The urge to fatten you up myself is so overwhelming that it’s all I can think about sometimes. I want to buy you all of the delicious, fattening, unhealthy food your heart desires and watch you go to town on it. I want to sit on your lap and sink my hands into you, just to hear you moaning between bites of food. Rubbing your belly in the hopes of you fitting in even more. Slapping and jiggling it just to show you how chubby you’ve become. Raising food to your lips myself when you think you can’t go much further. I’d love to pamper and spoil you, using my own two hands to make my cute little piggy grow into a heavy, spoiled, overfed hog.
I have a deafening, primal urge to make you fatter than you've ever been before. I'm so fucking desperate to see fat accumulate on your body until your flesh has no option but to expand and overhang, weighing you down and littering you with new rolls and stretch marks. Forcing your body to constantly grow wider and softer. I want to hear your breathing slowly getting heavier as your stairs creak more underneath your increasing weight. Nothing gets me hot under the collar quite like the sound of someone's heavy breathing while they're stuffing their face. Even watching your cheekbones slowly disappearing is driving me fucking wild. You bring out something depraved and terrible in me.
Followed you for awhile and the absolute hottest thing is that you're obviously very intelligent, educated, skilled, cultured
Yet you choose to be a extreme obese bimbo slut. Love that for you
haha, thank you. I use hedonism as an escape from the internal self-aware horrors. Someone said this recently and i really resonated with it "I have to spiritually lobotomize myself from intellectualizing everything and turning to a life of moderate ignorance and hedonism helps save me from depression."
mmmm thinkling about being a hacker who sees a perfect target while tapping through unsecured webcams one day.
cute, curvy, a small belly peeking out from under her shirt. she doesn't know anyone's watching as she idly snacks on the open bag of chips on her desk. I decide to see how little prodding it takes for her to give in to indulging her every whim.
i start off by subtly influencing her social media feeds. delicious food and porn, side by side and one right after the other. she might notice something seems different, but the porn is welcome considering the selection of toys i had amazon 'misdeliver' to her house have been getting a lot of use.
once she's started associating her newly increased orgasm rate with food, it's time to start upping the portions. she gets her groceries delivered, so it's easy to make a few substitutions and editions. Extra-thick, honey sweetened yoghurt instead of her normal low fat brand. Her favourite diet soda was 'sold out' but luckily she's well stocked in the full sugar version.
she's sure she didn't add these bags of chips to the order, or this box of donuts, but the delivery guy shrugs and says they're free so it would be silly to throw them out.
i make sure the first thing she sees when she turns on her phone in the morning is something to turn her on and something to get her stomach rumbling. hot pancakes, oozing syrup. a plate stacked with greasy bacon and eggs with a mountain of fried potatoes. some upscale bakery showing off their latest cream stuffed pastries.
at this point i'll be tracking every like, every video she lingers on just a bit too long to know exactly what she'll be unable to resist. and it's such a coincidence that a coupon for that exact bakery appeared in her inbox just as she was looking at them. it's such a good deal, and it expires today, so it would be a shame not try all of the ones she's had her eye on.
doubling her order as it comes through is a simple, explainable glitch. still, most of these pastries won't be good tomorrow, so she might as well try all of them, it's not like she has to finish them all.
later that night, as she goes back to the fridge for the fourth time, she scoops the last blob of frosting up with a scrap of pastry and sighs. she's definitely getting a little softer around the middle, but she can't worry about that now - she's just found out she's lost her job by email. she's so lucky though, because later that day she gets offered a spot on a medical weed trial she can't even remember applying for. a few well placed changes on my part and she's getting paid to smoke up every day at home, fresh flower and vape carts carefully delivered every week.
the 'study' pays well, so why shouldn't she get most of her food delivered? she's too stoned to move most of the day anyway, and she has such good luck with ordering in lately, every restaurant seems to be throwing in free extra desserts and appetisers every time she orders.
that night, her large meat feast pizza (already more than she used to order) comes with garlic bread, wings, curly fries, soda and icecream and fist sized tubs of creamy sauces. you try and ask the delivery boy a question but he mumbles something about a promotion, and what, is she going to say no to free food?
as she sits down, she barely notices as i set the youtube on her tv to start a playlist of cute girls trying different fast food places, giggling as they took huge bites of rich, calorific foods.
the strain i picked out for her has already got her hungry and horny, so she flops down on the couch in her sweatpants and t-shirt. this shirt used to be loose on her, but it's definitely stretching tighter across her tits and slightly bulging stomach. she barely notices though, grabbing a slice of pizza and chugging soda straight from the bottle as her already hazy mind gets softer. she doesn't realise she's finishing what should be a meal for a family of four until most of it's gone.
her stomach feels uncomfortably tight, straining against the waistband of her now-tight sweatpants. she pulls the band down and her stomach springs out, angry red marks showing where it had bitten into her soft flesh.
my conditioning has been working, and she doesn't know why, but the feeling of her being so stuffed makes her pussy ache, and she slides a hand into her pants to find herself dripping wet. she starts playing with herself as she finishes the lst slice of pizza, forces a few more fries into her heavy gut. the more she eats, the better her fingers feel on her clit, her flabby brain well trained at this point to associate food with sex, being stuffed full with cumming what was left of her brains out.
she's on the edge now, but she's finished the food and even though her stomach is straining and sensitive she can't make herself finish without something to eat at the same time.
she's lucky she forgot to put the icecream in the freezer. she pulls the melted tub towards herself, too pinned under the weight of her bloated stomach to even lean over for it. the thick mix of cream, sugar, chocolate and caramel pour down her throat as she slowly begins to chug the mixture. her free hand is back between her legs, frantically fucking her needy pussy as her belly stretches beyond what she thought she handle. as the last of the icecream drips down her throat she cums, harder than she thinks she's ever come before.
she slumps back, too happy to care that she's surrounded by greasy pizza boxes and that there's melted icream smeared across her tits.
watching through her webcam, i'm already planning all the fun deliveries she's going to be getting in the next fes days.
Imagine your feeder cuffs you to a chair so you can't get up, then slowly moves in front of you to show off the sexy outfit they've put on to tease you knowing you're unable to do anything but stare and whine
They step away to the kitchen, perfectly aligned in your view, and lay out all the ingredients they're going to put into the shake that will soon be resting heavily in your belly, turning you into a big balloon of calories
Chocolate ice cream, heavy cream, peanut butter, chocolate milk. They move it all over to the blender, just out of your vision, so that you can't quite see the amounts of any one ingredient before they're all blended together into smooth creamy, fatty heaven to slide down your throat
The blender stops buzzing and your shake is brought over to you, a hand teasing over your belly before the jug is lifted to your greedy lips. You part them, you let the chocolatey bliss coat your tongue and you swallow. And swallow and swallow and swallow
It stretches you so good, so full, so big and fat and laden with empty calories. You whine, whimper and moan, feeling beyond full as you get teased and poked at more, your feeder determining you still have room so you must finish it all
And in time, you do
Every last drop swelling your taut gut larger and rounder than you've ever seen before, so that you can finally be released to enjoy yourself and your feeder intertwined
You had already started to put on weight when we were dating. I was happy to get you any treat you wanted, whenever you wanted it. I always told you I was going to make you a spoiled girl. But back then, there were still some insecurities. You weren't sure if it was real. Does he really like me fat? Is he going to think I'm a pig if I get another bowl of ice cream? In time, you felt more secure in the fact that the answer to the first was a resounding "yes." I was still here, and my praise and compliments were matched by actions you couldn't deny were sincere. Eventually, you let the second question slip out of your mind. I was enthusiastic about being the one to bring you that second desert. It was better that you didn't know the answer was also a resounding "yes," but just not the way you thought.
And so you gained a little weight.
Then we got married. Everyone gains some weight after marriage. You're happy, you're comfortable, you're secure. It was no different for you. The difference was me. You thought, since you had me, you could let go, but it was actual me who had you. You weren't so much letting go as letting me take you. Coming home with cake on on a regular basis. Running out to get you ice cream in the middle of the night when you ran out. That one time I bought you a whole other burrito after the home cooked meal wasn't quite enough. And of course, ever-flowing praise and encouragement. My hands on you at all times. Orgasms after the second desert. You had finally given in, sunk into the hedonism I was providing you.
And the weight started pouring on.
You were curvy before. I always joked that the first thing I ever noticed about you was your fat ass (which was technically true, since the first glimpse I got of you was from behind while you were browsing the shelves at that bookstore). Well, once you settled into your life with me, that ass got fatter and those thighs swelled. The first 20 lbs accentuated your curves, but the last 30 has filled in your waist and turned that soft tummy into a swollen jiggly belly that's now beginning to hang over your soft fat pussy.
It hasn't gone unnoticed, and yet, it hasn't slowed either of us down. For your part, you can't ignore the fact that about half the clothes you owned before the wedding don't fit, and the other half dig in to the thick layer of soft fat that covers you. Even your flowing sun dresses that I love so much now hug your belly like maternity wear. There's a reckoning coming in the fall when the weather cools down and you're going to realize you don't have a single pair of pants that will button around your thick waist. And yet, you're less shy now than you've ever been when it comes to asking me to go out and buy you another slice of tres leches after dinner.
For my part, I get to take the credit -- or blame, as you like to call it. I just can't help it. You've got such a sweet tooth, and I, by my very nature, have to exploit it. In my defense, I haven't been shy about telling you exactly what I'm doing. How I love to spoil you. How I love the size to which your ass has expanded into and every little dimple therein. How I love the shape and jiggle of your soft belly, even if you are slow to warm up to the idea that a full belly could be an attractive trait. How I think your round face is the cutest thing I've ever seen and the way those chubby cheeks frame your smile is the definition of beauty. I told you from the very beginning that I was going to spoil you, and I wasn't going to complain when you got fat. Well, now you're spoiled and now you're fat and I am far from complaining. I'm obsessed. I can't keep my hands off you. I can't stop the praise and compliments from spilling out of my mouth whenever I'm around you. The sex is amazing and abundant and increasingly more so as your own abundance swells. I'm in awe whenever you're walking around the apartment naked. I'm in heaven when I get to feel the softness of your body pressing against mine. I worship you everyday in every way I know how. Bringing ample offerings to my goddess, while an important aspect of my practice, is just one facet.
My only sin is the other day I didn't tell you that the dress I bought you had an extra "X" in front of the "L" than the size you told me to order. You didn't notice because it fit -- even a little snug in some places -- and we both agreed it looked good on you.
Untapped potential in feedees being spoiled beyond just food. Like yes yes I see the appeal in slob stuff but what about the feeders who take pride in their feedee looking good and feeling good and so on?
Like finding only the best quality clothes in their size instead because such corpulence deserves only the best, instead of getting whatever because “they’ll only outgrow it”.
It’s hot out and everyone’s expecting the big guy/girl to sweat up a storm and reek but no, they smell like pure lavender (example) because their feeder spent a good 60-90 minutes in making sure they were nice and clean after a bubble bath or shower and then every inch of them has been covered in only the best products. Body butters, foot creams, face masks and hair care, special sprays– “jajoba & cashmere” branded shit.
It’s all very expensive upkeep, especially when they keep getting bigger and their body becomes even more expensive in every aspect. Doesn’t matter if the feeder is the service sub or the dom or whatever the fuck either, this is just a necessity.
Feedees deserve to be worshipped and taken care of, don’t they? And what does that say about their feeder when they are?
i want to gain enough weight that no matter what i’m wearing my curves look obscene. i want it to be impossible to look at me without thinking about my body. how it’s causing every seam to strain and ripple, how it’s making dips and folds in any fabric i try to cover myself with. tits and hips and thighs and belly so distracting they dominate your thoughts when you’re trying to have a normal conversation with me. basically i want to be fully clothed in everyday situations and yet you can’t help picturing me naked on all fours, jiggling while i get pounded from behind
literally- just eating whatever you please when you please because you feel like it. if something tastes good, you keep eating it, even if you’re feeling a little full because you want to savor the taste.
the best meals are heavy and homey and cozy and best when piping hot, filling a soft tummy with the warmest heft.
and oh my gosh- getting into bed after one of those hot, filling, dinners? taking off your bra and your pants, slipping into the biggest, loosest t shirt you can find, and fully relaxing into the fluffy warm blankets and pillows -
soft groans of complete satisfaction and maybe a bit of over indulgence, just the point where it feels like pure pleasure. completely unable to keep your hands off your softened gut. soft burps slipping from your lips and you relax fully, maybe you blush to yourself, maybe you sigh in relief.
haze starts to overtake but that’s okay because you’ve got no where to be.
You were still excited when the end tube pressed to your lips. Feeling it push your mouth open, a bubbling vulnerability to whatever was going to flow down your throat momentarily. It felt like your whole body loosened, a vessel waiting to be filled.
Then the shake started.
At first, you can taste it. Chocolate. Rich, creamy, so sweet sliding down your tongue while you swallow. While there’s still enough space to have some control. But that only lasts a few gulps.
Then the delicious, sugary shake builds up in your cheeks, flowing faster than you can chug it down. The growing strain on your cheeks distracts you from how fast your belly is starting to fill. Fullness approaching when the feeding has just begun.
Your face feels puffy as your mouth tightens around the funnel, your greedy maw pleasantly tight with as much caloric slurry as it can manage. There’s the faintest sensation of tension on the back of your mouth, then it releases and starts flowing down your throat.
Now your thoughts start to relax. The fullness reaches your belly. That big, greedy belly that just couldn’t wait to be funneled into total submission. Your stomach goes from full to overfilled to swollen. Then it’s your favorite part, when you feel the stretch in your belly, the little radiating tingle that means you’ve pushed yourself a little fuller than last time.
Then you’re achingly full, gorged to your body’s limit. You physically admit you’re nothing but an overblown balloon brimming with calories that will metabolize into soft, doughy fat. This is how you’re meant to be handled. No chewing, no thinking, just mindlessly fattened without concern.
You laze in the warm, full-body pleasure of being this full. Beached under the combined weight of your fat body and the strain of your overfilled belly. Useless beneath your greed, fully submitted to your gluttony as you’ve always craved.
Deep down you’ve known, haven’t you? That this was the bliss you always needed. The surrender to consumption, the intoxicating overwhelm of your obese body pushed to perfection.
But that’s why you love the funnel. The funnel feeds you into your best self. Your biggest self. Your most satisfied, overfed, indulgent self. All concerns subdued by calories. All purpose smothered by pounds. You’ll feed and grow like this forever. The food will always come. You don’t have to worry or think.
if you like fat people please fucking say it. expecially fat women. the thing about liking fat girls is that so many of them don't even know how much they need the kind of love you can give them. they need to know it's normal for someone to love their body because of how it looks. people talk all the time about how everyone who likes fat women is some evil 'feeder' predator that's going to destroy their 'victim's' life and personhood and i'm so fucking done with it because it's just fatphobic nonsense and kink-negative bullshit where people think that sexual desire has moral value again. it's the worried-for-your-health argument mixed up with a big ladleful of shame. please tell us you think we're sexy. love us in public and to your friends and family. be prepared for some of us to not know what to do with all that. keep doing it anyway. love us wholly, every bit of us, and incessantly. we need it.
I want your loose clothes to tighten on you, your baggy wardrobe pulling around your softening belly, hips, thighs. I wanna see the blush on your face when you realize that your shirt is straining on your tummy, your soft chub pushing out over the waist of your jeans. Bigger and bigger, slowly enough that you don’t even realize it’s happening until nothing fits quite right anymore. And above all else, I want the realization to turn you on. I want it to hit you out of nowhere. I want you to be a whimpering mess for me as I tease you about what you’ve done.
I would say the pleasure is all mine - but we both know that's not really true is it? 🤭
Sugary delights 🍫
Sensual belly touches 🫴🏻
And whatever other welcome distractions we can find for you as you are stuffed to your limit - day in and day out. 🥰
First - we listen to what your body most desires.
Then - we teach it how to listen to me instead.
Too full? Soon that will only be associated with deep pleasure. 💜
Too heavy? You're only able to think about that because you're not full enough 🤭
Too fat? No such thing 😘 eat some more until we're back at step 1.
Pretty soon there's nothing left but a delightfully docile and blissed out play-thing content with being completely dependent on their doting feeder 😇 while they grow happier and happier.
One of my most selfish desires as a feeder is to have someone find out what I'm into and immediately devote themselves to getting fatter to impress me. The idea of a girl I've been talking to sending me pictures of gainer shakes she made herself or little shots of the number on her scales, turning herself into a plump little piggy without me having to do anything at all.
I love being a part of the process, of course, but the idea of someone doing it to themselves just to excite me? There's something utterly intoxicating about that. Such a pure act of devotion, to reshape her life and body around her love for me.
It might start as an occasional indulgence, a way to unwind, to let go of the pressure of being perfect.
But it will always be there, at the back of your mind.
The knowledge of how good it feels to be full.
And the desire to keep growing for me.
It's there when you put an extra pump of syrup and dash of cream in your third coffee.
It's there when you add a second dish to your take out order 'for leftovers'.
And it will be there when you finally give in. When you're on your knees in front of me as I push creamy pastries between your plump lips, your apron of a belly spilling over your knees.
When you let me consume your thoughts, your body, your existence.
if you're teaching someone something like the stoplight system you can make it fun and sexy. explain the premise. green=go, yellow=slow down/can’t take any more of that right now, red=full stop. start touching them. whisper "what's your color?" in their ear. they're going to say green. start groping them. what's your color? pinch their nipples. what's your color? bite their neck. what's your color? start slapping their ass. what's your color? go harder. what's your color? they're gunna become a babbling mess eventually. they're only going to get rewarded when they answer your question, though. if they stop responding to "what's your color?" then stop until they do. it's a silly sexy way to build trust with someone and get them comfortable with safewording.
Sometimes being a submissive feedee is fun. I love the idea of
- being fed at certain times like every hour without having to think about when ur gonna eat next and one less thing to thing about
- having a feeder who know all your taste preferences, ur go to orders and flavour profile so you know if there’s a place that sells Mac and cheese as a side they’ll know to get that, and the fries and the soda cup must be a large
- not worrying if ur belly can hold it all or your comfort because ur bae will take out your belly when the waist band is too tough around your belly button. Unbuttoning your pants so you can eat that extra meal, and unzipping them so you can comfortably digest. Rubbing ur belly in circles and grabbing your rolls kneading it like dough so all your burps aren’t trapped and having max space for more food
- lotioning your belly with oils and butters so it’s xtra stretchy and the stretch marks are u comfortable or you feel like ur gonna pop
- getting you a scooter when ur shopping or having a day out after lunch so you can eat and stroll and just relax when ur gut gets too big and heavy
- kissing you after you let out intense belches being proud of you that you trust them enough to feed you take care of and cherish you for both of your enjoyment
- princess/prince treatment 👑
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