#manipulative feeder

[shakes-and-cakes]

CW for manipulative feeder and nonconsensual feedism below

Sorry my little doughball, I made you a promise when we started dating that I would never let you lose weight. You told me that you had no limits, that you want me to keep you on track until you break records.

So that's what I'm doing. You looked so happy at first when I stuffed enough food down your throat to feed a whole party. When did that change? Was it when you needed a scooter to go out in public?

Or maybe it was when you started needing my help to get up from a sitting position? I can understand why it must have alarmed you when I refused to help you up without a good reason, but it's dangerous for someone of your size out there. I can bring everything you need to you in the safety of your own bed.

Could it be the way you feel sick all the time now? Your diet is composed almost entirely of massive portions of fast food, snacks, and sweets after all. Your body is crying out for something nutritious to sustain it, but you told me you needed to keep gaining as fast as possible if you wanted to reach your goals.

Now you're an immobile blob, one wobbling mass of rolls that blend into each other to a point where it's difficult to determine where each part of you stops and the next begins. When you manage to gather the energy to speak, an increasing rarity with how exhausting it is just to exist in your body, you beg me to forget about that promise. To let you have your life back.

I guess you did have some limits after all, didn't you? Too bad for you I don't make promises I won't keep.

[shakes-and-cakes]

Before I found you, you were such a little thing. You could still see your ribs, can you imagine that today? You learned that I was willing to pay for you to live with me and eat and you'd never have to work again, and you jumped at the opportunity.

You thought that it would be an easy life. That you would be able to just graze like a rabbit all day and not have to work. You got it half right. I would never dream of making you work, but I like my pets very well fed. And I hate to waste food.

It was hard at first. Eating yourself so full it hurts is never easy, but I was always there with a comforting word, a blanket, some tums. Extra money to spend on whatever videogames you played when you weren't eating or sleeping.

Eventually it just got... easier. Meals that used to cause you pain went down smoothly, and I started adding to those meals little by little.

Eventually, you got scared. You were gaining weight fast, where your body was once so thin now you were covered in stretch marks and lard. You weren't big enough for your mobility to be impacted, but you noticed how you grew out of breath from doing less and less.

You told me you were thinking of leaving. And for the first time I yelled at you. I called you a stupid cow, and I warned that a pathetic high school dropout like you would never amount to anything outside of my care.

You cried all day, and I left you your food without saying a word. That night, after dinner, I came to you with an entire cake. An apology, I told you, for losing my temper. You sniffled and apologized to me, told me that I was right, and that you wouldn't step out of line again.

I had you right where I wanted you. Every pound you gained, your belly grew larger, sagged lower, it became harder and harder to haul yourself around. But I knew exactly what buttons to press, how to play with your emotions to keep you reliant on my care.

And now it's led to this. You haven't stepped out of this room in a year, haven't stood up from this bed in three months. Your entire body is a mass of indistinguishable rolls crossed up and down with deep stretch marks. Now you've got no choice but to rely on me, which means I can really have my fun.

I'd like to think you got your wish too, in the end. You never had to work a day in your life, and what life could be easier than laying in one place, eating what I tell you to eat and letting me have my way?