Humiliation - Tumblr Posts
Jesus christ man, this is getting ridiculous. You’ve absolutely ballooned this time. Gotten absolutely lazy and over indulgent and your jiggling gut is proof.
Well I can’t do it anymore years of holding my belly in I let it loose I can’t do it no more. Hope y'all like.
The commander said they have a very important job for me back at base. I'm head of the food disposal department but it seems like I'm the only one here. Every single day new recruits are assigned to bring the leftover food to me and then make sure they leave no evidence of it behind no matter how long it takes. They take turns force feeding me the trays assigned to each unit and I can't do anything but swallow incredibly high caloric meals that are designed to keep the soldiers going. Once I start getting full they blend all the desserts and milk together, then they fill up my funnel and I force all the creamy liquid inside my already overfilled gut.. by the end of each day I can hardly move, my huge swollen belly is pinning me down to the floor and all I can do is burp and moan until I digest all these tens of thousands of calories. This uniform used to be so baggy when I started.. they said if I outgrow it I will be promoted to the commander's personal food disposal private.. but they never mentioned getting me a new uniform 😳
Full videos up on of 🫃🏻
Stuck between a rock(hard belly) and a soft place.
Jock to Hog
An anonymous request about a jock that has becoming a fat pig, they invite an old teammate over for sex and they have some harsh words for them.
EASY PREY. COULDN'T RESIST
DO I SMELL PUSIBOY?!
Humiliation
The card reader beeped obnoxiously.
The cashier glanced surreptitiously at him for the fourth time.
Jet glared at the machine and only barely managed to school his expression into something less antagonistic when the cashier cleared her throat to get his attention.
"Sometimes the reader doesn't quite..." She trailed off, cheeks flushing with color.
There was a line of people queued up behind him. A bag boy patiently waiting to see what to do with the groceries he'd already carefully put into the paper bags at the end of the conveyor belt. A manager slowly making their way down the aisle of checkout lanes.
He knew better. The cashier was trying to be kind, to offer him an out... as if it was technology's fault that there wasn't enough in the account to cover what he'd painstakingly gathered (he'd done the math in his head the entire time, adding taxes and subtracting discounts, and still somehow he had misjudged...) ...but Jet knew the humiliating truth.
Well. Nothing to be done for it. Taking a deep breath in, he considered quickly what all was in the bags. What could he do without? What would subtract enough from the total to allow him to depart with his dignity in shreds but at least something in those sacks to feed his crew?
To feed Ed mainly. The other two could take care of themselves well enough. Even Ein was no slouch at hunting when the hunger was too much.
So, doing his best to ignore the judgmental stares that may or may not be aimed at him from the folks behind... he stepped up to the bagger and gestured curtly at the conveyor belt.
"Sorry bub, lemme just go through these and give a few things back to the lady here..."
His ears were ringing too much to hear the garbled tunes playing over the grocery store speakers. The cashier was staring down at her drawer to give him a semblance of privacy. And he did his utmost to shut out and ignore the rest of the populace of the place.
Wasn't the first time.
Probably wouldn't be the last time.
Still, the churning gut and the aching chest and the tension in his jaw... all of these kept the humiliation of the moment stacked on him like a scarlet letter.
Man, he hated being poor.
The Anatomy Lesson
Howard normally dreaded the part of the day he'd have to spend in Mr. Kent's class. As the school's "physical education" teacher, time with Mr. Kent usually meant one thing: "gym class."
Fat and effeminate, Howard would naturally be the target of bullying from other the other boys his age — even at 18 years old, many of them still acted like children, after all. Perhaps that's something he could have dealt with. But the relentless taunting he received from Mr. Kent was on a different level.
It seemed every day Mr. Kent would single out Howard, either for his more-than-average weight, his less-than-masculine mannerisms, or a combination of the two.
Today, however, Howard was feeling very different about having Mr. Kent for second period. It wasn't just that this was a "classroom day" -- one of the rare times the meathead Mr. Kent had to pretend to be able to teach "health studies." Rather, it was that Howard had a feeling he'd finally figured out how to test the project he'd been working on for psych class.
Howard made sure to be the first one in the classroom that day, scoping out the best place to sit. Where his normal tactic was sitting in the back to try to avoid Mr. Kent's notice as much as possible, today he knew he'd want to be near the centre of the action.
The classroom gradually filled up, with every student eventually finding a seat. A couple seemed surprised to see Howard sitting right in the middle of the second row, but no one was fazed beyond that. Instead, most students seemed more interested in the empty space at the front of the room, with Mr. Kent normally being there well before the class began.
As the minutes ticked by, Howard began to worry that maybe he would not be getting what he had hoped for. He knew Mr. Kent had seen the hypnosis videos -- his IP address was all over the site he'd anonymously sent to the buff blockhead last night -- but perhaps the effect had not been what Howard had expected...? Mind control was tricking business, after all. Maybe Mr. Kent was still snoozing away in the "deep sleep" of a trance he must have entered into...
The high school senior let out a sigh of relief when the physical education teacher walked into the classroom, seeming like he was in a bit of a daze.
"Sorry I'm late," Mr. Kent said as the room of teenage boys quieted down and he took his place front and centre of the classroom. "As you all know," he began, mostly sounding and acting like he normally did (a certain vacancy in his eyes only visible to someone who knew to look for it). "We're supposed to have our human anatomy lesson with a model to demonstrate today."
This was, of course, completely untrue. The anatomy lesson, in reality, tended to consist of little more than a series of slides and some worksheets to fill in. But Mr. Kent spoke with such certainty, everyone in the class just accepted that this must have been something they'd already been told and which they'd simply forgotten about.
"Unfortunately, I was just informed our model has the flu," Mr. Kent said matter-of-factly. "But, thankfully, Principal Shaw has authorized an alternative."
Without missing a beat, Mr. Kent peeled off his shirt and casually threw it aside, revealing an impressive physique. With his clothes on, it was clear that Mr. Kent was a muscular man, but the details were always left to the imagination. Now, with bulging biceps, plump pectorals, and rippling abs on full display, it was apparent that whatever this man lacked between his ears was more than made up for with the body he possessed.
Acting as though his behaviour was not out of the ordinary at all, the physical education teacher undid his pants as he continued to speak normally. "Since I'll be the model today," he said plainly as he began pulling down his waistband and fully exposing himself to his class, "I'll need someone to walk us through the lesson plan."
Casually, he stepped out of his trousers and adjusted his ample package like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. "Howard, since you're the only honours student in the class, I'd like you to do that, please."
"Sure thing, Mr. Kent," Howard said, grinning widely as he got to his feet and made his way to the front of the class.
This bastard had spent years making fun of Howard's body. If it wasn't his rolls of fat, it was his limp wrists. If it wasn't how winded he got, it was his lisp when he spoke. In other words, he'd made Howard a laughing stock because of the body he moved around the world in.
Turnabout was fair play, right?
So far, no one in the class was objecting, so Howard figured he'd start out slow and gradually ramp things up. He didn't want to spook anyone and end things before they even got started.
A few muscle groups explained, a few poses from his puppet -- and Mr. Kent would gradually get an erection all the while. If the exhibitionist display on its own wasn't enough to have the class thinking Mr. Kent was a bit of a pervert, the pre-cum that would soon be oozing out of his rock-hard and throbbing cock any time Howard touched him during the lesson would send that message much more clearly. Eventually, the bare-ass beefcake would be blissfully blowing his load from his totally-untouched cock when the hands-on portion for the "buttocks and anal region" began.
Still, they were not there yet. Before any of that could get underway, Howard had a very important instruction for the class.
"No notes today, guys," he said cheerfully, looking around the room before returning his gaze to his totally-exposed tormentor standing next to him without a clue about what was really going on. "I'll need your full attention on Mr. Kent, so feel free to pull out your phones and record if you think you'll want to refer back to this later."
Based on the hungry look a few guys in the room had on their faces, Howard knew many of them would be "referring back" to this often. Still others, he was sure, would waste no time spreading the footage around, ensuring everyone got to enjoy Mr. Kent's anatomy as much as they did.
Howard was looking forward to Mr. Kent himself seeing the footage tomorrow and realizing that stripping, posing, and spewing buckets of cum in front of his students was not some bizarre nightmare he'd had the night before. Instead, it was just the first of many new lessons he'd be learning thanks to one student he'd made such an impression on...
Ricky had absolutely no idea why he'd stripped completely and totally naked when his roommate Ian had told him to. Normally, he would have told the fruitcake he reluctantly shared an apartment with to fuck off with his faggy fantasies unless he wanted to be eating a knuckle sandwich for his next meal.
Something had changed, though. Ever since Ian had shown him that strange video -- what had that even been, anyway? what were all those odd colours, shapes, and sounds? -- there was something about Ian's voice that made it impossible for Ricky to do anything other than exactly whatever the scrawny little poof told him to.
Just stripping down in front of him was humiliating enough on its own. Ian -- dressed like he had somewhere important to be -- had regarded Ricky with an almost clinical gaze as the beefy bodybuilder had peeled off each article of clothing, making him feel significantly more vulnerable and exposed than he did when undressing in the locker room or getting naked with a sexual partner.
But that was far from the end of what Ian was going to order his homophobic roommate to do for him. Before the bare-ass beefcake had even had a second to process what he'd just done, Ian handed Ricky a bottle and issued a simple command: "oil up."
"Heh, okay, come on, bro, you've had your fun," Ricky said nervously, trying to act like this was not freaking him out as much as it was. Despite his profound desire to escape this situation, he was nevertheless doing exactly as he was told, starting by rubbing the baby oil all over his meaty pectorals as Ian looked on hungrily.
"Don't stop there," Ian said, ignoring Ricky's words, openly objectifying him by paying attention only to his body. "Make sure to get plenty on your abs and biceps, too."
"Right... cool, but... uh, this is probably enough of this shit now, right?" Ricky asked with the same nervousness in his voice as -- despite himself -- he applied more baby oil to his well-muscled flesh.
"Dick too," Ian said plainly, gesturing to the nether regions where he wanted Ricky to continue oiling himself up.
"Fuck, come on, Ian," Ricky pleaded as he applied the slick substance to his crotch. "I know I was a jerk, but don't you think whatever you're doing has gone far enough now?"
"Arms above your head," Ian stated, again ignoring Ricky's words in favour of his body alone. As the burly bodybuilder lifted his arms, Ian circled around him, evaluating him like a piece of meat for purchase instead of a person he shared an apartment with.
When the slender, smaller man had finished his walk around the Greek god currently displaying himself like a cheap whore for sale, he finally looked Ricky in the face. The beefy meathead's hope for a response to his plaintiff pleas for mercy were dashed when Ian's next command came: "No more talking, got it?"
While not an order that came with a physical action like the others had, Ricky felt his body obeying, his tongue choosing a position to rest in and his jaw clenching shut ever-so-slightly.
"And to answer your question," Ian began, studying Ricky's oiled-up physique as he spoke. "I've barely gotten started."
Ricky swallowed hard as a vindictive expression came over Ian's face.
"You think I don't know the shit you get up to?" he said, contempt in his voice. "Date-raping all those girls you bring home?!" Ian spat. "Acting like a goddamn neo-Nazi at all those fucking far right rallies?!" he continued. His eyes narrowed and his voice went ice cold as he concluded: "Beating the shit out of my best friend and his boyfriend for holding hands in public?"
Ricky felt his stomach drop. Ian knew. Ian knew all of it. And, thanks to whatever impossible trick he had used to put Ricky into his current state, Ian was going to make sure that this malicious macho man learned an important lesson: karma's a bitch.
Ricky jumped when a knock came suddenly at the door to their apartment.
Ian glanced at his wristwatch, a sly grin forming on his face. "Looks like some of my guests must be early," he said simply.
Ricky, unable to speak, pleaded with his eyes, knowing he deserved no mercy but still praying that he might receive it.
"Not to worry, though. It won't take me long to set things up for the party..." Ian said, reaching down to start pulling items out of a sack that had been sitting at his feet. Calmly and methodically, he set the first few items down on the table in front of him: a leather flogger, shark-tooth nipple clamps, a full-sized wooden frat paddle, and a spiked chastity cage.
Ricky didn't know what mortified him more: the torture devices Ian had just spread out on the table, or the fact that the bag that these BDSM nightmares had come from still appeared to be three-quarters full.
A knock came at the door once more, this time louder and more insistent.
"Well, don't just stand there," Ian said to the white-as-a-sheet Ricky as he began to dig in the sack once more. "Be a good boy and let our guests in."
Dreading what would come next (answering the door -- naked, oiled up, and on full display -- to a couple of fags who loved his muscles and hated his guts) and what would come after (a night -- or more -- of sadistic sexual torment from every last homo Ian knew), Ricky still had to do as he was commanded.
As he turned the handle to let the first of Ian's guests inside, he heard his new master call out with words that told him things were only going to get worse from here on out: "Come on in, guys! The party's just getting started..."