Cascadianjiggle:
Gaining is not good for that tight body of yours. As discipline unravels so to do the muscle fibres.
After a month of excess that lift is now too much. With the decline of ability comes the reluctance to participate in that thing which you were so good at.
As old habits new ones rise to take their place. Instead of crunching that core you stuff it. Those legs that once took you all over the place now only lift to go to the store. Those arms lift only to shovel in more food.
Two months go by and habits are once more ingrained in your mind. Those habits could not be more different from your old ones. When people look at you and the things you do, they likely think that your once olympian regime was as mythical as the gods themselves.
A year later goning up that hill you used to sprint up during a HIIT session is a workout even a at snail's pace. Those tree tunks, so disfurged by your excess lumber forwards. In part you go so slow because your thunder thighs rub together from your receding genitals too your knees. Naturally this does nothing but motivate you to stay off your weak and swollen feet.
Each titanic step sends shockwaves through your hanging fat. The abdomen which once resembled an elite athlete's now hangs far past that constricting belt. No longer do you have a core, now you simply have an androgenous sack of lard called a belly. The chasm you call a belly button is no longer where a proper human's should be but instead rides below, resting on your fupa.
And what a sight that fupa is. Below that unmistakable sign of your greed is the fupa: a ring of meat that stretches from thigh to thigh and props up the bottomless pit of hunger that has made you what you are. This fat pad bulges out, like a smaller belly underneath the much, much bigger one. This pad seals all it touches and signals a creature so committed to gluttony that it is willing to sacrifice it's sexual independence so it can eat. What most people would consider the pinnacle of pleasure is being buried alive under a mound of fat. You don't care do you though? You have trained yourself so well that you only respond sexually when food is involved. Your inhibitions so long forgotten that you climax without handling yourself downstairs. All you must do is stuff your pig face and fondle your fat.
Those firm chest muscles atrophied so long ago that you have forgotten what it feels like to flex and feel the muscle react. Now you only know soft fat. As you walk up this hill, you feel these globular mounds shake up and down. Your sensitive nipples push so hard against your tight shirt that you start to get aroused. These innumerable pounds you have put on have made your body weak and sluggish, but so much more sensual. The friction against your bouncing chest makes you want to hurry home fast so you can stuff your fat face, but it is all you can do to manage the pace you are going at.
The two slightly deflated beachballs you carry around behind probably don't help. One of the first things you noticed at the beginning of your metamorphosis was the loosening of your butt. Within a month the tone was gone. Within two months you could feel it shake about of its own volition. It was the burgeoning booty that kept you gaining in the first months. You couldn't help yourself, you had never felt anything like this before. You laughed at your vain attempts to grow your butt by increasing the muscles in it when fat was so much easier and sensual. That love affair has born bountiful fruit. Those firm little cheeks now resembled two loose beanbags that flop around and are only held in place by the restrictive pants you outgrew a month ago.
You have to stop for a moment and catch what breath you can. You also take a moment to stretch your over burdened muscles and as you stretched out your back you feel the fabric of your tight shirt get stuck in your back fat. When you were young you saw a fatty at the water slides and marveled at the way the fat on their back rolled together into a valley. Now that is yours, plus extra. Where your shapeless arms meet your torso is a roll. Where the fat of your chest grows around onto your back and meets the rising sphere of your belly is a roll. This roll runs much further and goes much deeper than the other. If you follow it to the bottom you think you may still able to feel your ribs. That's wishful thinking though isn't it? At the bottom of this gelatinous wilderness is the shelf of your butt. You often struggle to keep the top of this shelf from pushing up your shirt and exposing your long, deep crack. You always noticed fat people could never keep their shirt down and pants pulled up. Now their reality is yours.
Gaining is not good for that tight body of yours. As discipline unravels so to do the muscle fibres.
After a month of excess that lift is now too much. With the decline of ability comes the reluctance to participate in that thing which you were so good at.
As old habits new ones rise to take their place. Instead of crunching that core you stuff it. Those legs that once took you all over the place now only lift to go to the store. Those arms lift only to shovel in more food.
Two months go by and habits are once more ingrained in your mind. Those habits could not be more different from your old ones. When people look at you and the things you do, they likely think that your once olympian regime was as mythical as the gods themselves.
A year later goning up that hill you used to sprint up during a HIIT session is a workout even a at snail's pace. Those tree tunks, so disfurged by your excess lumber forwards. In part you go so slow because your thunder thighs rub together from your receding genitals too your knees. Naturally this does nothing but motivate you to stay off your weak and swollen feet.
Each titanic step sends shockwaves through your hanging fat. The abdomen which once resembled an elite athlete's now hangs far past that constricting belt. No longer do you have a core, now you simply have an androgenous sack of lard called a belly. The chasm you call a belly button is no longer where a proper human's should be but instead rides below, resting on your fupa.
And what a sight that fupa is. Below that unmistakable sign of your greed is the fupa: a ring of meat that stretches from thigh to thigh and props up the bottomless pit of hunger that has made you what you are. This fat pad bulges out, like a smaller belly underneath the much, much bigger one. This pad seals all it touches and signals a creature so committed to gluttony that it is willing to sacrifice it's sexual independence so it can eat. What most people would consider the pinnacle of pleasure is being buried alive under a mound of fat. You don't care do you though? You have trained yourself so well that you only respond sexually when food is involved. Your inhibitions so long forgotten that you climax without handling yourself downstairs. All you must do is stuff your pig face and fondle your fat.
Those firm chest muscles atrophied so long ago that you have forgotten what it feels like to flex and feel the muscle react. Now you only know soft fat. As you walk up this hill, you feel these globular mounds shake up and down. Your sensitive nipples push so hard against your tight shirt that you start to get aroused. These innumerable pounds you have put on have made your body weak and sluggish, but so much more sensual. The friction against your bouncing chest makes you want to hurry home fast so you can stuff your fat face, but it is all you can do to manage the pace you are going at.
The two slightly deflated beachballs you carry around behind probably don't help. One of the first things you noticed at the beginning of your metamorphosis was the loosening of your butt. Within a month the tone was gone. Within two months you could feel it shake about of its own volition. It was the burgeoning booty that kept you gaining in the first months. You couldn't help yourself, you had never felt anything like this before. You laughed at your vain attempts to grow your butt by increasing the muscles in it when fat was so much easier and sensual. That love affair has born bountiful fruit. Those firm little cheeks now resembled two loose beanbags that flop around and are only held in place by the restrictive pants you outgrew a month ago.
You have to stop for a moment and catch what breath you can. You also take a moment to stretch your over burdened muscles and as you stretched out your back you feel the fabric of your tight shirt get stuck in your back fat. When you were young you saw a fatty at the water slides and marveled at the way the fat on their back rolled together into a valley. Now that is yours, plus extra. Where your shapeless arms meet your torso is a roll. Where the fat of your chest grows around onto your back and meets the rising sphere of your belly is a roll. This roll runs much further and goes much deeper than the other. If you follow it to the bottom you think you may still able to feel your ribs. That's wishful thinking though isn't it? At the bottom of this gelatinous wilderness is the shelf of your butt. You often struggle to keep the top of this shelf from pushing up your shirt and exposing your long, deep crack. You always noticed fat people could never keep their shirt down and pants pulled up. Now their reality is yours.
Loved reading this! Thank you for posting it!
7 years
