riverindulge

[riverindulge]

This time last year I was blown away that my belly could sit on my chair. Now it's almost too big to fit on the seat at all... All I can think about is how much bigger I'll be this time next year

[riverindulge]

Help, I've been stuffing myself every day for the past four or five days, and I don't know if I'll be able to stop anytime soon. I crave the feeling of being held down by my full gut, almost too full to breathe. All I can do is look at what I'm turning into--a morbidly obese fatty who only thinks about eating, sleeping, and begging for hands on me, like any good cat :3c

[riverindulge]

You dumb masc GF getting ready for work wondering why her clothes are so small all of a sudden, while you cook her pancakes and pack her a lunch you know she'll end up eating as a morning snack and have to go to the canteen for lunch

[riverindulge]

Holy shit, your response was hot af! I don't think I've ever come across a blog that I have this many feedism fantasies in common with! Do you have any specific feedism icks aside from the ones in your pinned post?

Another feedism scenario I've been tumbling around in my head: a feeder using drugs and conditioning to cross all sorts of wires and sensations in their feedees mind. Getting them to associate the constant hits of dopamine from porn and drugs with the feelings of being stuffed full. Absolutely ruining their feedees attention span and pleasure centers until they are trapped in an hedonistic spiral and too dazed and dumb to do anything but consume what their feeder puts in front of them, whether it be food, the next bong rip, or porn.

(Sorry if this is jumbled, im high af rn)

-🌿

I'm so glad you liked my response! As to my dislikes, not much aside from what I pinned (death feedism, and the piggy play doesn't really do anything for me). I'm also not very much into stories where characters grow to unrealistically huge sizes (like outgrowing a house etc) - I like to keep it within what's possible irl :) Also worth mentioning that I'm ace, so the actual sex elements of feedist stories is something that I usually skip - it's gaining weight that's hot for me <3

And thanks for another prompt!

As the nice, fuzzy weed-induced feeling hits, you stuff my face with a cupcake. The sweetness melts in my mouth, entering every pore and cell in my body. The world is swaying, I am on cloud nine, and you are feeding me.

It takes a while to register that I'm almost painfully full. Before you gave me my bong, you'd told me that you liked feeding, that it was sexual for you. I agreed to try it out, to soften the oddness of the sensation with some weed. And it worked.

Having stuffed me, you massage my belly to ease the tightness, and then you pleasure me. The triple sensation - the relaxation from the weed, the horniness, and the painful fullness from food - mixes in the weirdest, but also the best way. And then, by the end of it, as I am slowly coming down from my high, you still push little treats past my lips.

"Mm," I mumble, mouth feeling slightly numb and sticky from sweetness, "that was nice."

***

And then, it happens again. And again. And again. After a stressful week or even in the middle of it. A moment of relaxation, your pleasuring touch - and that painful fullness of my belly. I make nothing of it - until one day, when I accidentally overeat at lunch, and suddenly get horny.

Oh, fuck. You've rewired my brain.

***

And then, a new rule.

You don't touch me unless I'm full. Unless I'm close to bursting. And now, the more I eat, the hornier I get. You turned eating into edging, and my life will never be the same again. I crave release, and I crave food, with a new, deep hunger that I've never known before.

***

The shock of what you've done almost overshadows the true reason for all this: my blossoming figure. My softened middle which turns into a belly, and then into a gut. My thighs that thicken and expand. My ass that becomes a cushion, propping me up, and then hanging off the sides of my chair. My chin, now permanently hugged by a ring of fat. My hands, buried in pudgy lard.

You'd told me you liked feeding others. What you really meant, is that you liked fattening them.

***

The daily high settles in as I devour my second tray of cupcakes. The fuzzy feeling softens the edge of my new life, makes me forget about all the sweat and short breath and outgrown Xs on my clothing sizes. I no longer think about places I can't waddle to anymore - I only think about the pleasure you're going to give me, and the yummy food. I never knew I liked eating so much. Nowadays, I'm almost always hungry, so I have lots of opportunities to test that.

I can't wait for you to finally touch me. You've been edging me for ages, making me consume thousands of calories. You can barely reach under my heavy gut these days, but that doesn't matter. Touching and fondling my rolls feels almost as erotic.

[riverindulge]

what's your darkest feedee fantasy? i've seen you post some pretty steamyd deathfeedist stuff so i'm curious how far your fantasies go

emotional manipulation… make me so dependent and helpless that even if i wanted to lose weight, im so steeped in these horrible habits that it’s not possible. train me to turn to food at every disappointment

and even when you come home and i’m teary eyed, unable to get up by myself and weighed down by my unmanageable tits and belly—finally realizing that i need to stop—coo and tell me it’s okay, keep handing me snacks. make sure i eat my feelings. everything is fine as long as i keep doing what you say. mix edibles and whatever other meds i need into my shakes every night… my anxiety is obviously out of control if i keep eating this way and you know what will fix that

every time i get close to asking you to stop, make sure im too full to voice that. you know what’s best, even if i cry and beg to stop eating you know what i need.

it’s so fucked up honestly but god. the idea of not being able to turn back, wedging myself into a lifestyle i can never escape, is too good

[riverindulge]

No Going Back

You really didn’t think this through, did you? You thought you could experiment with gaining, see how it went, and give it up if you didn’t like the result. You went from being trim and slender to a little thick pretty quickly — having a noticeable butt, a belly for the first time, enough chub to give you curves all over. You liked that. You wanted more.

So you started eating like a gainer, and it worked. You got the large fry and the large soda with your lunch. You made a point to always get dessert after dinner. Sometimes after lunch. You never missed that midnight snack, that afternoon snack, that late morning snack. And you grew.

You noticed it in your waistline first — the pants, the underwear that kept getting too tight, even as you kept moving up sizes. Then it was your shirts, which seemed to be shrinking and getting tighter as your belly grew and hung lower, your chest and arms thickened, your love handles flowing out in larger and larger rolls. Eventually it hit your thighs, arms, double chin — and you weren’t just thick anymore. You weren’t even chubby; you were fat all over.

And other people took notice too. Your friends, especially those who loved going to the gym and perpetually tweaking their diets, teased you for letting yourself go so badly. Your family started dropping hints — eventually not so subtle ones — about your condition. Where you saw yourself as someone who wasn’t anywhere close to the size of the superchubs you admired most, they saw a formerly skinny person who was apparently ballooning out of control. They scrutinized you every time you ate a meal, every hour you spent playing video games, every time you put on a piece of clothing that was ever so slightly too tight.

As if you weren’t self-conscious enough already. At the start, gaining was fun, and you didn’t think of it as much more than playing dress-up with your body. But eventually the extra weight, and the diet it took to gain it, started to change that. The large fry went from an indulgence to an expectation, and you craved your snacks and desserts when you couldn’t have them. Your car started feeling uncomfortable and cramped. You had to move your flab out of the way to do things, like wash your body or reach into your pockets. A short walk, a small stair, a long time standing left you winded and overheated. True, you had never been the athletic type, but attracting attention to yourself like this — being the object of side-eye and smirks over how out of shape you were — was a new, uncomfortable experience.

So you resolved to quit gaining and get your old body back. And that’s when you realized it. You can’t just do things the way you used to do them and go back to being the way you were — it doesn’t work like that. Putting on a couple hundred pounds changes who you are. You’d have to fight to get your old body back, using a body you specifically made to be as ill-adapted to that as possible. A body that exceeds its capacity just by trying to move itself. A body that demands calories, fats, and sugars constantly. A body that has such limited endurance, it’s practically designed for gaining by default.

This is not a body you could take to the gym seven days a week. You’re not giving just salad and vegetables to a subconscious screaming for pizzas and burgers. No way you’re starting an “active lifestyle” in a body that can barely lumber to the car. You may as well face facts. You’ll be lucky if you can work your way up to a walk around the block every day, and drop ten or twenty pounds to get the condescending congratulations of those around you. But “thin” is never going to be a word people use to describe you again.

You should be thankful if you can stay where you are, quite frankly. You live in a body now that wants you to get fatter anyway, and it’s not like your metabolism is going to get faster as time goes on. There’s every likelihood that, even if you’re not gaining, your weight is going to creep up on you, bit by bit, a few pounds every few months. In a few years, you might look up and realize that while you thought you were holding steady, you’d packed on a stealthy few dozen more.

I wonder what that’s going to do to you. It’s not like you’re starting at a trim 150 — you’re adding that weight to an already morbidly obese body. You’re groping blindly toward a tipping point. At what point does the creeping extra weight disrupt your equilibrium — make you that much less active, that much more tired, that much hungrier — and send you back into the habit of accelerating gains? Or worse, what happens when that ankle twists, or that knee gives out, and you’re stuck on the couch for a couple weeks? You might just come out of your “recovery” with even less endurance and an unstoppable appetite, primed to start obscenely gorging yourself and put on... well, who knows how much?

I think by now you realize just how much trouble you’re in. You’re already fatter than most people can even imagine a person being, and you’re in no position to reverse course. One slip and you’re on the road to tv-freakshow fat. And all because you thought you could eat a few burgers and get chubby and not face any consequences.

Hope it was worth it.

[riverindulge]

covid conscious feedists, please reblog this. I want to follow you!

[riverindulge]

maybe you don’t notice at first.

don’t notice the way you struggle a bit more to button up your jeans before work.

don’t notice the way your shirt feels a lot tighter, how it’s practically become a second skin for you.

don’t notice the way you breathe heavier just walking from your house to your car, sitting in the front seat for a moment just to catch your breath.

don’t notice the way you had to move your seat back this morning, too, because the steering wheel has started to press uncomfortably into your stomach and thighs.

don’t notice the way your first meal of the day has more calories than you should be eating for half the day.

don’t notice the way you stop and get donuts on the way to work more frequently now, so you have something to snack on during work.

don’t notice the way your co-workers are staring more and more often at you, the way your clothes cling to your body, every new pound on full display.

don’t notice the way your shirt has started to roll up while you eat, exposing that soft underbelly for the world to see.

don’t notice the way you eat three times as much as your friends do when you all go out, ordering more and more and finishing off their plates for them, too.

maybe you don’t notice how fat you’re getting, but you’re going to notice soon.

you’ll notice when you try to pull your old favorite jeans on, and they get stuck on your thighs. you’ll fight and pull and try to get them on, but even if you manage to slide them up your legs, they’ll never button across that belly.

you’ll notice when all of your shirts have suddenly become crop tops, sliding up to rest above the top of your belly.

you’ll notice when you get out of breath just walking from your bedroom to the kitchen to stuff your face even more. how a simple few steps make you have to pause.

you’ll notice when the seatbelt cuts into your belly and chest when you move too far in your seat, when it’s a struggle to fit yourself in behind the steering wheel.

you’ll notice when your breakfast order comes out and there’s enough plates to feed a family of 4, and the waitress asks if you’re sure you can finish all that.

(you know you can, you’ve done it before.)

you’ll notice when your two, three, four donuts a day becomes 7, 8, 9, a dozen a day, until the workers know your name and order by heart.

you’ll notice when your co-workers start to whisper when you walk by, asking what happened to you, how could you let yourself go like that?

you’ll notice when your clothes are tight before you even eat, but they become unbearable once you’ve shoved all that food into your face. when you have to unbutton your jeans mid meal, as to not risk losing a button.

you’ll notice when your friends start asking if you need that 3rd, 4th, 5th plate, if you really need dessert after all that food. when they say hey, we’re going to the gym after lunch, do you want to come?

you’re getting fat, and you love it.

[riverindulge]

Munchies.

A sensation strong enough to forget what full feels like. Everything tastes so good, you can't shovel it in fast enough to get to the next snack. Then all of the sudden, your belly is bulging forward over your waistband, swollen to capacity.

Or what would be your capacity, but the sensations of your overactive taste buds are too powerful and delicious to fight. So even tho your stuffed beyond belief, it's not enough. You keep going because, let's be honest, having a full belly feels soo good 😌. And hey, weed helps with nausea and stomach pain, so maybe that's why it never gets painful? I think so.

Too stuffed, overfed, can barely move, your skin stretching clinging onto that overtly protruding belly, and in perfect bliss. Finally enough, stoned food coma = heaven on earth. Rinse repeat, cause mindless gluttony is soo addictive

[riverindulge]

can’t get my fat ass up to save my life 🥵

[riverindulge]

With The Band

(CW: intox, alcohol usage)

You hadn't banked on your night going this way. Not that you're not thrilled, you just hadn't expected it. Your new friend's band was playing a gig in the dimly lit back room of a dive bar and you were eager, albeit nervous, to make a good impression on your friend's friends. You'd put on your favorite outfit and threw back a PBR tallboy at home for confidence, ignoring the fact that your go-to ripped jeans and beloved graphic t were fitting much more snugly than usual, and REALLY ignoring the fact that it was turning you on. You hadn't intended on your recent weight gain, just decided to start eating the way you really wanted, but you couldn't deny that you were really, really into getting fatter.

You got to the bar, caught your friend, said hi, and stood around awkwardly for a moment before deciding you needed another drink if you were gonna get through this. After taking a shot of whiskey at the bar, you took your second beer back to the performance space and noticed a cute queer sitting behind a merch table.

"You with the band??" you asked them, gesturing to the tshirts and stickers. "No," they cracked. "Oh, uh sorry, I thought-" "I'm kidding. Obviously I'm with the band." They smiled, amused with themself, but clocked that you were nervous and pushed forward by asking, "you're Joey's friend, right? From his DnD game?" "Yeah, I am," you answered. "Oh, nice! I've heard a lot about you, he's really excited that you're here." Pleasantly surprised, you and the merch boy kept chatting quietly while the first band played. Noticing you'd drained your beer, Merch Boy asked if you'd like another, "if rehearsal was any indicator of how this gig is gonna go, you'll need it. My treat." Just as you were about to agree, a belch snuck out. You put a hand to your mouth in embarrassment and excused yourself, but Merch Boy just giggled. "I'll take that as a yes," they said, and made their way back to the bar.

You watched them go. They were cute, exceptionally cute. And were you crazy or had they blushed when you burped in their face? Was it the alcohol making you imagine that they'd been sneaking glances at your round belly straining against your shirt? Your train of thought was cut off when they came back with two shots and three (?) beers, the cans nestled into the crooks of their elbows. "Shot?" they offered you the glass, but you decided against and watched, charmed, as they threw back both shots themself before handing you a beer and cracking open their own. Who was the third beer for??

You got your answer partway through the band's (rough) set when Merch Boy handed it over to you. You drank and danced and when the set was done, you gathered with Merch Boy, Joey, and the band to chat and drink some more. Merch Boy, more than a little tipsy at this point, had become pretty handsy and was touching everyone as they enthusiastically spoke, but you noticed their hands kept "accidentally" ending up on your gut, now a little bloated from the beers, and their eyes lingered on it, too. When they made a comment about some bear bar up the street, you impulsively replied back, "so you are into fat guys then?" They blushed again. God, they were adorable. "Yeah, and? You trying to take me home?" Now you were the one blushing. The group's conversation continued on, but neither of you could stop looking at each other.

Finally, the bassist decided it was time to go and Joey and the others followed suit, leaving you and Merch Boy alone, drunk, giggly, and enamored with each other, staring goofily into one another's eyes, looking for signals to keep going. Eventually, Merch Boy spoke up, "I'm drunk." "Me too. And starving." "I bet you are, big guy." Big guy?? That made you even hungrier than you already were. "There's a really good burger spot down the street," Merch Boy said, a mischievous glint in their eyes.

The two of you glided drunkenly down the street into a late-night burger joint that reeked gloriously of grease and meat. Merch Boy ordered first, then you. As you were about to pay, Merch Boy piped in with "could we add another double cheeseburger and another large chocolate shake?" They fished out some cash from their wallet, and looked at you innocently as they slid it over the counter to the cashier. You got the feeling the extra food wasn't for them.

Minutes later, you were seated at a small booth with your gut just brushing the edge of the table and a sizeable pile of burgers, fries, and milkshakes in front of you. You and Merch Boy ate, them noticeably slower than you. You were practically inhaling it, which would have been embarrassing were you not drunk and starving and horny. "Did you like the set?" they asked. "Uhhhh...it was good. It was fine," you said. They laughed, "it's okay, I won't tell Joey. That's the first time they've played with that drummer, so it was just kind of fucked. Usually they're pretty good!" They took a long pause to sip their drink then innocently dropped, "so Joey says you've gained a lot of weight recently." It was then that you noticed that Merch Boy had stopped eating their fries and had slid them back to you. You also noticed that you'd housed an order of fries, a double cheeseburger, a single cheeseburger, and a large milkshake. You were actually really, really full. Your gut was achy, bloated, pushing further into the table than it had been just a half hour earlier. Merch Boy looked you up and down, gazing lustily at your rounded belly. Fuck, you weren't crazy. They had been eyeing your fatass all night, calling you big guy, touching your gut, buying you beers. And maybe you were drunk off alcohol and food, or something about the desperate look in Merch Boy's eyes, but you were feeling bold, bloated, and sexy. You leaned back as best you could, let out a huge belch, and patted your gut. Merch Boy squirmed in his seat. "Yeah, I have put on a few pounds," you said coolly, "mind if I finish the rest of this?" They nodded, practically melting. And, though you were almost full to bursting, you managed to finish the last of the food, moaning and burping, putting on a little show for Merch Boy, who was clearly enjoying it. "You're so hot," they said breathlessly as you pushed back the empty tray and belched helplessly into your fist. "Wanna get out of here?" they asked. The ball now fully in your court, you answered, "you're so impatient, babe. I gotta finish my milkshake first."

[riverindulge]

Cheesy Stuffed Shells (x)

[riverindulge]

I catch you on sneaking a glance on me as I watch TV, snacking.

There is a lot to look at. Thanks to your help, I gained a considerable amount of weight recently, nearing 40 pounds. My belly rounds out in my lap and my love handles bulge at my sides. My chin plunges into a roll of fat whenever I lower my head. My thighs spread on the couch, thick and heavy. Even my upper arms feel plump as they plunge into rolls under my armpits.

I blush, feeling the hotness of your gaze. I tug at the hem of my t-shirt which rides up my belly. You are examining each of my rolls, each soft point. Self-consciously, I reach into my packet of chips, only to find it empty. I blush deeper.

"Craving another snack?" you ask, smirking.

Embarrassed, I nod, yet again feeling my new double chin forming.

You reach for a box full of donuts. You sit beside me and open it. There are six treats inside. You hover the first donut over my mouth.

"Open up," you say, knowing very well how crazy these words drive me.

I shiver. "I'm a bit too full for all of these," I mumble.

"Nonsense. You are never too full for anything these days."

I bite my lip. This is too true. I open my mouth obediently, and you shove the donut inside. It's glazed with chocolate, sickly sweet and fluffy. I gulp it down in one go. Better to start fast before my stomach realizes how full it really is.

"Another one." You take the second donut, one with colourful sprinkles. I open my mouth again and chew furiously, my cheeks bulging. The donut lands heavily in my belly.

"You're getting so nice and fat," you say, reaching for the third donut. "You're doing so very, very well."

My cheeks turn crimson. "You're taking such good care of me."

"You bet I am. Now, open wide."

Third donut, covered with icing sugar, lands inside my mouth, the sugar peppering my plump lips. I'm really starting to get full. I force a gulp.

"Another one."

"Let me..." I pant. "Let me catch my breath."

You hand me a bottle of apple juice. I drink gratefully. It's always juice, never water. Hydration is key, but I can't afford not to be consuming any calories while I do it. While I drink, I slowly massage my belly which started to hang lower between my legs.

"Okay, I'm ready," I say. You reach for the fourth donut. This one looks plain, but I know it has cream inside. It's rich, heavy. It leaves a sweet mess inside my mouth. My belly gurgles. It's getting tight now.

"Good job," you praise. "Imagine how much fatter you'll grow after today."

"Aren't I a bit too fat?" I ask timidly. "I mean, I technically just became obese..."

You click your tongue. "Silly you. These are made-up categories. You could be so much fatter, my dumpling. Open up."

It's the fifth donut. Sticky and sweet jelly is stuffed inside it, and I take my time with chewing it. My t-shirt now completely exposes my bloated belly. I groan slightly as I swallow.

"Just one more," you say, but it doesn't fool me. The last donut is an everything: it has chocolate, sprinkles, and cream inside. A caloric bomb. A good conclusion to the feast.

How many calories have I even consumed today? 5,000? 6,000? Lately, I stopped counting. You do it for me, anyway.

You trace your fingers over my belly, and I whimper. Your hand lands on the hem of my pants, buried somewhere under my belly. You tug at it.

"Are these getting snug?" you ask.

"Yeah," I breathe out. "I've been only wearing them... huff... for three months."

You smile so sweetly that I know I'm in trouble. "Am I right in thinking that if you outgrow them, you'll have to find a special plus size store?"

I nod again, embarrassed and so, so turned on. "Yeah. They don't make them larger than 2XL."

"Well then," you say, "why don't you eat the last donut."

I open my mouth. The triple sweetness assaults my senses. Painfully slowly, I chew and gulp it down. My belly surges forward. You immediately give it your attention, massaging and provoking burps from me, easing up my discomfort. God, I ate so much. I'm so full. So full, fat, and heavy.

You hover over me. Your next words, you whisper right into my ear.

"I'm going to order some takeout. I want these pants outgrown by the end of the week."

I shiver. Slowly, I realize just how huge you want me.

[riverindulge]

butches in tight tight shirts that their bellies poke out of. butches in wife pleasers that stopped fitting 50lbs ago. butches stuffed full and getting tummy rubs. butches absolutely squeezed into their button ups, nearly bursting all the buttons off.

[riverindulge]

wow it’s been a while since i’ve posted on here… so what do you guys think?

[riverindulge]

Mini Cinnamon Roll Cheesecakes

[riverindulge]

I’ve been looking at these pics all day going “holy shit I look so fat in these” and….its cuz I’m kinda fat now lol. not chubby. not husky. none of those gentle, politically correct euphemisms. I got FAT.

my gut noticeably sticks out past my rack. I can feel my chin crease against my neck. I’ve got the face and body of a weightlifter who took the bulk way too far. even my hands look thicker and softer. people’s first impression of me is no longer my broad shoulders, my built, athletic body. all of that has been smothered under a nice layer of fat, purposefully. and it’s exhilarating. I love being the stereotypical fat butch dyke. I love seconds, I love snacks, I love how much I can eat now. I love being a total, unrepentant fatass. I never want to be skinny ever again.