wg stories archive @feederstories - Tumblr Blog

The fattest guy in the office, or anywhere really, is used to being called “big guy” and being cast a double glance when someone first sees him. He takes it in stride—says he loves to eat—but knows he’s not anyone’s type.

So he never goes for the plunge. He never picks up any signs – not that he thinks there’s ever been any.

He’s used to girls befriending him and he expects nothing more. He has a lot of female friends.

A new worker in the office befriends him, he thinks little of it. She’s a few years younger than him, a little less experienced in this field, so she’s always turning to him for help.

Little does he know she’s obsessed with him. She sees him across the room, shimmying between desks or struggling to grab something from the floor and she’s drooling around her pen.

fancypiglet

Too Heavy for the Stairs

(I am sorry I have been missing, I had my phone stolen and lost my credentials... but I am back and fatter... hope you like this new fantasy)

You slow down halfway up the stairs just to look back at me.

I’m already struggling.

Only a few steps in and my breathing is uneven, heavy enough that I can hear it echoing in the stairwell. My thighs ache, my stomach feels dense and heavy pulling me forward, and I have to grip the railing because my legs already feel weak.

You notice immediately.

Of course you do.

A small smile pulls at your mouth while I try to pretend I’m fine, pretending I don’t need a break after barely making it up two flights.

“Already tired?” you ask softly.

I hate how warm my face gets.

I try to keep going anyway, forcing another step, then another… but my body feels too heavy now, too soft, too full of itself. My stomach presses against the fabric of my clothes with every breath, every movement slower than the last.

Then I stop.

I have to.

I bend forward slightly, trying to catch my breath, feeling embarrassingly out of shape while people walk past us effortlessly.

And you just watch me.

Amused.

“You can’t even make it up the stairs anymore,” you murmur.

Something about the way you say it makes my stomach twist harder than the exhaustion does.

Because you’re right.

I can feel how different my body is now. Heavier. Slower. Bigger in ways I can’t hide anymore.

You step closer, your hand resting against my side, feeling the softness there like you’re proud of it.

“All that weight" you tease quietly. “Poor thing… carrying all of that must be exhausting.”

I let out this pathetic little laugh between breaths, too embarrassed to answer.

But the worst part is…

you look like you’re enjoying this.

Like seeing me unable to keep up, unable to move properly, struggling under my own weight…

is exactly what you wanted.

bellyrubsx

The truth of Social Life for Morbidly Obese.

When you become very fat after a long journey of weight gain, you will feel happy with this massive weight you have achieved, and with that full, heavy feeling that brings you joy all the time. However, when it comes to your social life, and as the time to meet with family approaches, you will find yourself forced to search through your clothes for a long time, looking for those suitable, baggy pieces that don't highlight your size or look tight on you. You take great care of your appearance so that you don't look, in their eyes, like someone who doesn't deserve respect, so you wear the best you have. Upon meeting them, they begin with stares of astonishment, unleashing a flood of questions, and offering advice and types of workouts. At that moment, you cannot explain the reality of the situation to them, so you are forced to smile and laugh just to avoid these questions. Even when eating, you find them hesitating to offer you more food, but it's better to eat more just to show that you truly do not care about this advice; thus, the day turns out to be more annoying than a warm family gathering.

And when meeting with your friends, the awkwardness sets in; your pace becomes slower, you sweat heavily, and you find them talking and joking among themselves, while you are just a passerby next to them. This is because they see you as a fat person who doesn't care about his appearance or health, and consequently, your opinion doesn't matter to them. You go along with them, but over time, you lose your old passion, and you are no longer friends as you used to be.

You find great difficulty in choosing clothes, and difficulty sitting in public seats or on transportation because of your large weight. You face the stares of some people looking at you as if you are a joke who doesn't deserve respect, but you say to yourself, "I don't care about them." All of this makes you completely isolate yourself from people, driving you to eat even more food, as if it were a form of revenge against this world.

Food is what truly makes you happy at this stage, and this is what they call depression; you avoid people and isolate yourself from them, only to find that your followers on social media are the only ones supporting you.

Here lies the point of truth: anyone who wishes to reach high weights must build a private, independent life that fulfills them away from the world in order to feel happy. This includes pursuing personal hobbies, keeping company with friends who share those hobbies, working remotely, and seeking out people who love you for who you are, not for your look—because a life built solely on social media likes will never make you happy.

feeder86

The pig test

Jason and Sam were not best friends in high school. They knew each other and their circle of friends tended to collide every now and then, but they didn not really know each other much beyond a bit of small talk. Sam ran for the track team and so was pretty slim and long-legged, whereas Jason was all about football. Jason would probably have forgotten all about Sam and left him in the past, had it not been for the slight bisexual vibe he got from him on occasion. His curiosity led him to keeping connected with him on social media, to see whether his hunch might one day turn out to be correct.

Jason went off to college to complete a degree in sports science and he had a vague recollection of Sam heading off out of state to some college course, but he had no idea what he was studying. He would occasionally see pictures of him dating different girls, but the only thing remarkable about the life Sam was leading seemed to be the rate at which he went through girls. One month he was dating a blonde, the next a brunette. Jason on the other hand was enjoying life too much to settle down with anyone. He was not looking for a relationship. He knew, with his hot, toned body he could have any guy he wanted and it was hard not to be arrogant about it with the amount of guys that threw themselves at him. Maybe that was the problem Sam had too.

Keep reading

epigstolary

A Growing Problem

Sweetheart... we need to talk. I know weight is a sensitive subject, and I hope you know I never want to hurt your feelings, but... well, this has been on my mind for a long time, and I just don’t think it can wait any longer.

Your size is really starting to worry me, frankly. Don’t think it’s your appearance — you’re still cute as ever, and you’ve been getting thicker ever since we moved in together, back when you were skinnier than me. And that’s never been a problem. For a while, it was even adorable to see you enjoying yourself so much, eating whatever you wanted and relishing a figure that went from full, to chubby, to noticeably fat. I still love that about you.

hunnybunspen

Kate & Sawyer

CW: immobility, sexual scenes

Kate kicked off her shoes the moment she stepped through the door, the soft thud of them hitting the floor echoing faintly through the apartment. The keys jingled as she dropped them on the counter beside her bag, and then, with more care, she set down the heavy brown paper sack bulging with leftover Chipotle, her haul from the end of her shift. The scent of warm tortillas, grilled meat, and roasted peppers still clung to her clothes, rising up as she slipped out of her jacket and tossed it over a chair.

She stood there for a second, unmoving, her gaze resting on the food bag. A slow smile spread across her face. She couldn’t stop thinking about him.

The man from earlier—she didn’t know his name, likely never would, but his image was seared into her mind like grease on a hot skillet. She'd watched him devour his food with such focus, such abandon, that it had made the hair on her arms stand up. Ravenous didn’t even begin to cover it. There was something deeply carnal about it, something unfiltered. He hadn’t even tried to hide the way he was indulging himself.

Kate made her way to the sink, twisting the faucet handle with a squeak and letting the water run cool over her hands. She lathered up slowly, fingers massaging the soap over her palms, up between each finger, working through the routine even as her mind stayed tethered to the memory of that moment. He’d already been full when he walked in. She was sure of it. She could tell by the way he sat, arms splayed out, belly doming up beneath his shirt like it was holding back a flood. He was visibly uncomfortable, but still he’d ordered more. A ton more.

She dried her hands on a dish towel, her smile deepening. That look, she knew it too well. The fullness that tilted on the edge of pain, the way he had to shift in his seat just to keep breathing. So what was he doing there? Why push it even further?

Her thoughts flicked back to his phone propped up on the seat beside him. Set up carefully, angled just right. It had to be feedism. What else would it be? Who else would film themselves that way? It wasn’t just eating, it was stuffing. Performance and intention.

"Babe? That you?"

Sawyer’s voice drifted in from the bedroom, cutting through the fog of her thoughts.

"Yeah, hun, I’m coming!" she called back, still smiling.

She moved to the fridge, pulling the door open and grabbing a chilled can of sparkling water. The can hissed as she cracked it open, and she took a long sip, the bubbles sharp on her tongue. Her thoughts still hadn’t let go of the image. A real feedee. Out in the wild! Like something rare and radiant. She felt a flutter of amusement in her chest, and something else beneath it, a glint of excitement she didn’t bother trying to name.

"Hun, you’ll never guess what I saw at work today," she called out, raising her voice enough to carry down the hallway. She was already moving toward the cupboards now, pulling out one of their plastic serving trays. She set it down with a soft thump on the counter.

"I saw a feedee recording for his feeder. Right there in the middle of the restaurant," she said, her voice colored with disbelief and a kind of giddy reverence.

"No way. Really?" Sawyer called back, half-laughing.

"Yeah, really!" Kate opened the food bag and reached in, pulling out two overstuffed burritos still wrapped in foil, warm and weighty in her hands. She set them on the tray with a pair of dull thuds, their bulk evident even through the packaging. "I mean, why else would a fat guy record himself stuffing so publicly?" she said, more to herself than to Sawyer, even as she poured out the chips—two bags' worth—onto the tray in a scattered, salt-dusted heap.

The man could’ve been recording for himself, now that she thought about it. Or maybe he posted videos online or something. But he was pushing himself too hard, and was too dedicated. You only ate like that when there was someone special to eat for. Kate knew that all too well.

She grabbed the little plastic cups of accompaniments next, nestling them in beside the chips: thick guac, creamy queso, the bright red of mild salsa and the sharper green bite of tomatillo. Her fingers were moving automatically now, but her mind was still replaying the moment she'd handed the burrito over the counter, barely able to wrap it properly around all the fillings he’d asked for.

"I got to wrap his burrito too," she went on. "It was massive. Extra double everything. The thing was the size of a baby," she said, laughing as she opened the fridge one last time.

She grabbed a half-empty 2-liter of soda tucked into the side shelf and nestled it under one arm. She then lifted the heavy tray from the counter and turned toward the hall, headed for the bedroom. The smile still played on her face.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar, the warm yellow light inside spilling into the hallway. Kate nudged it open with her shoulder, careful not to jostle the heavy tray balanced in her hands. The scent of Chipotle wafted in with her, mixing with the lingering smell of Sawyer’s scent and whatever he'd been snacking on throughout the evening.

Sawyer lay sprawled across the bed, taking up easily eighty percent of the mattress. He was reclined against a stack of pillows, barely upright. His shirt only half covered his middle, bunched uselessly just beneath his chest. Everything below it—his huge, distended belly—was bare, the expanse of it doming out and spilling over the tops of his thighs, all the way down to where his knees disappeared under the blanket. Even from the doorway, Kate could see the way his gut shifted with each breath, taut and round and dimpled with stretch marks that traced around the sides like faded ribbons.

His face lit up as she stepped inside. That look, that instant brightness in his eyes, was something she never tired of. Even if, sometimes, she knew that what he was lighting up for wasn’t her exactly, but whatever food she might be carrying. Not that she minded much.

Sawyer smiled wide, his cheeks puffed and flushed, and instinctively ran his hands across the slope of his chest and the upper swell of his belly. A subconscious habitual gesture, learned from constantly brushing for crumbs, clearing space for more. Kate leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, then carefully set the tray down atop his stomach. The thing barely wobbled. His belly made a near-perfect table, its curve flat enough across the top that the tray didn’t even tilt. As if his body were made for this life.

Without hesitation, Sawyer reached for a chip and popped it into his mouth, like he couldn’t stand the idea of his mouth being idle. His absurdly swollen fingers were thick and puffy, like overstuffed sausages. They fumbled with the foil wrapping of the first burrito, tearing it away with practiced impatience.

Kate moved to the nightstand, sliding aside an empty pack of Oreos that had been unopened when she’d left earlier that day. She set the two-liter of soda down in its place, close enough for Sawyer to grab without shifting too much. She let out a quiet sigh as she lowered herself onto the very edge of the bed beside him.

"He kinda reminded me of you," she said, picking up the thread of their earlier conversation like it had never paused.

"Yeah?" Sawyer mumbled around a mouthful, glancing her way before turning back to his food.

She watched as he took a massive bite of the burrito, then immediately reached for a chip, scooping up a dollop of guac and shoving it in before he’d even finished chewing.

"Yep," she said. "Well—not you now. But you then. I think he was probably close to pushing four hundred, if I had to guess."

Her gaze slid over Sawyer, taking him in with the kind of detached awe that still struck her now and then, even after years together. His double chin had grown into a soft, motion-heavy mass that bunched and jiggled with every movement, completely swallowing what had once been a neck. His arms, masses of fat bigger than her thighs, bulged outward, resting naturally at angles because they simply couldn’t sit flat against his sides anymore. Each time he lifted a hand to eat, his fat upper arms pushed into his drooping chest, the heavy curve of it sagging and folding onto the shelf of his belly.

"Remember when you were that small?" she asked, and there was a thread of nostalgia in her voice she hadn’t expected.

Sawyer didn’t answer right away. He grunted instead, mouth full again. He swallowed hard and shook his head. "Not really," he said eventually, honest and distant.

Kate giggled. “I do,” she said. Her hand lifted to the center of his belly, her palm sinking slightly as she rubbed in slow, wide arcs. The top half of his gut was firm, tight with fullness, but the lower part pooled to the sides and pressed into the mattress with heavy resistance. The mass of it was wider than the whole length of her arm, even from just this angle.

"You were so eager," she said, her voice softening. "Always tagging along like an overfed purse puppy."

The image made her smile. It was true. There’d been a time when Sawyer had followed her everywhere, content just to be by her side with a snack in one hand and a drink in the other, the early days of his gain still new and thrilling.

"Back when you were still mobile anyway," she added with a smirk.

Sawyer nodded, chewing slowly now, his head tilting a little as if remembering something himself. The first burrito had vanished—Kate hadn’t even noticed him finish it. She blinked as he licked a smear of sour cream from his hand, already eyeing the second one.

"I mean, yeah," he said. "I was obsessed with you. With what you were doing to my body every day." He looked at her then, grinning, his tone light but deliberate, baiting her affection with the compliment. "Still am."

The words hit their mark. Kate squealed softly, her cheeks pinking as she leaned over and squeezed a thick roll of his side, then planted several kisses on his cheek in rapid succession. Sawyer chuckled, hiccuping softly as he steadied the tray with both hands as Kate pulled away.

With one thick arm, he reached for the two-liter, unscrewed the cap, and brought it to his lips. He drank deeply, the plastic bottle crinkling in his grip as he sucked down the sugary liquid. His other hand rested lazily on the base of his gut, fingers splayed and unmoving.

Kate could feel his stomach swelling beneath her hand, faint but undeniable. The way it bloated as the soda filled the spaces between all that food.

When he finally pulled the bottle away, he exhaled slowly, then shifted slightly. She saw his chin pull back, his breath pause.

"Uuurrrppp."

A low, drawn-out burp rumbled up from deep inside him.

"Whoo," Sawyer sighed, his voice glutted and thick with satisfaction.

Kate bit her lip.

Her fingers pressed deeper into the taut mass of his gut. It was so full, so hot under her palm, stretched out from his steady, mindless gorging. She bit her lip harder, unable to stop the slow rubs she was tracing across his skin.

He looked so good like this. Immobile and stuffed, so big he barely registered his own size anymore. He didn’t even seem to notice how heavy he was getting, how much space he took up, how the bed dipped around him like he was a crater in the middle of their lives. But she noticed. Keenly.

Her fingers slid lower, slipping beneath the exposed curve of his belly and lifting slightly, testing its weight as he continued eating. It was like hoisting a medicine ball off his lap, one that fought to spill back down into place. She grinned.

"That guy today," she said softly, still watching her hand on him, "I kept thinking about him all shift. Like, obsessively."

Sawyer glanced over at her with a lazy gaze, scraping the remnants of the salsa cup with a chip. “You’re really stuck on this guy, huh?”

"I mean, kinda." She laughed, a little flustered. “He was already stuffed. Like stuffed stuffed. I could see it. But then he walks in and orders this impressive amount of food—not as impressive as you, of course—and he just… devours it. Right there. On camera.” She scoffed, like it still didn’t feel real. “And you should’ve seen the look on his face. He was desperate. Like he had to keep going. Like someone was making him.”

Sawyer’s eyes narrowed, still chewing as he polished off his chips. “Sounds like he put on a pretty good show.”

Kate leaned over him, detecting a tinge of possessiveness in his tone. Her hand slid up from under his belly to his side, giving him a squeeze. “Mhm. But I like the view from here better.”

He hummed, pleased. She kissed his cheek again, slower this time, then lingered, her hand tracing lazy circles across the top of his belly while her lips moved to his neck.

"But you know," she murmured between kisses, "it made me think." She sat up slightly, looking down at him, thoughtful but still grinning. “I wonder what his feeder is like. Do you think she sent him out there? Told him to record it just for her? Or was he doing it completely unprompted?” It was silly, but Kate liked the fantasy of it. A story of them made up in her head.

Sawyer shifted under her, his belly sloshing slightly as he adjusted his legs. “You wanna be her, don’t you?”

Kate didn’t answer right away. Her expression was amused, but there was something more serious flickering under the surface. “I don’t know. Maybe. I guess I just... I didn’t think people like us really did that stuff in public. Not for real. Not to that degree. We should’ve done more things like that.”

She slid her hand lower again, back down the slope of his stomach, until her fingers hovered near the band of his stretched boxer briefs. “It was hot. Seeing someone else so far gone. So needy. So out of control. I mean, it made me think of you. Of us.”

“The mobile me,” Sawyer said with a snort.

Kate smiled. “Exactly. The flirty, grabby skinny thing who used to meet me outside my shifts and beg me to join him for milkshakes and fries.”

He chuckled. “I’m still grabby.”

“Barely,” she teased, giving the side of his belly another firm squeeze. “Now you just lie there and let me do the grabbing.”

Sawyer picked up the second burrito and unwrapped it, but didn’t take a bite yet. He looked at her, something slower and sadder in his expression. “You really miss that version of me?”

Kate shook her head. “Not miss, exactly. I just… forgot what it looked like. Seeing someone that greedy in the beginning, before they’re this big. Before they even know what they’re becoming.” She leaned down again, whispering this time. “It reminded me what got me hooked on you in the first place.”

She kissed the corner of his mouth, fingers still buried in the swell of his belly. “So you better not slow down on me now.”

Sawyer grinned, his lips still slick from the last bite of food. He looked at her with that familiar, heavy-lidded gaze, the one he always gave her when he was full, lazy, and wanting. His hand moved to rest over hers where it lay on his stomach, grounding her there.

“Slow down?” he said, voice amused. “Not planning on it.”

Kate’s heart fluttered. God, he was huge. She let her palm trail lower, letting her fingers tease just under the shelf of his belly again, where the skin got softest. Her other hand braced her as she leaned over him, pressing a warm kiss to his lips. He tasted like salt and lime, guac and soda, indulgence. Her kind of flavor.

His free hand slid up her back, heavy but still capable when it wanted to be, pulling her closer. She let herself melt into him, the weight of his body drawing her in as much as it pushed her away, like a gravitational force. Her thigh brushed his side, barely fitting on the mattress next to him.

“I missed you today,” he murmured against her mouth, breath warm and slow. “Woke up starving.”

Kate smiled, their noses brushing. “You always wake up starving.”

He huffed a little laugh. “Only for you.”

She kissed him again, deeper this time, her hand now moving across the full expanse of his belly like she owned it, because she did. This was her creation, every inch of him, and moments like this reminded her how much she loved it. Not just what he’d become, but the fact that he wanted it. Chose it.

Kate pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at him again. He was flushed, his cheeks a little pink from the heat of the food, the warmth of her. His chest rose and fell heavily. She trailed her fingers across his belly button, then higher, where her hand measured the fullness of his stomach.

“I think you’ve got room for a little more,” she whispered.

Sawyer smiled. “Are you asking or telling me?” he teased, but was already lifting the burrito to his mouth again.

Kate tilted her head. “As if you’d refuse.”

He snorted, but there was a soft sound behind it, something closer to affection, arousal. She could see it in his eyes, that same need she’d seen in the stranger at the restaurant, only deeper. Realer. This wasn’t a performance for a camera, this was for her. All of it.

He took another bite of the burrito, moaning softly as he chewed, and Kate watched his throat work, watched his belly ripple beneath her hand as it filled even more. His gut was so warm, so swollen. She kissed his cheek, then lower, trailing down to his jaw, the underside of his soft double chin. Even the act of him laying there, simply existing, consuming even more, drove her a little wild.

Sawyer’s hand reached for her hip as she kissed her way down. She was getting in the way of his eating, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. “You’re getting pretty worked up over this, huh?” he said through a mouthful.

Kate smiled against his neck. “You have no idea.”

She kissed the top swell of his chest, letting her tongue flick briefly at his sensitive nipples, and Sawyer inhaled sharply. She pushed his tray of food to the side and kept going, slow and steady, her mouth mapping the surface of him. Her breath caught as she kissed a spot where his belly met the upper swell of his thighs, where skin folded and pressed and grew damp from sheer contact.

He let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh, belly twitching faintly under her hand. The second burrito sat half-eaten beside him, forgotten for now. Kate leaned in and kissed the underside of his gut again, reverent this time.

“You’re mine,” she murmured, lips brushing his skin. “All of you.”

Sawyer reached down, cradling the side of her face in his palm, thick fingers stroking her cheek. “Always.”

Kate moaned softly against his belly, feeling it heave under her lips as Sawyer’s breathing deepened. His body was enormous beneath her, a sheer mountain of him spreading across the mattress, every inch of it soft and hot and hers. Her hand trailed down, slipping under the curve of his belly where it pooled against his thighs. It was warm there, intimate and tender in a way that always made her ache.

“Fuck…” Sawyer groaned, voice low and trembling. His chubby hands moved slowly over the expanse of his middle, as if taking in himself right along with her.

Kate’s hand found what she was looking for. He was hard.

Somehow, always, after food, after enough food, he got this way. As if his body couldn’t tell the difference between pleasure and indulgence, hunger and lust. And Kate knew exactly how to handle it. Her hand curled around him, already slick, already pulsing against her palm. He was buried beneath his own gut, and the sheer effort it took to reach him, the heat and bulk she had to press through, made her wetter by the second.

Sawyer gasped, and she felt him twitch in her hand. She stroked slowly, watching his face contort with each movement. His thick thighs shifted under the blanket, the only part of him still trying to move with any rhythm. The rest was just… mass. Overfed, overwhelmed, overstimulated.

Kate kissed along the underside of his belly, mouthing at the taut skin, sucking softly, the taste of body and need burning on her tongue. She loved this. Loved the way he filled her hands, the way she could barely even get to him anymore. His arousal had become like a secret, hidden beneath pounds and pounds of softness only she knew how to navigate.

She kept stroking him, faster now, tighter. Her other hand dug into his belly for leverage, the sheer pressure of her grip making his gut jiggle against itself. Sawyer let out a whimper, his breath hitching hard.

“Fuck, Kate—don’t stop—”

“I won’t,” she whispered, her voice thick. “You’re so close, baby. You feel it?”

He nodded, or tried to. His neck was thick, swallowed by soft flesh, but she could see the way his jaw clenched, the way his hips bucked beneath her hand, helplessly, barely an inch of movement with all his weight behind him.

Kate moved higher, pushing up against the side of his thigh as she kept working him, her body squirming gently against him. She reached with her free hand, tugging her slacks down just enough to slide her fingers between her legs. She was soaked.

Sawyer groaned louder now, his hands gripping his sides to brace himself as waves built in his chest, his belly. She could feel the tension rolling through him. His whole body seemed to tighten around the moment. Too full, too sensitive, too close.

“Come,” Kate whispered, breathing hot as she watched him.

That was all it took.

His moan broke free, guttural and strangled, as he came hard in her hand. His whole belly tensed and quaked, rolling with aftershocks as he spilled into her palm, hips twitching weakly under the weight. She kept stroking through it, letting him ride it out, watching every part of him shudder.

Kate moaned too, hips rocking against him as she rubbed herself faster, her slick fingers sliding with ease. The sound of his release, the feel of him pulsing against her, the sight of him—sweaty, breathless, completely undone—sent her right over the edge.

She came in a quiet, gasping rush, breath catching in her throat as her body clenched hard around her fingers. Her thighs trembled where they pressed into his, and she sagged against him, spent and hot and grinning.

For a while, they just lay there.

Kate’s head rested on his stomach as it rose and fell beneath her, and she listened to his breath slow from ragged to steady. One of his hands found its way to her back, palm wide and warm.

“Goddamn,” Sawyer muttered, eyes barely open.

Kate smiled against his skin. “Yeah.”

more stories at softbunstudios.com

feeder86

Pet Piggy

As if the appearance of them wasn't heartstopping enough, the sight of the two sexy guys kissing was enough to give every guy at the bar a boner. Alex had never seen two men who were as naturally handsome, nor impeccably chiselled through clear gym dedication. Yet, there they both were, sharing a kiss on the dancefloor. The way their statuesque bodies moved and grinded against each other, the perfect fit of their clothes; Alex was in heaven just standing at the sidelines, sipping his drink.

“What I wouldn’t do to get in the middle of that!” Alex smirked to his new friend as he gestured towards the two sexy men.

Alex’s friend looked across and then rolled his eyes. “You mean Adam and Ben?” he chuckled. “Yeah, we’ve all had our fantasies about those two,” he nodded. “They’ve been together for about five years now. They don’t come here all that often, but when they do, the view is always pretty great!”

fatty-lit

"Back again?"

She didn't know how to respond. It flustered her immediately. Yes, she had just been there yesterday, but she didn't expect anyone to notice.

But he did notice, and what's worse, is he let her know he noticed. She could feel her face getting red and she could feel his condescending eyes on her. Was two days in a row really that bad? But it wasn't just the two days in a row. She had been coming here multiple times a week for since she moved there. It was her favorite and it was so close to her house - right on her way home from work, even - and he was the one at the window a good chunk of those times. She recognized him. Tall, dark hair, blue eyes, and a long nose. Very skinny for someone working here. And if she recognized him, it made sense that he would recognize her. Recognize her as the new regular, that is. Another hog addicted to the slop. It was humiliating to be known like that, and she was incredibly turned on by it. Just this simple comment - an acknowledgement - and she was jelly in her seat.

The rest of the encounter was a rushed blur, yet excrutiatining long. She paid in silence, got handed her bag, "Thank you", "Enjoy", "You too", and then she sped home to consume and cum to her own humiliation.

There was an extra order of fries in her bag.

. . .

It took her two whole days to return, but she didn't stop thinking about him for a moment the entire time. She was spacey at work, horny at home, yet unable to work up the nerve to face her humiliation again. Until she did.

The line for the drive-thru wasn't terribly long, but it was moving slower than it ever had. Her heart was racing from the time she spotted the sign to the moment she crept up to the window. When she finally made it to the front, she could have sworn it had ceased to beat completely.

But it wasn't him. It was one of the multitude of greasy teenagers. She was relieved. She was abject. She solemnly ate her meal in the parking lot, but at the bottom of the bag there was an apple pie she did not order.

. . .

She hadn't let herself expect to see him the next time, but there he was. Her heart was back to racing - racing a scary amount for a girl her size - and she was desperate for him to say anything at all. Silently, internally begging him to recognize her. To make any sort of comment. An acknowledgment of her return for more greasy, fattening food.

But he treated her like the average customer - like a stranger. No hint at recognition or the judgment she craved. Just another person allowing themself the indulgence of a fast food meal. She wanted to be the known regular. The one they snicker about after she's gone. She needed it. That is why she was there. That is why she kept coming back.

But then as he reached out the window to pass her the bag. He dangles it out, "Quite the order. Hungry today, are we?" Her pudgy fingers snatched it into the recess of her car, and she was gone.

It was perfect.

Eat, cum, and now an extra fry with an apple pie at the bottom of the bag.

. . .

She was back the next day. Just shy of 24hr since her last lap through. She needed him to be there, and she thanked the lord that he was as her palms got sweaty and her heart began to race almost painfully in her chest.

"Have you been enjoying the treats?"

He was acknowledging her again. This time is was personal. Directed at her. A question. About a reality between the two of them. The idea that he had been the one slipping her the excess calories - that it wasn't just a bizarre mistake - had fueled every one of her orgasms for the last 4 days, but now she was back and he was basically confirming the delusion.

"I . . . umm, but why?" She couldn't look at him. Her eyes were darting around to everything surrounding his face, only ever daring to cross the deep blue gaze of his eyes for less than an instant.

"Well, you're a regular here and you looked like someone who would enjoy an extra treat." As he spoke, even though she was still unable to meet his gaze, she noticed his eyes slide down her body, and she became accutely aware of how heavily her hungry belly was resting on her lap and how tight the seatbelt felt across it at that particular moment.

She was frozen and her face was burning, but after a polite pause to see if she was going to work up a response, he continued unfazed, "Would you like one this time, as well? . . . I think you do."

She could only sputter out the same nonsense she had responded to his first question with, "I . . . umm, but why?" Her brain was out of service, seemingly working on nothing but muscle memory, which itself only seemed to extend back to the previous 30 seconds of eternity.

"Your total is $19.51", and he was back to being just another employee. "Have a nice day."

No pies in the bag this time, but there was a phone number.

. . .

The tiny slip sat centrally on the coffee table the whole time, but she couldn't bring herself to call. She couldn't even bring herself to save the number in her phone, so she kept it centered on her coffee table, taking great pains not to disturb it, lest it get swept off the table, never to be seen again.

She wanted to call so badly. To see what would happen. But she couldn't. She was afraid of flying too close to the sun. She wanted to be called out for the weight she'd gained this year, for her growing fast food addiction, for the way she ate, for what she ate, for the way her pants dug into her expanding and softening flesh, for being such a pig. She needed someone to watch her degradation and call her out for it. To both encourage it, enable it, and chastise her for it. She didn't know if he would do that for her, if he would be her witness, her enabler, her harshest critic, but the thought that he might be was terrifying. What if it was everything she ever wanted?

And that's exactly what the number on the coffee table represented. Because, what if she actually got what she wanted? Would it ruin her forever? With an enabler, would she ever be able to stop?

So that's why she didn't call. The reality of the fantasy was too horrifying. Too enticing.

She went through the drive-thru every day for a week. She was afraid of diving in fully, but increasingly desperate for another quick hit. If they could just continue the game, that would be perfect. Diving in completely was too scary, but the little comments were at least enough to cum to. Just please, one more hit.

Each lap through made her even more desperate, but he wasn't there. He never was. And there were no pies in the bottom of her bag.

. . .

". . ."

"Hello?"

". . . um"

"Hello?"

"Uhhh, this is the girl from the - uhhh - drive-thru?" How was she supposed to describe herself? She hadn't even thought that far. She didn't know his name and he probably didn't know hers.

She had finally broken down in a fit of unbearable horny desperation. Nothing was working. Feedist porn, enornmous and increasing quantities of food, degrading comments from strangers online, her vibrator. No matter how many times she came, it just couldn't be supressed. So now, lightheaded and delerious, she was finally calling him, but the awkward start had her reeling back to reality and regretting every decision she had ever made.

"Uhhh . . . Oh shit! Oh my god! It's you! I thought you would never call! I thought I fucked up or, uh, like, I don't even know, just like what if I was wrong about . . ." Now he was sounding flustered. She could hear him catch his breath, exhale, and return to his usual cool, even-keeled character. The crack in the persona eased her anxiety a bit.

"I'm so happy you actually called."

"Hehe . . . yeah sorry for the delay. I was - uh hehe - a little nervous . . ."

"Oh my gosh, no worries! Are you hungry?"

"Ha. Uhhh, well . . ."

"Oh, c'mon. I know you are. You seem like the type who always is."

'Oh shit' she thought.

"Why don't you come by and I'll hook you up with something. It's also my break soon, so we can chat while you eat."

"Oh, you don't have to do that-"

"But I want to," he quipped back.

"Well, okay. I'll be over in like 5 minutes."

"Oh, so you live close by. No wonder you're here so often." She could feel a wink though the phone. Even this miniscule teasing - from him, specifically - was getting her wet. "Look, just go through the drive-thru and order your usual. I'll know it's you."

. . .

She was shaking as she came up to the window, and there he was. The fact that this was arranged changed things a little bit. Less exciting in some ways, but much more in others.

It was a normal fast-food-window encounter, except he didn't let her pay and the bag was more full than usual, and when everything was settled he told her to park in her usual spot and start eating. He'd be out in a minute.

'Usual spot?' she thought. He really has been keeping an eye on me. But she was obedient - she was desperate to obey - and went right to her 'usual spot' and started eating right away. There was a lot of food in the bag: a true sampler of the menu: a big greasy mess.

Then, while enraptured in a double cheese burger, there was a tap on her passenger-side window. She jumped in her seat, and there he was. Before she could say anything or signal to come in, he was already opening the door and sitting down.

Her mouth was too full of food to greet him, and even without the food she would have choked on her words. But it didn't matter. He was clearly going to be the one talking today.

"God, you look even bigger when I'm not standing over you." His eyes were crawling all over her. "No - keep eating," he almost snapped when she tried to put down the burger. "I've been so obsessed with watching you come here day after day. Watching that seatbelt tighten as you fill up more and more of that seat. Obviously we get a lot of fatties in here, but you were so clearly different. I'm so glad I was right about you." His words were barely registering, but the look in his eyes as he traced her bulging curves up and down said it all. As he described watching her get fatter seemingly every time he saw her, a hand cautiously but confidently slid under her tight shirt, carressing the upper bulge of her round gut. She was melting and soaking through her tight jeans.

She kept eating like an obedient pig while he continued whispering his monologue about her size, degradation, softness, and beauty. Time dialated. She was in that car having her fat groped for an eternity.

"Now, be a good girl and finish your meal." His hand slipped out of her shirt. 'What?! What's going on?' She thought to herself. She didn't want it to end. She needed more. She needed that forever. "Send me a picture of that bag completely empty when you're finished." And suddenly he was up from the seat and leaning into the car. "You will eat it all for me, won't you?"

He leaned in and gave her the softest peck on her full, fat, greasy cheek and was off. Her mouth was too full to beg. To convince him to stay for just one more minute. To tell him she would do anything in the world for him if he just stayed one more minute.

But all of that was reduced to a muffled whimper through a mouth full of carbs and grease.

A smirk. A wink. And he was back to his shift.

. . .

for @stonerbellybabe

reedrfeedr

Story - You Don’t Want This

A superchub gives a cautionary tale of getting to your dream weight. (cw: health problems, extreme obesity)

I need to clarify some things.

I get so many DMs asking ‘oh man I wish I was your size’ and let me tell you right now, you really fucking don’t.

Maybe if I walk through my typical routine you’ll see what I mean.

I usually end up waking myself up from a choking snore. My mouth is so dry from hanging open (listen, when your chest is packed with fat on top it turns out it’s harder to breathe) so I get a gulp of the flat lukewarm soda can that’s probably at my bedside.

Fuck getting up, just sitting up is a bit of a process.

Step 1: Swing the leg closest to the bed as far to the edge as possible. This should feel exhausting.

Step 2: Rock back and then forth, using your other leg as a counter balance to shift the rest of your body to the side. This should feel exhausting.

Step 3: Take a big breath you fat fuck, this isn’t done yet. Try not to think about the sweat forming on your love handles.

Step 4: Use your arm closest to the bed to try and lift yourself. Do not use an open hand as it might over-extend it, instead use a fist and press against the mattress. It might take a few times because you’re roughly the weight of a walrus and half as strong.

Step 5: If you’re up, great! If not, you’ll try again in fifteen minutes when your stomach starts growling even louder.

Oh, and this might be obvious, but it turns out a body this size needs a lot of food, constantly. Very quickly you fall from ‘I should eat something’ to ‘if I don’t eat an ENTIRE chicken like from Gauntlet right the goddamn now I WILL die’ once you get this fucking big.

So just go to the kitchen, right?

Not so fast, tubby.

First you get to feel the incomparable combination of knee pain and back pain as you stand. It will feel like you’re lifting weights at their max because you fucking are, really. Wide stance, lift with your legs, hopefully you remember from that one time you went to the gym the last time you had that health scare. Sometimes you will actually think you can carry your gut with your arms and get your back some rest as you walk, but even if that made sense, sitting on your fat ass 99% of the time doesn’t really leave you with much arm strength, turns out.

I hope you freaks have watched enough superchub videos on xPorn or whatever to know how you have to walk with balance-wrecking sacks of lard surrounding you, but whatever you do: do not think about how embarrassing the waddle you gave yourself is, it only makes it worse. Don’t be afraid of leaning against the wall to catch your breath a bit, you don’t have to prove you’re in shape to anyone. (That ship sailed at least 300 pounds ago.)

(Sidenote: I don’t know how many of you idiots are already somewhere in fatass territory but want to take it even further, but you know that feeling where you’re breathing a bit heavy but try to hide it in front of people? Yeah, somewhere around when you get to that neck-blob-flopping-on-top-of-chest-fat weight you kind of forget about that level of shame, which is replaced with the shame of someone over voice chat asking if ‘you’re okay’ because your fat man mouth-breathing can’t help but be picked up over mic. Fuck, you can tell how fat I am from voice.)

If you managed to get to this weight, you’ve basically had one choice: stuff yourself with junk food to get there. There might be some people who say you can do it ‘correctly,’ but don’t trust those skinny fucks. Because of that, though, you grew a body with a binge eating disorder and a tongue that can only handle a vegetable if it’s fried. Sorry, I don’t make the rules, I’m just telling you the truth. So when you get hungry, you do what’s easy: this time it’s to throw a pile of frozen garbage in a pan so you can eat it all.

By this point, thankfully, you’ll be fat enough to put a rolling chair in the kitchen because fucking lord knows you spend enough time there. (My furniture expenses are way higher than they have any right to be. I should be spending my money on all the food I can barely afford, dammit!) You can keep your fat spoiled ass happy with a light snack of ‘ripping open a pack of oreos from the edge instead of the perforated top like a monster and shoving them in three by three.’

You’d think this is enough to make you feel full, or at least sated (like you even remember what that feels like anymore) but this is constant now. If you’re not snacking while making dinner, you’re guzzling something filling or setting a tub of something in front of you to empty. You became more fat than anything else, so it’s only fitting that you spend most of your time making all that useless flab happy.

This should feel exhausting.

I know a lot of you are still thinking ‘yeah but it’s so hot to be that big’ but I say speak for yourself, twink. (Now don’t you other fatties come yelling at me that you aren’t a twink. Trust me, I make you look tiny.) I barely even get to feel how ‘hot’ it is because I’m too busy being hungry. Plus, when you get to my size, jacking off starts to feel like it’s not worth the exhaustion or the calories.

And don’t go saying that this sack of lard I’ve eaten myself into is desirable to chasers. You guys talk a big game, but one ‘hey it’d be cool to get off maybe’ and they fucking ghost. When you go from land whale size to landmark size you stop being fantasy and start being disgusting, I guess. Forget ‘can you host,’ it’s more like ‘I’ll host because I don’t want to bother exhausting myself trying to find a tent shirt that still fits me.’ Not to mention I’m further limiting myself not just to chasers, but fucked up sadistic encouragers that are okay with watching this bariatric nightmare shovel donuts in his mouth in between gasps of air because he once thought it’d be ‘good for his gaining’ to associate eating with getting off.

I mean, I am asking a lot though. I can’t even imagine what it takes to dig through my thigh fat and my crotch fat and my belly-overhang fat and whatever other fat has grown there since and reach that buried little nub that remains. It doesn’t even sound worth it to be honest, what with a weak spurt the best that I can reciprocate with.

I really don’t think you want to be this size, trust me. Because the worst thing about it is that you’re going to want more. Even when you fucked yourself up and you can feel your heart pounding from just shifting your heavy body around, you’ll want to be buried just a bit further. It’s not going to stop.

So take it from me kid, stay small and enjoy being able to top someone, or being able to look down without a chin getting in the way, or being able to get off a couch without help.

Because you don’t want this, do you?

extra-stout-stories-deactivated

A Fond Farewell

TL;DR: I'm going to deactivate my account soon -- no drama, just love -- so you should make copies of any stories of mine you want to be sure to keep. Before I delete I'm going to post a PDF of my Collected Works for download and leave it up for a couple of days.

reedrfeedr

POV: your fridge

(Your growing relationship with your favorite food preservation appliance. Contains: weight gain, feeding.)

For a long time, you had only tried it once.

It was late, a while back, when you were still living with your parents. You always glanced at it curiously, pushed thoughtlessly into the back of the fridge. The night rendered the fridge light harsh and blue, and your eyes squinted a little. Picking up the carton by the edge of your outstretched fingertips, its heft felt surprising to you in the moment.

You turned the carton around to read the nutrition information. 50 calories per tablespoon. Your mind started spinning with the napkin math implications. Unscrewing the cap, you put the spout to your lips and drank a gulp. Rich, so rich, with only a mild lactic sweetness. The fat coated your tongue and lingered, butter on your lips. Your ears got hot and you tipped it back again before you could even think otherwise.

The heat from your ears migrated to your face. You didn’t want to leave the carton noticeably empty. Against your worse judgement, you hastily screwed the cap back on and shoved it back into its forgotten corner.

You will eventually learn that months later, the remainder of the carton of heavy cream would end up in the trash can, expired.

—

It was years later, living on your own. You were just settling in, and you hadn’t had your newfound privacy and space for very long. An old thought re-entered your mind. Your eyes blinked awake, sometime past 1AM. Making your way through the darkness to the kitchen, you stood in front of the fridge for a moment. The fridge door squeaked open in a way that couldn’t help but make you wince a little, alone in your empty apartment, old neurons still firing.

You assessed the contents…leftovers, some snacks you had picked up, takeout containers…you popped open the container with some leftover pizza and shoved a slice in your mouth cold. The cheese was muted by the chill, sauce rendered dry from its tenure in the fridge, pepperoni tasting more like cold cuts. Still, there was something that felt like heat in your chest when you acted so decisively, taking that first bite. The slice was gone before you had another thought, along with its sibling.

Dropping the empty carton on the floor for later, you grabbed a package of deli meat, hastily ripping open the container and greedily pulling out a mound of shaved ham. It hit almost refreshingly, slightly juicy and salty. You couldn’t stop yourself. You didn’t need to anymore.

Gulps of milk straight from the carton, a half a sandwich, and a few sticks of string cheese later, you finally closed the fridge door…and opened the freezer. Immediately, your eyes had set onto your nightcap: a carton of ice cream. You practically ripped open the container, feeling around in the dark of your drawers for a spoon, seeing the pit that was the bowl you had eaten the night before, and started spooning it into your mouth.

The first few spoonfuls met with some resistance, your metal spoon scraping against the frozen dairy. It was bracing cold, and rich. You got a hint of the flavor that had graced your tongue all those years ago, but rounded out with a decadent sweetness, a boozy vanilla adding a touch of complexity.

As you held the carton in your hands, the job got easier, the edges of the mound folding into ribbony rivers of melted confection, your spoon scooping greedy helpings with relative ease now. You ate mechanically, each bite registering less and less, settling into a rhythm. Finally, you surprised yourself when you felt the bottom of the paper carton meet your spoon with a soft tap, the only remainder being the small pool of white liquid that settled.

You tipped the carton up to your mouth and finished the rest.

—

Soon enough, the ritual you snuck out of bed for had turned into a borderline habit, the once treat settling into a rhythm of extra calories to end your day. You had finally started putting on weight, real weight, and you needed to show it off. What better way than to replicate the show you gave your fridge so often?

You set the tripod holding your phone down a few paces away from the fridge and hit record. Then, you slid a chair over from the dining room, and planted it in front of the fridge. Settling yourself down, you heard a light creak as your ass-fat made contact with the seat. You were so eager for signs of your progress like that back then.

From the camera’s lens, your body looked grainy in the ambient light, and then, a flash bang of blueish glow emerged from the door of the fridge, pouring out in streaks. Your camera’s eye adjusted to the harsh light, your belly coated in the glow, darkness pooling where your thighs met your belly.

Time in front of the fridge, just like this, had grown your body since you started your ritual. Your belly had blossomed and folded over your waistband in a gentle curve, the roundness pressing against your thicker thighs. Above, your chest had started cresting downward from gravity, the slight crease tracing a dark line where it met your belly curve. Your greedy hands looked a little more plump, and you could no longer hide the burgeoning double chin looking prominent when you sat down.

You had loved every inch, and you would give yourself far more to appreciate in time.

The camera watched as your pudgy fingers reached out, only slightly leaning forward to grip the container of cream. Resting backward again, your belly settled with a gentle wobble as you eagerly unscrewed the cap and began drinking straight from the bottle, rich and creamy.

You had gotten so excited, your ears burning again, that you could barely taste it, your throat chugging it like it were water. You got into the role - soft grunts muffled by butterfat were picked up by the mic, dribbles of cream sinking down the edges of your mouth, over your bulging double chin, down your thick neck, over your fatter chest, down your wider belly curve, into your deeper belly button.

Your throat made a bubbling gllk sound as you reached the bottom of the container faster than you had anticipated, a gulp from your throat coming up relatively empty. You let out a big sigh, body working a little harder from the pile of calories you had just gulped down, your belly expanding and contracting with every breath, almost bigger every intake.

You needed to show off for the camera more often.

—

It had been a while, and your body had grown to match the time spent gorging. Your eyes blinked awake, your bigger stomach letting out a barely perceptible growl. Your partner had finally started staying over, which was wonderful for your relationship but terrible for your former fridge habits. You couldn’t stand it, you had to eat something.

Shifting and sliding off the mattress with as much grace as your now large, cumbersome body could muster, your head was spinning. Your partner didn’t seem to mind the weight, even appreciated that you were a big eater, but…this. This had to have been different, you thought. This is too much, isn’t it. Your heavy, plodding footfalls attempting a tiptoe, you made your way back to the fridge.

The door squeaked open in a way that should have made you wince, but you could barely believe you were even doing this. Am I THIS far gone? I can’t even hold back from stuffing my face at 2AM when my partner is staying over? I’m fucked. I’m fucked. I’m-

Your running guilt tally went quiet when you saw the leftover cheesecake. You couldn’t even stop yourself, popping open the container with a POP, you grabbed a slice with your hand and ate it like a chicken leg. A few crumbs from the graham cracker crust fell onto your shelf of chest-fat, where it slowly rolled downward over the curve of your large belly.

From the fridge’s perspective, you had really blown up. In the harsh cold light, your curves were rendered in stark detail - your chest had long since flopped over to rest on your large gut, the light struggling to reach around your sides that had collapsed into rolls under each tit. Your belly stuck out noticeably from you now, arcing outward before falling in a cascade that flopped over and rested onto your underwear.

Your fingers had plumped into thick, sausage-like digits gripping onto the shrinking wedge of cheesecake, the thickening following up your forearms and into your now fat arms squishing into your sides. Your face had to carry some of your indulgence, too - fat cheeks matched your even bigger double chin that, from the view of your fridge, had completely rendered your neck invisible. Even your thighs - the parts that weren’t obscured by your overhang - had become large and plump, your body growing into something at least as heavy and decadent as the cheesecake you had shoved into your mouth.

As heavy and decedent as the next piece that followed, too.

There was a prominent section missing now, only a couple pieces left, and your fat cheeks went crimson, even in the blue-tone light that had still made your eyes squint. Fuck fuck I’m fucked I’m fucked I’m-

“You going to finish it?” The voice hit you icy cold and sharp.

“I…uh…I…” You stammered unconvincingly.

“Here. Let me help you.” Your partner slid in front of you, the smaller body casting a shadow nestled into your much larger one, as they grabbed another slice and gently pressed it to your lips. “That’s right, open up, fatass.” Their other hand traced a love handle gently, warm against your skin.

You complied.

—

The fridge opened with a creak, but the body standing in front was much smaller than it had gotten accustomed to. Eyes scanned over the contents, then grabbed a two liter and a couple of prepared sandwiches. “Will two do as a snack until I make lunch?” The fridge heard the voice call out to the other room.

Your fridge had gotten used to being more filled than before, the contents of prepped meals and snacked piled into neat stacks to make best use of the space. Your fridge had also stopped seeing you sneak food in so much, especially as you had gotten bigger, and heavier, and more dependent, and less mobile.

From the other room, you cried out “Maybe something else too?” followed closely by a loud belch.

Your fridge saw your partner smile as they closed the door.

mortiskiller

A companion piece, the feeder perspective to a story by @thefoolandthehermit and I. Make sure to read them both!

Visit Original Link

It was a short drive to the dispensary, maybe thirty minutes round trip, enough time for the groceries I ordered to be ready for pick up. As I pulled into the driveway, the kitchen light caught my attention. “Silly girl must be hungry after last night.” I thought, grabbing the groceries, every bag bulging with ingredients and treats for my voluptuous growing girl.

The sound of me opening the door stopped her dead in the hall. Thick round and heavy ass cheeks stretched a pair of pink panties to their limits, a drooping pair of love handles covered the waistband of her oh so small panties.

“Princess.” I addressed her, she knew to turn around. Thick pillar-like legs that touched to her calves shifted her jiggling bulk around. A light red spread over her plump peach shaped cheeks as she looked at me, hands filled with a half gallon of chocolate milk and two cold slices of pizza. “You know you’re not supposed to be on your feet today, remember?”

As she chewed on her pizza the sudden realization of our deal came back to her. Today my lardy princess was not supposed to move a muscle besides to eat or use the bathroom. A whole day of being pampered, being lazy, being indulgent. The light red of her cheeks deepened as she realized her mistake. Placing the bags in the kitchen as she finished her pizza and chugged half the milk, my hands gliding over her wide seat filling hips, squeezing her hips as her legs buckle slightly and a breathy moan escapes from between lips still glistening with milky chocolate. I steer her like a cow grazing in a pasture, she knows she as no choice in the matter, it's not like the 400 plus pound princess can protest anyway.

She has been talking about this day all week. A day off work and a day for me to remind her that she was my feedee. My growing, thickening, cow.

I spin her around and sit her down onto the couch, aiming for the dent her sixty five inch hips have catered into it. Her belly and tits jiggle as she falls into the dent, the usual chorus of creaking wood and grating metal greeting her prodigious bulk.

“The couch could not break anymore.” she said looking at me with a slight hope she was not too big. A slight smile crossed my face as I kissed her forehead, “We’ll see…”.

In a short time the coffee table in front of her is filled end to end with the bounty of the grocery store. Bacon, eggs, toast, pancakes, and her favorite, a heaping mound of chicken and waffles. Her eyes look to be fucking the food as her tongue licks plump lips, her chubby hands and sausage fingers rub a gut that spills across her thighs and on to her knees. I could see she wanted to leap off the couch and kiss me, like she did 200 pounds ago, but instead her loving eyes drew me to sit down as her favorite bong was pressed into her pudgy belly. Her hips flowed into my side, warm plush fat sending a shiver up my spine.

Over the next hour I took turns bringing the bong to her lips and shoving in forkfuls of food as the weed dulled her sense of time and space. My plan was to get her so high she loses all control and gives in completely to me. Each bite is followed by a deep hit of the bong. No exhaling, just swallowing and chewing.

As the last bite of waffle passed her sticky lips, her groans and gentle moos filled the living room. In just under an hour my SSBBW cow had finished a breakfast big enough for a family of five and smoked two grams of weed. Eyes closed, leaned back into her ass groove, as her hands rubbed and kneaded her tight belly. She was so lost in the stuffing she did not notice me grab her vape pen. Loaded inside was a new flavor of high potency THC, just what I needed to make her mine for the day. A fuzzy headed cow mooing for more food.

The cold metal of the pen touched her lips, “Take a hit now.”. Her lips curl around the tip, inhaling deeply as she takes a large hit. I can tell the weed is hitting her hard. Her eyes open wide as the effects take hold. What little hold on reality she had is slipping. Her hands gripped her bulging upper belly as greed took over. In a matter of minutes she is begging for more food.

Bag of chips and candy, plates of grilled cheese and bowls of soup, half a dozen boosts disappear into her cavernous gut as the weed keeps her fuzzy and greedy.

Rubbing her belly as she chugs the last boost, I marvel at her size. Her belly is so tight and firm, but the lower belly rolls are soft as butter, spreading over her thighs like an avalanche of creamy stretch mark covered blubber. I take time to massage her taut belly, kneading it to compact all the food down so her weed addled brain thinks she is hungry again. A roaring blech brings her back to some semblance of reality as I continue making room for her to eat. “Daddy, is it lunch time?”. She asks through barely opened eyes blurry and red from the immense amount of THC pulsing around her body. I chuckle slightly thinking that she thinks hours have flown by, instead of the two since her breakfast feeding session. It's barely past ten in the morning.

As my hands push gas out of her our, both ends of her showing the effects of eating ten thousand calories in three hours, I lean into her yielding form and whisper, “You need more, baby. You're not ready yet. I need you so much fatter. More fuzzy brained, more obedient.”. I bring the pen back to her lips and leave it there till she takes a deep, long, hard hit. My other hand snakes between her thighs, I feel them wiggle and squeeze my hand. “Is my cow getting hungry and horny?” thick warm honied words fill her ear. She takes another deep hit of the pen. "That's it, get nice and dumb piggy. Just how I like you." Taking the pen away her head falls back as she moans and moos, she always does this when her brain is soaked in weed, arousal, and dopamine from being fed.

I take my time to grope her fattening body, licking and kissing each stretch mark, tasting her mouth and the flavors of her meals. The oven dings to let me know the pan of brownies is done. As I bring the warm, gooey and heavy pan laden with enough butter, sugar, and chocolate to kill a normal person, her mouth is hanging open. I see my opening and start shoving in hunks of brownie by the handful. She doesn't resist, just a dumb smile between bites as she paws at her FUPA and thighs. Just how I like her, stuffed and so horny she is an eating machine.

The last handful I scrape out of the pan and into her mouth brings a rumble for her stomach. I can feel her belly shake as it begs for more food. The piggy's belly wants more. Such a deeply arousing moment for a feeder brings a grunt from my mouth. "Such a perv." she laughs and I smirk at her.

"Says the half naked fatty, eating and smoking whatever I give her." a familiar crimson shoots across her cheeks. My hands pull her thighs apart, causing her gut to drop between her legs. A gasp rips out of her mouth followed by a deep throaty moan as the full force of her obesity hits her. She is quiet after that.

This continued for hours. Between naps to settle her stomach and give me time to prepare meal after meal, she was an absolute blimp by the end of the night. The appetite enhancers, shakes, weed, and mountains of food had rendered her immobile on the couch, at least until she could sleep for 24 hours. When I would use the bathroom or run to the pantry for something, her sweaty wheezing face would show me the futile attempts to move.

She was too high, too fat, dependent on whatever I wanted to do next. After today, her body would convert this gluttony into new heavy immobilizing fat. Hanging sheets of lard that would make it easier and easier to feed her into a couch locked sow that could only eat, smoke, and groan. She lies there clutching her gravid looking belly, soothing it like a heavily pregnant woman, instead of a morbidly obese whale. As the food settled into her stomach, mixing and churning, every minute I could see her body struggle to hold the thirty thousand calories into her gut.

The rocking back and forth of her hips told me she was unbearably horny. Under her hanging gut and hefty FUPA I can almost hear her genitals begging to be used.

As I stood in the kitchen getting her dessert ready, a loud crack followed by her yelling for Daddy. I ran over to her looking over the immensity of her body, she had broken the couch and the splinters were under her ass. The sow was sitting on the floor!

"I told you you'd break it.." I say standing at the door way chuckling. "Look at you, whiney and dumb. Bet you don't even understand that it was your fat ass that's broken the couch". She shakes her head, then slowly realizes it was her beluga sized ass and gut that broke it.

"Daddy, I'm sorry. Please help me up, please!. I want to go to the bedroom! I want you to touch me!" she pleads as her flabby arms wave and beg for me to lift her up. Leaning over her, rubbing circles around her navel and holding a box of jelly donuts, her eyes see the dozen fried sugar bombs and her gut growls again.

"You're not going anywhere my sweet." I flip the box open and without hesitation shove a jelly filled donut sloppily into her mouth. My hand covers her mouth, making sure she can't even think about not swallowing the whole thing. She was so insatiable,her eating sounded like a fucking orgy. Wet squelching of her fat lips coated in thick layers of jelly and pastry, her moans from a packed mouth of fried dough and sugar, the high pitched screams as she pawed her hidden genitals.

So focused on eating and taking the next doughnut whole, she failed to notice me spreading her legs, nibbling the soft sensitive flesh of her thighs.

"More! Please!" she pleads and her words are met, another donut shoved into her mouth as I suck her buried clit. "Fuck!" muffled by pastry and lust comes from her lips. Her clit leaked into my mouth, I could swear it tasted like icing.

"Cum on my face baby, you can cum as much as you want, you just have to keep eating." I say bringing another doughnut to her lips. Once the two donuts were gone there was little reprieve for her clit and her belly. I could tell the fast pace and force of the feeding was making her stuffed again and this was only donut three of twelve. Her thighs tensing around my head let me know a second orgasm was ripping through her body.

Parting her legs, I kissed her deeply, "Keep eating princess, I promise if you finish it all Daddy will make you feel so good. I'll make sure I breed you nice and deep." my hand slaps her churning screaming gut and a belch loudly followed by a pained moan with hints of arousal.

I giggle at her "There's my growing girl. Now, have another donut. I'm not done with you and I won't be for a while-"

vvvvvhhhhhjjjjjjuuuuuuuu-deacti

Femmed and Fattened

Your girlfriend always had a thing for making sure you were eating plenty. You assumed it was just her way of looking after you - You know how easy it is to skip meals by accident. But being with her, that never, ever happened. Sometimes she'd make too much by mistake, but her cooking is so good, so you wouldn't let it go to waste.

It took a toll on your waistline though. You noticed it getting harder and harder to squeeze into your clothes. There was just... So much more of you now, and it was really getting in the way. You were having to suck in your stomach when putting on jeans, assuming you could even pull them up over your fatter ass first. Your girlfriend told you not to worry about it though, she liked the extra cushioning when you two were in the bedroom together. So you didn't worry.

One night, after an extra-large serving of your girlfriend's homemade pizza (she insisted that you eat most of it, since she wasn't that hungry), the button on your jeans popped off. You were embarrassed that you'd overeaten so much, but she just smiled at you and told you not to worry. "These things happen", she said. "I never liked those jeans anyway, they're manly-man jeans. But you're... Softer now". You both agreed you'd buy some new clothes at the mall tomorrow.

After a trip to the food court (her treat), she started picking out some new outfits for you that'd suit your new "padded" figure. You'd never needed to shop for XL clothes before, and you really didn't know what sort of outfits would look good on you now that you were... Heavier. Your girlfriend was happy to help though, measuring you up with a tape measure to make sure you were getting a good fit. She took great care measuring how thick your thighs had gotten, how wide your hips were now, how much your belly hung down from your waist and how much softer your chest had become. She seemed to be smiling a lot to herself, as she read out the measurements for your growing gut and developing bust.

"Your proportions are a little strange, men's sizes aren't going to fit you very well... I think some women's clothes will feel more comfortable."

Your were a little hesitant at first - You were a guy, you didn't want to wear dresses! But she reassured you that she'd just get you some androgynous stuff, nobody would be able to tell they were women's clothes. Plus, women's clothes tended to be stretchier too, just in case you softened up even more. You tried to tell her that wouldn't happen, but she was adamant that "it's better to be safe than sorry".

Weeks went by and you got used to the new outfits. They were way more comfortable, and you quickly started to forget that you were so much bigger and heavier than you used to be. Your girlfriend loved your new style too, she couldn't keep her hands off of you whenever your hung out together. She'd pull you in for cuddles, grabbing you by the hips and letting her fingers sink into your soft flesh. Whenever she rode you, she'd grab onto your belly rolls to keep herself steady, making them jiggle against your softening bussom. She'd always make you a snack after you were finished in the bedroom, for "working so hard", even when all you did was lie there and let her ride you.

As summer came, you started wearing outfits that showed a lot more skin, and your girlfriend firmly approved. It was getting so hot though, and you found yourself sweating like a pig all day. Long walks with your girlfriend were getting so much more tiring now... But she was very patient with you. She suggested you try shaving your body hair, since that was probably making your body overheat. You'd learned not to try to argue with her when she made comments like that - she'd just keep suggesting it until you finally did it, so why bother prolonging the inevitable? Your girlfriend is so smart anyway, she knows what she's talking about.

She really seemed to love how you looked now that your body was so much smoother as well as so much softer. She'd run her hands all over you whenever you two were cuddling together - Groping your thicker thighs, your doughy belly rolls, your fat ass and your squishy chest. For some reason, this always made you so hard. Something about the way she seemed to pant a little as she squeezed your soft flesh and felt you jiggle made your dick leak precum all over your thicc thighs. You never brought it up with her, but you were enjoying it. Sometimes you'd ask for seconds at dinner, even when your were full already, just because you knew you'd get extra groping once you two got into bed together.

One day, she came home with a bag of old clothes that one of her friends was getting rid of. The friend had been dieting, so she didn't need her plus-sized outfits any more. Your girlfriend thought that you might look pretty cute in them. The clothes you two had bought at the mall together had definitely had a feminine theme to them (despite your girlfriend's promise to the contrary), but this was a way bigger step. Skirts? Blouses? Dresses? There was no way you'd look good in those, you were a guy! You told her that she should take them to one of her other friends, you were never going to wear something like this, you weren't a girl.

Her tone shifted in an instant, but the smile never left her face.

"Oh, really? You're a guy? Because as far as I'm aware, guys tend to be pretty rough and tough. But you..." - She slid a hand into your waistband and grabbed a handful of your squishy belly chub - "...are pretty soft and delicate." You pushed her hand away, but she just pulled down your shorts instead, revealing your bouncy, overfed belly, your cellulite-covered thighs and your shaved dick, looking small in comparison to the abundance of soft flesh around it. "With how big you're getting, you can barely see your cock any more. I bet if you look down, you can't even get a good look at it, can you?" She was right: looking down, all you could see was your gut, with its cavernous belly button reminding you how much you'd been overfeeding it.

"Maybe when we first met, you were a guy... But now, I don't think there's any denying you've changed. You just couldn't help yourself, could you? Don't think I haven't noticed how greedy you've gotten. You love it when I grope your fat ass, don't you, baby? It makes you so wet when I rub your belly after you've finished everything I've made for you. Do you even notice how much of a muffin top you have now? Or how much your breasts and ass bounce as you walk? Because I do, baby. And I love it. And don't you want to make me happy, sweetheart?"

Everything was starting to make sense. The cooking, the groping, the encouragement to be lazier and greedier, the way she looks at you when you're eating your second serving of dessert... She's a feeder. How could you let her do this to you? You're so fat, you feel so big and soft and round and curvy and... There's something else, too. Some feeling you can't really place...

She grabs your belly with both hands and gives it a jiggle, making your tits bounce against it and your thighs jiggle too. Your cock suddenly jumps to attention, straining upwards against your heavy gut and just begging for attention. She runs her fingers along its length, making you shudder.

You feel sexy. You feel desirable. And you feel so fucking horny.

After a little bit of deliberation, you did what you were told. You tried to convince yourself that you were only doing this to keep your girlfriend happy, that she was going to owe you big-time for going along with this. But that was just how you were trying to rationalise it. In reality, the part of you that wanted to resist this had been withering away for a long time now.

She told you to put on one of the dresses, and you obeyed. Feeling the fabric against your soft, smooth flesh made your cock start leaking precum, and your girlfriend called you pathetic for marking the dress. That just made you even more desperately horny. The dress was a little bit loose (except from the tent formed by your cock in the front), but your girlfriend assured you "it won't be long until this gets too tight for you, so make the most of having a dress that fits while it lasts". Your instinct was to argue with her, but then you pictured her hands wrapped around you from behind, grabbing your belly through the tight fabric, listening to her whisper praise into your ear while you try to ignore how much your stomach is rumbling and how desperate you are for more food. That... Didn't sound so bad. You smiled to yourself at this thought, and she grabbed you by the cheeks and pulled you in close to her. "I made the right choice in choosing you, piggy". She kissed you, and you melted into her firm grip as she stroked your cock with one hand and grabbed your ass cheek tightly with the other.

The entire evening was spent with you sitting at the table in your new dress, with her standing over you and feeding you an obscene amount of food, bite after bite until she was satisfied that you were done. Pasta, bread, cake, so many calories were packed into your stuffed gut that you'd stopped trying to keep track of how much she'd hand-fed you. The only thing she let you use to wash it all down with was a carton of heavy cream she'd been saving just for you. The damp spot on your dress left by your precum had grown as the stuffing went on, interrupted periodically by your girlfriend giving you belly rubs to help you fit more food into your stomach. She kept calling you a good piggy, a well-behaved pet, a greedy little sow, her plump princess... Any thought of disobeying her was quickly fading from your mind, replaced with fantasies of being her fat feedee girlfriend.

Finally, she was satisfied with her work, and she helped you to the bedroom as you cradled your stuffed belly in both hands. You felt so full, but you were so proud of yourself. Your girlfriend was so pleased, and she was clearly so horny for her overfed pet. Her hands were squeezing every soft inch of you, she was whispering affectionate teasing into your ear, and she kept stroking your cock just enough to get you whimpering. You couldn't help yourself any more, you needed to do whatever she said!

She helped you out of your dress, which was much more snug around the waist than when you're been putting it on. She laid you down in bed, making out with you aggressively while her hands groped your soft, sensitive flesh and caressed your face gently. Both of her hands ended up on your belly, and your hands followed them there too. It was so big, so full, but still so soft and jiggly because of the fat she'd been piling onto you for so long now. Feeling the weight of it in your hands now, the extent that your body had changed because of her delicious cooking and groping and affection... You felt a warm feeling welling inside you, and you were excited to let her make you grow further. You wanted to be whatever she wanted you to be. You wanted to be her fat, horny mess, her prized pig, her blubbery whale who can't fight her gluttony any more.

When she finally let you enter her and started riding you, you felt your womanly curves bouncing with every thrust she made. You couldn't hold back your moans as she caressed every soft, padded inch of you, telling you what a fat, horny slut she's turned you into and how much she's going to enjoy feeding you every single night, turning you into her personal piglet, warping your mind until all you can think about is food, sex and pleasing her owner.

Every word she said pushed your mind deeper into submissive enslavement to her will. You were going to be her pet. Your were going to eat so much for her. You were going to let you turn you into her girlfriend. You were going to love every second of it.

From then on, your deepest desire became to give your girlfriend as much of you to play with as you possibly could, because you needed to be her soft, fat, pathetic plaything.

bee-wg

Fattest Man Alive

(Collab between me and boeckman on Deviantart who wrote this amazing story)

“Dude. I thought you said this place would be cool.” Mackenzie Yoon was not impressed. The tall young man stared at the cheesy sign with no expression on his face. He looked out of place on the boardwalk. He was dressed as if he had just stepped out of a gym, just like always.

“Fun,” Trent corrected. “I said it would be fun, Mack. Big difference. If it’s all stupid shit, it’ll still be fun because we can laugh at it.”

The two were an odd pair. Trent was the doer who dragged the stoic jock out to experience the world. He was lean and wiry, and he still dressed exactly the way he used to when he was the class clown in school. He insisted that his ripped jeans were still stylish, and he swore he would wear his trusty Converse until the soles fell apart. Despite his slightly below-average height, Mack could always spot him in a crowd thanks to his signature yellow beanie.

squishmewithbellies

"PLEASE!" you begged "I'm to big now I can't reach!" You explained desperately trying to work your hand around your enormous gut, not quite able to reach down to where you so badly craved release.

"Oh my fatty, did it finally happen? Have to finally gotten so fat that you can't even get yourself off anymore? Such a greedy pig" I placed a vibrator wand in your hand "maybe this will help" grin spreading across my face, enjoying watching your struggle.

You turned on the vibrator, first attempting to reach over your belly, but it hung too far down for you to line it up right. Best you could achieve was jiggling your belly hang around.

Groaning with frustration and effort you hefted your belly up higher, snaking the other hand between your belly and thigh. For just the briefest of moments it worked, the vibrator touched down just where you needed. But your belly had gotten to heavy for you to hold up, it fell from your grip crashing down on your hand like a wave, knocking the vibrator from your grip.

"Oh for fuck sake" you panted out in frustration, all you had managed was to make yourself out of breath and hornier than before. Your eyes looked up to me pleading.

I reached between your legs grabbing the vibrator, letting it brush against you slightly as I brought it closer to myself. " You have no idea how much it turns me on that you've gotten so fat!" I say pressing the vibrator against my own pussy. "That you chose food over the ability to get yourself off. That you chose to be massively obese instead of the tiny thin body you used to have." I shuddered slightly as the pleasure built inside me. "If you want my help go get some food fatty, put on a little show for me" I watched you waddle as quickly as your legs could carry you to the kitchen, your entire body wobbling. Entranced by the jiggle of your ass and how the cellulite dimpled with each step. Thinking back on the athletic from you had when we first met, contrasting that with enormous body waddling before me.

Plopping down heavily with a grunt you began tearing into a pile of snacks. Grabbing food with both hands cramming it into your mouth. Chips, brownies cookies all disappearing one after another sometimes a handful of both at the same time. Your fat cheeks bulging with food were streaked with chocolate. The room silent besides the hum of the vibrator and your chewing. You tore open a carton of cream to wash some of your snacks down with. "You're.. such.. a fucking.. pig.. aren't .. you" I gasped orgasm close. You nodded and began to chug the cream, dribbling some down your chins in your haste.

You lowered the carton, burping loudly and jiggling your fat belly at me before bring it back to your lips to finish the rest. As you gulped down the rest of the cream I came hard gasping and shuddering. Your greed and indulgence pushing me over the edge. Taking a moment to catch my breath and enjoy the sight of you finishing your fattening snack, dropping the carton and flopping back with a contented sigh. I crawled between your fat thighs pushing the vibrator into your crotch.

Hearing your breath catch from the stimulation you so badly needed, I smiled leaning down and kissing your belly. Trailing them up from your belly button to your plump tits, sucking on your sensitive nipple for a few moments. Before continuing my trail upwards stopping again to kiss the side of your neck. Then whispering in your ear "imagine how much fatter I'm going to be able to make you now that you can't cum without my help. I'll make you stuff your greedy belly anytime you crave my touch. You're helpless to stop it now aren't you, just completely stuck getting as fat as I want you to be. And I'm gonna make you so.. much... fatter!" With that your orgasm crashed over you, moaning loudly. Body shaking causing your fat to wobble everywhere. Panting and wheezing to catch your breath it was all you could do to huff out a small "thank you!".

greatbigfatguy

...oh my...

heavy--feels

From Chubby to Huge

Thank you to @erotiqeme for the inspiration for this story :)

Want to have your prompt fulfilled? Consider buying me a Ko-Fi :)

***

CW: forced weight gain, trickery, mention of drugs

You gulped nervously. You were staring at your feeder's list of rules, gawping at your signature at the bottom. You didn't remember signing this.

You were never thin. At around 200 lbs, you would be considered overweight, but with your tall stature, that weight was somewhat evenly distributed. You never felt fat per se. Maybe thick. You've lived in your body and you never had issues with mobility, or getting out of breath.

You met your feeder online, and by some miracle it turned out they lived close to you. It felt like a match made in heaven. And then one day, you had a relaxing night with some heavier substances; you hazily remembered talking about fast and serious weight gain... but you didn't remember signing the rules.

You read through them again.

Five meals per day, no exceptions. Every meal has to be 1000 calories (for a start).

Mandatory 3 snacks per day in between meals.

You have to track how many steps per day you take. You shouldn't go above 200. If you do, you'll eat an additional snack for every 100 steps taken.

You will eat your last meal just before bed.

Every drink has to have calories in it.

No stairs whatsoever.

No other physical activity whatsoever.

Weekly weigh-in mandatory.

If any rule is broken, there will be punishment. Depending on the severity of the offense, it will be either an additional meal or a funnel feeding.

You gulped again. You were starting to realize you were fucked.

Week 1

You sat on the sofa, panting. Your stomach felt painfully tight. It's been 3 days, and you felt constantly full and bloated. You were lethargic. You tried resisting to some of the feedings, but it only earned you being tied to a chair and force-fed an additional dessert.

And then at the end of the week, you were weighed, and it turned out you gained 5 pounds. In one week.

You whimpered.

Month 6

"Huff..."

You rocked yourself to a standing position. It took you two tries. Your belly drooped low over your waistband and you honestly thought about going right back to bed. You felt so heavy. You had just crossed 400 pounds. With the lack of physical exercise and the gruelling regimen of meals (they long ago increased from their initial size), you were pathetically unfit.

"Where are you, fatty?" your feeder's voice came from the kitchen. "Breakfast's waiting!"

"I - huff - coming!" you wheezed and begun the painful process of waddling out of your bedroom. You positioned your legs far apart, but the insides of your thighs still touched.

You never realized just how gruelling it would be to get so fat so quickly. Having been used to a bit of extra weight, you underestimated the power of your newfound flabby, double-rolled belly; your sack-of-flour upper arms; your thunder thighs; the fat surrounding your neck; your jiggling, flabby cheeks.

When you finally made it to the kitchen, you were panting and sweaty. Your feeder gave you a mischievous smile.

"Someone's gotten out of shape."

"Huff - you - feed me - huff - so well." You flopped on the reinforced kitchen chair and eyed a mountain of pancakes greedily. "Should - hh - eat breakfast in - huff - bed."

"Now now, are you saying you want to move even less?"

You blushed. Your limit these days was 100 steps per day, and you often didn't even get close to that. Stairs were a memory to you; you struggled to see the number when you stepped on the scale; and you couldn't tie your shoes at all. Every time you looked in the mirror, you saw someone less and less recognizable.

And you knew: you weren't going to get any thinner. Your mobile, unimpeded life was in the past. You were a full-fledged fatty who could barely move around.

And you were slowly getting used to it.

mortiskiller

The Doctor Will See You Know: Extended Edition

Visit Original Link

After some feedback, here is a longer and more realistic doctor fat degradation audio.

Warning: contains unethical medical practices near the end about withholding medications.

Your doctor wants to go over some test results from your last appointment and they are not happy.

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

wg stories archive