I wanted to bring attention to the special kind of greed that a feedee possesses, wanting to hit their "meal" goals. Meals being in quotes, since this really can just take the form of any stomach-cramping amount of food/drink. A gallon of milk. 100 chicken nuggets. A tub of ice cream. Despite the fact that we have competitive eating, I want to remind you just how gluttonous it is to want to devour that much of anything. Half the time, it's after a feedee had food earlier in the day. I could talk about the ridiculous amount of calories in just the milk alone. Which, for the record, is going to be 2,000 calories on average. However, it's not the calories that I wanted to focus on; it's the reactions. Imagine being so turned on that your brain is sending you signals to melt and suck down a tub of sugar and cream? You are literally sitting there, fighting back pained burps to finish it all. It's hot but also so ridiculous. What do you even tell someone? Like, seriously, even to a feeder, what can you say? "I just couldn't help myself. Once I started, I couldn't stop till it was all gone." You know what that kind of thinking makes you right? An addicted little food slut. No moderation, no thoughts, just consume till it's all gone. If it wasn't for the literal words of feedees wanting more, despite their guts being rock hard, you would just assume they have no limits. It's honestly hotter to know they do. Forcing yourself almost sick to finish off your fatty feast to get off is hot. Making shakes whose only purpose is to make you fatter is hot. Finding someone who encourages you to keep eating when it hurts is sexy. If you get turned on reading about people giving into the pleasures of food, you should really just stuff your gut and get off today.
"I just couldn't help myself...once I started, I couldn't stop until it was all gone"
You had walked back in just as I'd finished; my corpulent belly hung between my legs, deliciously soft thighs spreading to make more room, the sheer enormity of my gut almost pulling the rest of my lard-laden body down. My pillowy upper arms hung against my thickening side rolls, chubby little hands gripping a takeout container like my life depended on it. Ironic isn't it?
Trickles of something sweet ran down my chins and neck, dripping down my rolls towards my bellybutton. Was that ice cream? Milk? Either way, I'd certainly made a spectacle of myself. Here I was, sitting up properly for the first time in a while trying to do some work...
"You knew I was going to at least try to be productive today, but of course you just had to go and surround me with a feast. It's not my fault I've gotten so fat, it's you!"
I sounded so determined this time around, but you knew that nothing would change. It never would, we both knew it really. I'd still be the same food obsessed, addicted, brainless, blue ribbon pig that came to you as this tiny, chubby little thing a couple of years ago.
"With your deliciously fattening meals, doting on me hand and foot...your special shakes...your portion sizes are too, just...too big..."
I sighed as I put the container down. My top had ridden up over my gut and had gotten stretched tight across my chest, but I still tried to pull it down. If you didn't know better, you'd think I was a little embarrassed. On top of that, if you were honest with yourself you barely believed that there was ever any food in those boxes; I was so desperate for more, I'd licked them all clean.
"So...just a small question...did you happen to bring anything home? I might be massive, but that doesn't mean I should go hungry...right?"
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