Soft feedism kink blog. Primarily into stuffing but will reblog wider wg/feedism things because there aren't that many of us! She/they, mid-30s, nb butch lesbian (but will reblog bellies of all genders). Minors DNI. No feedism without fat liberation. Trans liberation now.
what happened to stuffing/bloating before and afters. i feel like I never see those anymore. I wanna see how much food you've shoved into yourself by comparing it to how you look normally 😵💫
food comas are just so adorable, like, someone’s stuffed their belly so much that the only thing they wanna do is lay down while their heavy belly digests all those calories, which immediately turn into more squishy fat from the inactivity
bonus points if their partner rubs their swollen gut while they peacefully sleep and it makes little noises
looove the idea of feeding someone food so good they cant HELP but stuff themselves until their buttons are bursting... lost so completely in how delicious it all is, feeling their belly straining but hardly able to pay it any mind because the food is just so good that they have to keep going, until their skin is stretched, until their stuffed gut is pressing on their lungs, until theyre groaning and whimpering because despite it all, theyre just waiting for the fullness to subside so they can go back for more 💖
It's so easy to keep going. It's almost like the universe wants you to do it.
The cashier at the pizza place says your drink is free if you get another slice. The waitress tells you the restaurant is running a promotion– sides are half-off. That cute bakery is already on the path of your commute, and the most delicious smells are coming through the door. The chances are all around you.
All you have to do is say yes.
Yes, you'll stop and get a croissant. Yes, you'll have an extra slice, yes, why not get another side?
As easy as saying yes, over and over again, 'til by the time you're home all you're capable of doing is unbuttoning your too-tight pants and falling back onto the sofa, with your swollen, bloated stomach tumbling into your lap.
I know it's so hard, when you're as full as you are. But try it one last time, for me. Haul that aching stomach into the kitchen, and find just one more thing to say yes to.
“I am looking respectfully” “im so normal about this” can you bark actually? Can you hit yourself over the head w a frying pan like a cartoon wolf? Can you look at it derangedly please?
Summary: Mina is invited to a party by a softball team with a strange post-game ritual.
Word count: 1.3k
Contains: Softball inaccuracies, stuffing, group feeding, burps, belly rubs, cockblocking, author's hyper-specific and deeply contrived fantasy scenario, possible grammatical errors (written in a single sitting in a complete frenzy)
The party is loud, and dark, and a little bit sweaty. Mina, invited by a friend of a friend, has managed to fold herself into the corner of a couch, feeling strangely transported back to high school. She’s surrounded by white and blue jerseys, women in baseball caps and spandex shorts cheering and roughhousing and getting, frankly, shitfaced. She lost sight of her acquaintance almost immediately after congratulating her on her team’s win, and has been merging with the furniture since.
She’s definitely not anti-athletics, and especially not anti-athletes. The women around her are so painfully her type, with their solid softball builds, sculpted legs, broad shoulders. She’s perfectly happy to sip her drink and observe the chaos as it unfolds, especially when it involves a group of dykes getting rowdy with each other.
Three women appear by the entrance, two of them almost escorting the one in the middle, who looks tipsy but coherent. Mina knows this one is the pitcher, last name Clarke. She stared at her the entire game, namely her cute, soft little potbelly. It pushes firmly up against her jersey, demanding to be seen, wobbling with every movement. Mina thought about what it would be like to slide her hand up, up under the other woman’s shirt, to fondle her sweaty rolls, take some flesh in her hands and squeeze. It was immensely distracting.
The woman to Clarke’s left- Sanchez?- has an arm thrown over her shoulder, almost displaying her to the crowd. Mina can’t help but suck in a breath as Sanchez smacks a firm hand down directly in the center of Clarke’s belly, making the fat wobble visibly. It’s so shameless, so shocking, and Clarke looks barely surprised, perhaps a little pink from all the attention. What the hell is this?
“Once again, our lucky charm came through,” Sanchez calls out to cheers from the crowd. “The bottomless pit-cher reigns supreme! Present your offerings, peasants.” She and the other woman guide Clarke to plop down heavily on the couch beside Mina, barely acknowledging her. She tries not to notice the way the other woman’s thighs expand in her tiny shorts as she sits. Someone passed Clarke a container- a box of Oreos, double stuffed, and she rips it open immediately, shoving two at a time into her mouth.
It’s a decadent, and confusing display. Mina pinches herself to make sure she hasn’t somehow crossed into a wet dream. The woman beside her discards the now-empty container, and immediately one of her teammates steps forward with a massive soda bottle. She waggles her eyebrows at Mina, as if to say, Check this out, before holding the lip of the bottle directly to Clarke’s mouth. The other woman drinks the entire bottle in a few massive gulps, not even pausing to breathe. Pulling back, she releases an enormous belch that Mina swears she can feel rattling her bones, before heaving in a gasp of air.
This goes on all night. People bring massive bags of chips, plates of wings dripping with sauce, sugary packaged snacks, bottles of beer, and Clarke eats everything, gorging and belching her way through the night. Across the table, someone is complaining about her job with the Department of something, but Mina can’t possibly pay attention, not when beside her, the other woman’s belly is growing visibly more taut, starting to push up the hem of her shirt and exposing an inch of stretch marked flesh. Often someone will offer the belly a pat of appreciation, saying something fond about the lucky “bottomless pit”.
She’s so wet she’s concerned she might leave a stain on the stranger’s couch. Standing abruptly, she heads toward the back, where she saw earlier there was a door to a deck. The cool air that greets her is welcome, hopefully calming her flushed cheeks, and more welcome is the sight of a porch swing. She eagerly sits down, taking a moment to try to quell her arousal, pulling out her phone to look at rideshare prices. If she stays any longer, she’s probably going to come in public, and that’s lots of people’s thing, but it’s not hers.
She’s distracted as the door swings open, and out steps Clarke, flushed pink across her cheeks and cupping her swollen belly. Fuck.
“Hey.” She says, waddling over. “Can I join you?”
Mina squeaks out something that is probably affirmative. The porch swing creaks under the other woman’s weight.
Mina closes her eyes as Clarke stifles a belch beside her, followed by what sounds like a suppressed groan.
“Sorry.” Clarke says sheepishly. Mina looks up to find her with a crooked grin. “I didn’t think anyone else would be out here.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine.” She rushes out. “Mina.”
“Ashley, but I go by Ash. Or ‘bottomless pit’, if you listen to my teammates.”
“Yeah, what’s all that about?” She asks, unable to help herself.
Ash sighs. “Okay, so one time, before a game, Sanchez made a joke about rubbing my, um, belly, for good luck, or something. And then we won, and it became a whole thing about-“ she cut herself off with a loud belch. “Fuck, sorry. Uh. About making offerings, to keep the luck, like, going. It’s a little ridiculous.”
“You don’t seem that against it.” Mina replied, the pieces starting to come together.
Ash visibly flushes. “I don’t hate it?”
Just then, her stomach groans loudly, and she visibly winces, cupping it protectively with both hands.
“That sounded painful.”
“Yeah, they go a little- ourp- overboard sometimes.”
“Here, let me help.” Mina watches the other woman for a reaction, but all Ash does is scoot back a bit to make room. She places her hand on the crest of the other woman’s stuffed stomach, feeling the pressure against her skin, fullness rounding her. She presses down ever so slightly, coaxing a small burp out of the other woman. Then she moves her hand in a wide circle, trying to resist the urge to dig her fingers in and grope Ash.
Ash’s head falls back, clearly enjoying herself, and Mina feels emboldened to sneak her hand up the other woman’s jersey, feeling the warmth of her skin. She circles the crest of Ash’s swollen belly, gently applying pressure with her fingertips, trying both to ease her discomfort and dislodge any burps in the hope of making some space in her stuffed gut. Ash huffs softly in between small belches, arching her back to press her belly up into Mina’s comforting hand. She can’t help but lean closer and closer, until their shoulders are pressed together, feeling the soft, hot burps escaping the other woman against the side of her face.
“Sorry, I- urp- I get really gassy.”
Mina looked at her. “Do I seem bothered?”
Ash cracked a smile. “Not really. I thought you were, earlier, on the couch. You were staring daggers at me.”
“No, that was… that was something else.”
“I think I figured that out. Probably around the time you put your hand up my shirt.”
Mina’s hand slides down lower, towards the soft pouch of fat above her waistband. Ash sighs, shifting her hips forward in a way that is absolutely not accidental. Mina swallows. Are they really going to do this, here, on a stranger’s back porch, where someone could catch them at any-
They jump apart as the screen door bangs open and one of Ash’s teammates steps out, giving the pair an odd look. Ash clears her throat.
“Was looking for you, dude.” The woman tells her, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. “Beer pong.”
“I might actually…I think I might rain check. Tonight. Just kinda… enjoying the scenery.”
The other woman gives the two of them a look that is not at all subtle. “Heard. I’ll leave you to it, then.” The screen slams shut behind her.
Mina can’t help laughing. “Enjoying the scenery?”
“Shut up,” Ash replies good-naturedly, shoving her playfully. “You scrambled my brain with your magic hands.”
“Speaking of magic hands. I live ten minutes away. I drove.”
Ash heaves herself up from the swing, a hand supporting her belly. “Lead the way then.”
I love the term food-drunk. Not just because I love to see it--a boy whose brain has gone foggy with excesses--but because I love how it acknowledges the compulsive way some very good boys chase the pleasures of the table.
They order extra helpings and additional desserts, they go back for thirds or fourths, they get as many scoops of ice cream that'll balance on the cone just to try every single flavour; and they do it because everything tastes so good and feels so good that they conveniently forget the limits of their own physiology. They can't resist a food-bender, gorging themselves until they literally can't because they love how it makes them feel so very, very much.
I love the self-deception. Of course I have room for one more. Of course I am still up for milkshakes after. Of course I will finish that for you. Even while they are already so full that they can no longer sit forward with their elbows on the table, belly too tight and hard to squish in their lap like usual. They're too food-drunk to notice they've been reclined, knees splayed wide, flesh showing where their shirt won't meet their waistband, for a while now.
I love the lack of inhibition. Burping, rubbing the protruding shelf of their stomach, slapping their bulging gut and giving it a confident shake, aware of how bloated and swollen they are, but proud of their excesses. Who can be embarassed when they've been so impressive? They've moved past quietly overindulging into arrogantly grandstanding, showing off. Food-drunk and reckless, they unbutton at the table and lay a hand on either side of a swollen gut to show off their appetites. Slow down? Why? This tank can hold so much more.
I love the moment of regret. They didn't see it coming, but after they polish off the latest burger and snatch up the last scraps of fries, it hits them like a truck: oh god, they are stuffed. It was all so damn good, the courses just kept coming, and the drinks were flowing, and they'd lost count of how many burgers that really was, but suddenly they can feel it. They slump back in their chair and palm their belly, surprised in their food-drunk state at how fucking huge it is, and growing rapidly. It just hit them now, but they'd been eating so quickly and enthusiastically, it hasn't even caught up with them yet. They scramble to loosen their belt and slide down in their seat to relieve the growing pressure everywhere--all that food is packed in and making room. Their gut bulges straight out, round as a basketball and feeling distinctly like it is gonna pop if anyone were to jostle them too hard. Why did they do that? That third appetizer? The rest of the pie? The last two burgers crammed on one bun so it wouldn't go to waste? What were they thinking?
I love when they've finally really succumbed. Head lolling back, struggling to stay awake, desperately massaging their aching belly and too food-drunk to know or care what they are saying. Oooh, god, look at me. I have never been this huge. How could you--*hic*--let me eat all that? No, I can't stand up, I'm too fat. Nnngh, look at this. One more--*burp*--pint and I'll have housed a whole cask. UuUugh, let me just die here. Nnhm, actually, that feels good. Mmmhm, yes please. Keep rubbing. Yah, yah, I'll finish your cake. Uuuogh, kiss me, you monster. I didn't eat myself this fat for nothing.
and I return having made quite the piggy of myself thanks to some spectacular encouragement from @cantstopthinkinaboutit, who helped get a whole Belgian chocolate cake in my belly.
looove the idea of feeding someone food so good they cant HELP but stuff themselves until their buttons are bursting... lost so completely in how delicious it all is, feeling their belly straining but hardly able to pay it any mind because the food is just so good that they have to keep going, until their skin is stretched, until their stuffed gut is pressing on their lungs, until theyre groaning and whimpering because despite it all, theyre just waiting for the fullness to subside so they can go back for more 💖
I would be so much fatter if I just had someone to sit across from me at the table and watch me eat with this deadpan look on their face as they keep pushing plate after plate in front of me
I’d just be so desperate to get a reaction out of them that I wouldn’t stop eating till I can’t even lean forward to reach the table
Thinking a lot about the different stages of being full.
When you first start to feel it. At a normal meal, you would have stopped eating by now. It isn't hard to keep going, but you're aware of the food travelling to your stomach, in a new way; stretching gently. Maybe your sides feel a little bit tight, or your waistband does. When you put a hand on your stomach, it feels denser, heavier. A pleasant overindulgence. You could stop, now, and drift into a thick, comfortable doze. Or– you could keep going.
You hit a point where the next bite's not so easy, anymore. You're thinking about swallowing, each time, instead of it happening automatically. Maybe you put your food down, for a moment, to catch your breath, and find it a little hard to pick it back up. Your belly doesn't just feel dense- it feels rounder, pushing out of its usual frame to spill into your hand, bulging out to accommodate your indulgence. The taste of food lingers in your mouth, at the back of your throat, even after you swallow. When you stand, your belly is a weight. It pulls at you, heavy, starting to get in the way when you move. Your body doesn't want you to keep going- you would have to do it by sheer force of will.
And then even will isn't enough. You're half-lidded, sprawled back to make room for your bulging stomach, breathing shallowly. You can't force the fork to your mouth. Chewing is a horrible chore. Swallowing is almost impossible. Your skin is tight, stretched thin over the massive ball of food beneath. It's not just your breath that's shallow- not just your lungs being pressed on by your massive belly. It feels like everything in you has been shoved aside by the sheer amount of food– even your thoughts. They're distant and fuzzy, consumed with the weight and roundness and tightness of you, the fullness, how your belly aches at the top, where new food is piled up, strains at the sides and bottom, where everything that came before is sitting, leadenly... it feels so good, and right, to be this way, even as you groan and pant and burp, stomach struggling audibly. Maybe you can force down just one more bite....
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