rapid weight gain, pig tf, ungendered feedee and feeder
You didn't even notice it happening, not at first. It was a normal date, and you'd looked forward to it for weeks. The cute, supportive feeder you met online offered to take you out to a buffet: their treat. The real treat, they said, was in watching you indulge. They sent you a package beforehand and instructed you to wear the outfit inside. You opened it and found a pink muumuu, huge and shapeless. Printed on the front were words in large, bold font: PIG IN TRAINING.
You blushed hard. It fit you with ample room to spare. Your feeder knew you, even if you hadn't explored the full range of each other's limits yetâthey knew a little bit of humiliation got you hot, made your stomach knot guiltily. It would be your first time going out in something this obviously fetishitic, but you weren't going to tap out. You were only a little chubby, 60 pounds overweight, max. You weren't going to get any bigger without a feeder, and you looked forward to doing it with this one, softly, sweetly, plumping up in the comfort of a supportive relationship.
The night started out exactly as you pictured. They picked you up and complimented your outfitâyou put on a pair of bike shorts underneath the muumuu, just for comfort, but the muumuu reached down nearly to your knees. They held the door at the restaurantc they put a hand on your back to guide you to your table. The hostess did a double take at your muumuu but put on a professional smile. The momentary flash of shame only primed you for your feeder's insistence that they get your plate for you. You nodded, a little shyly: this was what you'd been waiting for, someone to tell you what to eat and how much, and watch you stuff your face and bloat up while doing it.
They came back a few minutes later with a plate piled highâgreasy sliders and mounds of potato salad and chicken wings, almost obscuring two mammoth slices of pizzaâalong with a salad bowl full of vanilla soft serve.
It was more calories than the normal person age in the course of two days. You ate and took satisfaction in eating, rubbing your stomach discreetly under the table whenever things got a little tight. You'd been stuffing yourself at home, occasionally, but this was something else entirely. Your feeder picked at a salad but mostly just watched you stuff your face, your cheeks bulging with food and your breathing getting thick. Unusually thick, you felt, but then againâyou were new to this, pigging out so hugely, and in public.
You interspersed huge spoonfuls of soft serve with bites of food, imagining it soothed your stomach. Far from it, but you didn't know that yet. As the food on your plate dwindled, more and more you just wanted the ice cream. It was melting, and soft to begin with, and the second you finished your food, you shocked yourself by tipping the bowl back and just drinking the sweet slurry inside. You felt it run down the sides of your mouth but could hardly stop yourself. Even though you were so full you'd were almost gaspingâno, that wasn't the word. You were snorting. You finished the ice cream and snuffled after the residue clinging to the bowl, snorting while you licked it clean.
You set it down, breathing hard. You blinked at your feeder, who watched you with an almost sly satisfaction in their expression.
"What'sâ Snnrtâ What's happening to me?" Real fear coursed through you now, alongside a kind of bottomless ache, a need to be so full you couldn't move, or speak, so full you could only flop down on your side.
"Why don't I get you another plate, first?" They said.
You couldn't argue: it was what you wanted after all. They came back with several platesâthey'd gotten a tray from somewhereâmore of everything from the first round, plus piles of mashed potatoes drowning in gravy, salisbury steak, glistening, fatty macaroni and cheese, full cups of ranch, two huge slices of cake and another bowl of ice cream.
You whimpered and tucked in, even though your gut was tight under your loose muumuu. You ate so fat you thought you'd choke. You straight up drank the cups of ranch. You could feel food on your face and didn't have it in you to care, or even slow down. You ate the cake slices barehanded, and stuck your head in the bowl of ice cream to suck it down. You had the sense people were looking at you, even heard them whispering: oh my god, what is that person doing? What a nasty fucking slob! But you carried on, powerless before your own urges.
You recognized the noises you were making better now. You were oinking. Oinking as you gulped down a pitcher of soda. You slapped a hand over your mouth as you burped, too loud and sloppy to be stifled, and then you felt your nose: wide and flat and unmistakably changed. You felt the top of your head, where there'd been a sort of itching that you'd ignored in favor of glutting yourself. Two floppy ears had sprouted there.
"Whatâ? OIIIIINK. What didâ?"
Your feeder smiled at you. "Feels good right? I knew it would." They pulled something out of their pocket, a vial, and shook it to show you it was empty. "Just a little something for your inhibitions."
You groaned, and snorted, and look down at yourself. The parachute-like garment you'd put on at the beginning of the night was getting tighter. No, you were getting fatter. Shockingly fat, and fast. You wanted to leave. You wanted to find a way out of this mess you'd gotten yourself into. You wanted to eat your way through everything in the restaurant, suck the ice cream out of the machine and guzzle the grease from the fryers. You were instiable, and your feeder knew it.
They got you another tray, then another. You ate through it mindlessly, gorging and oinking and burping. People were still talking about you. Look at that fat fucking pig! Look how disgusting! Porkers like that should stay home, not make the rest of us look at them!
None of it stopped you. Not even when you began to cry. Not even when your bike shorts stretched around your thighs until the seams split and they burst off you. Not even when your huge, sloppy, ballooning gut pressed against your muumuu until it was hardly even a crop top. Your belly button, formerly a site of cute, modest chub, was wide and ruined alongside the rest of you. You groped with sticky hands at your flabby, hanging breasts and the ring of fat that comprised your new hefty double chin. In spite of it all, in spite of your skin turning a gentle shade of pink, you were still shoveling food in your mouth. You snorted through another round of ice cream, topped with hot fudge and dense cake slices mixed in, while your feeder cooed at you softly: piggy, fat piggy. Oink for me. Oink if you want another plate of food. You oinked, and they served you more. There was no way to leave this restaurant with your dignity intact, you thought distantly. You may as well enjoy the meal.
Lately I've been having fun making the feeder girls fatter than me. I'll make them eat with me whenever they take me out, and once things progress to funnelling I'll funnel them well but intentionally fuck up my own funneling so they get way more calories than me. I make enough money off Dizzy's to be able to afford enough weight loss medication to stay mobile, but eventually the feeders get too big to want to go anywhere so they just get funneled at home every date.
What can I say, I'm fucked in the head and I like when they whine to me about how they never wanted to get fat lol
Oh boy, magical addictive substance that makes you dumber, fatter and more obedient the more you eat it? Guess I should only have a little bit then! No don't worry, I can totally be trusted to control myself with this kind of stuff!
Who would have thought when I started this experiment to see how big feeders could make a feedee with no limits, and no real worldly responsibilities that I would look like this after just a year and a half. Looks like Iâve completely given up and just gave in đđđ canât wait to make the second pic my next before photođ
With this being said. Welcome to my biggest era yet. Operation double my weight again in a year is in full effect đđ
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OOUGH⌠I absolutely adored slurred and muffled speech, especially coming from an overripe berry. Especially since it usually starts during my favorite part of the transformation: the midway point. Theyâre already fully blue and everything underneath is swelling up so much, so fast, that all they can do is stammer out some pleas for help. Just as they begin to lose some mobility after taking the last full, sloshy step forward, their cheeks suddenly fill up with juice. Now all they can do is attempt to sound out some words, but itâs hard to understand them, let alone hear them from the amount of juice gurgling around in them.
âTooâŚ.bwighâŚ.! MmmphâŚ!â they mutter out, as their blue sphere of a body continues to swell. What I wouldnât give to be a whimpering, swollen berry⌠đ¤¤
YOU GET IT ANON HELL YEAH
just! A Berry trying to take a few tottering and clumsy steps to their juicer, feeling their mobility slipping away as their rushed walk quickly disappeared into a waddle they can only now barely maintain. âSho⌠fwullâŚâ is the only thing they manage to mutter before they slowly roll forward, the last of their momentum spent as they rock on the juice-filled swell of their middle.
A Berry glaring at their partner who is enjoying their growth far too much, their lips pressed into this permanent pout that is frankly far too adorable. âYouâwe ridichulosh, ywou know that?â Their voice slurs as they struggle to speak, their body audibly sloshing as their partner rubs against their side.
A puppy-brained pet berry horny out of their mind, struggling to form even a single coherent thought as their owner teases their overbloated frame, each touch like a full body shock. They just barely make out a command over the constant churning of their juice-filled body: Speak. They try and to move their mouth, but no sound comes out. What could generously be called a squeak is all they can muster as their cheeks begin to block their view. They try again, and again, cause good dogs know how to listen! Finally, the most they can properly muster is a pathetic little âbwff! bwff!â In between whimpers as they struggle to grind against anything.
Donât even get me started on just slurred speech when it comes to intox being thrown into the mix I will literally explode
Who would have thought when I started this experiment to see how big feeders could make a feedee with no limits, and no real worldly responsibilities that I would look like this after just a year and a half. Looks like Iâve completely given up and just gave in đđđ canât wait to make the second pic my next before photođ
With this being said. Welcome to my biggest era yet. Operation double my weight again in a year is in full effect đđ
Interact with your fans today and start selling content. Sign up today and make a free account.
i know itâs embarrassing to gain sometimes. i know you might think youâre ruining yourself, pushing your body to its extremes, gorging yourself until youâre useless.Â
but itâs okay. itâs not your fault.Â
youâre a pig. pigs are meant to grow. pigs are meant to eat their fill and put on weight. pigs are meant to waddle. pigs are meant to care only about food and the feeling of eating. pigs are meant to be fed well and often, until theyâre round and slow.Â
itâs not your fault. itâs just who you are. donât fight it.Â
thinking about an innocent oblivious feedee⌠sheâs never smoked weed or tried edibles and doesnât know what they taste like, so when you give her a âmultivitamin gummyâ first thing in the morning she thinks youâre being so sweet and taking good care of her⌠you make her a huge breakfast feat. waffles with a very special kind of butter and sheâs amazed at how good everything tastes and how incredible she feels and sheâs on her third or fourth helping by the time she realizes her gut is kinda tight and round but somehow she wants to keep eating. she finishes her breakfast with a ânutritional shakeâ and once itâs gone she canât stop burping and hiccuping, completely pinned to the couch by her gut, dazed and uncomprehending exactly how this happened. she feels so weird⌠maybe she overdid it just a little, she does have a weakness for breakfast foods. sheâll be back to normal after a quick nap.
but when you wake her up in a few hours for lunch, she takes another multivitamin gummy from your hand without question.
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