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Intox and domestic feedism are such a good combination. Creating a safe, cozy space to let go of all inhibitions, even before you’ve gotten drunk or high. But as you let go, losing more control and feeling looser, you’re grounded by bites of food, a hand brushing against your belly, the sight of another tray of desserts being brought over. You may not be fully present and aware in the moment, but there’s no doubt you’ll be waking up softer than before. 💕
How long do you think you have from that first splotch of blue until you’ve lost all control? Sure, you might be taken aback as hues of purple spread from your face and across the rest of your body. But you still have time to do something — anything! That swelling feeling starts at your very core; your balance begins to shift, but there’s still time. Your center balloons out. It’s not the best word to describe the sensation, but it’s as if you’re in a fog. Every curve is accentuated, exaggerating further until you begin rounding out. At best, you can try for a waddle. But you feel this growth overtake you, swallowing your limbs and any possibility of movement beyond rolling. You should be concerned. You would be, but doesn’t this all feel so good? The pressure of your own juices pushing on you, helping you grow more and more. The excess leaking, a sign of just how full you’ve become. Isn’t it so much easier to let go? I think we can both agree, you’re much better off as a berry anyway.
Burps are hot. 💖
I was going to start with some safer half measure like “burps are cute” or something, but what I mean is burps are hot. When you’ve stuffed someone to their limit only for them to belch and say they have a little room left? Hot. When an unassuming cutie lets out the loudest you’ve ever heard, causing them to turn red? Hot! When they add burps to the rhythm of a make out session? HOT!!!
BURPS! ARE! HOT!!!!!!!
I need to feel you growing out from under me. Your sagging tits and rounded paunch and pillowy thighs — I need more of all of them. I want to spoil you, give you everything you want. All I ask is you let me stay by your side and feel the effects of my adoration. After all, where else can I feel so comfortable than pressed into your ever softening form?
Let me explore every part of you. We can take it slowly, and I can find the words for how each and every inch of you is perfection. Your plump cheeks and ample behind. Every little fold and mark, another sign of affection.
in the mood to gather up a few playthings and mercilessly stuff them until they’re too plump to do anything but accept yet another bit of food
A thing I’ve noticed repeatedly spring up in this community is an anxiety around gaining fast enough, hitting your weight goals and avoiding plateaus. I don’t think there is anything wrong with having goals for your body, but sometimes it can sound like this bizarre inverse of the mindset around diet culture. I know this is easier said than done, but the most radical thing you can do for yourself is love the you who is still on their journey. You’re no less a feedee or a gainer regardless of your current size or progress. Take the time to enjoy the moment you’re in right now, and you may have an easier time enjoying the gradual changes that come.
You’ve really been quite naughty, haven’t you?
I’ve become used to watching you blimp up, but this shade of blue is certainly a new development. So, what happened? Did my tubby find themselves alone with a pallet of blueberry pies? Or did my not so little brat find some other sweet treat to end up this big and round? Gosh, it looks like you’re leaking all over, darling. Even just a kiss from you tastes like the most decadent dessert. It’s intoxicating.~
Perhaps you aren’t the only one to blame though. After all, I have done my share of the work into making you my greedy plaything. The goal was to make you big, I just didn’t expect you to grow so round, so juicy. Why, it feels like you’re growing bigger still! How about this: You’ve done your job growing for me, so let me enjoy my big berry dessert. I promise it’ll be as fun for you as it is for me, my dear. And maybe, if you’re lucky, we can get you down to a slightly more manageable size.
Oh, how I adore this game we play. The feel of your paunch pressing into my own ample belly. It used to be just a stuffed tummy, but you’re softening all over. Plumping up, and it all looks so wonderful on you. We both enjoy the teasing. You seem to relish my little comments about your expanding frame as much as I love the growth itself.
Sure, I still have quite the lead on you when it comes to pure weight. And I would be remiss not to use this heft to push you around, maybe even provide a little motivation. But there’s the thing I don’t say: What If?
What if we really tried to make you grow, my pudgy paramour? What if I enjoyed doting on you and spoiling you out of your clothes and into the next few sizes up? What if I promised you’d never notice the moment you finally caught up as I Iavish you with more and more until you have a proper lead over me? What if I made you my pampered pet?
But perhaps that’s all for another time, love. For now, just be good for me. Open wide.
