Hello lovely hot people, I'm a feedee and I'm here to play around and chat with nice fatties and feeders. Once I finally tipped the scales over 300 pounds, I guess I kind of treated that as the point of no return. I'm gaining weight more or less accidentally through sheer no willpower-having gluttony. Also, this blog is adults only so minors begone!
My wife knows Iām only about 30 lbs away from not being able to pleasure myself anymore and she has been aggressively overfeeding me. My favorite Mexican food, takeout, pastries, pie, cake, shakes, everything. She wants my cock completely submerged in fatpad. 100% buried. Itās of no use to her anyway. She reaches orgasm just by straddling my belly and riding me, grinding deep into my fat. āItās the sound of your moobs slapping together,ā she once said. āIt gets me every time.ā
IMO, holding abusers in the community accountable is more important than worrying about the communityās public image; like, normies were never gonna approve or understand this kink community.
I understand if the recent doc might have you feeling bad about having this kink. Iām still gonna encourage you to keep your ānot all feedersā & ānot all menā to yourself.
A lot of people in the community are survivors of things you donāt know shit about. We need to protect each other and keep folks accountable.
I want a den of fat stoners (300lbs-450lbs, some 500lbs) to use me as their errand girl. Make me pick up an obscene amount of food and objectify me as a group. Then theyāll get me high and because Iām smaller than them, donāt smoke as much as them if ever, it hits me worse than it does them.
They donāt need brute strength to pin me down or keep me from moving when they have such heavy bellies and wide asses and god theyāre so close to breaking a bone or turning my stomach as they rough me around.
I get fucked by every single one of them. Like Iām just another thing in their rotation. And they can tell just how badly I want it, even though when Iām sober Iām so reserved and disgusted by them.
So, I really liked the failing diet one from earlier. How about if this diet was brought on by comments from family members or friends. Nothing mean, but "hey man, maybe you should try to drop a few pounds. Your GF is in pretty good shape, maybe she can help you lose a little weight." Of course the feeder GF agrees in front of the family, but really she's going to keep doing what she's been doing. "Sabotaging" the diet, so to speak. A few months go by and by the time the next family get together happens, he's even fatter. She's making excuses for him, while also piling his plates full of food in front of everyone.
I imagine heās told this by his mom or brother or something, and his brain short circuits.
He thinks about his girlfriend begging for him to hold up his belly to push onto his cock. Begging for it. He thinks about how thereās so little of his lap left, his girlfriend sits on the shelf of his belly and sighs on impact like itās pleasuring her. He thinks about how giggly she gets when his hand canāt fit in the Pringles can and he has to feed them to him when heās too tired to tip them out.
Their relationship didnāt start by two feedists meeting wittingly, but itās evolved into something.
His girlfriend laughs, answers for him.
Back home, his girlfriend convinces him to just take it easy. The diet doesnāt have to start immediately. Heās hand fed a sleeve of cookies, bag of chips, an extra large pizza stacked with toppings, a box of onion rings, a box of fries, and a pint of melted ice cream to soothe his nerves.
Then she hands him his weed pen to relieve the pain in his belly, and soon heās begging for something else to eat because heās starving.
āThe gym serves these recipes for diet plans. Including shakes. So I made some. You donāt even need to exercise much, the weightāll just fall off.ā
Unbeknownst to him, one shake features protein powder, peanut butter, caramel sauce, melted chocolate, milk, cream, ice cream, and an appetite stimulant.
He goes through about two or three a day.
Three weeks later, he weighs himself and asks his girlfriend to read the numbers from under his gut.
She makes the mistake of telling him heās gained five pounds.
āItās all the chemicals in the food,ā she insists. āNo one stands a chance.ā
To settle his agitation, she tells him sheās switched to fat free butter and cream and other things. He doesnāt cook, she does. He thanks her for being so supportive.
The next weigh in is four weeks after the last.
+8lbs. She gasps. āYouāve lost five pounds!ā
He rubs his swollen belly, sighing in relief as he steps off and sits down on the shower chair his girlfriend took out to support him. She puts the scale away and gropes his tits playfully. āTheseāll be gone in no time.ā
He casts a dubious glance at them. āReally? I know you like them.ā
āI love them,ā she agrees. āTheyāre so sexy.ā
āMaybe Iāll lose weight but not enough to lose them.ā
She beams. āMaybe.ā
The next visit home several months later features him significantly larger. His stomach pools more, thereās definitely no more lap left; his hips hurt from spreading his thighs enough to let his belly settle. His arms look heavy; his second chin looks suffocating. His T-shirt hasnāt been sized up yet. Heavy moobs press through his shirt, looking big and tender enough to feed an infant.
At the last visit, he could still get up with a large grunt, but now it takes him so many attempts that itās easier for him to plant his ass in his parentsā poor couch and let her pile his plate with snacks and food from the dinner table.
His brother calls him a pig for belching so loud spit flies. It embarrasses him enough to make his stomach churn.
His girlfriend coaxes him to let it all out later on when the bottom of his belly is getting firmer. She presses her fingers in, he farts, and his father calls it disgusting.
His mother attempts to be the most patient. Says no one can help a little wind. Butā¦
āI thought you said on all of our calls that you were dieting,ā she says, white in the face over jiggling arms and sagging elbows.
āI have been dieting,ā he sulks. His stomach churns in protest. Stress isnāt good for digestion, his girlfriend keeps saying.
āHeās been doing so well,ā his girlfriend agrees. āIn fact, heās been going so hard with all the exercise heās been told he might need a CPAP soon.ā
He flushes red. Heās not ready for that at all. His doctor, the asshole, said he should have been seen for one āat least 50lbs agoā.
His mother doesnāt talk to him for the rest of the night. The goodbyes at the door are quiet, dissonant.
At home, the girlfriend helps her sorry boyfriend to the couch and consoles him. āThereās just no pleasing some people. I think you should stop trying. Youāve lost weight, the scale says so, so why not just let go? Dieting is only stressing you out, and the lack of positive replies just stresses you out more. Your tummy was so upset earlier, I could feel it.ā
āMm. Rub it, babe? Itās really full. My mom must have been using full-fat butter and my body just wasnāt used to it.ā
āOf course.ā His girlfriend kneels in the space beside him on the couch.
She kneads his belly dutifully. He fights a burp into the back of his hand.
āHey, none of that. You know I love it when you let it all out. You need to stop fighting it. I love you for who you are, baby. You donāt need to worry about any diets or manners to impress me.ā
She presses in, he belches loud and long and she kisses him with a moan. āMy ā gorgeous ā man.ā A kiss between every word. āGorgeous ā sexy ā handsome ā man.ā
He moans into it.
āYou should have room for dessert now, right! Iāll go get the brownies I made earlier. Sound good?ā