7:00 A.M. // 9:00 P.M.
The Pitt 1.01 — 7:00 A.M.
&
The Pitt 1.15 — 9:00 P.M.

Janaina Medeiros

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@tiltshead
7:00 A.M. // 9:00 P.M.
The Pitt 1.01 — 7:00 A.M.
&
The Pitt 1.15 — 9:00 P.M.
i want my cunt lips weighted down by a spreader bar until they're so long they spill out the sides of any underwear i wear. make me wear short shorts and squat before you so you can see my cuntflaps poking out the thigh holes
Surprising you by asking if you want to make out, and you're so flustered that you acquiesce even if you're not sure you want to, but when we sit down on the couch, I just lift your shirt and start to make out with your nipples while you're frozen with shock and overwhelmed by sensation, on and on, until you're sore and squirming. Every time you try to protest, I just try different sensations using more pressure or pain until you can't form a sentence so I can go back to enjoying myself. And when I'm satisfied, I just pull your shirt back down and move on like nothing happened!
Now that you've let me do it once, I keep asking to "make out" with increasing expectation that you'll say yes whenever and wherever I want, until I'm pulling you into closets and hidden corners and behind doors without warning just to tease and play with your nipples. The demanding forcefulness gets you turned on more easily every time, until within moments you're whimpering and squeezing your legs together, and eventually you try to guide my hand to your lap, and I pull it back and make fun of you for being so easy to turn on after just a little making out.
Oh poor thing, did you go and stuff yourself too full? I know, I know. That little belly of yours must be aching. You've really overdone it this time.
But it'll be alright. That's exactly how it should feel.
That tightness? That firmness? That's that little stomach of yours being stretched out. Expanded. Grown to the proper size. Yes, I know it feels like too much. It should feel like too much. You need to get used to this feeling, after all. The feeling of being packed tight and positively engorged. That's how we're going to get that little tummy of yours to grow. That's how we're going to get you to grow.
Come now, my dear. Let me rub that belly of yours. I know you can fit just one more bite. Can't you?
You just want to let go, don't you ?
After lurking on the community for years, watching your online crushes and idols blow up steadily, sometimes rapidly, feeling a deep aching need to join them.
Despite resisting, you have been looking a bit more, plump, and pudgy, and tubby recently, nothing a stranger would blink twice at, but you know. And you feel every pound extra you've been carrying recently.
So now you're at a crossroads, do you stay firm ? Eat less, work out again, try your best to conform to what society wants for you, even if it makes you unhappy.
Or do you give in? Let yourself indulge in your gluttony, let hedonism take the wheel as you gorge yourself past the point of comfort, eating for the sake of consuming and taking because you want to be bigger.
Let yourself get fatter, work on stretching your stomach so you can hold more, outgrow your clothes and revel in the stitches ripping against your growing form, rolls stacking and flab hanging out as you become who you always wanted to be, join those chubby stars you've idolised and become inspiration for others just waiting to let go.
Its too much effort to control yourself anymore, just give in sweetheart, you've stopped yourself too long.
That sigh of relief when you unfasten the button of your jeans, the red indents on your skin, your belly surges forward into your lap, a burp erupts from the change of pressure and now you have more room to pack more calories into you that will soon show up all over your body
yeah yeah ethical feedism and whatever but what if you tied me up, blindfolded me, funnel fed me thousands of calories worth of shake then humiliated me, made me oink and beg to be fattened, stretch me out and ruin me then take off the blindfold to reveal you’ve been filming the whole time??
Then what if you used those videos to blackmail me into getting fattened beyond my desires and as leverage to change anything you wanted about me or force me to do degrading things???
what then huh????
This is exactly what I want tbh. Not even want, it's what I genuinely need at this point. I've tried to supress this part of me but it's just getting stronger and stronger. But I still don't think I could really make myself do it and go full on extreme. I need an evil feeder. It's embarrassing to actually admit that but it's so hot and it feel almost inevitable really. It wouldn't even be that difficult. For better or worse, my life circumstances are essentially perfect for this. Beyond that, I could never say it was against my will, given all of the dirt they would have on me. No one would ever believe me that I was forced.
At first the people at work would get to watch as I mechanically shoveled food into my face near constantly at my desk, always something loaded with carbs. I'd pause occasionally to take large gulps of the mysterious 64 oz "supplement" shake they'd order me to consume religiously twice a day, each one an additional 1,250 calories on top of everything else they'd force into my constantly stuffed gut. When coworkers would look at me curiously and ask how I was, I'd say fine, but I'd be screaming in terror under the surface. Everything I had ever wanted and feared would be coming true, and there would be nothing I could do to stop it. Not meeting my weight goals would mean exposure and losing everything. And then there would be the inevitable and relentless arousal I couldn't deny every time I would see the scale display a number seemingly impossibly higher than last time. My stomach would be stretched out to an unimaginable capacity to accommodate the relentless barrage of calories they forced into me, the complete addiction to food becoming utterly irreversible. Even without the threat of exposure, I'd be too far gone to save myself at that point.
Just a few years and hundreds of pounds later, when I'd be struggling to catch my breath after waddling from my bed to the kitchen while they would be laughing hysterically at what they'd done to me, I might regret it. When they'd restrain me and hook me up to a funnel until my former pride and joy, my beloved breasts, become misshapen and sag pitifully over an enormous gut that hangs down past my knees, when my cavernous belly button and rolls are the only places I ever get fucked anymore, I'm sure I'd cry and plead for mercy. When I have to beg the very same person that did this to me to to make me cum because they've made me so fat I can't reach my own clit anymore, I'll promise anything if they'll finally let me stop gaining. They would just laugh again and remind me I was well on my way to being the perfect USSBW, whether or not I still wanted to be one was hardly relevant now as they shove doughnut #39 of the morning down my throat.
Even if I did eventually just stop caring about them exposing my secret shame, by then they'd have me isolated, so addicted to food and completely and irrevocably dependent on them for everything that my fate as a nothing more than a blob of a sex toy for an evil feeder would be sealed.
I need this.
I got an idea for a mutually beneficial relationship.
You're my stay at home feedee, whose only job is to eat and gain weight. No other obligations. Your existence is only gluttony, lust and hedonism. While I'm working, you're stuffing your face for me, so that I have a fat, warm body to play with in the evenings. In return, you're given all the food you can eat, hands to rub your belly and feed you in the evenings, an ever-growing wardrobe, a bed to sleep in and an environment to compensate your obese body. You could go all out, because who would judge you for gaining weight? You're not working, so there's no embarrassment fueled by coworkers witnessing your ever-expanding belly popping dress shirts. There's no embarrassment about what or how much you eat, because I'm doing the grocery shopping. You'd be in your own little bubble, praised for growing fat, constantly adored for habits that other people would find disgusting. There would be no shame, only praise and pampering. And when you're too big to do things on your own, that's no issue. I'm already taking care of you, and you're still fulfilling your duties; You're becoming softer, becoming cuddlier, getting fatter for me. Would there ever be an end? A stopping point? I don't think you'd even want that for yourself, to go back to the life you had before.
Obsessed with the idea of becoming a feedee hucow.
Dating someone with sinister intentions, they plump me up meal after meal, making me bigger. But then also at the same time, they're trying to make me dumber as well. Thinking for me so I don't have to, giving me a life where I don't have to do anything, I get to sit back, relax, and let them pamper me. They might even give me a bit of weed to get me high, make me dull and docile.
With this perfect environment, and all the feedings, they start putting emphasis on me being theirs, being their pet. They squish me after a big meal, show how they have control of my new, bigger assets. It feels so good, but instead of moaning, they ask me to moo for them instead. I oblige them, and they reward me for every time I do it. My mind feels so empty. There's nothing but being their fat little cow.
From now on, they start training me, rewarding me for little pavlovian actions designed to restructure my brain; eating a huge surplus of calories, using as little words as possible, mooing, letting them pretend to milk my chest, however they feel. But it's all too nice to refuse. It's too perfect to resist. As I keep getting fatter and more docile, I enjoy it all more and more.
I can just imagine myself, in their bed, 200+ pounds heavier and still growing, brain empty, in some adorable little cow print lingerie outfit they've bought me. I might even produce milk. So cute. So dumb. So perfect. No thoughts, only the compulsion to obey, and to be their fat little cow.
pleasee whos gonna do this to me >.<
What if I was a dumb hucow tied to a breeding mount with my giant tits hanging down? What if I tried to tell you it was a mistake and that I don’t belong here? I beg you to let me out with a nervous smile that quickly fades when I hear a zipper being opened. You breed me over and over to make sure I’m nice and pregnant ready to be milked at your idealic little farm.
Thinking about my perfect EVIL feeder..
I’ve always been into this kink and gaining weight but never found it that much fun alone so I never truly got fully 24/7 into it but i always think how much better and hotter would be with a feeder, not any feeder… a truly perverse comprised feeder…
A feeder who’s only goal in life is to make me as fat as possible.. Making sure my every daily routine is just being in home watching tv and barely moving from the sofa or bed.. Making sure all my meals are highly processed junk foods (pizzas, cakes, cheeseburgers) making sure that i eat this foods in a daily basis.
Making sure all I drink are milkshakes or soda and weight gain milkshakes.. funnel feed me tons of calories in crazy amounts every night leaving me as a pig in bed barely able to move.
And a Perverse mindset too… a feeder who makes sure every goal or plan I had in life is gone.. my life is now gaining and getting fat for him/her. I want a fully compromised evil feeder.. someone who’s willing to make me obese no matter what.. punishing me for not gaining 10lbs per month leaving me tied and force feeding me every night.
An evil feeder who makes sure I never leave the apartment and that all my food is greasy and even using all the tools to make me just a bit fatter
Source
i just want to be a dumb HUCOW with big tits and big ass and this big rounded soft jiggy belly, just is constantly eating or being fed with or pump with food or bloating me w/milk or w/ a funnel in my cute little cow outfits and cow ears w/ lil bells and JUST thinking of nothing else besides eating and drinking and being a cute little hucow obedient cow
that’s it:)♥️
edit* well simultaneously being fucked or played/touched 🤭hehe
I’m so obsessed with the phrase “fattening up” honestly. like I’m due for inspection and I have goals to meet. like it’s for my own good. like it’s something that has to be done in order for my body to be the right composition, and they’re going to keep checking until I’m right. and it feels almost divorced from me as an individual in a way too? it’s so matter of fact, but also sooooo cute and cozy. maybe it’s because of Hansel and Gretel or maybe I just like the idea of someone else deciding to take care of me and what I need, but I loveeee when someone says I’m fattening up, or says that they want to fatten me up for them.
I’m going to get you so fat. I don’t mean just slightly overweight, or on the cusp of obesity, I mean so big, your lifestyle will be completely unrecognizable from what it once was. I want to help you give in to that lust for food and gluttony that shines in your eyes, and shows on your body. I want you to know where it’s going to take you in your pursuit of passion. Where I want to take you.
You’re going to turn every shirt you own into a crop top or what looks like a sports bra. Every pair of pants or shorts is going to squeeze your massive belly and create a soft muffin top and leave those beautiful marks on your skin where it hugged you so tightly. Your wingspan is going to be eclipsed by how wide and round you’ve become. You probably won’t be able to reach the front of your belly anymore, and at this point, you’re never seeing your toes again. Pleasuring yourself has become more for a chore, and you’ll need me or a toy to help scratch that itch. Every chair you sit in is going to creak and groan under your immense weight, and your hips and ass will flow over the sides and back.
Nothing is going to be easy for you anymore. Getting up from the sofa or bed takes multiple attempts, and you’re practically ready to sit back down immediately. Your waddle, which was already compensation for how much fat you packed into your thighs, exhausts you and takes your breath away, even with such a short walk to the fridge. You’ll soon have to squeeze through doorways, having to turn sideways and push to get through, all while wheezing. Getting most clothes on might require my help, especially when you’re trying to fit into last season’s jeans while swearing you’ve not gained that much weight. You’ll find it very tiring trying to get into any vehicle, even the SUV I purchased so that you could fit better. That doesn’t stop your hips from burying the console, and the fact you need two or three seatbelt extenders to reach over your plush body. Even the smallest staircase is going to take you 5 minutes to climb up. And while we are at the grocery store, and I’m making sure you point out everything your heart desires, you’ll be on that little scooter because you can no longer walk for 10 minutes without breathing heavily. You will even need a stool for the shower and the kitchen, because your sexy fat-laden legs cannot keep your luscious body up for too long.
Sex will be more difficult, but far more pleasurable. As you get fatter, food has been used in bed more often, and you talk about how obese you want to be. You’ll get exhausted after a few minutes of pounding, but still ask for more. And riding me is more of a workout for you, and squashing for me, but that doesn’t make it any less sexier. I can’t wait to watch you indulge. I can’t wait to watch you and help you grow.
Oh God YES
i’m so incredibly down bad for medical-play in feedism. like, you wanna prescribe me a diet that’s even worse than the one i have now? only to force me on a treadmill and chastise me for how out of shape i’ve gotten?
it’s probably the doctor kink talking when i say i wanna feel those gloved hands wandering over my corpulent body, squeezing and prodding… the cold metal of the stethoscope making me jump, maybe even making my heart flutter. would they catch that? tease me for that, too? for making such a mess of my poor cardiovascular system just because i value the fullness of my stomach more? 😵💫 don’t get me started on that damn caliper…
I love this worried look. Everyday she can’t believe how big she’s gotten and keeps getting larger. Just when she thinks she can’t get any bigger she measures her belly even rounder. The kicking never stops and only gets harder and sharper as the days drag on.
The worst part is she feels like she’s going crazy. The only thing she can think about is GeTting Pregnant Again the moment she pops.
The best angle for huge round protruding bellies