ellievsbear
Product Placement
Not today Justin
No title available
⁂
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Monterey Bay Aquarium
if i look back, i am lost
Mike Driver
Sweet Seals For You, Always
tannertan36
will byers stan first human second
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
PR's Tumblrdome
ojovivo
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
$LAYYYTER
wallacepolsom
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
we're not kids anymore.
seen from France
seen from South Korea
seen from Italy
seen from Taiwan
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from Brazil
seen from Belgium
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Qatar
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Germany
@thehandthatfeeders
idek if you’re active on here but please please update the medical doctor weight gain story i beg
Still active. Writing is pretty streaky, but the entire outline already written, just need to find time/motivation to put pen to paper. Maybe another chapter next month :)
Which feedee are you? (Your path to becoming a feedee)
OG: For as long as you've been getting yourself off, this has been a fixation of yours. It may not have been the first arousing memory, but it's undoubtedly foundational. Maybe you enjoyed the thought of bloating, and you snuck downstairs to push your limits bc it felt good. Perhaps you read stories online about feeders growing feedees to reasonable or unreasonable levels. Whatever the case may be, this has been ever-present in your life and evolving as long as this fetish has been there for you. Maybe you're open about it, perhaps you're not, but this is a big part of your identity. It's always been central to your sex life. This is unapologetically you, as it always has been.
Inherited: You may have had a bit more of a submissive past, and when this fetish was introduced to you by a partner, it felt like a glove in a hand. That partner's excitement about feedism may have spurred you on, or something about the fetish stood out to you. Maybe you'd never explored the deviant parts of your sexuality, or perhaps you just were never aware of feedism. Yet once someone you were close to showed you to the door, you pushed it open and never looked back. Regardless of whether this partner is still in your life or not, this is your fetish now. This fetish may be deeply tied to your partner(s), but that's not a foregone conclusion.
Repressive: You're well aware of feedism… Yet every time you get off to the ideas around it, you wince. You frequently repress your feelings around feedism. Yes, shame is a part of feedism to a degree for every feedee, but for you, it's too much to bear. Every time you've put on weight, it's been accidental, and you've made no plans to keep it, yet it's still hot to you. Your online persona is a complete secret, or you're a lurker who constantly deletes accounts and runs away. More than anything, regardless of when this fetish came into your life, it's a burden for you to be a feedee. Frankly, you'd hesitate to label yourself as a feedee, despite how horny this fetish makes you and the fantasies surrounding it will stay that way.
Switch: Maybe you were a dom once, or your path to feedism was that of a feeder, but along the way, something happened. Now, your place on the feeder/feedee spectrum is somewhere in the middle or far on the opposite side. A partner pushed you, or you discovered something about yourself but ultimately found that being a feedee appeals to you as much or more than being a feeder. Regardless of what this means for your waistline, you got to this point because deep down, you're a switch at heart, and staying firmly on one side of the spectrum wasn't core to who you are.
Pretender: Who would admit to this? Yet money or attention is more of a motivator to you than getting yourself off to this. Despite what the Chan sites would say, you represent the tiniest fraction of feedees, but nonetheless, you participate in this fetish for your reasons. Maybe you're fat and tangentially in the feedism scene because the people you interact with want you to be. Maybe you're skinny, and gaining 15-30 pounds is easy enough to back out of. This fetish has never been deeply appealing to you, but it's tolerable; you're sex-positive, and you understand it to some tertiary level. That being said, you wear the badge, so welcome.
Which Feedee are you? What was your path or paths to get here? Enjoy the feedism pseudoscience.
Get your Fat Smut here
Writing a new filthy fat fetish story and I think it fucking slaps.
If you like humiliation in your fetish content, with a healthy dose of character development, It'll make you enjoy yourself. Please lean forward.
Pick your platform: https://fantasyfeeder.com/stories/view?id=311285&userId=47280 https://www.deviantart.com/homestar123/art/Her-Humiliation-Part-1-987998356
Here I am promoting my latest fat smut again (added a ton of chapters). Form a line, there is enough smut for everyone.
If you've ever wanted to read a story where the main pov character is a fat phobic douche, this is your chance. Promise he'll bone a fat and bitch about it. Also if you enjoy a slow build up (ladies), this one sure takes it's time before the pants come of.
I finished this story last night and posted the last chapter. Pleased with what I wrote. It’s got lots of teasing and hot stuff.
Trusting Her Doctor's Orders - A Medical Weight Gain Story (Part 2 of 5)
Previous Part One year later…
I fidgeted with my top as I waited for my doctor in the examination room. Something about it felt a bit off, and in the back of my head, I knew why but was too nervous to confront it. Something had been nagging at me for most of the past year. It had all started early into my first semester, those first three months of school, and then increasingly beyond that. Yet, despite the signs, I pushed those kinds of worries far away from me.
My freshman year had been a ton of fun. I made a lot of friends, got a job bartending, and even landed a new boyfriend who worked at that bar. My friends told me my boyfriend was far too old for me. On the contrary, I found it hot that he was almost 30, which used to be too much of a gap for me, but I didn't care anymore. Sure, my grades were nothing to write home about, but I was never an academic superstar. I just wanted the piece of paper that came at the end of this thing so I could get a decent job. Maybe my ambition wasn't sky-high, but I was just floating through life, trying to enjoy it.
Though my first year in this new college town was fun, I couldn't ignore that the fun I'd had was starting to have some consequences. Honestly, since the fall, I've been feeling a bit bloated. I wasn't sure what it was exactly, but maybe I'd been getting a bit too much takeout. I'd brought it up to my nurse the other three times I'd gone to receive my Depo birth control shots, but she didn't sound concerned. Perhaps I'd put on a teensy bit of weight, at most the freshman fifteen (if that). But even 15 pounds seemed excessive for me, someone who had always been in good shape.
Regardless of what was going on with me, the worst part of it all was that my shorts were digging into me way too tightly (They weren't buttoning right either), and I could feel my halter top clinging to me, too. I felt stupid for not wearing yoga pants or a hoodie. However, the August heat was too much, and I was very thankful my doctor still had his oscillating fan going, spreading the intoxicating peppermint room scent around his office. That smell always reminded me of him.
If I was being honest, I kinda wanted to look cute for Dr Prescott (aka Dr Dreamboat). Though tight, these shorts made my butt look good, and the top was the best one I had at showing off my cleavage. I hadn't seen him in a year, and I hoped I hadn't overdone it with my mascara. Yes, I had a boyfriend, but a girl can still have a crush on an older man with authority. Sue me.
The knock on the door immediately tensed me up, snapping me out of my daydreaming. He entered shortly after, somehow looking even better than I remembered. God, why do men age so well?
"Hi, Stephanie. It's good to see you again." He said with a warm smile that made me blush. I surveyed him and saw he was wearing a V-neck shirt, barely exposed between his doctor's coat. Guiltily, I spent a little too much time trying to count the chest hairs I could see.
"Hi… Dr Prescott." I said, trying to sound nonchalant but barely succeeding.
"We've been over this before, Stephanie. Call me Clark."
"Oh, right. Sorry." I apologized reservedly, wishing I wasn't so nervous around Clark. I'd really wanted to show him how much I'd matured over the past year, but I still felt like a silly little girl with a crush in his presence.
"It's okay. How've you been?" He asked with a smirk, taking a few steps towards me and crossing his arms. I noticed that his sleeves were rolled up enough to bare his forearms and got distracted.
"Good… um… school has been great," I said, barely able to articulate myself, given that my brain had gone kind of fuzzy. When hot older guys talked to me, this was pretty normal for me.
"That's good. Happy to hear." Dr Prescott chucked. "Ready to get started?"
"Ummm, sure…" I said, trying to snap myself out of my trace. From the look on his face, I could tell he wasn't taking me as seriously as I was taking him, which made me feel like I was at a natural disadvantage.
"Okay, let's start with your height and weight." Clark said, pointing over to the scale and stadiometer in the corner I remembered them being in last year.
Uneasily and clumsily getting up off the doctor's table I was seated on, my center of balance felt a little off as I tried to find my feet. I could feel the hair tie I'd used to fasten the front of my shorts stretching to its limit, which I'd had to resort to since the button on them had gone missing. Yet, gladly and nervously, I walked over to the corner of the room Clark had gestured. With my back to him, I made sure to add a tiny extra sway in my step, hoping he liked the way my butt looked in my shorts.
We went through the motions of checking my height, which remained unchanged, but when it came time to step on the scale, I felt very apprehensive. Deep down, I knew I wasn't the 120-pound girl who had stepped on it a year ago, and I couldn't run away from that anymore.
"Okay, step on." Dr Prescott said, picking up a clipboard in one hand, writing something down on it, and then watching me intently.
I did as instructed and heard the scale groan a bit louder than I remembered previously. I closed my eyes as I heard Clark fiddle with the sliders on the scale and felt my leg twitching nervously as I waited.
"Okay…" Clark said, as I heard the metallic clanking of the counterweights moving. "One hundred and sixty… one.." He said methodically as each slider landed in their spot.
My heart stopped, and I felt the breath leave my lungs. What? Did he say…??
"Did you say sixty?" I asked, opening my eyes, terrified yet still hopeful I'd misheard. Yet I saw the counterweights on the weight beam at the top of the physician's scale, realizing he wasn't joking.
"Yup, one sixty-one." Dr Prescott repeated again, nonchalantly, as if I wasn't freaking out in my head.
"And you're sure that's right?" I said, my voice shaking. Suddenly, I felt heavy. Heavy in a way I had never felt before and had been actively trying not to acknowledge all year. A word was creeping into my head that I'd never wanted to associate with myself, nor thought I'd ever associate with myself. Fat.
"I'm sure." He said, understanding that I wasn't taking the news well. "Would you like to try again to be sure?" Clark offered.
"Yes… please." I whispered, hopefully trying to reason that this was a mistake.
"Okay, step off." Clark commanded. To which I stepped backward off the scale, letting him reset the poise weight sliders.
"Okay, back on." Dr. Prescott ordered. I did as instructed and closed my eyes again as Dr. Prescott began to fiddle with the sliders.
"Ah, okay, my mistake," Clark conceded, almost making me breathe a sigh of relief. Only… he kept talking. "One hundred and sixty-two. Was off by a pound." Again, my heart sank, hearing that bigger number. This couldn't be right.
"Ohh…" I said, not knowing what to say. I could feel how tight my clothes were on my body, and I felt fat. Really fat. Fatter than I'd ever felt. I could feel my stomach pushing out, my ass uncomfortably packed in my shorts, my thigh's circulation getting cut off by them, and everything on me just felt awkward and soft.
"I'm guessing this is a surprise?" Clark said, looking at me with his eyebrow arched. Then he did something that made me feel very vulnerable: He looked down at my stomach.
"A bit, yeah." I conceded shyly, instinctively sucking and trying to self-consciously pull my top down. I was mortified when I felt a tiny bit of pudge exposed at the very bottom that I was able to cover with a sharp tug. Yet, even with my tummy covered, my top felt so unreasonably tight around my middle. Why had I worn this stupid top!? My stomach felt so soft and mushy. My clothes didn't fit my body anymore!
"Well, it's typical to put on some weight when adjusting to a new setting, Stephanie." Dr. Prescott said in a soothing tone that contrasted with the panic in my head. I wished he would've stopped there, though, given he laid on his professional concern. "That being said, forty-two pounds in a year is honestly a bit high."
"I'm sorry." I apologized for no reason other than shame in myself. "I… I don't know how this happened." I admitted kind of at a loss. Sure, maybe I'd partied and gotten lazier about exercising this past year, but I didn't think I'd gone that hard, had I? Most of all, I felt humiliated that Dr. Prescott was seeing me like this. I hated thinking about what he had to be thinking about me. Just some silly little girl who lost control and got fat. That wasn't hot.
Relax, Stephanie." Dr. Prescott said, holding up a hand calmingly, seeing that I was starting to spiral. It's mostly okay if you keep an eye on it. However, I'm inclined to tell you that your BMI is at 27 right now. That's about 11 pounds into the overweight range."
"Oh god… it is?" I half-moaned in disappointment. Overweight? Really? Had it gotten this bad?
"Yes, it's nothing too concerning, though." Dr Prescott shrugged. "I'd just advise you to be a bit more active and watch your snacking. Losing 11 pounds is easy enough, but take it slow. The only real thing to keep an eye on is the excess weight around your abdominal area. But it's not that bad at the moment, so don't worry."
"Oh.. okay." I said meekly, hating that he'd just said 'the excess weight around your abdominal area.' God, how embarrassing.
There was a short, awkward silence that I soon filled. "Umm…" There was something on my mind I felt like I needed to bring up. Gaining 42 pounds in a year just didn't seem like something I could be fully responsible for, and a concern I'd had was bubbling up.
"What's up?" Clark said, regarding me and putting down the clipboard, which he'd probably been noting my weight.
I remembered one of my new friends from school telling me about a girl she went to high school with. Though it had worried me when I first heard the story, I'd since pushed it from my thoughts until now, given how far-fetched and exaggerated it sounded.
"So…" I started with a nervous sigh. "I told one of my friends I was on the Depo birth control shots… and she told me about a girl that she went to school with that went on it… and… put on like 75 pounds."
According to my friend, it was true. Allegedly, this girl she knew had been a skinny little thing until she went on the Depo shots. Popular, rich, sought after by boys, and a total attention whore that wouldn't shut up about how tiny and skinny she was. Then, she went on the shot, and everything changed for her fast. Apparently, she was highly susceptible to the apparent weight gain side effects of the shot, and once she started putting on weight, she couldn't stop it from happening. In the span of three months, she rapidly gained over 75 pounds, completely ballooning going into her senior year fat. She lost her spot on the school dance team; her boyfriend dumped her, she was teased by all the girls she used to make fun of, and she had to buy all new clothes.
The whole situation sounded devastating, and while I had worried about myself after hearing the story, it now made sense why my friend had told me this. She must've seen the way my body was growing and couldn't hold her tongue. Was it possible that the same thing was happening to me?
Yet, as I looked at Dr Prescott, his face was serious. "Stephanie, is your friend who told you this dubious story a doctor?"
I was a bit taken aback by his tone. It was very firm, and the way he was speaking down to me made me a bit flustered. "No.. but.."
"People gain weight for various reasons." He declared. "You're going to have to trust me when I tell you your birth control shot is not the culprit here. Okay?"
"Okay…" I agreed immediately, putting the notion out of my head. He seemed so professional and sure, so I had to trust him.
"Do you mind if I ask you some lifestyle questions?" Clark said, pivoting to a gentler tone while guiding me back to the examination table.
"Sure." I softly said, uncomfortably walking over with my hands over the tummy area of my shirt and taking a seat.
"Do you drink?" He asked, leveling his clipboard again and taking a seat across from me in his rolly chair.
"Yes." I said, knowing that my drinking habits had gotten a bit worse over the year.
"Beer?" He questioned in an atonal voice.
"Yes." I answered, given that I worked at a bar and got discounts on the tap on off hours… I'd gotten a little too used to sampling the goods I sold.
"Okay, keep an eye on that. It's definitely contributing to the bloating around your midsection here." He said, very lightly putting his hand on my middle. I could feel the softness squish against his firm hand pushing in, which shocked me out of my comfort zone. Part of me wanted to scoot back or flinch away so he didn't have to feel my pudge, but I didn't dare.
"Oh… okay." I breathed out, unable to move as his hand lingered there for a few seconds. It was embarrassing to be touched there and have my fat pointed out, but still, it was odd that I liked having him feel me. I hated how much I still liked his touch despite it being on my tummy.
"And the birth control shots are still working for you, yes?" Clark said, removing his hand from my middle.
"Umm…" I wondered to myself If I should switch back to my old birth control method, just out of caution.
Before I could convey that, Dr Prescott cut in. "They're still working for you, right?" He said a bit forcefully.
"Yes." I found myself saying in agreement, not wanting to cause a fuss.
"Good." He said, nodding before continuing his questions. "Sexually active?"
"Yes." I admitted. Though not quite as much as when my boyfriend and I first started seeing each other, nor that first few months of school when I was kind of a slut.
"Boyfriend, girlfriend?" Clark asked.
"Yes, a boyfriend." I confirmed, feeling a pit now forming in my stomach. Oh god, what did my boyfriend think of me now? Was this extra weight why he'd been a little distant towards me lately? I was starting to second-guess everything, worry, and stress. Did my boyfriend think I was getting too fat?
"Okay, make sure he wears a condom. I'll write you a prescription for another year." Clark commented.
"Okay." I said, knowing full well that my boyfriend hated wearing condoms. Admittedly, I didn't like condoms much either, given I had a pretty shameful breeding fetish that I kept a secret from everyone.
"Is there anything new bothering your health lately, Stephanie?" Clark asked earnestly, giving me an opening to talk about something that had come up over the summer.
"So… all summer, I've been dealing with allergies all of a sudden, and it was brutal for me over the summer. Like, my eyes just get really red when I have to go outside, and the pollen really kills me." I complained. It had gotten terrible to the point where I was opting to stay indoors some days during the worst pollen-filled days.
"Okay, hmmm… let's see," Clark seemed to ponder my conundrum for a moment before having what appeared to be a spark of inspiration. "I'd recommend Prednisone. It's an oral corticosteroid that can help with your allergies. I know we've just passed grass pollen allergy season, but I'd recommend still taking it now so your body gets used to having its system come next allergy season.
"Are there any side effects?" I asked, not understanding some of Dr. Prescott's words but still a bit cautious. Even though Dr. Prescott had assured me that my Depo-Provera birth control shots couldn't be the cause of my weight gain, I felt like I should be extra careful about anything else.
"Nothing you should be too concerned about," Dr. Prescott said coolly, putting me at ease. It was so easy to trust him with those kind eyes, so I didn't press further.
We carried on the rest of the visit normally, going through the standard check. I was incredibly thankful I didn't have to take off my shirt this time, given the state of my body, but I did have to pull down my shorts a bit to get my Depo birth control shot on my butt. It was a little awkward, and I could feel my butt jiggle a bit as he swabbed at the area he was going to inject in before doing so.
After it was all over, I walked out of Dr Prescott's exam room, feeling a rumbling in my stomach. I knew I should probably start a diet, but I could just as easily start one tomorrow. After all, I was sure once I buckled down, I'd get my weight issue under control. For some reason, I had an intense craving for pancakes and hash browns and knew a diner around the corner.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note: Shout out to an extra special feedee who gave me some ideas for this part <3 she's really cute, i like her, and she deserves credit (she knows who she is)
The origin of a Feedee
I made a post on DA about people's favorite type of feedee origin (aka how a feedee got into feedism), and what people like to read about regarding feedee characters in erotic lit. The spread was pretty interesting, so I'll share here with any of you data nerds. I'll probably make a more detailed horny post about this sometime.
Ink is my Blood, Apollonia Saintclair, disponible sur entre-image.com
Spectrum of a Feeder: Right-Shift Vs Left-Shift.
Over the past year or so, I've been chatting more with arguably the less exciting branch of the feedism partnership. Feeders. The real support class of the feedism world. I used to avoid talking to feeders on purpose because what's the point? As a feeder myself, other feeders are barely interesting to me, but then ya know, some of you feeder gals and pals are doing some creative and weird shit, so let's innovate together.
Generally, most feeders in the community seem to have a non-aggression pact with each other. Except for a few dickwads out there that should be on a public register. Still, the number of active feeders in the community is astonishingly low, and quite honestly, those of us out there grinding and fattening up feedees aren't talking with each other like feedees seem to be in this community. Regardless, weather you're an active or passive feeder, at a base level, we feeders mostly want the same thing. Making more fatties in the world and getting them to eat and enjoy getting fat and being fat. Our lizard brains fire the same way.
Of course, some feeders are more dominant, and others are more subservient, but that's not what we're talking about here today.
That brings me to a spectrum of two archetypes of feeders that I've encountered and arbitrarily labeled as Left-Shift feeders and Right-Shift feeders. Obviously, this is a spectrum, but it seems as if there is a general through line to explore here.
Alright, lets' make some sweeping generalizations…
Right-Shit Feeders: Live for the moment. Live for the experience. These feeders are typically more driven by the adventure of feedism. They are chasing that crescendo of sex between a feeder and feedee. Feedism comes out for them in bursts of passion, and they're more apt to engage in typical relationship dynamics between feedism sex. These feeders are more interested in a feedee's overall aesthetic (how their fat looks on their body) rather than the number on the scale. They may have weight goals for you, but they'll help you get there as life flows. They're visual and detail-oriented. They're gonna find that new fat roll before you do. Don't get me wrong, these feeders still love weight gain (who doesn't), but they're less sexually driven by chasing a number than their Left-shift counterparts. Typically, they're more willing to pump the breaks on the gain train if it feels like the right call or if you need a break. If they're going to feed you, they're more likely to prioritize taste and quality of food over calorie count. Either rough/soft feedism can be in play, yet these feeders are more apt to switch between the two. These feeders may be a little more creative with what they say to you to get you off, and honestly, they're more interested in you getting off. They may love foreplay and roleplay while making the experience last as long as possible.
Left-Shift Feeders: Live for the destination. Live for the milestones. These feeders typically are more numbers-driven. They are chasing that climax of sex between a feedee and a feeder. They tend to love it more when that number on the scale goes up, so they set goals, enforce those goals, and focus more on getting a feedee there. These feeders will count your calories for you and let you know when you're slipping. They're prescriptive. They know your intake better than you do. They're going to crunch the numbers and may care more about the quality of calories than the taste. Every 10 pounds you gain is like Christmas for them. Your weight gain is the primary sexual driver for them. They have a goal weight for you in mind, and their main drive is getting you to that point, no matter what. They're less likely to pump the breaks if you want to slow down your gain or take a break. These feeders can engage in rough or soft feedism, but they're more apt to have a strong preference for one over the other. These feeders are a bit more to the point with feedism sex. Food in and fuck. They may be just as motivated to get themselves off as they are to get you off.
So Feeders, what are you? Right-Shift, Left-Shirt, or somewhere in between?
Alright, now that the world is a little fatter than in the early 2000s… can women's fashion just hurry the fuck up and get back to this? We're all here on that 20-year fashion cycle, and we need bare midriffs to be the craze it used to be. Feedism was on dial-up at this point and it barely had a pulse.
Packing it on 😳
Food Motivation refers to the drive that living beings have to eat as a means of satisfying hunger. This is a primary drive and what makes training fatties, and controlling feedees, so effective. Exploit it, enable it, and she’ll grow like a fucking pig.
Someone convince me that people who give hickies and feeders that pile pounds of fat onto a feedee aren't the same. They both out there trying to mark their territory… one just tries to make that mark a little more permanent 😏
Trusting Her Doctor's Orders - A Medical Weight Gain Story (Part 1 of 5)
"Dr Prescott will see you now…" The chirpy receptionist said to me as I sat alone in the waiting room.
I was nervous. After showing up in my new college town, I was switching doctors now that I'd entered my life as an 18 year old adult. Sure, I was nervous about having a new doctor for the first time since I gained consciousness, but I was even more anxious since learning my Doctor was a man. I'd been used to going to a Dr Fusario my entire life and hadn't really thought too hard about my new Doctor being a man or woman when I selected the 'first available' option on the patient sign-up sheet online. Yet now that I knew, I felt my tummy knot a bit, not knowing what a check-up at this clinic would fully entail.
When I got into the check-up room, I decided to leave my camisole and skirt on, not really sure about the protocol. The summer had just ended, but there was a light breeze caressing my skin as I opened the door, which felt nice, contrasting against the stuffy heat I'd been experiencing out in the waiting room. Inside the check-up room was a table in the center of the room with the typical kraft paper. Thus, as I'd been trained all my life, I sat down on the white paper and started waiting. I could feel another cool breeze tickle my back and neck, and I turned to see an oscillating fan rotating back and forth in the far corner of the room. The scent in the room smelled unlike how I would expect a doctor's office to smell. I'd grown used to the light floral smells of Dr. Fusario's, but this room smelt like peppermint.
There was a standing mirror in the front corner of the room as well, and I could see my reflection, taking a moment to adjust my hair. I liked it long but had cut it to shoulder length to reinvent myself. I'd always wanted to go blonde but was plenty fine with my raven black hair on my pale complexion. Though slightly self-conscious about my looks (like any other girl I knew), I knew I was a conventionally attractive hourglass. Though I hadn't used my looks for too much other than a short stint in the cheerleading squad and to land a few interesting-looking boyfriends. Honestly, I'd gravitated more toward the outcasts, rebels, and burnouts. I was outgoing, but at times, I was a shy person.
Not having to wait long, I heard a pair of firm knocks on the door, and before I could react, a man much younger than I expected to see walked in. At a glance, he seemed to be just over 30, with a stubble beard, and with the way he'd rolled up the sleeves of his Doctor's jacket, he appeared to be a very fit man. My eyes were glued to those forearms. The moment I saw him, I was shocked by how attractive he was, and I felt my mouth go a bit dry. Admittedly, I kind of had a thing for older guys… It had gotten me into a lot of trouble when I was younger. The boyfriends I'd moved on from had gotten me into drinking, drugs, and bad behavior a little too early in my life, but I was at least competent enough to get out the other side of that and into community college. Even still, despite older guys being a bad influence on my life, I didn't feel like changing my tastes, especially now that I was a freshman in college. Though typically, older guys, to me, meant guys maybe five years older, not ten. Yet, this guy was put together in a way that checked too many of my boxes.
"You must be Stephanie. Nice to meet you." He said in a deep, soothing voice, holding out his hand. Fuck, even his voice sounded hot.
Hi-Hi.. nice to meet you, Dr Prescott." I answered back, collecting myself from the edge of swooning to shake his hand.
"Please, call me Clark." He said, ending the handshake a few seconds too early for my taste. I'd gotten distracted by how smooth his hands were, forgetting that he was a professional. He was taller than me for sure, at least 6ft. I wanted to bite the skin off my lip but held myself back.
"O..Okay." I answered back, noticing how tight the shirt was under his jacket to his pecks, but I made sure not to let my eyes linger.
"Let's start with your height." He said, gesturing over to a stadiometer on the wall.
Following his gesture, I hopped up off my perch on the examination table and put my back against the wall. Dr. Prescott then lowered a stick attached to the stadiometer until it was touching the top of my head. I could feel a moment when his finger glanced against some of my hair, and I closed my eyes, savoring the feeling.
"Okay… 5'5, good. No change there." He said, picking up a clipboard from his desk located near the door and then jotting down the measurement.
"And can you step on the scale?" He said, gesturing to the stereotypical-looking Dr scale next to the stadiometer.
Unafraid, I stepped on, and Dr. Prescott moved the largest counterweight to 100 and the medium counterweight to 20.
"Okay… 120 pounds. Perfect, Stephanie. BMI is… right at 20. Well within the healthy range for your height."
His praise felt good in the pit of my stomach and made me affectionately glow, craving more. I felt silly for feeling this way as I stepped off the scale. I knew my weight. It hadn't changed in two years. And given I still had my shoes and clothes on, it was probably a hair lower than 120. But still, I liked that he knew.
"Okay, please remove your top if you don't mind. I'm going to check your vitals." Dr. Prescott commanded.
"Oh… Okay." I said, maybe sounding a bit nervous.
Seemingly, Dr Prescott picked up on my trepidation. "Or you can lift it. I just need to listen to your heart."
"No, I don't mind." I quickly said, pulling off my camisole and stripping down to my Victoria's Secret bra. My pulse felt elevated, given I'd worn a bit of suggestive bra, and I watched my Doctor's eyes to see if he'd take a short peak at my cleavage. Yet, ever the professional, he put on his stethoscope and put the cold metal device on my chest. I prayed he go lower, to touch the tops of my boobs, but he unfortunatley got what he needed before I could get too worked up.
"Okay, you can put your top back on. Heartbeat seems a little elevated, but we'll check out your blood pressure and vitals."
He proceeded to go through the standard check-up tests as I sat on the examination table. It seemed as if time flew by, but he made me feel comfortable as he did his tests. At the end of it all, he went over to his desk, sat down on a small wheely stool, and then started taking some notes.
"Alright, that just about does it. Any concerns you want to talk about today, Stephanie?" Clark said, spinning around in his stool and facing me.
There was something I needed to talk about. I needed a new birth control prescription since mine had expired. It was just weird to ask a stranger, as I hadn't yet gotten comfortable enough with Clark as my Doctor.
"Yeah, so… I'm in a new environment with school. And… I need to update my birth control prescription." I meekly stated.
"Got it. Are you currently sexually active, Stephanie?" Clark asked nonchalantly.
Not… right this moment." I said, a bit shy to answer the question. I'd broken up with my ex a month ago in preparation for my moving away and hadn't slept with anyone since. "But, I don't know, I'm not ready for pregnancy anytime soon. Should I wait until I… meet someone? before…"
"You're a young, beautiful girl, so I don't doubt you'll have an issue finding partners at your school. No, these are just standard questions." Picking up a piece of paper on his desk and examining it.
"Oh, okay." I trembled, feeling warm after he called me a beautiful girl. Did that mean he thought I was attractive? I could feel my chest flush.
Clark plowed forward. "But, that being said, if your primary concern is pregnancy, I'd recommend switching your birth control prescription. Looks like you're on the patch according to your chart… the 'Ortho Evra' patch, yeah, it's effective, but not the most effective.
"Oh? So, is there something better?" I asked, perking up. If I knew myself, I'd need the best option, hoping to be a bit sluttier in my college years.
"Certainly. Are you squeamish when it comes to shots at all?" Dr Prescott asked me.
"No, not really." I said, shaking my head.
"Well, there is a highly effective birth control method called progestin hormonal injection. You only have to get it every three months, but it's one of the best methods aside from condoms for preventing unwanted pregnancy. I'd recommend switching you to that." He said, meeting my eyes and holding my gaze.
Ohhh, he has pretty hazel eyes… I thought to myself before answering him. "Okay, if you think that's best, I'll do that."
"Good." He said, rummaging through a cabinet over his desk and pulling out a small box with a syringe in it. "I can give you your first shot today, and then you can return every three months. A nurse should be able to handle that, no problem. Can you stand up and pull down your skirt a little bit?" He asked, sliding his rolly chair over to where I was beginning to stand up from the exam table.
Blushing, I slowly pulled the hemline of my checkered skirt down until half of my hip was exposed. I was a bit embarrassed that the elastic band of my thong was showing, but Dr Prescott was quick to give me the shot, so I didn't have to expose myself for too long.
"Okay, You're all set." Dr Prescott said, smiling at me. "Let's hope I don't see you until next year."
"Bye.. thank you, Dr Prescott… I mean.. Clark." I said, smiling back as I nearly walked face-first into the door on my way out.
"Take care, Stephanie." Dr Prescott chuckled.
I heaved a content sigh, stepping out of Dr Prescott's peppermint-smelling room, and felt my tummy grumble. Maybe I could have an early lunch.
------
Note: I don't often publish serialized stories on Tumblr, but busted this one out really quick and since It's short and episodic, felt like publishing it here first. If this gets enough feedback/traction, I'll keep the story going (fr, not sure if this is what people like, so testing the waters). I've got four more parts mapped out in my head (each a year apart), so if you're into medical weight gain, thistle get spicy. Please enjoy.
Depravity/Desire Scale (For Feedees)
Feedees... where do you land?
0 - Please don't. I don't want to interact with a feeder. This is for me only.
1 - Please encourage me to overeat from afar. Say nice things. I'm pretty shy about all this.
2 - Please hand-feed me slowly and sensually. I will stop eating when I'm content. You can rub my belly, but be gentle.
3 - Please feed me and gently squeeze my belly. You can play with and prod at my fat, but nothing rough. I'll stop eating when I'm full.
4 - Please be a bit rough when hand-feeding me. I want a light sense of danger and want you to push me to eat a bit faster than I'm used to, but I'm still entirely in control. We both organically agree when I stop eating.
5 - Please stuff me. Push me a little past the point of being full. Find my limit where I would stop on my own and then make me go over the line. I want to be both encouraged and teased.
6- Please bend me over a cake and let me eat while you fuck me. Slap my ass and say hot things to me as I eat for you. Encourage me to say nasty feedism things. Make me feel like a fat pig/cow/person.
7 - Please force feed me. What goes in my mouth is entirely in your control. I'm at your mercy from this point on. What you say goes. And even when I moan and complain, you set me straight and make me open wide. You stuff me so much that I can barely move when we're done.
8 - Please tie me up/retrain me and force-feed me or funnel-feed me. I want to surrender all control. I may be a fussy brat about it, but I know you're in change. I may nearly pass out from how much I eat and will need to sleep afterward.
9 - Please Tie me up/restrain me and roughly force-feed me or aggressively funnel-feed me. We get messy. I'm begging you to stop but consenting to the rough play. Tease me while you feed me. Be mean. Be really mean. Slap my fat as you fill me up. When I'm too full to move, take me to my bed and fuck my temporarily immobile body.
10 - Please Say nasty things to me about my weight/size and humiliate the fuck out of me until I cry. As you fuck me, force me to eat whatever you want me to eat, you're in control. Make me eat out of a trough on all fours. I'll oink. I'll Moo. I'll say whatever you want me to. One stuffing is followed by another by the time I'm able to recover. I'm in a near-constant state of food intoxication from how much I'm eating.
Get your Fat Smut here
Writing a new filthy fat fetish story and I think it fucking slaps.
If you like humiliation in your fetish content, with a healthy dose of character development, It'll make you enjoy yourself. Please lean forward.
Pick your platform: https://fantasyfeeder.com/stories/view?id=311285&userId=47280 https://www.deviantart.com/homestar123/art/Her-Humiliation-Part-1-987998356
Here I am promoting my latest fat smut again (added a ton of chapters). Form a line, there is enough smut for everyone.
If you've ever wanted to read a story where the main pov character is a fat phobic douche, this is your chance. Promise he'll bone a fat and bitch about it. Also if you enjoy a slow build up (ladies), this one sure takes it's time before the pants come of.
A Feedee’s involuntary need response
Have you ever seen a feedee on all fours being a complete glutton, and you see her buck her hips back? This is an automatic response of her orgasmic reflexes. She cannot fully control this. This is a very normal and common pre-orgasmic innate response in feedees who get off to stuffing their faces like fat pigs. They throw their hips back because, to feedees, eating on all fours elicits a reaction akin to having sex. As she becomes increasingly aroused and myotonia (involuntary muscle contractions) takes over, the pelvic movements become more purposeful, more rhythmic, more thrusting. Don’t mistake size of rocking for intensity of rocking. Small movements can be just as indicative of arousal as big movements No need to be worry at all. On the contrary, she is in absolute bliss.
Are you a PIG or a COW?
In this community, there is a reductive spectrum that mostly all feedees fall somewhere upon. Pigs and Cows. Some feedees are pigs. Some are cows. Most have a little bit of both.
Cows slowly graze, often mindlessly. These types of feedees willingly let their minds dim as they shut their thoughts off, chewing what's brought in front of them. Cows love having their tits played with and squeezed as they grow, having intrusive thoughts about their boobs being udders. They love having their heads rubbed and being rewarded/praised for how much they're eating. A cow may enjoy being hand-fed by a feeder while having their body rubbed and adored. They love praise and guidance, mentally surrendering by letting someone else do their thinking for them. Cows are more apt to have a breeding or lactation fixation. A cow naturally loves giving oral. Cows are extraordinarily submissive and willing to let the feeder grow them to the size the feeder wants, yet they will more commonly have weight limits. They'd gladly let you put a collar around their neck because they want to let the world know they belong to you. Cows love having a feeder and, more often than not, require having a feeder in their life to help them grow. They are very motivated to please someone else in the pursuit to fatten up.
Pigs get off to gaining weight, often enjoying rapid weight gain. They are more apt to stuff, loving the results that overconsuming can bring to their bodies. Pigs love being teased and humiliated about their weight and love having their growth pointed out. They love being spanked and degraded, called names, and stuffing themselves into outgrown clothes while seeking public humiliation. Pigs are more apt to enjoy eating on all fours, using their hands, or just going face first. They enjoy being funnel-fed by feeders or force-feedings. A pig may not enjoy giving oral, but like all of their fat counterparts, they're good at it. Pigs are a little more rebellious but can become submissive through the right food-related or sex-related incentive. The pigs may not have a weight limit but often have weight goals. Unlike cows, when pigs reach their goal weight, they move the needle to the next goal weight, unable to help themselves from chasing the thrill of gaining. More often than not, pigs get off to seeing the number of the scale going up. A pig doesn't necessarily need a feeder, given they are naturally able and motivated to grow. They are very motivated to please themselves in their pursuit to fatten up.
Feedees, are you a pig or a cow, or something in the middle? Not sure? I'll tell you what you are.
Love / Hate
This is the strongest pleasure you've ever felt, and nothing else you've tried comes close. You didn't think it was weird at first until you found out what other people enjoyed. You didn't think it would dominate you like it does until it became so high on its pedestal. Thus, even though it meant so much to you, It's something you keep secret for a long time. That is, until you were comfortable enough to share a watered-down version of the truth with those close to you (that you can count on one hand). Yet, even in sharing, It's isolating at times. Lonely. Yet, there are hundreds like you. Just like you. That love and hate it just the same.
Partners have come and gone from your life, and you've tried their brands of pleasure, and admittedly, some of the things that got them off were amusing for you to try. When it came to what you wanted, you wouldn't tell them about the bedroom antic and foreplay you obsessed about the most. You'd reveal a more digestible kink that any ordinary person could understand. They believed you. And you believed you, too. Yet, even though you could enjoy their brand of pleasure for a time, it never scratched the itch quite like feedism did.
God, does feedism make you feel so sexually… fulfilled. Your most profound sexual thoughts have always been grounded in feedism. It's a fetish that understands you, pushes you, and constantly finds new ways to thrill you. It's the ex that you always go back to because you compare every new partner to the peak feedism gave you. Yet, as often as you love the feelings this fetish can bring you, as often as you love how visceral and powerful and intoxicating it all can be, there are many times you hate this and wish you never had this fetish. Feedism is sometimes the lover that chokes you to completion and doesn't give you the aftercare you so desperately need.
Sometimes, you wish you could have a 'normal' fetish. Wouldn't it be easier if you could be obsessed with light bondage and feel slightly devious for straying several hairs away from vanilla sex? Why couldn't that be enough? All the doors that would open to you, being able to turn on and off your urges at the correct and convenient times. Not having to live your fetish every day, letting it slowly take control.
Believe me, you've tried to run away from this fetish. Many times. You've forced yourself to try other things that are, though pleasurable, not as good as what clouds your brain like a fog when you think about feedism. You get away for weeks, months, sometimes longer. Yet even if you're fucking someone, you feel like a nun or a monk, giving your life away to celibacy, denying yourself absolute pleasure. Something or someone will always bring you back from your time away from 'this'.
As your life moves forward, of the people that come in and out of your life, it seems you flip-flop between feedist partners and vanilla. The vanilla partners give you a sense of normalcy, that you belong entirely among their world, and that this feedism fetish you have is nothing more than a slight kink of many that you can control. However, with those feedist partners, they give you a sense of fulfillment along with a growing fear that you're giving in to your fetish and losing control. Things end with the feedists when they go too far. Things end with the vanillas when they don't go far enough.
Back and forth you go, ping-ponging between these two worlds and these two versions of yourself until you feel like you're split in two. Yet always, ever always, one side wins out in the end. One side always pulls you closer. Always draws you into its warm embrace. And the longer you fight it and turn from it, the more you realize it's not worth fighting. This is who you are. This is what you want. This is where you belong. There will never be a future where you're not into feedism. Love it or hate it, that's the way it is.
