"Testosterone will make you gain weight" GOOD. Fuckin' tired of looking at your twink ass. Eat that entire pizza or I'm kicking your teeth in. Just let that ravenous, base desire consume you.
There’s a part of me that wants to make sure you always have more than enough food, no matter what, at all times. A good, doting feeder that doesn’t ask anything of you.
But every now and then, there’s this urge to give you just shy of enough. I know how much you really need, but I want you to tell me how you're still hungry even after all I've fed you. I want you to hear yourself admit to me that you need more, even when you’ve eaten more than the average person could. But will you admit it? I suppose it depends on how long you've been mine.
When you first start this hedonistic life that I offer you, I can imagine you're shy about it. Timid about your rapidly increasing appetite. Or, maybe you’re a brat about it. Can’t accept giving up control so easily. Either way, you’re hesitant to lose yourself to it just yet. You're dipping your feet in, but you worry about what might happen if you fully accept your life as a domestic glutton.
But when you're sitting there, in the aftermath of the first round of gorging yourself one night, you can't help but want more. Your greed is undeniable. You don't want to admit it, but you can't stop yourself this time. You’re just too hungry for more. You ask me for a second full meal, just after your first.
"I guess enough food for two people isn't enough for you, is it?"
I drink in the adorably embarrassed look on your face as you squirm over what a greedy little pig you’ve admitted that you are. It may not seem like a big deal this time, but you’ve taken the first step, and there’s no going back. Not now that there’s precedent.
The next time, I’m a little more direct about it. You finish your second meal, as you’ve become accustomed to, and I have dessert ready for you. But you don’t get it that easily this time.
“Ask nicely,” I demand.
You look up at me. I can practically feel how badly you want the tray of brownies in my hands. Homemade, warm and soft, still a little gooey in the middle, your favorite. You ask for them, even adding a sweet little “please” at the end. I reach down and grip your belly roll.
“Again,” I urge, fondling your pretty gut.
You ask again, very nicely, through heaving breaths. I decide that’s good enough, give your belly a nice pat, and set the tray on it. You start digging in immediately. Like a hog at the trough. You’re getting more and more willing to do whatever I ask, so long as you can feel the rush of complete indulgence.
But I want to make sure that the sensation doesn’t stop at just a rush. It has to be a deeper craving. More primal. More intense.
So when I began slipping my hand under your mound of a gut, between those cellulite-ridden thunder thighs of yours, and pleasuring you for every bite you take, oh you started really packing on weight, didn’t you? And there hasn’t been a feast since where you weren’t stimulated the whole way through. I admit, I never let you cum until I’m satisfied with how full you are, but you never disappoint, and you always earn it.
It’s like you’ve had this in you all along. You just needed the right person to enable you and push you to be the best hedonist that you could be. Sure, I play the part of the good feeder a majority of the time. But I think we owe it to the dominant feeder in me for how desperate you are to eat and grow now. And I want to see just how fat you’ll let me make you.
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When a feedee agrees to try a weekend of bedroom roleplay, he enjoys it even more than he expected. (BBW feeder, BHM to USSBHM feedee, XWG, romantic vibe, spicy but no explicit sex. CW: Immobility, mild discussion of health issues.)
April 2024: I'm reposting this here so that I can centralize likes/reblogs and deactivate my old account. When I wrote this story, I had a belly full of Trader Joe's Christmas cookies, a head full of creative energy, and some free time to write. That's when an anonymous prompt arrived: "It started out as a game, but it's not a game anymore." Boom, lightning struck and I managed to capture the inspiration before it passed. This might be my favorite of all my stories so far. The combination of eroticism, realism and romance involves a little of everything that feedism means to me.
Reblog if you enjoy it!
--
He slipped the keys back into his pocket and picked up the grocery bags. As he opened the door, he saw that she was already home, unpacking her own groceries in the kitchen of their apartment.
"You look comfy." He smiled.
She turned to him and nodded. "Mmm-hmm. I have to set a good example."
Sashaying her hips a little to make her belly sway from side to side over the waistband of her pajama bottoms as she walked towards him, she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. He slipped an arm around her waist, reaching up her t-shirt to run his fingers across a back roll as he turned his face around to kiss her on the lips. She looked comfortable and relaxed in the indoor wear, and with her hair up in a loose bun, he could admire the way her double chin seemed to rest directly on her neck, jiggling softly as they broke free of the kiss and she turned back towards the refrigerator. "Easy there, big boy. I have to get all this ice cream in the freezer before it melts."
"Aww. I don't mind a little melted ice cream."
"Fine." She gave a mock pout. "I'll leave one out on the counter to melt for you."
"Make it two."
She grinned, her fat cheeks dimpling. "You're the boss. Did you clean out the bakery aisle like I asked?"
"As much as I could carry. Jelly donuts, M&M brownies, marzipan cookies. And a birthday cake." He shrugged. "It was the only cake they had left. I hope it's not anybody's birthday this weekend."
She laughed. "If it is, they'll manage. How about the snack aisle?"
"Cereal, chips, popcorn, crackers. And I stopped by the frozen foods too. I got a bunch of frozen pizzas."
"Babe, I've already got a pizza budget for Doordash. Chinese, too. But I'll keep those in reserve just in case." Smirking, she reached out to poke his belly. "Now stop standing there burning precious calories, fat boy. You know the rules. Go get in bed."
He leaned in for one last kiss and reached a hand down to heft his own belly as it pressed against hers. "Okay. Don't keep me waiting."
"Who, me? Never. Now go settle in, piggy. If you think you're ready."
"I will. But be quick. I'm already starving."
She grinned and squeezed his thigh. "Good."
--
He gazed at himself in the mirror as he fumbled to undo the snug buttons of his button-down office shirt. It was no use pretending. He had gone up a size and was going to have to shop for new shirts. Maybe tomorrow or Sunda-- oh, wait. He smiled to himself. As he slipped off his shirt and undid his belt, he couldn't help reaching down to heft the soft swell of his belly hang, a roll of just a few inches. A moment later he was looking at himself again, naked except for his boxers. He bit his lower lip and thought of her.
He was so lucky to have found her. Substantially fat herself, she adored the way he couldn't keep his hands off of her in the bedroom. And she was equally appreciative of his own more than ample body. Other couples might spend their weekends hiking or biking; they spent theirs going to restaurants for brunch, lunch and dinner before settling in to cuddle on the couch with books or a movie. And when he had confessed his secret fantasy to her, she hadn't been shocked.
In fact, she had already guessed. "I know, honey. I can see it the way you look at the calorie counts on a menu sometimes. I can hear it in the way you moan when you've eaten too much dessert and I'm rubbing your poor overstuffed belly." She paused, then, and smirked at him. "You're thinking about getting fatter. A lot fatter. Not just 'office fat guy' fat. You're thinking tabloid show fat. Circus fat guy fat. Can I let you in on a secret?"
He nodded, biting his lower lip. He felt like he already knew what she was about to say. His heart was pounding as she leaned over and whispered: "I've been thinking about it too."
Their lovemaking that night had been unbelievable. At brunch the next morning, relaxing in the afterglow of their passion, they had discussed their boundaries. He knew his fantasies were just fantasies, of course. Both of them had careers and bills to pay. He didn't really want to be immobile and bedbound, so fat that he couldn't stand, so fat that he became a bariatric case. As the months rolled on, however, those whispered fantasies had become an essential part of their nightly adventures in bed together, fantasies which drew them even closer than they had been before.
That's when she had come up with a suggestion. "Why don't we roleplay it? Just for a weekend? Crawl into bed after work on Friday and pretend you've gotten too fat to leave. I'll feed you and keep you satisfied. You won't have to get up at all unless it's to use the bathroom. And on Monday morning you can go back to work and nobody will even know."
It was a brilliant idea.
--
She had changed into a skimpy set of lingerie. As she pushed the cart of food into the room, he found himself already swelling with desire for her, the way her fat thighs bounced and quivered as her belly shifted, the way her soft upper arms rolled just slightly over her elbows and jiggled as she placed the contents of the cart within easy reach of him. She snapped the waistband of his boxers and squeezed his belly where it met his hips. "You ready, big boy?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"Good. What's the safeword?"
"Carrot sticks."
"You got it. If anything I do makes you uncomfortable, just say the word, alright? I want this to be fun for both of us."
He grinned. "Of course."
"Now lean back and close your eyes." Drawing broad circles across his belly with the palms of her hands, pausing occasionally to squeeze or heft a roll of chub, she began to whisper in his ear. "Look at you, piggy," she whispered, her voice beginning to grow husky. "Look at what you've done to yourself. You've eaten yourself so fat you can't walk." She hefted a moob. "So fat you can't reach your own belly button." She squeezed his belly hang. "So fat your belly is down to your ankles." She slipped a hand under his belly and he felt her brush against his arousal. "So fat you can't even reach yourself."
Her voice grew harder. "Do you understand, piggy? You're too fat to reach yourself. That means you don't get to touch yourself no matter how much you want to. Only I can do that."
He nodded. She's so fucking good at this, he thought to himself. Involuntarily, a slight moan escaped his lips.
"Good boy." Her hand slipped out from beneath his belly. "Keep your eyes closed." He heard a rustling sound, then the rip of velcro being separated. He felt the sensation of cool plastic against his upper arm. "Look at you, fatty," she whispered. "Here in your bariatric bed. Now open your eyes."
She had dimmed the lights in the room. He looked around as his eyes adjusted. There was even more food in here than he realized, more food than he could possibly eat in a weekend. He glanced at his arm, wrapped in a blood pressure cuff.
She must have seen the look of confusion on his face, because she smiled and her voice lightened, breaking character. "I wanted to get something that beeped, but it would have been too expensive." She grinned. "Assume it's magic and can measure your BMI. And your weight, too. A bed with a scale in it would have been really expensive."
He smiled back, already thinking about the food, watching her body quiver in the lingerie. "It's perfect." She really thought of everything.
"Good. Now lie back and eat, fatty." She climbed up next to him, grinding her belly and thighs against him, and reached for a jelly donut. "It's all you can do, remember."
He nodded and closed his eyes, savoring the fantasy. He imagined that if he were to open his eyes, he'd find a mirror at the foot of the bed or the side of the room, a mirror on the ceiling. He'd glance into that mirror and see himself, but he'd be so fat he could hardly recognize himself, his face swallowed up in chins and jowls, his moobs and upper arms like rolling pillows of flesh, his gigantic belly so fat that it rolled all the way down to his ankles, so fat that he was completely buried beneath it… he gasped at the mental image and felt his arousal stiffen as she lifted another donut to his lips.
"Fatty." She giggled. "So fat you can't leave the house. So fat you can't leave the bed. Look at what you've done to yourself." She ran her fingertips up his chest from the roll of his belly to his double chin, giving it a little shove with her forefinger. He felt it jiggling. He imagined it growing so fat that it swallowed up his neck entirely.
"What do you weigh, fatty?" she whispered. "Do you weigh 600 pounds? 700? 800?" She climbed up on top of him, her weight against his, and slipped something into his mouth. Almost involuntarily, he began to suck on the straw, downing the entire milkshake in just a few gulps. She shifted her weight against him and reached for another. "Or have you eaten yourself to half a ton?"
He moaned and shuddered. He was still hungry. So hungry. He finished the milkshake. He felt her lift a slice of pizza to his lips.
She giggled again. "You're one of those fatties who doesn't leave their apartment, aren't you. You just order in pile after pile of delivery food, three or four pizzas at a time, a half dozen cheeseburgers…" She gripped his love handles and gave his belly a firm shake. "It's no wonder you've gotten so fat. You must be the greediest boy in the world." He moaned again. He already wanted nothing more than for her to bring him to a climax.
"You're too fat to reach, babe. Remember?" He could feel her hot breath against his earlobe, her body writhing against his. "I'm going to make sure you know that you can't reach." He heard a click and felt something snap around his wrists. Instinctively, he opened his eyes.
She was handcuffing him to the bed. For a moment there was hesitation on her face, as she saw his eyes flash open and wondered whether he was about to speak the safeword. But the only thing that passed his lips was a gasp of pleasure.
"Good boy." She passed him a box of cookies, and her fingertips began to explore his body.
The rest of the night was spent in a haze of food and touch.
--
It was midmorning when he came to. As he looked around the room, he was astonished to see just how much he had eaten. His belly ached slightly, but he no longer felt full. She was unlocking the handcuffs.
Her voice was lighter now, still passionate, but not quite so frantic. "You'll spend the day in bed," she explained. "I've got a couple of errands to run, but I'll be back in a few hours. You've got the TV and your laptop and some books." She leaned down to squeeze his lower belly roll. "I took off the handcuffs because I trust you not to… reach… while I'm gone. It's much more fun with me, isn't it? So don't spoil your appetite."
He grinned. "That was amazing. Are we going to do it again tonight?"
"Of course. But I don't want you to leave that headspace while the sun is up. Just imagine that you're immobile and stuck in this bed. What would your day look like? You could do whatever you wanted… as long as it didn't involve standing up. And you'd be hungry. Always hungry."
He laughed. "That part I don't need to roleplay. When you go out, will you bring me back some hashbrowns and egg sandwiches? And some cinnamon raisin bagels? Toasted, with extra butter."
She patted his belly. "That's the spirit. I'll see you in a bit."
He spent the morning reading, browsing the Internet, or watching television. Trying to get himself into the mindset of a man who was too fat to leave the bed, he imagined himself digging into his reading as if it were his only link to the outside world, all the while his hunger never abated, mouthful after mouthful of food until he had stuffed himself so much he could barely breathe and he drifted off into a nap. When he woke up he could hear her in the kitchen, smell the scent of something cooking. It was a hearty steak dinner, big enough to feed a family. She smiled as she rolled the cart into the bedroom. "Hungry, big guy? You're not getting bored in here, are you?"
He had to admit that he hadn't. In fact, it had felt great. Just lie in bed all day and stuff himself… it was a shame he couldn't live like this every weekend.
She kept up with him at dinner, bite for bite. But of course she hadn't been gorging all day like he had. By the time they finished he was so stuffed he could barely breathe again, and as the sun set she gave him a slow and languid massage, soothing his aching belly until he felt ready to take a few bites of dessert.
Then she slipped on the handcuffs.
--
The next morning, she brought out a warm sponge and washcloth. "It's a shame you're so fat that you can't make it to the shower," she giggled. "Good thing you have a girlfriend who's willing to clean you off." His heart was pounding. It's true. If I got that fat, so fat that I couldn't leave the bed…
The look on her face said everything he needed to know about how much she was enjoying this. And he was enjoying it too.
By Sunday evening, he had eaten everything in the room, down to the last few crumbs of marzipan cookies.
And the following morning, when he dressed himself for work after showering for real, there was one button that just wouldn't close no matter how much he struggled. He sighed, slipped on a sweater, and made a mental note to go clothes shopping the next weekend. Back to reality.
--
The next few weekends of the month passed swiftly. A trip to the mall to upsize his shirts, and a half-dozen other errands to run. A flight out of town for her friend's wedding, the two of them snug against one another in three airplane seats. A long weekend working remotely at his laptop to resolve an urgent problem at his job. All that time, in the back of his mind, he was thinking of his immobile weekend.
As they ate dinner together on a Wednesday, he said what had been on his mind. "Can we do that again?"
This time, she had even more ideas.
--
One month turned into another. Seasons passed. A new year began. He found himself looking forward to his immobile weekends more and more.
Soon they were doing it every weekend, beginning the moment he stepped through the door on Friday evenings. He felt a little guilty that he wasn't pitching in to run errands, but she reassured him that she didn't mind. "Don't worry, honey," she reassured him. "I'm happy to tap in and do whatever involves leaving the apartment. You just stay here and rest, okay? You work so hard during the week."
It was just roleplay, of course. He'd put on some pounds, yeah, and more than a few extra inches of flab. His shirt sizes increased a second time, then a third. But that was just normal relationship weight, right?
It's nice that we've been doing this so responsibly, he thought to himself. I've gotten fatter, but I'm not that fat. Compared to the guy I imagine being during our roleplay sessions, I'm practically skinny.
--
It was a Tuesday evening. He grunted and paused to catch his breath as he put the bags of takeout down to fumble for his keys. She must have heard him, because the door swung open.
"You picked up McDonald's on the way home? Babe, you know I'm cooking pasta tonight." She grinned and reached down to pick up the bags. "But you just can't help yourself, can you?"
He shrugged, huffing and puffing. "I was hungry."
"I know." She stepped back from the door as he angled himself sideways to fit his belly through the doorframe. She slipped around him and closed the door, her belly brushing against his. As soon as the door was shut, she leaned in for a kiss.
She couldn't reach all the way around him any longer, and so her arms and her ample body seemed to sink into his enormous belly as she managed to crane her neck up and place her lips against his. After a moment, their lips parted and she turned back towards the stove. Damn, she's getting big, he thought appreciatively as he watched her rear end bounce and quiver. It's all that cooking she does for us.
"You glad to be home, honey?"
He nodded as he lowered himself to the reinforced armless bench that had replaced his kitchen chair. "Yup. Busy day tomorrow, but at least I won't have to commute." Squeezing himself into the car was getting uncomfortable. Fortunately, he was a star performer at work, and so he'd managed to work out a hybrid schedule where he only came onsite for major meetings. He reached into one of the takeout bags and unwrapped a hamburger, devoured it in a few bites, and moved on to a second. "So when's dinner?"
She laughed. "You still going to be hungry after all that? Who am I kidding. Of course you are. It'll be ready in twenty minutes. Why don't you go get changed while I finish up?"
Slowly, breathing deeply, he lifted himself up from the bench. "Sounds good." He made it about halfway down the hallway to the bedroom before pausing to lower himself back down onto another strategically placed bench. He sat there for a moment, gathering his breath, then angled himself through the doorframe and took the last few steps into the bedroom.
He looked at himself in the mirror. Not bad, he thought to himself. In his 8XL button-down shirt, he looked pretty damn fat, even if he wasn't as big as the man in the mirror he saw in his fantasies. But that's just a fantasy. I'm still just a regular fat guy. He began to unbutton the shirt, his fat fingers struggling with the tight buttons. Then came the effort of unbuckling his belt and slipping off his pants, letting them fall to the floor underneath him. With a belly as big as his, it was a struggle to put them on in the mornings, so he let her help him. She didn't seem to mind.
Naked except for his boxers, he resembled a mountain of lard, as wide as he was tall, with moobs spilling onto belly rolls and belly rolls cascading to his knees. He steadied himself against the wall, huffing and puffing, his fat cheeks flushed and quivering in sync with his billowing chins, which had long since swallowed up his neck. His thighs had grown so fat that he stood with his legs splayed wide apart. His belly rose and fell with every breath.
I really am starting to get fat, he thought to himself. The thought was exciting. Almost involuntarily, his hand started to slide down the curve of his belly, as if to reach underneath.
But he couldn't really reach these days. Lately she'd started helping him with that, too.
He needed to catch a breath, and so he lowered himself onto the bed. She had put an additional series of mirrors around the bed so that they could look at each other from every angle during their nightly lovemaking; lately she had started talking about putting one on the ceiling. He sat there in the dim light, panting heavily, as he idly ran his fingertips across his belly.
Fuck, he thought to himself. I don't want to get up. But I'm still hungry.
Then inspiration struck.
"Honey?" he called out. Then a little louder. "Honey?"
Soon she was at the door of the bedroom, her own billowing curves silhouetted in the light. "Hungry, babe? I brought a couple chocolate chip muffins to tide you over. Dinner's in five."
"I'd love the muffins. But it's not that. I had an idea."
"What's that?" There was a look of amused curiosity on her face.
"Tomorrow's a remote work day. So what if we do an immobile weeknight? Starting right now, and ending when I have to get up and log on to Zoom."
He couldn't have asked for a bigger smile in return. "That's a great idea, big guy. An immobile weeknight. I love it." She paused, a thoughtful grin on her face. "Tell you what. You don't even have to shower tomorrow. Just stay in bed and I'll help you wash up and get presentable for your Zoom calls. And until then, same rules as the weekend. You do what I say and you eat what I tell you to eat. You don't get out of bed unless you absolutely have to. Any time you want to stop, use the safeword."
"Sounds perfect." He grinned. "Now go finish up that pasta. I'm hungry."
She laughed. "Greedy boy. Okay, you wait right there and I'll be in with the cart in just a minute."
He watched her go, and then he closed his eyes. He imagined opening them for a look in the mirror and seeing a man who was so fat that he spilled off the sides of the bed, a man so fat that he couldn't get up off the bed at all.
And she'd be there, feeding him.
But that's just a fantasy, he thought to himself.
Good thing she and I can roleplay it once in a while.
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