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Hi Everyone! I’m Rylie, 24 years old 🥰 I am a new creator and I’m so excited to explore 🤤 I LOVE to eat and show off 😘 Come say hi!

Ass for dayyysssssss, if you’re an ass person I’d love to know about it😈💋😈💋 My FAVORITE thing to do is bounce my ass on you wherever you like, trust me it’s heavy and it shakes🥰🙌🏻

So happy to have found this site as I feel I have hit a plateau recently and would love some encouragement to help me grow more lush and curvier. Looking forward to connecting with people who will appreciate my ongoing gaining. Not sure how big I will end up but love how I look and feel now and as a single girl I love that my body turns me on now more than ever, lol

Missing the summer 💚💙

A story I'd been planning, its first chapter was moved up in my schedule due to @ES-Draws great sketches. The Sorceress’ Stress Snacking Chapter 1: White Orchard Geralt stepped out of the White Orchard Inn and into the night in a foul mood. Three days full of far more violence than the grey haired witcher preferred had passed since he’d arrived in the Temerian village in search of his lost love Yennefer. He’d chased rumors of the elusive sorceress, who despite her famed and unique looks was impossible to track down, across the war ravaged landscape. Nekkers, drowners, ghouls, wolves, dogs and bandits had died by his sword, before he’d ultimately found a lead from the local Nilfgardian garrison, at the price of slaying a dangerous griffon. His reward had been to find that Yennefer was at the Nilfgardian court in conquered Vizima, less than a day’s ride away. And then he’d had to kill an inn full of idiotic thugs after collecting his mentor, the elderly Vesimir. “Ugh, getting involved never turns out well,” Geralt grunted, wiping off his steel sword and sheathing it. “No, but you never learn, do you? Might not want to put that away yet,” Vesimir agreed, “hooves and armor are coming, we should go.” The two witcher’s sharp ears heard the rattle of armor and the clomp of hooves, war horses and cavalry. No matter which side in the great northern war the horsemen belonged too, the pair of witchers were covered in blood and there were half a dozen dead men behind them. In Geralt’s experience, that was difficult to explain. But just as he reached his trusty horse Roach, the wandering monster hunter paused. Because his enhance scent had just picked up, over the smell of horse sweat and armor polish, the faint perfume of lilac and goose berries. “Hold on, I think our mission just solved itself,” Geralt rasped, watching the squad of cavalry come out of the night. There were several Nilfgardian troopers in their traditional black and gold plate, but Geralt barely noticed them. For as they dismounted, a small framed woman in their midst, dwarfed by the size of a borrowed destrier, stepped down onto a high heeled boot. The Witcher had seen many a stunning sight in his day, from the burning palaces of kings to the angry roars of a dragon at close range, but nothing would ever give him as much pause as seeing Yennefer of Vengerburg. The smell of her perfume was strong, its rich scent striking in the muddy village. In the moon light the ivory skin of her smooth face seemed to glow, her black curls catching the stars. She was dressed in a black gown, cut low to show cleavage and slit to show thigh high boots, high heeled to make up for her short height. “Geralt, covered in blood and running out of town. I see not much has changed,” Yennefer said coyly, her incredibly posh and melodious voice dripping with sarcasm. “And I see not much has changed with you,” Geralt said, suddenly noticing as she stepped up that things very much had. For one thing, the Nordling sorceress was working with the Nilfgardian Empire despite having been instrumental in defeating it in the first Northern War. For another and well, even Geralt with his superhuman eye for detail didn’t quite believe it at first. But a glance confirmed it, despite his disbelief. Yennefer had gained a good fifteen pounds. The chances of this were bafflingly low. Yennefer was brave, resourceful, curious, determined and caring but she was also immensely vain, she began every day with an hour of carefully applied makeup to her already beautiful face. She dressed stylishly and paid very careful attention to her appearance, her perfect looks an advertisement for her powers. But Geralt couldn’t deny the evidence of his eyes, having known every inch of her body he gave her another glance from ankles on up. Most of Yen’s legs were blocked by her tightly buckled black boots, but her right thigh was easy to see. Geralt remembered a wide gap between the raven beauty’s thighs, but now a thin, but soft layer of fat coated her upper leg, ivory flesh poking through the lace of her tights. They weren’t big, most noble women who’d had a baby would have killed to have thighs so slim, but now there was a pinchable bit of excess across her legs. Going up, Geralt was struck by the breadth of the brunette’s hips. Yennefer’s looks had been girlish in the extreme, despite being a hundred years old she didn’t look a day over twenty, but she’d always been just slightly pear shaped, her butt large and round and her hips quite round, if rather firm. Now looking at her, Geralt could see how she’d gotten wider, the curve of her hip stretching the seam of her skirt tight. Yennefer’s waist wasn’t much changed from its old tiny 20 inch span...but that was because the sorceress was wearing a corset. The underbust girdle was laced very tightly, obviously pushing hard against something quite soft on the inside. Corsets weren’t uncommon for rich women, exercise was seen as manish and undignified, but as a sorceress Yennefer’s body was a plaything of her powers, letting her keep an absolutely tiny waistline that she was quite proud of. That she was now wearing the restrictive shapewear spoke to a rather drastic change. Continuing up, Geralt was very surprised by the change to Yennefer’s chest. The sorceress had a physique suitable B cup before, quite pert and perky but rather small, as well as a disdain for women with large busts, thinking that any breast bigger than a handful was a sign of low class crudeness. That too had changed, the sorceress finding at least a cup size of soft tit. They seemed even larger thanks to the under bust corset, the brunette flashing cleavage for the first time. “Are you done staring yet, Geralt?” flashed into the witcher’s brain. Slightly startled, he looked up from his telepathic ex-lover’s breast to her face. Yennefer put on enchanted glamour makeup first thing every morning and touched it up several times per day, meaning that she looked impossibly gorgeous without a single mark, scar or bulge. But Geralt could slightly detect a softness to her sharp cheekbones, making her look less imperial and regal and more...approachable. “Hard not too when you look that good,” the Witcher returned mentally, knowing that the rather boundary challenged brunette frequently read his thoughts. Her eyes widened in surprise, a slight redness rising to her cheeks. That was odd, Yennefer lived for compliments and it shouldn’t surprise her to be praised. “I...you are too kind, but we should be going,” Yennefer said, ending the mental link and returning to her horse, “come, the Emperor himself wishes to speak to you.” Yennefer strode up to her destrier, an immense gray warhorse that towered over the small woman. It snorted softly, whinnying in affection as she got to the stirrup and put her small, booted foot in. Geralt’s sharp eyes saw the faint jiggle in her thigh as she stood up and swung her leg over the saddle. And how she checked the fit of her corset upon sitting, tugging the tight leather and whale bone down. …. A few hours separated the pair’s next meeting, along with a chase by the ghostly riders of the wild hunt and a meeting with the powerful Emperor of Nilfgaard. “You’ve been informed by the Emperor?” Yennefer asked Geralt as he walked into her chambers at the Vizima palace. He was in a tight set of black hose and dublet, Nilfgardian court fashion. It showed off his muscles well and Yennefer felt herself getting moist at the sight. A hundred years old she might be, but the sorceress had the libido of her maiden’s body and hadn’t had sex in months. His lean muscles, his dangerous scars, his growling voice, the glowing predator’s eyes, all of it was combining to make her wet as a bride on her wedding day. Yennefer needed her brains fucked out desperately by him, all the old emotions of him caring for her swirling back. But she pushed the urge down, still feeling angry and bitter over the knowledge he’d slept with Triss...and terrified to be seen without her corset. A pang of bitter anger hit her stomach and Yennefer soothed it, hand darting to a small box on her desk and drawing out a succulent chocolate cookie. “Yes, Ciri’s is both alive back in our world,” the Witcher said with a shake of his head, “I can barely believe it. Why would she return?” “We don’t know, but if she’s here, well...she’s my daughter Geralt, not in blood but in everything that matters,” Yennefer told him, “and I *munch* am going to do everything I can to help her.” “Of course, she’s my daughter too in all that counts. But Yenn...are you alright? You’re not acting like yourself,” Geralt asked. Yennefer felt her cheeks color, to her shame. She had the urge to read his mind, but was certain she already knew what he was thinking. He was surely examining the damage done to her body by months of over eating, comparing the lardy she-walrus with the slender, nymph-like woman he’d once loved. Gods she’d gotten fat, every ounce of this wobbling jiggle disgusted her with every moment. She’d had to change and bathe after the flight from the wild hunt due to how sweaty she’d gotten and every moment had been agony, touching her newly soft and jiggling belly… “I’m fine, truly. Just a bit *munch* distracted,” Yennefer said, swallowing a cookie, not thinking about what number it was, “Ciri has me worried is all…” Unfortunately her corset had been damaged in the flight, an errant branch ripping a panel. Yennefer hadn’t had her mending cantrip prepared that day either and had stubbornly refused to buy more, denying that she truly needed it. So she was forced to speak to Geralt without its constraining effect, to her shame. The sorceress had changed into a long black gown with white pinstripes, her favorite colors. Unfortunately the Yennefer it had been stitched for was quite a bit bigger, making it snug as a glove. Pinstripes were supposed to lead the eye up to pert breasts or down to girlish hips, the snug and low cut gown showing both off quite well. Unfortunately the dress was cut for her old tiny, 20 inch waist and while it could fit her fuller one, she’d had to suck her stomach in to get it laced up. Even fully laced, the new roundness at her belly was quite plain to see through the thin fabric. She had it sucked it and it still wasn’t completely flat! Gods, it was disgusting, soft as her breasts and somehow bouncier. Worse, this was one of her looser dresses. Yennefer had to confront the fact that she’d have to secure newer, larger clothes if she wasn’t able to get this problem in hand and soon...yet more reasons to find Ciri! “She gave me a great gift, love for a daughter, that I’d thought I’d never have,” Yennefer finished, eating another cookie to cover her horrific embarrassment at looking like such a pig, “but we’ve got some evidence for her location, come…” Together they looked over evidence of Ciri’s reappearances in the neutral city of Novigrad, the war torn land of Velen and the Skellige Isles. Always their adopted daughter, a tall green eyed lass with ashen hair, appeared in a flash of light pursued by ghostly horsemen. Geralt stood quite close to Yennefer, who’s face began to redden. Despite her anger, despite her shame, she was still very, very attracted to him. Her pale face began to flush, while her enlarged nipples hardened, beginning to poke through the thin fabric. While she didn’t mind the extra bust size, the way they showed off her arousal annoyed her deeply, making her feel like her sexuality was out of control. The Sorceress went to eat another cookie to cover her arousal, focusing on the oncoming sugar and spice instead, only to find she’d run out of them. Nimble fingers flickered inside the tin, only to accidentally knock it to the ground! Her eyes widened in shock and shame, the sorceress forget her telekinesis and lurched for the tin only to be stopped by a loud, undeniable rip from her midsection. Yennefer froze solid, as if she’d been caught by the White Frost itself, barely noticing Geralt swiftly snatching the tin out of mid air. “Careful there, its a nice tin. Enchanted to make more sweets, right?” the gruff Witcher asked, “I recognized it from when you were tutoring Ciri…” Yennefer gulped, words failing her for once. He was going to say something terrible to her and the only way to stop it was by admitting it. “I...let’s deal with the elephant in the room, yes?” Yennefer asked calmly, “You can go on and say it, I already know.” “...Say what Yen?” he asked her, eyebrow arched. She glared, a petulant gesture but one she couldn’t stop. “I’m fat, Geralt,” she seethed, poking her side. Her dress had ripped vertically, a pinstripe coming apart to reveal a bulge of soft white flesh. “I’ve put on a full stone and its made of pure lard. I’m hideous, the size of a bridge troll,” the angry mage seethed, breathing in deep for a diatribe, “so don’t go pussy footing around and thinking you can hide your disgust over my slovenly, flabby form behind your stoic facade. I’m certain you are ready to run off to that ginger floozy with her flat stomach and hard thighs and I...mmmmmm.” Geralt surprised her, leaning in quick as a cat and kissing her. Witcher’s were mutants, suffused with magic and their skin hummed to a mage, to Yennefer the kiss brought a full body tingle that relaxed her tensed muscles and deflated her ire. “Yen, you look good,” the witcher told her as she broke away. “I...you’re lying, you must be,” she insisted, words stammering, “I’m a wreck, a freak and I… Oh.” She’d reached out to touch his mind, to prove she was lying. And all she’d gotten was an image of him taking her from behind, fingers digging deep into her softer hips. Again, her pale cheeks flushed, this time in lust. “I suppose you aren’t lying,” she admitted, with girlish bashfulness, “still though, an explanation is in order.” “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not surprised, this is the last thing I’d expect to happen to you. Are you cursed?” he told her, “its hard to tell given the amount of enchanted items you carry…but you working for Nilfgard, is the Emperor cursing you? “Partly. I...didn’t quite have an option. Unlike you, I teleported into the south without a memory. I was found by the Nilfgardian intelligence service and kept at a chateau until they restored me,” Yennefer said, leaving out the immense and delicious amount of food she’d been plyed with during her stay to keep her docile, “and I...had to swear an oath on my power to work with the Emperor for Ciri’s sake. And for further insurance, I had to submit to a leash…” “A leash?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow. Yennefer didn’t need telepathy to know what he was thinking, she herself instantly thought of her softened body, totally bare and wearing a dog’s leash… “Not like that, but yes. A leash, you were probably too busy staring at my breasts but I’ve got a new choker.” She tapped the silver pentagram she wore, its metal gleaming and new. “I can’t cast any sort of beauty spell on myself. Nilfgaard kept its sorceress’ plain and ugly to keep them under control. I’m able to manage my nails and my hair and skin but...weight is a different issue,” Yennefer sighed, tapping the soft fat roll spilling through her ruined dress, “especially as I…well because I eat a bit much. It’s extra motivation to find Ciri quickly, as I grow uglier and uglier…” Born a poor farm girl, despised for many deformities, Yenn had developed a sweet tooth upon her first access to deserts during her training as part of the beautiful elite. And when she got stressed, she dealt with stress by eating. Normally a weight loss spell every few weeks kept her belly suitably flat but now that she couldn’t...and Geralt had put his arms around her shoulders. “Yennefer, some fat isn’t going to make you ugly,” Geralt told her solemnly, “if anything, it suits you.” Yennefer froze, face going beat red as a virgin on her wedding night. That someone could like this...this blubber stupefied her. Yet he wasn’t lying, she could tell that...Gods why must this happen to her? Now? She’d been angry with him over sleeping with her friend, angry with her friend, angry increasingly at herself...ugh, if only she were thinner, she’d take him here and now… Her fingers absentmindly searched the insides of the cookie tin, finding with glee that the tin had had enough time to make another treat. “But anyway, that’s not important. We’re going to find Ciri and get her safe,” she gulped, stepping away quickly and popping more food into her mouth, “there’s three places she might be, Velen, Skellige and Novigrad. I suggest you start in Velen, I’m going to try *munch* Novigrad and we should meet there…” Yennefer stepped away quickly, not quite trusting herself. Because what she hadn’t mentioned was that an old friend of hers was in the free city of Novigrad, someone she needed to have very cross words with...but first, Yennefer needed to figure out if she was angrier at Geralt or Triss for the cheating...and which one she wanted to have sex with the most...