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Found 24 results

  1. I'm just a Latina sow who's happy with her fat body, Yes, I love being pampered. Sexy Video 1 Vídeo sexy 2 Sexy video 3 (BBQ wings) Vídeo sexy 4 Sexy Video 5 Sexy Video 6 Sexy Video 7 Vídeo sexy 8 Sexy Video 9 Sexy Video 10 You can find all my videos here, do not hesitate to watch them 😈
  2. "The Middle Manager" is a graphic weight-gain collaboration with @Magmaman that debuted on the Pateon I helm with my buddy @riptoryx. I just made it available for free here: https://www.deviantart.com/maverickthewriter/art/The-Middle-Manager-863046053. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! (It can be downloaded from the link as well.) Happy Holidays-- Maverick PS: I originally posted this in comics, but it's not really a comic, per se. I'm sorry for cross-posting.
  3. "The Middle Manager" is a graphic weight-gain collaboration with @Magmaman that debuted on the Pateon I helm with my buddy @riptoryx. I just made it available for free here: https://www.deviantart.com/maverickthewriter/art/The-Middle-Manager-863046053. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! (It can be downloaded from the link as well.) Happy Holidays-- Maverick
  4. Feel free to post your own comebacks to these shames, shames you would like a comeback for, or shame/comeback combos. --How are you going to find a boyfriend if you're that fat? --It filters out the superficial ones. To someone about to eat something fattening: --You don't need that! --You eat what you need. I eat what I want. --Look at that fat body! What a waste of a pretty face. --Look at you! Such a waste of a troll--there are so many bridges that lack one. --Oh my God! You're so fat! --At least I'm not rude. Or --At least I'm not verbally abusive
  5. Nota bene: This story is adapted from my first-person weight-gain adventure game, "The Party." It represents one outcome (out of dozens) you can potentially reach based on your choices and play style. This excerpt reflects the results of about a dozen in-game options, but only represents a small fraction of the entire game, which clocks in at well over 100 choices and 50,000 words. “The Party” (A One Night Adventure Tale) By Maverick The rumors were true--Jenny Petersen was getting fat! You had heard whispers in the high school hallways for a few weeks, but figured it was just idle chatter from jilted jocks and gossipy girls. Of course, that didn’t keep you from trying to spot Jenny at school, but all you could find were photos of her on posters for the “Stop Underage Drinking” campaign she had spearheaded at the beginning of the year. She looked the same as always in those: gorgeous. Blessed with full pouty lips, crystal clear blue eyes, high cheekbones, and silky blond hair waving its way down to the middle of her back, Jenny was a stunner. Your favorite facial features were her dimples, both chin and cheek. They softened her pearly-white smile and projected a warmth that kept her from being too intimidating. Of course, the campaign posters didn't show her body. Now THAT was intimidating! Jenny's figure was flawless--and not flawless in the underfed fashion model sense--flawless in the horny anime artist sense. With a bodacious body bordering on cartoonish, you'd be forgiven for expecting her mind might be sketchy. But it wasn't, and your futile efforts to glimpse her gain were evidence to that fact. Let’s face it--you didn’t exactly run in the same academic circles as Ms. Advanced Placement. She attended classes in wings of the school you've never even visited. And you certainly didn’t run in the same social circles. You attended the party that night as a favor to your mom, who was a friend of the mother of the popular kid who invited you as a favor to his. Nevertheless, here you are and there she is. You almost didn’t recognize her. First of all, she was alone. On the rare occasions you did see Jenny in the halls, a gaggle of girls always trailed behind her like paparazzi around a starlet, complete with the fake shutter clicks of smart phone cameras as they posed for duck-lipped selfies. Yet here she is, standing by herself near a table overflowing with snacks. Secondly, she had indeed packed on some serious pounds. You’d figured the rumors were typical high school hyperbole ("Never let the truth get in the way of a good story," your grandma used to say), but Jenny's gain was obvious--maybe more so to you since you hadn't seen her in weeks. She was dressed demurely in a jean skirt and sleeveless white button-down blouse. At least, it would have been demure a few months ago. The blouse was untucked, but its tail in front barely extended below her waistband, while the longer tail in back bunched up above the significant slope of Jenny's well-padded posterior. Along the sides, where the blouse rounded higher, a tantalizing glimpse of muffining flesh could be found. Every few seconds, Jenny would either tug down the hem of her blouse, or pull up the waistband of her skirt. The latter seemed to be more effective; as her sweater stretchers had swelled to the point little slack was available up top. Jenny wasn't one to show off her ** assets. If anything, she tried to downplay them. Still, undoing at least one more button might've been prudent. It would have given her puppies more breathing room and reduced the puckered gaps between the buttons containing them. It also might have distracted partygoers—at least the guys in the crowd—from her ** gain. She still looked good, however, and if it weren't for her self-consciousness and her woebegone wardrobe she'd probably still look great. Despite Jenny's athleticism (she was head cheerleader and played on the varsity volleyball team), she’d always had full breasts and womanly hips. And unlike "skinny fat" girls—victims of the phenomenon where flab looks out of place on an otherwise lithe frame—Jenny's hourglass figure seemed to welcome the pounds like a liberating army, with the legions of lard dispersed uniformly across the buxom beauty. It might not be Jenny's destiny to be fat, but her body was clearly open to suggestions. You ordinarily wouldn’t have the nerve to talk to a girl of Jenny’s stature and beauty, but her sudden vulnerability, coupled with the liquid courage flowing inside you, had you considering saying hello. You weren’t a complete stranger to her, after all. Back in fifth grade you were classmates and even lunch buddies for awhile, sharing a table and playing four-square during recess with mutual friends. Of course, this was before puberty blossomed her out of your league. Taking a swig of beer, you ogle the sag of her flesh-filled funbags and the gentle ridge of soft flesh poking over the waistband of her rivet-tight jean skirt and feel your own jeans begin to tighten. Perhaps she was over-ripening back to attainability? Chugging the remainder of your drink, you sidle up beside the cheerleading captain. You try to think of something clever to say, but all that comes out is “Hey, Jenny!” “Hey!” she shouts back. Even with the crowd noise and blaring music it’s louder than necessary. Her cheeks dimple gently as she smiles. She looks genuinely pleased (or perhaps relieved) to see you. “Can I get you a beer?” Jenny’s face loses its luster. "I don’t drink." You want to kick yourself. How did you forget about those underage drinking posters with her beautiful face plastered all over school? At least you polished off your own beer before you ambled over. Clearing your throat, you raise a lone index finger toward the ceiling. “If you must imbibe, stay inside!” you say, parroting the posters’ slogan. Jenny smiles again. “Catchy, huh?” “Did you write that?” "I did." You nod approvingly. It didn’t exactly rhyme, but you decide against mentioning it, especially since it appears you’ve righted the ship. “So, you’ve never had anything to drink?” "I did...once," Jenny says. "It wasn’t pleasant. I hated feeling like I wasn’t in control. And you can’t always trust people you think you can...especially if they’ve been drinking too." There’s definitely more to her story. Jenny sighs heavily before continuing. "That’s the main reason I come to these parties. Somebody needs to stay level-headed." Jenny shakes her head. "Usually there's not enough room in my car for all the knuckleheads." “You’re a good person for doing that.” "Thanks. I just wish somebody would lookout for me." Her blue eyes moisten, but she doesn’t cry. The brave face she presents belies real pain. You’re not exactly sure how deep you should probe—you hardly know her after all—but trying to switch back to casual conversation now seems silly. “My grandma used to say what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.” Jenny's face tightens. "Well…That remains to be seen." You're not exactly sure how to take that. Jenny senses your confusion and lets you off the hook. "Enough about all that," she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. Her face brightens and she goes back into prom queen mode. "It's a beautiful night and we've got all this delicious looking food to sample!" “Where should we start?” you ask. The blonde bombshell ogles the treats on the table before pointing to a platter of moist looking brownies. “What about those?” You grab a large one off the stack and offer it to her. She shakes her head. “You first.” “Mmmmm,” you say, taking a large bite of the gooey treat. You immediately cover your mouth with your free hand, keenly aware that you’re having a conversation with the most beautiful girl in school while eating the messiest food imaginable. Jenny laughs and hands you a napkin. “Thank you.” You wipe the corners of your mouth and clean your teeth with your tongue. Hoping that a blob of chocolate isn’t lodged between them, you smile and jiggle the brownie like it’s a fishing lure. “Your turn.” Jenny hesitates, then maneuvers her mouth around the fattening treat. Her moist lips linger against your chocolate-stained fingers. “Mmmmm.” You could fall for this girl. For the next ten minutes, you sample nearly everything on the table—cheese logs, lemon squares, guacamole, peanut butter cookies—only the celery and carrots, which both of you wrinkle your nose at, go untouched. In between bites, you talk like old pals even though you haven’t said more than a casual “hey” to one another in five years. You reminisce about grade school and chat about former friends. And you’re pleasantly surprised to find Jenny knows more about you than you ever would have expected. You may only be a blip on her radar, but at least you’re on the screen. The conversation is so effortless you don’t notice how conspicuous you’ve become. Not because you and Jenny are making pigs of yourselves at the snack table—though certainly people have noticed that—but because of the attention you’re giving one another. Out of the corner of your eye, you spy a trio of Jenny’s gal pals gossiping. Elsewhere, Jenny’s longtime beau and captain of the football team, Tad Fifer, stink-eyes you from the base of the stairs. You suspect it’s only a matter of time before some fringe element negatively impacts your boner and your chances with Jenny. “I wish we could go someplace quieter,” you say. "I have an idea," Jenny says. "Grab the brownies and follow me." As you grab the platter, Jenny grabs your hand and winds you through the crowd. All eyes are upon you as the class beauty, standing taller than you in her pumps, guides you, Mr. Nobody, past Tad Fifer, a gaggle of gawking girls, and a pack of preening preppers. You try not to pay attention to their reactions, but you sense conversations are stopping and mouths are dropping as you trail Jenny up the stairs. Jenny opens the first door you come to. Normally that would be a dangerous proposition at a party like this, but the night is still young and the room is empty. She plops on a large bed in the center of the room and beckons for you to join her. You comply, trying not to stare at the virgin flesh spilling over her waistband or the surge of cleavage pushing up from her overtaxed top as you sit beside her. The brownie platter in your lap hides other evidence of your affection. "Feed me," Jenny whispers, leaning close enough that your knees touch. Then she opens her mouth and tilts her head back like a baby bird. Obliging, you drop in a bit of brownie. A second follows. Then a third. A fourth misses its mark and falls into her lap. You retrieve it instinctively, not thinking about how close your hand is to her crotch. "Oops! Sorry." "You better be!' Jenny grabs your hand and guides it to her lips. "That's mine!" She gobbles the bite from between your thumb and forefinger and then kisses away the gooey residue staining each of them. Bite after bite, the crest of Jenny's belly swells beneath her breasts like a full moon rising behind mountains. It becomes a game to see how far you can get it to stick-out before Jenny's appetite or the brownie supply dries. With only one remaining, the pale dome of Jenny’s stomach extends several inches beyond her Double Ds; however, her breaths have shortened and her facial expression has transitioned from ecstasy to agony. As you lower the final brownie towards her mouth like a crane, she turns her head away. "I'm done." “But you’re so close to finishing,” you say, wagging the sole survivor before her chocolate-stained face. "And this one is wafer thin." The blimping blonde’s hands disappear beneath the crest of her belly. It jiggles for a second, then lurches into her lap as her skirt springs open. The avalanching paunch buries the unzipped denim beneath its protuberance until only the tips of her fly are visible. They look like pointy blue ears on a pale bald head. “OK.” Jenny lolls her head back, closes her eyes, and opens her mouth wide. "Let's do this." You aim the brownie like a bombardier--then drop the entire thing into her gaping maw. "Hmmpggh!" Jenny sits up and covers her mouth with her hand. She shoots you a dirty look, but any dirty words that might follow are swallowed along with hundreds of calories. Mission accomplished, Jenny falls back onto the bed. Her breathing is shallow, constricted by the bowling ball like mass in her stomach. "Oh my god," she says, lifting her head off the mattress and causing a delicate double-chin beneath her jaw line. "My belly sticks up past my boobs!" You lay beside her. Between the bloated babe’s labored breathing and the pregnant swell of her stomach you feel like you're in a Lamaze class. Maybe someday. With liquid courage still coursing through your veins, you plant your thin dry lips against Jenny’s moist plump ones. The kiss starts tentatively, but transitions from PG to PG-13 as she parts her lips and your tongue slides in for a taste-test. It’s an appropriately full-bodied flavor with a bouquet of strawberry lip gloss and a nice chocolatey aftertaste. Four stars! Although you make-out passionately, whenever you fondle Jenny’s newfound flab—the folds bunched by her bra, the creases beneath her shoulder blades, or the meat of her inner thighs—she goes rigid. It's clear she isn't keen on the adipose armies invading her lush landscape, or your saluting of them. “What’s wrong?” you ask. Jenny sits up and studies your face. "Do you really want to know?" No, what you really want is to push her back on the bed and ravage her, but you’re pretty sure now's not the time. You like her. You don’t want to be a dick. You suspect she’s had to deal with her share. “Of course.” Jenny swallows hard. "About four months ago, right at the start of the year, I went to a Senior kick-off party with Tad." You nod. You have a sinking suspicion where this is going. "There wasn’t supposed to be alcohol there, so I wasn’t even thinking about it. Anyway, Tad kept bringing me this punch. It was really good and I kept asking for more. Anyway, I must’ve had three or four cups. Then all of a sudden it hit me. I felt flush and light-headed…but good. Really, really good. It hit me so fast I didn’t even have time to get mad. I knew what had happened, but I felt so carefree and loose I didn’t stop. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in my bed the next morning in the same clothes I had on. At first, I was grateful that Tad got me home safely, but then I noticed the clasps of my bra were done up wrong and…well…there were other clues." You squirm a bit. Why is she telling you all this? You’re not exactly close. Maybe you just answered your own question. "I confronted Tad the next day and he swears nothing happened. It’s not like I have much recourse even if it did. Anyway, I felt ashamed…violated…stupid. I had just posted those underage drinking posters the day before. I felt like a hypocrite." Jenny lets out a dry chuckle. "Now I just feel like a hippo." “There are two things I’m certain of,” you say, sitting up and placing your hand atop hers. “You’re no hippo and Tad’s an asshole.” Jenny gives you a somber smile. "Y’know, it’s weird. I’m not really mad at Tad. I know I should be. I’m madder at myself. I’ve just been avoiding him." "My grandma would say that’s avoiding the problem." "Do you always blame your grandmother when you say something that will piss people off?" "No, just giving credit where credit is due. Personally, I’d say let’s forget about Tad and get more brownies." Jenny laughs and wraps her arms around you. She pulls you against her warm and yielding bosom and kisses your cheek with an audible 'Muah.' "Thank you," she says. "We’d probably better get back to the party before people start to talk." You'd be fine with people talking, but you dutifully stand and offer her your hand. She declines it. "Why don’t you go ahead?" she says. "I want to compose myself for a second. I think Tad and I are going to have a little chat." You nod, then exit the room and head down the stairwell, brushing past another couple on their way up. As you reach the bottom step, you find the party has doubled in size. You also find Tad Fifer waiting for you. Even though you’re a step above him, his eyes are even with yours. "What’d you do with Jenny, dork?" Your face bunches into a tight smile. "Well, I didn’t ** her, that’s for sure." Tad’s eyes bulge and his face turns crimson. "Is that what that bitch told you!?!" Then he shoves you against the railing and storms past you up the stairs. You grab his arm to stop his ascent. It works, but only for a second. Then he rips his arm free, turns around, and punches you right in the face. The last thing you remember is your head smashing through the drywall at the base of the stairs. *** “You awake, sweetie?” You open your eyes and are greeted by an angelic face haloed in brilliant light. For a second, you wonder if you’re dead...but then you hear the whirl of medical equipment and realize the ethereal light is merely hospital white. Beside you is Jenny, still dressed in her party attire. “You look like an angel” you say, the daze from your injury affecting your natural tendency to self-sensor. "Must be that bump on your noggin,'" Jenny says, wryly. "Is it bad?" You touch the side of your head. It's tender and there's a bandage wrapped around it. "Just a concussion. The doctor didn't want to tell me since I'm not 'family.'" Jenny makes air quotes with her fingers. "But I was able to pry it out of him." "Oh, yeah," you say, smiling. "How'd you do that?" She leans in closer. "Maybe I'll show you when you get out of here." "Can you show me now while Tad's not around?" Jenny's back straightens. "You don't have to worry about Tad." "How do you mean?" "Let's just say some serious skeletons spilled from his closet tonight." You nod your head. It hurts. "I wish I could've seen that." "Well, it wouldn't have happened without you." Jenny leans to kiss you just as your parents walk in. She quickly diverts her lips to your forehead and pecks your bandage. "Next time," she whispers. "See you Monday?" you ask, as she sashays towards the door. "You better!" Jenny blows you a kiss, smiles at your folks, and exits into the hall. Your dad makes a 'wow' face behind your mom's back. "Who was that, son?" "That was Jenny Petersen." You put your hands behind your bandaged head and smile. "You're going to be seeing a lot more of her." THE END *** Epilogue Once you’re released from the hospital, Jenny plays coy for a few days. On Monday, you pace past her locker like a duck in a shooting gallery until she acknowledges your presence with a laugh and a wave. On Tuesday, she parades coquettishly past yours while her entourage looks as if they took a wrong turn into a bad neighborhood. Before your flirtations become fodder for everyone from Freshman to faculty, however, you figure you'd better make your move. The following morning you find Jenny at her locker. She's dressed casually in blue jeans and a baggy purple sweater, wears little make-up, and her hair is pinned into a single pigtail. If anything, she looks even prettier than she did at the party. "Hi." "Oh...Hi!" She's so surprised to see you she almost drops her books. "Can I buy you lunch today?" "Sorry." Jenny holds up a brown bag from her locker. "That's too bad," you say, leaning against the locker next to hers. "I know this quaint little French place right around the corner. Perhaps you've heard of it? The Café Teria?" Jenny smiles. "And what kind of French food do they serve at The Café Teria?" "French fries, French bread...the list goes on and on." "You talked me into it." Jenny shuts her locker door. "But I'm buying." "I'll make reservations for 12:30" you say, as Jenny starts down the hall. "There's a quiet table overlooking the vending machines." Jenny does a 360-degree turn, smiling and waving to you at the 180 mark, before continuing to class. Come lunchtime you wait anxiously in your usual spot, drumming your fingers across the table. Suddenly, the most beautiful girl in the school--probably the entire state--appears by your side. "Excuse me, is this seat taken?" "Not at all!" Jenny turns and addresses a group of about eight girls parading behind her. "I'm going to sit with him today." After the shock wears off, some girls saunter silently to their usual spots while others wander the cafeteria like ants whose hill has been covered. Alone at last, Jenny touches your arm and whispers, "I'll be right back." You enjoy the view as Jenny sashays her way towards the cafeteria line. A few minutes later, she returns with two bacon cheeseburgers on a tray piled high with fries. "Didn't you bring your lunch?" you say, as she sits back down. "I did," Jenny says with a smile. "Today just seemed like a burger and fry day." "More of a burger and Wednesday." "Ha, ha!" Jenny smothers a few fries with ketchup and pops them in her mouth. You reach for a burger and she slaps your hand. "Ow!" you say, shaking off the sting. "What'd you do that for?" Jenny slides her brown bag lunch your direction. "This is for you," she says with her mouth full. "My mom will be mad if it goes to waste." You peer inside. "Rabbit food?" "Mmm-hmm," Jenny intones through chubby, burger-filled cheeks. "I need you need to stay in shape for me." When Jenny's mouth isn't busy chewing the two of you talk like old friends. Days earlier the prospect would have petrified you, but now it feels completely natural. You hardly notice the stares and whispered conversations occurring around you and, before you know it, Jenny's burgers are gone and the bell is ringing. You sit together again on Thursday, pizza day, and have another burger come Friday. Saturday is your first official date--at an all-you-can-eat place called The Portly Pig. You lose your virginity to Jenny a few weeks later. It happens in your very own bedroom, following a big dinner at a Mexican place, while your parents are out of town. As you watch Jenny undress beneath your vintage Star Wars poster, you can't help but think back to that fateful party, when Jenny was teetering between fit and fat. Now it’s obvious her culinary adventures with you have flipped her to the fat side. Despite packing on a few more pounds before graduation, Jenny doesn't really balloon until the summer, when your lazy days are spent lounging by her pool. Apart from quick dips to cool off, the only exercise you get is love-making sessions after raiding her parents' well-stocked fridge. You end up with a bit of a gut, but keeping Jenny satisfied burns enough calories to keep you from blimping too much. The same can't be said for Jenny, and by August she's well over 200 fat and happy pounds. Perhaps expectedly, the romance fizzles once she leaves for college. You call and e-mail for a while, but without the shared bond of food and sex you quickly run out of things to talk about. (She does titillate you with a story about how she was deemed "too fat" for a certain sorority, but you go limp when she laments her poor calculus grade.) Although you both move on, it's primarily you that stops corresponding. You feel like a distraction and, as much as you lust for her, you want her to reach her goals. Ultimately, she does. She becomes a chemical engineer for a major pharmaceutical company. You don't talk, but you're friends on Facebook. You 'like' posts about her kids (a boy and girl), but give posts about her jogging with her fit husband the 'sad face'. Most people wouldn't notice, but you hope Jenny does and it makes her smile. Despite the exercise regimen, Jenny remains moderately plump. She's nowhere near as gloriously lush as she was that magical summer, but she still looks to be pushing 200 pounds. It suits her--she's fit and pretty enough to be considered a MILF by anyone's definition, but sports the curves of someone that's enjoyed life. She looks happy and you're happy for her. Life goes on for you, too. You graduate, go to college, get a job, and take a wife. And though you try to avoid comparing her to Jenny--it's simply not fair--every now and again she bakes brownies and lets you feed them to her. (Though not in bed--that's crazy messy.)
  6. Version 1

    **I would like this vid to be for everyone.. reason I have set it cheap** I make up a gaining shake on cam..shake it and gulp it down.. I talk about how chubby I'm getting, showing off my cellulite in perfect lighting...I change angles and shake and wobble my arse.. my cam is on the bed and starts to shake with it..i show you my chubby tummy I was once so shy about..give it a lil jiggle and talk about how ive had to change my belly bar because ive broken my last one due to extra tummy weight.. I change angles and remove my panties to show you some stretch marks..showing you my biggest one that's formed on my left side of my waist..i grab some waist and show off my love handles... I finish off by talking about my friends reaction from my sudden weight gain .. GS X x
  7. Hello everyone ! Question for u ! We talk a lot about feedism in the United States, but when is it in Europe? Meeting a woman who shares the same passion as me would be magical !🤩😍
  8. I have been challenged to eat as many calories as I can in 24hours. I decided to start with a very fattening breakfast : I get myself a 12 servings box of swiss rolls and my bottle full of fat milk. How many calories do I consume? I talk about fat problems and what I have been anxious about: since the chairs to clothes.
  9. My Weightin Clip filmed exactly 1 week from the date of my first weightin here on curvage. Iv had this sat waiting to be edited for you since I was away for a few days.. Watch me weight myself after 1 week of stuffing my face and actively trying to gain.. if you have seen my food eating videos, you will know i have eaten a ton of food ! In this clip, I weight myself and give you my reaction. Im sorry its short, I had people around so I couldn't openly film.. i do plan to make a weight chat video where ill talk about me and my goals etc 😊💋 Full HD 1920 x 1080 Video - 2 mins long
  10. Guest

    Hi guys!

    I would like to learn more about myself. I am not sure if I like my new body or not......I used to be about 100-105 at my heaviest and now I keep going up after having my baby...he will be 2. I am at 195lbs at 5'5. BMI says I am obese......
  11. Margaret-Ann Carter is the morning anchor for Fox Carolina News. She's fetching at any weight but seems to be trending in the right direction for Curvage folks... Today https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kw70WrVOeKk
  12. Being bound, and made to eat something without my hands, just like a good piggy is something that both excites me and make me hungry at the same time, and it has been a while since i wanted to show you my love, how a propper piggy can eat and be greedy even when bound. Come see and enjoy all of my fatteness with handcuffs on my wrists making me painfully aware of how my arms and hands are fattened you make me eat with no hands at all a cake that you have brought me, i must eat it all for you, and i am not allowed to use my hands, or so you thought. I am way to hungry and to greedy to let simple handcuffs detain me from stuffing my fat face until i am all but completely and absolutely full. This is a video made for those who really love to see a piggy eating on all fours, its a video made for those who love some good double chin and the looks of a bonafide fat face. Come see me eat a whole cake with all of my greedy piggy nature and slowly but surely lose control of how horny i am.
  13. The Death of Venus by Maverick My name is Sylvia Brennan. You may have read about me or seen me on the news. Brad and I were in it quite a bit. Before Brad, I could’ve had any guy I wanted. It’s not bragging if it’s true. If anything, I downplayed my looks and shrugged off any compliments on my beauty I received. You don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone. I met Brad at the beginning of my Senior year in High School. He was a shaggy-haired, string-beaned art student who sat near the back of the art class I was taking to boost my GPA in anticipation of college application season. He was dark and brooding. I was pert and chipper. He was deep and philosophical. I was hip and trendy. We couldn’t have been more different, and yet each of us had an interest in dipping a toe in the other’s world. When I complemented his painting of a rotten apple teeming with maggots--rendered from a cheery apple bowl still-life set-up by our art teacher—he pushed his hair from his face and gave me a shy smile. I was immediately smitten. “What’s she doing with him?” I heard variations of that statement whispered in the school halls as word of our relationship spread. If it ever bothered Brad, he never let on. That’s part of what drew me to him. Nothing ever seemed to faze him, and being cool was the furthest thing from his mind. Other guys I dated treated me like a trophy—displaying me proudly at every dance, football game and party. Brad was the complete opposite. I was his center of attention and he seemed reticent to share me, or my beauty, with anyone. Our dates were usually private affairs. He lived in his parents’ basement, which could be accessed directly from a back alley. It was like his own apartment and most of our time was spent there. He introduced me to a bohemian world full of art, film, and music. I introduced him to a world of sexuality. Contrary to popular opinion, I wasn’t a slut. I’d been with a few guys, but nowhere near as many as the locker room gossip and graffiti suggested. Brad was an inexperienced, but attentive lover. I’m certain I was his first, but rather than rushing through to climax he diligently explored each and every inch of me…as if searching for something that wasn’t there. He began incorporating me into his artwork. At first, it was quick pencil sketches from his notebook which he’d slip me as we’d pass in the hall, but after a few weeks he was composing full oil portraits. He referred to my beauty as “timeless” and seamlessly incorporated my visage into everything from Impressionism to Cubism, but it was his realistic depictions (he called them “Neoclassical”)--in which he accentuated my full lips, peaches-and-cream complexion, and curly auburn hair with opulent period attire and sophisticated hairstyles--that I liked best. I looked like a princess. One warm October day, Brad stammered out a request I knew had been building for weeks: “Will you pose for me?” I kissed him and gave the knot of fabric behind my neck a gentle tug. It gave way, sending the loose sundress to the floor past my naked curves. While he stood there, mouth agape, I posed on his couch like Kate Winslet in Titanic—a film Brad had once chided me for referencing when he asked if I liked classic films. Although his couch was stained and smelled of mildew, lying there in his basement was the sexiest I had felt in my life. Brad studied me the way Leonardo studied Kate, and the way I’m sure that other Leonardo studied Mona Lisa. He was “the artiste” and I was his muse, inspiring him with my beauty. For the next two hours, I was in another world. Until he spun the canvas around to show me the final result—and I crashed back to earth with a thud. The painting was beautiful, but it wasn’t of me—at least not the “me” I saw in the mirror everyday. Brad had turned his purple pull-out into a plush Victorian style cameo sofa, and the girl atop it into someone our art teacher would call “Rubenesque.” My pert breasts were round and full—the right rested lazily on the sofa’s velvet fabric, while the left sagged towards it. A deep crease extended from the bend in my waist towards my navel, dividing my over-ripened breasts from the dramatic flare of my hips (which ran congruous to the curves of the ornate furniture). My flat stomach was now plump--it arched out beneath my breasts and disappeared into the velvet cushions, which puckered under its weight, only to reappear below the reddish patch of my unkempt pubic hair. My face was softer. My upper arms meatier. And my entire body was rendered in an opaque ivory that belied the tan I had cultivated over the summer. It looked like I had spent the last six-months trapped in Brad’s basement eating donuts. “I’m not that fat!” “Y-You’re not fat at all,” Brad corrected. “I just took some artistic liberties. I wanted it to look like a Titian or a Botti--” I slammed the back door so hard that the painting toppled from its easel. I walked home with my head down and my arms folded, lost in my thoughts. One, in particular, I couldn’t escape—why did I react the way I did? Days earlier, Brad had painted me like Picasso with three eyes and half a face. That was no big deal. But paint me with a few extra pounds? Watch out! For all my bluster, I was just as insecure and superficial as the other teenage bimbos at my school. That realization stopped me in my tracks—right in front of a Baskin Robins. I don’t remember purchasing the quart of Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream, or the walk back to Brad’s basement, but I remember what I said when he opened the door to find me biting my lip and holding the container pressed against my bosom. “Feed me.”
  14. I ate too much mcdonalds so that i no longer fit on their toilet...😳 In the span of less than a week I've faced 2 issues due to my weight gain and I find it quite thrilling & fulfilling! The first was of course the stadium seats I feared I was going to break if I put all my weight down onto... then it was fitting on toilets! Twice in the past day I've had to use a toilet I've struggled to fit on😅🐷 the first was because there was shelving right next to the toilet so my poor fat thighs were getting squashed in by them😭 it honestly hurt quite a lot.. and the second was at mcdonalds when i sat my fat flows over so much that it touches the toilet paper dispenser on the wall😳 though I think its just kind of silly to put them so low anyway so I don't really think it's my fault I can't fit right...?😏🤣 honestly these days I sometimes fear the toilet somehow breaking underneath me though I feel as though i still have a lot of growing to do before that becomes a reality if that's even possible I'm not sure...😅🤣
  15. Welcome to the Forum Feel free to comment who or what you'd like to see more of. Feedback is appreciated. Here's the hotlinks to all the current collections (might only work on desktop). Enjoy! Update 1: 6/13/2023 Girl #1, Girl #2, Girl #3, Girl #4, Girl #5, Girl #6, Girl #7, Girl #8, Girl #9 Update 2: 6/14/2023 Girl #10, Girl #11, Girl #12, Girl #13, Girl #14, Girl #15, Girl #16, Girl #17, Girl #18 Update 3: 6/15/2023 Girl #19, Girl #20, Girl #21, Girl #22, Girl #23, Girl #24, Girl #25 Update 4: 6/17/2023 inspired by @ThickFoxyAsian Girl #26, Girl #27, Girl #28, Girl #29 Update 5: 7/25/2023 spring break weight gain (beach) Girl #30, Girl #31, Girl #32, Girl #33 Update 6: 7/25/2023 stories The Fattening Spa #34, Olympian #35 Update 7: 7/28/2023 K-Pop group goes on break / hiatus Girl #36, Girl #37, Girl #38, Girl #39 Update 8: 8/11/2023 Soccer team gets complacent Girl #40, Girl #41, Girl #1
  16. Hello. This is my first story here. I'll be breaking this into several posts over the days I write it. As of posting, it's just the intro and Part 1. INTRO Two lovers sat in a booth together, their heads resting on one another. They tapped each other’s thighs as throwback music from the 2000’s played and filled the restaurant they were visiting with nostalgia and melodic beats. The wife looks down and kisses her husband’s forehead. A waitress comes by and asks what they want to eat, with the wife immediately and greedily asking for two orders of pork chops and lobster bisque, but the husband asking for a club sandwich with no fries. Water for both. With a huge smile and wink, she thanks the waitress. Angela and Florian were a couple who tended to get some stares in public. Whether it was Florian’s short stature and skinny frame, at 5’5”, 125 lbs, or the sheer size of his newlywed wife, who was what many would regard as Amazonian. She stood taller than most men at 6’1”, 210 lbs on the day they were married. They had even gotten in on the laughter by asking the priest on their wedding day to say, “You may kiss the groom!”, and her bridal carrying him down the aisle with her muscular arms. It was even stranger when they went to the gym and went out, as they saw the wife weight-lift and row while the husband simply trained on the elliptical. Her size and appetite began to distract a few people at the restaurants. While always a bit heavy, Angela had a massive appetite and metabolism to match. She seemed to stay slightly overweight no matter what, even though on a normal day she ate for two people. While she sometimes indulged snacks, she just seemed to scarf down copious amounts of “real” foods like root vegetables, breads, and meat cutlets. Florian chuckles as they continue to cuddle. He takes a moment to rub her belly, surprisingly flat given her size. Really, it was her pear shape and how well she kept her appearance that initially attracted him to her- her 36DD bust size seemed somewhat small given her size otherwise, and her only slightly flabby belly rests above her wide hips and large bum. He was sort of boxed in by her body in the booth, but it was just how he loved it. Since he was a boy, others made fun of him for being a chubby-chaser given his girlfriends were never thin… something about them was huge, whether their breasts, hips, or belly, or all three. Angela fell on the skinnier end of the spectrum of women he had dated. Ultimately, it was her hardworking and kind soul that got him to propose. Angela, meanwhile, admired his humor and generally stoic demeanor, but felt like the most beautiful woman in the world as he worshiped her pear. The soup comes out first, and Angela doesn’t stop for even a moment to let it cool. Tearing open the crackers and dunking them in the thick, steaming liquid, she takes a large spoon and begins shoveling the bisque into her mouth. Thanking goodness, Angela chuckles as she often did when around food, while Florian continued to rub her belly. After a few seconds, the soup was demolished, and with only a quick wipe of her napkin on her lips, she then turns and kisses Florian. “I make it better at home,” she brags. Florian shrugs, “I wouldn’t know, you didn’t even let me have a chance. But you generally don’t give me chances, just wonderful food, my love.” Dinner soon came on a platter, with multiple plates just for Angela, and a comparatively-pathetic looking sandwich resting beside them just for her husband. Florian slowly nibbled away at the sandwich as he viewed his wife put away each of the porkchops plus their sides of baked potatoes and asparagus away before he could even get halfway done. She chuckles more at the end of her part of the meal, then turns to him and whispers, “Excited, Dear?” Florian blushed heavily. Watching her plow through plate-after-plate at restaurants always did turn him on. He says nothing. She reaches for his pants and the palm of her hand graces the feeling of his hard dick. In return, he begins to caress her slightly bloated belly and places a hand on her ass, squeezing it between the booth seat and her soft bum. Since she could actually see above the booth, she turns to see the waitress returning, and gets her hands off his crotch for a moment. “Bill please!” she says quickly, as if to want their intimate moment to return. After leaving the restaurant, Angela gets into the passenger seat of their car, and he drives them home. She turns her head towards the window, and curls her fingers near her face… though overweight, Angela had the face of a thin woman. Her thighs and hips always seemed to get the attention of any pounds she packed, after all. Trying to not be distracted by his raging erection and his wife’s submissive act, the two get home safely and immediately sprint up to their bed chambers. Angela undresses as Florian runs back downstairs to get fruit for her to eat. He returns to his wife in lingerie, having put on garters to showcase her flabby, expansive thighs. She proceeds to take the bowl of fruit salad and scarf down the watermelon, apple slices, and berries, stuffing her face, chewing quickly, and swallowing, reveling in every second of her husband’s arousal. Meanwhile, Florian caressed and massaged her just as she liked and said that Aphrodite herself would be jealous of Angela’s curves, given how perfect God made her. Before long, the two eloped.
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