Petplay / G/t / Vore

Hi, SFW blog here. We'd prefer if NSFW blogs didn't use the extreme cuddling tag, because it was created to keep the two communities separate. Thanks

Hi!

Fun fact 1, theres no such thing as a SFW v0re. I'm sorry, there just isn't.

Fun fact 2. You can block me. I really don't care.

You wouldn't show your blog to someone at work, or in your family, because it's inherently part of the kink space.

Now, you can look at v0re and like it nonsexually personally, I have friends that like it on a nsx level and I respect that, but you can't argue with me that you'd show your blog to someone in your workspace or at home. Because it's in a community that was meant to be weird and odd to outsiders, and people ARE going to see it as sexual, whether you like it or not.

—

It worries me in the tumblr space v0re community that theres so many children running these kinds of blogs, genuinely, it's not normal.

I can say this as someone who was part of the v0reblr space when I was 14 years old. Birbshame was my biggest accomplishment in getting an audience, and that's honestly fucking sad. I was groomed by 3 seperate adults in the community. That is genuinely why seeing children make these blogs for the public makes me kinda wanna cry for them. They don't know what they're getting themselves into, and that's not me trying to baby them, this is me being worried for their safety because you genuinely never know what could happen, and I don't want kids ending up the same way I did while vulnerable and psychologically unstable.

Promoting that this can be SFW is what gets kids in this position. I'm sorry, but you're genuinely part of the problem.

It's not right, and this kind of normalization is really sad. I've had to block so many underage accounts, it's insane.

Also, extreme cuddling was originally made due to the fact that the original tag for v0re was blacklisted in December 2017-2018(? can't fully remember), it wasn't created to seperate the "SFW from the NSFW", it was literally just there because the original tag was blacklisted because the tumblr devs are fucking stupid.

Again, I was there during the blacklist! At 14-15! Sure, my stuff was nsx at the time, but I thought everybody moved their stuff to the extreme cuddling tag purely because of the blacklist.

You made probably the biggest mistake an intern could make.

The CEO was still yelling. Muffled, furious, definitely still yelling.

<"You’re fired,"> they bark, their voice vibrating through your stomach walls. <"You hear me? Fired! The second I get out of here, I swear to god—">

You press both hands into the firm swell of your belly, trying to calm it, trying to calm yourself.

"Please," you say, voice tight, "can you—can you stop yelling?"

<"Stop yelling?"> they snap. <"You ate me, you little freak!">

you wince.

<"I am the leader of this company, I should not be sitting in some intern’s gut!">

You groan, curling further into yourself, shifting your weight on the supply closet floor.

It’s not comfortable—the CEO is heavy, far heavier than anything you’ve ever swallowed before. Your stomach is stretched to its absolute limit, packed full, groaning under the pressure.

"I panicked," you mutter, rubbing small circles over your middle, trying to ease the ache.

trying to will your stomach into speeding things up.

<"You panicked?"> The walls of your gut ripple as the CEO shoves against them, hard.

<"Spilling coffee on me is panicking. Forgetting your instructions is panicking. Eating me whole is--!">

Your stomach clenches down, cutting them off. You gasp.

The CEO swears, voice slipping-- nervous now, and you can feel their breathing- fast, shallow.

<"You need to let me out. Now.">

You swallow thickly. "I—I don’t think I can."

The CEO stills.

<"What?>

"I don’t—I don’t know how to... i dont know how to stop it."

You stomach gurgles.

There’s a moment of silence. Then the CEO kicks, hard enough that you yelp.

<"You little shit,"> they growl.

<"You’re going to regret this.">

"I already do," you groan, kneading into the firm swell of your belly.

The pressure inside won’t ease up, your gut is clenching. Relentlessly. Processing.

The CEO tries to push again, but it’s weaker this time. Your stomach is winning.

It always wins

<"Please,"> they say suddenly, softer now, less rage, more desperation. <"You don’t want to do this. I can fix this—I’ll—I won’t fire you, okay? I’ll promote you, even. You don’t have to—">

Your stomach groans, hot and heavy.

You shut your eyes, breathe in deep, and keep rubbing at your belly, feeling it settle.

---

You wake up to darkness.

For a disorienting moment, you don’t know where you are—only that the air is stale, your back is sore, and you must have had an extraordinary meal recently.

Then it clicks. The supply closet. The CEO.

The weight still pressing against your middle, no longer struggling, no longer yelling—only a warm, thick mass, settled deep in your gut.

You bolt upright, gasping, your belly sloshing with the movement.

Shit.

You went into a food coma.

You passed out in the middle of digesting your boss.

Panic shoots through you, and you scramble to your feet, wincing at the dull ache of your overworked stomach.

Your dress shirt is wrinkled, sticking to your skin, and when you press a hand against the swell of your gut, it’s still soft.

You push open the door, slipping into the dim hallway, blinking, bleary and disoriented. Still waking up.

Freezing as a voice calls out—

"Hey. Where’ve you been?"

Your head snaps up, eyes wide.

A coworker—one of the assistants, leans against the front desk, looking at you with mild curiosity.

You fumble for words. "I—I was just—”

"You look awful." They frown, eyes flicking over your disheveled form—mussed hair, flushed face... where your stomach pushes forward, heavy with its stolen meal.

Your gut shifts, contents pressing lower, and you have to bite back a groan.

"You should go home. It’s late." They say.

Your heart hammers. You nod quickly, very quickly.

"Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I—I should go."

You turn on your heel and walk—fast, stiff, legs fuzzy with pins and needles.

Forcing yourself not to clutch at your stomach, even as it groans with each step.

The office is empty, the halls quiet. No one else is here. Except for a few security guards who ignore you.

Your belly sways heavily with each movement, the remnants of the CEO being churned down into something useful.

you step out of the lobby doors, into the cool nighttime air. You breathe it in, deeply. You look up and you can't see any stars.

You don't know what tomorrow will look like for you. But at least you won't be needing breakfast.

you think fat trans men are hot. reblog

(i'm on a sleepy vore fix right now sorry)

a bunch of tinies sneaking their way into a pred's mouth as they sleep, slowly filling up their belly until they wake up absolutely stuffed with giggly preythings.

maybe they jerk awake suddenly just as the last tiny climbs into their mouth. they're still half-asleep though, so they don't fully process what's happening. they roll them around in their mouth. instead of spitting whatever it is in there out, the exhausted pred decides to act on instinct instead and just swallow whatever it is. it tasted good, after all, so it must be food...

I vored! ^v^

idk, i guess i don’t get why calling vore a kink when it’s nsx is so hard.

it’s not going to change how you feel about it, it’s not going to change the way you use it for comfort or suddenly turn you into a slobbering animal without knowledge of consent, it just makes the distinction that the community started as sexual and that, as a result, all vore has the potential to be viewed as such.

i don’t understand what’s so hard about just…accepting it and calling it a nonsexual kink. there’s nothing sfw about it, but it can still be nsx. it’s just something you wouldn’t show family or coworkers, and something you shouldn’t allow minors to be involved in.

please. i’m begging here. just call it a kink and make the goddamn distinction.

cortisolmaxxing victimcel

petplay / g/t / vore

keeping your half sized pred as a pet. Making a luscious bed for them, a plush nest of ornate silks, thick furs, and pillows stuffed with downing feathers

Each night, completing a ritual of Feeding. Preparing tinies on a gold guilded dish, only thr most luxurious for your rare pet. Tiny after tiny, hand delivered to their waiting mouth until their stomach grows visibly round and plump.

Giving your pet a belly rub, pressing your comparatively massive hand onto their belly, feeling the restless little meals under your pets skin. Pressing down enough to make the pred jolt, their cheeks turning red as a small belch escapes them

saying "good pet," as the pred curls up around their full belly, their small palms kneading into the heavy, taut mass in their stomach.

Watching over them as they fall into a deep, digestive sleep. Their tummy continuing to squirm long after they fall into slumber. Watching as your pets belly eventually ceases all movement, and begins to grow smooth and round, softer, as their dinner of tinies gurgle away.

Your pet lounging much later, their paunch noticeably plumper after their most recent feeding. Pressing your hand into that squishy pouch, which annoys the pred slightly.

In honor of tumblr banning feedism let's take a moment to remember Sherlock Holmes being like "hello Watson every time I see you your waistcoat's a little bit tighter, and I'm noticing that a normal amount" in like 1890. Lighting a candle. Pouring one out for the noticing it a normal amount community