A Necessary Lesson in Listening to Your Feeder the First Fucking Time
She hadn’t heard from him for a long while. Years, probably, but that’s the nature of these online flings. A horned-up, wannabe feedee slinks into your DMs, begs you to “ruin” him, then gets spooked by the first sign of lovehandles and vanishes. She’d seen it countless times, but she really thought he was different. He’d put on 40 pounds of pure lard in half a year of her tempting him away from his diet, and the greedy brat actually whined when she admonished him for not gaining a pound of muscle. He had the audacity to plead with her to let him cancel his gym membership! Still, she preferred muscle chubs to wheezing blobs, so she insisted he stay active, but his desire to stay sedentary was surely a sign of his commitment.
Then he stopped sending pics. Too busy, he claimed, between working and preparing to move. She understood. Life was often overwhelming, so she held nothing against him. Then his messages dwindled from a torrent of erotic desperation to a slow-drip of disinterest. Not in her, of course, but he seldom mentioned their shared kink. And then, finally, silence.
She imagined he finally moved, acclimated to his new job, and worked off the 40 plus pounds she piled on his slim body in an effort to forget how weak she made him. She had enabled his laziness, his gluttony, his every piggish habit, and he probably realized this was his only chance to free himself from a spiral of indulgence that would leave him entirely dependent on her affections. Whatever. He likely chose vanity and bedroom company over submission to an online feeder. Sensible. Understandable. Infuriating.
And then he called her. Breathless, slurring, sheepishly admitting that he’d be in town that week. She assumed he was fresh off the treadmill, the way he was gasping, but his voice lacked the bravado it so often carried after he crushed yet another gym session. Every syllable was saturated in guilt, or was it insecurity? Either way, it was pitiful enough for her to invite him over, if only to give him a piece of her mind for abandoning her so flippantly. Or, if enough pudge still clung to his muscular frame, she just might have to fuck him. Didn’t she deserve at least one good orgasm after years of heartbreak? She’d get off and then kick him to the curb. He could crawl back to his precious gym and fade into obscurity, fucked and forgotten.
Her plotting was interrupted by a slow, dull thud on her front door. She clutched the handle, plans swirling in her brain, and yanked it open.
She didn’t recognize the wheezing blob of a man struggling to stand before her, his blubbery frame filling the entirety of the doorway. The short walk up her porch had left him beet red and completely breathless, but he manage to whimper as he lifted a half empty 2 liter to his lips and sucking on it like a thirsty piglet. Peering past his vastness to his parked car, she could just make out the collection of empty soda bottles, pizza boxes, and fast food wrappers filling up his car. Trophies, for any proud feedee, but his jowls turned a deeper as he followed her gaze, the chins smothering his neck limiting his movement. She swallowed a laugh as he took a few tentative, clumsy steps to rotate his bulk in an attempt to look behind him, although he already knew he’d been caught. Every movement was a chore, now, and that’s how she knew he wasn’t showing off for her. He had no intention of displaying the aftermath of countless car binges. He had simply gotten too fucking lazy to maintain any presence of cleanliness or control. He’d become a shameful slob, a barely mobile hog, and all on his own.
He opened his mouth to offer a flimsy excuse for his sorry state, but he interrupted himself with a resonate belch, his breath thick with grease, sugar, and… was that weed she smelled? He had been adamant about staying sober and clean all those years ago, shying away from indulging her intoxication kink, unwilling to let THC turn his brain to mush and expand his already impressive appetite.
The move (which now felt a lifetime ago) had left him burnt out, his work suddenly overwhelming, too many new responsibilities to stomach comfortably. He had convinced himself he needed the extra rest, so he dropped his gym routine until he could get settled. When he found himself still stressed and stretched thin, he figured an evening drink would help him unwind after a long week. It quickly evolved into a nightly habit, and when the booze wasn’t enough to drown out the working world, he turned to his local smoke shop. The munchies inevitably followed, and his diet deteriorated completely, already eroded by the empty calories loaded into the beers he sucked down before bed.
He was a changed man, if the quivering tub of lard could be considered a man at all. As he muttered an ashamed apology, she drank in the rest of him. Thick, ruddy jowls clung to his cheekbones, obscuring his sharp, handsome features, and his chiseled jawline sunk into the collar of fat encircling his neck. Formerly broad, powerful shoulders sloped into softened arms with an almost feminine grace. He had blurred and buried every hardened edge of his body, reducing his well-muscled form to something indulgent and breedable, like overgrown livestock conditioned for the sole purpose of storing hundreds of pounds of useless flab. He lifted the mostly empty 2 liter to his lips a second time, and she noticed how he struggled to manage its paltry weight. Despite his biceps being twice as large as they had been at the peak of his fitness, they had none of the muscle and hardly a fraction of their function. The entirety of their new size was comprised of rippling, gelatinous fat. It was a wonder he could still feed himself at this size. He was on the brink of losing what little independence he had left.
Lowering her gaze, she was immediately drawn to his sagging moobs straining against a ratty t shirt, the fabric fighting to contain his plump tits, a sliver underboob drooping below the hem. He had been especially proud of his pecs, their powerful angular beauty, but he hadn’t been proud enough to prevent them from ballooning to the point he’d be more comfortable wearing a bra. It was his belly, though, that stole the show. She had no doubt his fatty, cellulite-infested thighs there permanently crammed together, forcing him to waddle, but he wouldn’t be able to manage even that if his gut kept growing. It poured down his lap like a waterfall of lard, splitting into three stretch marked rolls, every inch of it exposed to the open air. One blossomed below his moobs, another sagged over his belly button, and lowest roll hung past his crotch and swung heavily over his overtaxed knees. This wasn’t the bulky, beer-bellied hunk she had hoped for. He had transformed himself into a sloppy, slobbering, helpless barn animal, not a trace of muscle or restraint left in him, only pure, plump fat all the way through. He sacrificed his health to flood himself with hundreds and hundreds of pounds, daring his body to collapse under his careless indulgence.
Derision, frustration, disgust, and desire bubbled inside her, but she stepped aside in silence, biting her lip as the lovehandles spilling over the waistband of his sweatpants pushed into the doorframe, trapping him. She shouldn’t have looked. She couldn’t hold back anymore.
“What the fuck happened to you?”
He whimpered again, too embarrassed to ask for her to free him from the mercilessly rigid frame. Instead, he feebly plunged his thick fingers into his hips, hoping to push himself through the doorway. It might have been possible before he porked up past 600 pounds, or if he had retained a whisper of his former strength, but his hazy brain had not possessed the foresight to prepare for such things. Maybe he didn’t realize how far he had fallen. Maybe he didn’t care.
But she realized, and she needed him to know, too.
“What? You thought that you still had a chance with me because I’m a feeder? Piggy figured that if no one else would fuck him, then he’d still have me, is that right?”
He nodded, wiggling and shifting his bulk, but not to free himself. He was aroused, hopeful, allowing himself to believe that sex wasn’t beyond his limited capabilities. He moaned on instinct as she raked her nails down his belly, marking each roll until she reached the lowest point. He couldn’t remember the last time he, or anybody, had touched his cock. He couldn’t reach, and he hadn’t met anyone willing to dig into his fupa to find the pitifully buried appendage, but he had cum plenty as he ballooned. As his sexual prospects dwindled, it took less and less to excite him. Even if he had found a partner willing to bed him, he wouldn’t last. The greasy aroma of his favorite burger joint was enough to push him over the edge, breathlessly pumping his fupa full of cum. He used to grind against his underbelly to get off, but his cock had receded too deeply into his flabby body to manage that pathetic display anymore. If the thought of seeing his former feeder again hadn’t brought him to orgasm several times on the drive over, he would have made a mess of himself the second he touched him. Still, he felt the precum drooling from his fat pad, further saturating the cum-soaked fabric of his pants.
“That’s a shame, because you’ve been a naughty fucking pig, haven’t you? You left me all alone, and didn’t have the courtesy of keeping those precious muscles I admired. I told you not to quit the gym, and the second you’re rid of me, you disobey everything I asked of you.”
She slipped both hands beneath his belly and pulled. The sweatpants didn’t slide down more than an inch, if that, but she didn’t expect them to budge so easily. She wanted more, much more, and she got exactly what she desired.
His pants split at the seams, ripped and kept ripping. He couldn’t hope to see past his moobs, past the expanse of his belly, but he knew exactly what had happened. His cock throbbed, and he heard its load leak onto the floor, finally unobstructed by the scraps of sweatpants clinging to his fatty thighs.
“Aw, is someone getting wet for me? I remembered you having such a nice cock. Where did it go, baby? How exactly did you plan on fucking me, hm?”
Her teasing was murmured, gentle, but it still stung.
“Besides, even if it wasn’t smothered under all that indulgence and disobedience, you really think I’d fuck a disgusting pig like you? I love fatties, darling, I do, but you’ve destroyed yourself with gluttony. I don’t even recognize you. You’ve reduced yourself to a pathetic, porn-sick piggy. You read too many extreme smut stories and convinced yourself that a someone, anyone, would want this saggy mass of flab you call a body. Your only function is consuming calories and cramming more and more lard onto your frame. This isn’t sexy. This isn’t healthy. This isn’t going to make me cum. You fucked yourself, tubby. You threw away your chance to sleep with me so you could sit on your ass and eat your life away. I hope it was worth it, because I was hoping to at least get one ride out of you to make your bullshit worth the trouble, but you couldn’t even let me have that.”
He gradually began to slip from the doorframe, dislodged inch by excruciating inch as she explored his ruined body, the entirety of his bloated acreage rippling from the depraved eagerness of her touch. Her hands rose from his lowest roll, unwilling to drench her hands by plunging into his dripping fat pad, and climbed his mountainous form, clutching at every sinfully soft fold and roll she discovered along the way. She gripped his arms, laughing as she shook the excess flesh, before drawing her nails to the center of his chest, cupping the obscene weight of his udders, and pulling him fully into her home. She danced away from him as he slumped to the floor. It could hardly be called a fall, his belly slapping against the tile before he spent even a quarter of a second in free fall.
“You’re in luck, babe. I can still have some fun, but I’m going to have to punish you for depriving me. You left me with no choice, after all. I was planning on filling your belly while we fucked, but my poor piglet isn’t built for such strenuous exercise. I did warn you to stay in shape,”
She lowered a sheet cake onto the floor in front of him, the dessert portioned for an entire family, but she had made it with him in mind. Every single crumb would be filling his gut, she would make sure of it. She slid it towards him, but stopped herself before it was fully in her reach.
“So why don’t you start now? Crawl, piggy. Show me you still have those muscles I adored.”
He grunted, flailing his arms, praying to find purchase to pull himself forward. Oh, he knew better, knew he didn’t need an entire fucking cake weighing down his body and pushing him ever closer to total helplessness, but he couldn’t stop himself. She could have take mercy on him, spread her legs for a pity fuck and told him to forget the cake, and he would’ve begged to stuff himself instead. Something fundamental had shifted in him long ago, and it was only in this moment that he recognized the change. He had traveled to her for an easy lay, his last hope for someone to sleep with him after destroying the man he used to be, but he didn’t really want sex, not anymore. He wanted to eat.
Heart pounding, palms slapping weakly against the tile, he found himself unable to close the distance between him and his prize. This display, fortunately, was enough to convince her to take pity on him. She couldn’t have him passing out from such needless exertion before she had her fun. Nudging the cake forward with her foot, she grinned as he plunged his drooling lips into his sickeningly sweet punishment. To him, though, it was everything he had been craving. He hardly registered her laughter as he ate with total abandon.
“You better not have anywhere to be, piggy. You got lucky last time, but I don’t think you’ll fit through the door once I’m done with you.”
He groaned something that could have been an apology, incoherent through mouthfuls of cake, but it didn’t matter. That glutton doesn’t know the meaning of sorry, she thought, as she plucked a second cake from the oven. But she would teach him. Bite by bite, he would learn.
