#nonbinary feeder

[stuffedsounds]

kinda obsessed with the idea of feeding vicariously

like hear me out

feeder that’s watching their weight and is starving and longing for junk food with feedee that eats decadently all the time. feeder buys everything they want to eat but won’t let themself and makes their feedee eat it all for them and describe how it tastes and feels and what their full belly feels like while the feeder is absolutely ravenous and maybe a little vengeful

[theplotthiccens]

I love it when feedees get a little surprised when their clothes get tighter. Or when they overeat.

The idea of a hiccup, a burp, an apology, followed up by an embarrassed belly pat.

“I think I over did it.”

The more you date the more they indulge.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into me!” as they get wider and wider, buttons pop.

“Oh my!” They would stammer absolutely embarrassed trying to hide themselves.

“What’s happening to me!?” They groan after an overstuffed night on the town. Their belly too heavy, too full so support on their own.

I wouldn’t wait to let them pass through a door or in the hallway. I would bump into them deliberately, just to feel their newly acquired mass. I want to watch them blush as I grab their love handles and pull them into a kiss.

Soon they learn to love it. Their new size a comfort as they slowly take up the space they deserve.

[kuchisabishiigwa]

I want to encourage every hunger.

Until over-indulgence is passive.

I want to corrupt your reward system.

Until hedonism is your goal.

I want to provide a luxurious life.

Until you've retired your willpower.

I want to fill you with snacks.

Until you're covered in doughy fat.

Let me turn you into what you want.

A helpless, happy, hedonistic, hog. 🐽

[grungeygoddess]

I love the word spoiled.

It's the perfect word for what I've done to you, piggy. You weren't always this bratty, constantly asking for more food, more treats, more affection. But even before you timidly asked if we could try making you gain weight on purpose, it wasn't hard to see where you would end up. Whenever we made a big, calorie dense meal specifically designed to be as addicting and fattening as possible, I loved watching you finally come out of your shell, asking for second helpings, then thirds, then fourths, then when you were finally a swollen, whimpering mess, demanding that I give you belly rubs to ease your upset stomach that you vehemently refused to believe was your fault.

And of course I praised you for it.

Giving in to every single request, no matter how small, without anything more than a "of course!" and a smile, making sure every bite of food was perfect for you, every moment of relaxation blissfully unburdened, I slowly conditioned you to always have your way. Your favorite foods always stocked in the fridge, the softest blankets for napping, the most addicting games for you to laze the day away with, all for you, all slowly corrupting you, slowly making you...

Spoiled.

Ruined. Your figure enveloped by rolls upon rolls of beautiful, wobbling fat. Your appetite so large, it takes constant feeding to even make you close to satisfied. And of course that isn't enough for you, is it? You're my spoiled rotten pig, completely dependent on me for every little thing, a spoiled brat, who constantly gets her way, spoiled, spoiled, spoiled...

And you're all mine~

[chubbology]

Taste Tester

prompt: as you practice baking for a competition, your wife gains weight as a taste tester

Abby jumps into your arms, telling you over and over Congratulations! You laugh and twirl her around in the kitchen; it’s easy when she’s so small and light.

You’re in. In the baking competition. The baking competition. “You’ll be on TV!” Abby says as if meaning, You’ll be knighted by the Queen!

All you can think about is this chance: to show off your skills, get your name out there, who knows what else; it’s your big break. Your chance to bake for an audience, a panel of judges no less - you like some competition.

You only have a few months before the flight out, but that’s more than enough time to polish your abilities and master your recipes.

“To be honest,” you say, “I’m most excited to have an excuse to bake things for you.”

“Oh!” Abby slams her hands down on your shoulders. It doesn’t hurt too much. “Oh please do those macaroons. And those chocolate eclairs again. It’s been ages. They were so good…” Abby dramatically closes her eyes, reminiscing.

“Of course.” You cup her kind face in both your hands. “You’ll be my taste tester, right? You have to be picky. My desserts can’t just be amazing to win. They have to be professionally incredible!”

Abby nodded once. “I’ll hold you to my highest standard.”

~

Her highest standard is pretty much just: sugary. She enthusiastically declares to love everything you make, great or just okay, but you don’t mind. She takes her job of taste tester seriously, and within a couple weeks, she’s practically bothering on the hour to make those cookies again, more of this spongy cake, that one thing, but make it pink? Pretty please?

Despite the show’s demand for variety, you can’t help but prioritize Abby’s preferences and whims. She likes soft and chewy things, and caloric, decadent things, and so you keep making them in a frenzy of productivity. Cakes and more cakes, and - really, it impresses you how much of it she eats. Not just bites. Finishing whole dishes off.

You keep waiting for her to get sick of it, sick of the sugar, but if anything, she starts to eat a bit…compulsively. She starts eating late into the night. Starts eating sweets early in the morning.

She starts to get softer.

Plumper. Chubby.

Her hips round and thicken, her thighs swell, her jaw loses its edge. You find yourself enraptured by these changes. Her breasts get bigger. Her chin gently doubles when she looks down.

Sometimes you forget who and what you’re supposed to be baking for.

You add too much cream and custard as pastry fillings because you want to hear her moan a little longer into those gushing bites. You add a little too much sugar because her belly is cute and pudgy and peeking out of her clothes and you’re hopelessly in love with it. With her. Why shouldn’t that belly get just a little bigger?

Weeks pass of your increasingly hard work and her increasingly hearty eating (now at regular meals too, not just with your desserts). Her weight gain picks up, gaining momentum, making her heavier. Wider. A tad bit slower. Your attention feels split in half between one-minded focus on making winning dishes and all-consuming infatuation with Abby’s oblivious yet unhesitating march toward…fat.

~

Instead of falling asleep to fantasies of winning the competition, starting your own bakery, and living in an idyllic future, you fall asleep to the comfort of holding your overweight wife.

~

A week before you’re off on the flight to the show’s set, you host a tasting party, making all your best pastries and cakes and baked dishes. It starts off excellently: No one invited flakes (and neither do your dishes), your house is bustling with energy and cheer and congratulations and good lucks, and Abby is being more endearing than usual, not so much tasting the different offerings as she was mechanically eating full meals-worth of food every moment she wasn’t talking with friends.

You try to be discreet about sneaking looks at her fairly enormous bubble butt, currently hugged very tightly in jeans that didn’t fit her anymore.

She keeps eating and eating, clearly oblivious to how much more she was consuming compared to everyone else.

A couple hours into the party, Abby lets out a jolly laugh at something someone says, and you look over as her pink-nailed plump hands cover her mouth to hide how full it was of macaroons.

You witness it happen: the gust of her laugh finally straining her waistband past it’s limit; her jeans button popping off, landing with a tap on the tile floor a few feet away. At the same moment, ample lower belly surging through waistband flaps, its weight enough to force open the zipper to its base.

For a very long half second, you, Anna, and your mutual friends all stare at the hefty, fat belly cradled in her opened jeans. Then Anna sucks it in and flees, all high-pitched apologies and self-depreciations.

You follow, of course, opening your bedroom door to find Abby frantically changing into different jeans - presumably the first pair she got her hands on, because they aren’t well chosen. She struggles to get them up past her bulky thighs.

You let out a small sigh (trying not to get distracted by her artful cellulite). “Abby…”

“Nothing fits anymore.”

“Abby,” you try again.

She flings the jeans away and stomps to the closet, making many parts of her body wobble and jiggle on the way. She comes back out in a pair of leggings. Whether she was shamefaced because resorting to stretchy leggings would make it crystal clear to everyone at the party what her wardrobe situation was, or because the leggings weren’t actually stretchy enough, giving her a four inches or so of pure, fatty muffin top overhang on both her sides...you don’t know. You’re more concerned that Abby’s eyes are glassy.

“I’ve gained a lot of weight,” she breathes out, rubbing one temple. It’s the first time she’s acknowledged it.

You want to hold her pudgy hands and tell her: Honey, you’ve ballooned. Forty or fifty pounds at least. Instead, you say, “You look amazing. You just need properly sized clothes that fit you.”

She looks up at you, too innocent. You realize with a flash of insight that her body is finally as soft as her heart. “You don’t hate it?” she asks.

“The opposite. I love how I can see how much I love you, and how much you’re being loved.”

You mean every word, and it’s clear Abby knows you do. She’s not so self-conscious that she doesn’t pull you into one of her classic, crushing hugs. “You’re a good baker,” she mumbles.

You laugh.

~

(You get third place at the baking competition, and couldn’t be more proud. But even that is nothing compared to coming home to your excited wife, who, while she was gone, learned to bake a little herself, gaining another thirteen pounds all on her own.)

---

Thank you to the reader who commissioned this work!

And thank you for their amazing GIF!!!! They would prefer to stay anonymous.

I'd love to write more. Check me out <3 etsy.com/shop/Chubbology

[stuffedsounds]

all I want is someone to shove food into until their belly is hot and hard and they’re moaning in agony is that too much to ask??

[kuchisabishiigwa]

Don't go to the gym

Eat. 🍰

Be worked out by me instead.

And embrace it. 🐽

Don't walk baby.

Eat. 🍰🍰

Until you waddle.

And embrace it. 🐽💖🐽

Don't stand baby.

Eat. 🍰🍰🍰

Until you're bed-locked.

And embrace it. 🐽💖💖🐽

Don't be a person.

Eat. 🍰🍰🍰🍰

Be a pig. A hungry, mindless pig.

Embrace it. 🐽💖💖💖🐽

You're so much happier this way.

So EAT. 🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰

💖🐽💖🐽💖🐽💖

[fatfundiplover]

In typical queer fashion I am besties w my ex gf, and she's been putting on weight the past year or so and recently has brought up she has this kink. She kinda mentioned it when we were together but she didn't seem super enthusiastic when I talked about it so I never broached the subject until she brought it up recently...and long story short it's been hot as hell, she has been gaining and hoping I'd notice, and it's hard not to notice 🥴 I gave her a challenge to eat a pint of ice cream every nightnfor a week and she passed w FLYING colors stuffing herself every night for me even after the week, and has increased her gain goals a couple times since 🥵 there's mutual encouragement and adoration and I feel like I'm living a fantasy rn