#feedee perspective

[jkiddfat19]

What a fat hog I am. It would be so nice to get stuffed right now by multiple feeders. I’d look so huge by morning!!! Oink oink

[valgodd]

Getting kidnapped by a witch and being kept in a cage to be fattened up would fix me

[paddlescuddlesbubblesgurgles]

Full

I can hardly breath. My stomach hurts. I’m so full. I ate too much. I cannot imagine getting up from the couch. My belly weighs me down. I feel so groggy. 

I have to focus on my breathing. I’m so thoroughly beached all I can do is cradle my fat, blubbery gut spread over my lap. It’s dominating my evenings recently. It demands I feed it until I can’t think straight. 

I am sitting upright, in a sluggish daze. I’m too full to lay down comfortably, but so, so exhausted. It’s taking all my energy to just digest all this food, and breathe correctly. Burps keep escaping my lips. Every time I press out more air, I get a momentary relief. I’m so swollen, so bloated, so distended. I’m completely overladen with delicious food. So totally engorged with my failed restraint. 

I keep fantasizing about eating more cookies. Today I added about 32 soft baked cookies of various kinds to my evening feeding. I ate so many I lost count, but some still remain on the table in front of me. But that table is so, so, so far away. 

Leaning forward feels impossible. I still probably couldn’t reach. I just can’t reach past my belly right now. I keep trying to talk myself into moving. Just standing up and getting my cookies. Just a little effort. But I’m too heavy. Much too heavy now.

I keep sipping my drink. I can barely reach it, and it’s running out. I’m thirsty, but I also need to be sure I fill all remaining space. That’s what my belly requires, after all. 

My belly is so warm, and so squishy. It’s like I have a personal pillow attached at all times. A giant, soft, jiggly beanbag just hanging over my waistband, or between my legs, or into sinks. It feels so good when I lift it up and it completely overfills my arms. It spills over my forearms and flops over my hands as I hold the meaty underside. I love bouncing it up and down, and letting it drop. I love how I have a deep, plunging overhang and a thick upper roll beneath my tits. I love how said roll is one of many that are piled up on my sides and connected around to my back. 

My entire torso is covered in a hefty, thick, sagging layer of fat. I’m a butterball, a tub of lard, a fleshy sack of dough. It encases me, buries me, crushes me. It’s no small part of why I’m pinned to this couch. 

I’ve outgrown tape measures, seat belts, booths, and many shirts. All thanks to this gluttonous, greedy, grotesquely overfed gut. It’s in control. I’m just carrying it to its next meal. I’m just making sure the food gets where it needs to go.

It needs to be so much bigger.

[emptyheadedhousecow]

still fat

900 words · 5 min read · emptyheadedhousecow.tumblr.com · November 2024

The funnel is empty. The blanket is dotted with crumbs. The pizza boxes are on the floor — there's a grease stain on the bedsheet where it had been carelessly placed half an hour ago, but that's a job for tomorrow. The box of aftercare chocolates is open and the best ones are already gone. It was hot, but the libido is gone now, and appetites are more than sated. Your feeder is curled up beside you, half-asleep already, small beside you, eclipsed by your mass. The pain has been kissed and rubbed away, but you're still swollen and stuffed, and most importantly, you're still fat.

They woke up before you. The pizza boxes are gone, and the funnel too; through the walls you hear the dishwasher churning, something sizzling on a stovetop, and fresh coffee being ground. There's a hunger brewing inside you already, but the stretchmarks on your sides are itching again, and the moisturiser is just out of reach. They'd jump at the chance to help, but it's not sexy right now, you just want the discomfort gone. You shift and roll, and build momentum, and grab the bottle, and then come crashing back down on the mattress in a breathless heap, your fat splayed out in exactly the same way it was before. You breathe, and recover, and you have to remind yourself, like every other morning, that your body has grown into something made of carbs and lard, even though everything else is back to normal, you're still fat.

Your day would be easy for anyone else, but everything is an ordeal for you. It seems like every time you shower you discover a new fold that needs to be cleaned and powdered. You need to catch your breath while washing your hair. You could wear clothes, if you wanted, but it's so much easier not to try, and you're increasingly unsure just how long it's been since you wore anything at all. Your feeder brings you all the food you could want, four meals a day or five if you're lucky... and you're grateful, of course you are, but not every meal is sex. You eat because you're hungry — a deep hunger that's only satisfied when you're pushed to breaking point — and you eat to shush, if only for a little while, that tiny voice inside you that's always demanding more more more. You knew this would happen; that every time you push yourself, your appetite grows a little... and you've pushed yourself a lot. You don't always eat because you want to, you eat because you HAVE to, because that's what a body as fat as yours craves, and day after day, you're still fat.

And then the funnel's back in play, and another order is lined up on the pizza app. Can you down the pitcher of cream before the pizzas arrives, and then the pizzas too? It's always an offer, never coerced. It was such a struggle last time, you only barely made it, but that only means it'll be easier now. And the tiny voice inside you can't be silenced, and the deep hunger is so very demanding, and it does drive you wild to see them this excited. You agree. You know you won't be able to stop yourself from pushing yourself to your limit, again, and you know that if you manage it, next time there might be another pizza on top, and that's far beyond what any normal person could eat, and as exciting as that is, you can't help but worry a little. But the preparations are underway, and your feeder's in the kitchen already, and all you need to do is eat, which you're amazing at, so this is just the best option, right? After all, you've done this a hundred times, what's one more? Tonight won't change anything, not really — either way, you're still fat.

The next day is always the same as the day before. Your feeder is dressed in a tenth of the time it takes you to shuffle to the edge of the bed and you're exhausted already. A kiss and a smile and you're helped to your feet, but you're not steady, and your balance is always unfamiliar, and it wasn't so long ago that it wouldn't even have occurred to you that you might need help getting up, and yet here it is, a development as casual as a second portion of breakfast. It ought to worry you but you are so very hungry, and the little voice is louder than your own thoughts these days, even though the pressure from last night's feast remains. Food is brought directly to the bedroom, once a rare treat but now the norm simply because it's getting harder to walk to the kitchen, even assisted. Getting dressed isn't an option anymore, for sure there's no clothes that still fit you, and that means no going outside, even in the car. Not that you've been outside in a long time. Perhaps you begin to slowly realise, if you hadn't been in denial about it already, that your last opportunity to lose the weight has quietly disappeared, who knows how long ago, and you never even noticed. But that doesn't seem nearly as important as finishing the plate of food that's in front of you. Maybe you'll get a chance to think about that later, maybe not — it feels like a very permanent fact of your life that you're still fat, forever.

[ibrake4gothgirls]

"My good piggy"

My date offered to take me out to a buffet dinner earlier in the week.

A buffet dinner, to me, felt like a next step in their interest and connection through feedism. A night of excess, conversation, and a plate full of potstickers, yes, but bubbling under the surface, a devious excitement.

I couldn't wait.

Throughout the night, we coyly avoided the carefully laid plans and roles for the evening. As I filled my first plate, I noticed the edible kicking in, increasing my hunger cues and desire to try every morsel.

As I was eating, their perception and desire for me increased.

With each downward glance, I'd notice a different aspect of their perception of my gluttony.

A quick glance to my shirt, and they'd notice the crumbs forming on my chest, which recently began to catch more food on my growing breasts. Another, and they'd catch the quick flick of my tongue licking my lips as I hungrily inspect the plates around me, scheming out how I'll design my inevitable trip to the dozens of meats, fish, noodles, and desserts.

The focus and determination on the gluttony>capacity ratio being so studied and focused on throughout the night was inspiring. I teetered so close to the deep end, of diving into my carnal desire to use both hands, stuff my mouth, and make a mess as I increased the speed of my consumption.

After my fourth plate I was absolutely dripping wet with anticipation. Heading to the car was a struggle, realizing how tight my stomach was, and how my waistband was pinching into my sides.

They noticed too, sneakily grabbing my spilling love handles as we paid.

Before getting in the car, they finally said it.

"Good job, baby. My good piggy."

[athleticbelly]

Fat = Stimulation

At the start you had enjoyed seeing others gain weight. Seeing the transformation from thin, skinny, and athletic to pudgy, chubby, fat, and obese. Arms that were once so thin and sleek now hidden underneath pillows of meaty flesh. Chins and jawlines so well defined and sharp now a distant memory two to three extra chins in. Thighs that once were slender pillars holding up barely anything can now be described as trunks holding up a hefty canopy of a body. And that expansive canopy. The abs underneath an apron of fat. The love handles trying to escape the clothes holding them in. The breasts that were once held in by sports bras now can't have sports even associated with the name for the bras they need now. And the stretch marks acting as the indicators of someone being so well fed and hedonistic. Acting as signs of pleasure and enjoyment. Especially for you.

And you enjoyed interacting with anyone that you could shape like clay. And add clay to their bodies to shape them in whatever you felt flattering. Extra servings to your best friend. New clothes in a larger size for your date as a gift. Extra rounds of drinks for your coworker. Such an insatiable appetite for people with insatiable appetites. And then you found forums, blogs, and plus sized dating sites.

You enjoyed getting others to gain without them knowing. You didn't know how much you would love it when they were begging to be fed or have someone encourage them to get fatter. Their milestones felt so ambitious. And you were so enamored with it, that you started to fall victim to it yourself.

You saw the happiness it brought your feedees and encouraged gainers that you wondered for the first time how it felt to be that happy. To enjoy the hedonistic desires your models had succumbed to over the years. You made a new account on a blogging site. You started posting about wanting encouragement to gain. And you found people. People who were the same build as you. Telling you about how they would love to feed you. To make you an obedient piggy. How they want to cater to your every need to keep you fat and happy. And this attention made your mind swim.

You started falling into the routines of your prior models. Increasing portion sizes, changed your diet and calorie intake so you could capitalize on your gains, you became more sedentary. You felt your waistline expand and press against your belt. You couldn't help but feel your belly fat as it happened. Every day you absently played with your chub. Not a lot was there at first. Just a little roll. And then it grew. It started to round out. Two months went by and now you could pick it up and drop it with some slight jiggling to it. Four more months and you had to get a completely new wardrobe since your waist expanded so much. Six months and you couldn't even see your feet.

25 pounds. 65 pounds. 140 pounds. The weight kept climbing and the encouragement kept coming. You had people meet you and feed you. Cakes. Funnels with shakes. Pastas. Pizzas. Donuts. Fudge. Ice cream. Butter. Oil. Fried foods. You kept enjoying the attention and the hands on your body. You'd massage your now massive body and wonder how you never thought to be on the other end of the hand that feeds. So much tightness to your skin. It is so stimulating to be so fat.

[catboylloyd]

Imagine this...

We are sitting on a comfy bed. You are holding on your shirt very tightly putting it down to hide your belly even though it obviously sticks out a bit. I can tell by the redness in your face how shy you are but also… how excited you are. I come closer, just grabbing your arm with a smirk on my face.

“Oh come on tubby… dont be shy about it… show me how much of a good feedee you have been lately”

As i say it your hold slowly slackens and you let me slip my hand under your streched tshirt. I immdiatly smile as i feel my hand getting lost in all that new softness of your perfect body.

“Ah i can feel all that snacks and fast food you have been addicted to lately had left some mark… you got so much rounder, softer, losing your waist… ah… you really have been such a good feedee lately fatty… your feeder is so proud of you.”

As i say it i move my hand to your mouth and touch your plumpy lips: “but… with my help… i am sure we can make your perfect body even more perfect.”

[fatlover682]

I think I’m evolving into a proper feedee. I ate so much I threw up and went back for seconds. I can nearly breathe and I love it.