous zone and dragging my fingers across it gently never fails to make me quiver and gasp. For a few months I would enjoy stroking its vast surface while I attempted to masturbate, but now I require the extra hand just to hold it out of the way. Although I’ve reached what I can only hope is my peak weight, I can tell that my body is still stretching and sagging because there are always fresh, red marks showing up.

 My breasts have also grown, first becoming swollen and huge, then descending under their own weight, leaving stretch marks across my upper chest. With a decent bra, they can still be held up and even made to appear shapely again, but when the clothes come off the only thing pushing them up is my underboob, a massive roll around my body, and there is no evidence of the qualities they used to possess. I sometimes miss having buoyant, rounded breasts but I always knew their shape and perk would not last forever. I just never imagined it would happen so quickly or that they would become so massive. Like my belly, they too are merging with the fat rolls underneath my arms, which constantly chafe, as do many other parts of my body. My bras are a lot larger around now because of this. My mound chafes against my underbelly, my underbelly chafes against my thighs, and my thighs chafe against each other, as do the thick pads of fat that are my rolls. Lotion and powder, applied generously by my feeder, are as necessary for daily self-care as shampoo and deodorant. Every moment of my life is somehow made difficult by my obesity, from getting dressed to taking a shower. I am now carrying so much weight on my body that I get sore and out of breath even from simple tasks. If I am on my feet, I am always looking for my next chance to sit down. Sometimes when I masturbate, the climax is just out of reach and I have to give up. This happens most often after I stuff myself, which is unfortunately when I want it most, or if I'm in a very comfortable position and too lazy to adjust. Fortunately I never stay full for long and within an hour I have forgotten my horniness and am begging to be stuffed again.

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