#feedee fantasy

[bigfatbob4you]

Look, fat guys get hungry and like to be called pretty too, ladies.

[keeping-soft]

One day I’ll make myself a picnic and sit under a tree and eat and eat and eat until my shirt that was barely tight starts riding up on my bulging belly and I can’t button my pants ☺️ and just spend the whole afternoon outside indulging my appetite 😋

[feeding-the-kink]

Thinking about a cute secretary:

Keeping my favourite snacks at hand. Can't have me not perform my best in an important meating because I happen to be hungry.

Handing me the rapports and documents I need right when I need them before I can even ask so that I don't need to walk a single unnessesary step.

Dropping off-handed comments about how well it shows that I'm a man with power or how nicely the shirt I worried was getting too tight fits me.

Offering to order me lunch when she senses I'm starting to get hungry, even if it's not part of her job. Quickly learning my favourite lunch orders. Getting just a little bit too invested in suggesting what I eat today.

Starting to bring a cupcake or doughnut with my afternoon coffee. Then with every coffee.

(Did that suit I asked her to take to the dry cleaner get returned in a bigger size? I probaby just remember the number wrong, it fits right.)

Biting her lip and silencing a moan every time I absentmindedly scratch my rounding gut or the increasin overhang squishes against the edge of the desk.

Insisting I need a cold drink since the office AC stopped working again for some mysterious reason, and bringing me the sweetest most refreshing sodas.

(Since when do I have candy at my desk at all times?)

Laughing loudly every time there is a whisper about my growing size and indignantly brushing it off as nonsense.

Secretly touching herself every night to the thought of making me fatter.

[hunniehalo]

[cw pregnancy ment] Id be so cute sitting on your kitchen counter, finishing up the meal that said it was supposed to feed five people. I whine every now and then about how tight I am and that Im probably stuck up here. you suggest I put the fork down and give it a rest but I just.. cant. im carrying your (very large) baby after all. my appetite is growing by the day, just like my belly. you cant help but sigh and press a kiss to my cheek. little do I know, you brought home some cookies for me and the little one to try. such a spoiled mama ♡⸝⸝

[voluptia-blogs]

She opens another tub of ice cream, the combination of excitement, the coldness and a sugar rush making her hands quiver. Clumsily, she spoons multiple scoops into her bowl, already streaked with previous portions, blobs of cream, chocolate and fudge sauce smeared on the edges. In a stroke of what she considers genius, she reaches above her, with some effort, into the cupboard, feeling around for the packet of chocolate digestives she left in there. Her pudgy hands making contact with it, she pulls it out, giggling to herself softly. Ripping the packaging open, she grabs a hefty handful of the biscuits, crushing them between her doughy palms, crumbling the remains over her ice cream, licking the crumbs and melted chocolate off of them once she's satisfied with the mountain she's built. 

Waddling the few steps from her kitchen to her living room, she throws herself onto her sofa, ignoring the crack and creak of the long-suffering frame beneath her, and settles back in to her favourite position: horizontal, on her back, her belly rising and falling softly, her view of her lower half a distant memory. Resting her slowly melting bowl of creamy, crumbly slop on her chest, her breasts falling either side of her, she sighs, reaching awkwardly down her side to wrestle the television remote from beneath her bloated rolls, ready for another evening doing what she does best: stuffing her face.

On the coffee table, pulled close for convenience, piles of her favourite snacks. Chocolate wrappers torn and discarded carelessly. Cans of her current favourite soft drinks, all drained dry. Greasy takeaway boxes scraped clean of their contents. She's eaten particularly well today, and she can feel it. Her stomach feels dense, gurgling almost constantly, digestion trying to match the pace of her consumption. Her face sticky, remnants of past food sitting in the corners of her mouth, her tongue darting between her lips occasionally to try and lick it off. 

“This will surely be my last snack tonight” she thinks to herself, knowing full well that she's lying to herself. She spoons mouthfuls of ice cream and biscuits into her mouth, dripping it down her chins as she reaches back into the bowl. She knows once she's finished this, she'll be struggling to get off the sofa once again, ready to rummage through her fridge, freezer, cupboards, for that “final snack” that will definitely fill her up. A routine well practiced, day after day, yet never mastered. 

Another night, lost to gluttony, and she couldn't be happier.

[voluptia-blogs]

"Open wide for me."

He does so, looking up at me, eyes dull and unfocused. His mouth widens, his tongue dripping with saliva, all too ready for his next mouthful of food, rich and fattening. His belly gurgles, already stuffed full, but his mind doesn't register its fullness. All he knows is hunger and the desperate need to sate his appetites.

Stroking his chins with my thumb, I guide heaving handfuls past his lips, already sullied by previous stuffings. I rub his bloated cheeks as he ravenously feeds, moaning and grunting between swallows. I kiss the folds of his neck as he sucks my fingers clean, not wanting to miss a crumb. My lips meet his, tasting the heavy sweetness on them. Good piggies need to be loved, nurtured.

I can feel him throb between my thighs. The one part of him that isn't completely enveloped in layers of blubber and bloat. Conditioned to connect feeding with intense arousal, he can't help but get hard as soon as his mouth is full. His belly quivers slightly as he thrusts involuntarily, weakly. His body is too heavy to exert that kind of energy but he wants, needs it so badly.

Piggies need to feed. Piggies need to breed. And my piggy will have both in abundance.

[yourcherrypiedream]

I just want to feed a piggy until they cannot stand up straight, until they can't even sit up, and then mock them about how pathetically addicted they've become. To overindulging. To getting fatter. To me.

How are you surprised your shirts are pulling and ripping at the seams? Just look at you. You've turned yourself into a complete hog just because I told you to.

You're complaining about how it's getting harder to go up the stairs, but you're the one eagerly letting me funnel a weight gain shake into you after dinner every night. All because you can't say no to me.

What are you going to do when you need to dress up for an event? Suck in? Don't make me laugh, you lost that ability 40 pounds ago. You can't hide what you've become anymore, and you never will again.

Look at yourself. It's pathetic how desperate you are to please me. And yet here I stand in front of you, teasing you, mocking you, daring you to finish. You know the rules:

You may have a taste only after you've cleared your plate(s).

[ether-snacks]

blowing past my limits is so addictive… i’m laying here so stuffed it aches and all i’m thinking about is how badly i want more. surely another snack or two won’t hurt. anything to stretch my belly a little more, add a couple hundred more calories, fill that last bit of my gut that still feels soft. this is when i really need a feeder to bring me something to top off everything i already ate…