#feederism text

[honeybelly]

I had an idea for a toxic feedee x feeder relationship 🧸✨

The feedee could have a health scare (or just go to the doctor for a regular check-up). The doctor comes in to greet them; they warn them of developing issues caused by the weight.

The feeder feigns concern, and chastises their pet for being so unhealthy. The doctor steps out to order some tests leaving the pair alone.

After the doctor leaves the room the feeder slips a candy bar out of their jacket pocket and instructs their piggy to eat it before the doctor comes back.

If their prized hog objects the feeder will threaten them with having to eat two. They explain that even if they haven’t finished by the time the doctor returns they still need to keep eating, even in front of the stranger 🐷🐷

[feedybot]

You Haven’t Gained That Much

I watch her waddle into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes and yawning, oblivious to the way her belly jiggles with each step. She’s wearing my old college hoodie, stretched tight over her curves, riding up just enough to reveal the soft underbelly that wasn’t there a year ago. She’s bigger—much bigger—but she still acts like she’s the same size she’s always been.

And I love it.

“Morning,” she mumbles, shuffling to the fridge. I follow her with my eyes, biting back a grin. The fridge door opens, and she immediately starts pulling out leftovers from last night’s dinner. I made too much on purpose—again.

She heaps pasta onto a plate and tosses it in the microwave. “Ugh, I’m starving. I feel like I haven’t eaten in days.”

I lean on the counter, chin in hand. “That’s probably because you skipped your midnight snack.”

She shrugs, arms jiggling as she leans in to get the food. “I’m trying not to overdo it.”

I almost laugh. Trying not to overdo it? The scale in the bathroom groaned last time she stepped on it. She’s passed the point where her clothes don’t fit—now she’s just cycling through mine. But the best part? She has no idea.

“Babe,” she says, between mouthfuls, “do you think I’ve gained weight?”

The question catches me off guard, but I’ve been here before.

I tilt my head, giving her the same practiced, innocent look. “Not really. Maybe a few pounds? Honestly, you look the same to me.”

She sighs in relief and takes another massive bite, completely trusting me. She wants so badly to believe she hasn’t changed. That the way her thighs spread across the chair, the extra time it takes her to catch her breath after climbing stairs, the way her belly now rests in her lap—it’s all just… temporary. Nothing serious.

“I thought maybe I was imagining things,” she continues. “Like, my jeans are tight, but they were probably in the dryer too long.”

I nod. “That must be it.”

And just like that, she relaxes again, letting herself enjoy every creamy, cheesy bite of pasta like it’s her reward for staying “the same.” Her metabolism, she claims, has always been fast. That’s what she tells herself. What she tells me.

But I know the truth.

And I’m not stopping.

She’s finishing the pasta like she hasn’t eaten in days, completely unaware—or unwilling to admit—how much she’s changed. I can see it from every angle: the way her upper arms fill the sleeves of my hoodie to their limits, how the fabric strains around her shoulders. She’s outgrown all of her own clothes, but she still hasn’t made peace with that.

She sets the empty plate down with a satisfied sigh, stretching slightly. The hoodie rises even higher, exposing the full curve of her belly resting in her lap. I watch her tug it back down, annoyed.

“This stupid thing keeps riding up,” she mutters, tugging harder.

I play innocent. “Dryer must’ve shrunk it too.”

She pouts, running a hand over her stomach, as if the tightness is the fault of the fabric and not the pounds she’s steadily packed on. “Maybe. But I swear everything’s been feeling tighter lately.”

She stands up—and that’s when it happens.

A loud, sharp rip slices through the silence.

She freezes. I try not to smirk.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, twisting around. There it is: a fresh tear right along the seam of the hoodie under her arm, where the fabric just couldn’t take the strain anymore.

She looks horrified.

I, on the other hand, am quietly thrilled.

“I loved this hoodie,” she whines, poking a finger through the hole. “Why is everything falling apart lately?”

I step closer, brushing a hand over the tear like I’m checking the damage. “It’s old,” I say softly. “You’ve worn it so much. Don’t worry—I’ve got plenty more you can borrow.”

She sighs, and I can practically see her trying to convince herself. “Yeah… it’s just the clothes. Not me.”

I nod reassuringly. “Of course. You haven’t gained that much.”

And she smiles—relieved—like she really believes it.

But I know what the scale said last week, the one she avoided looking at. I know how many buttons she’s popped, how many pairs of jeans she’s left folded on the floor, abandoned mid-struggle. I see the little expressions she makes when she sits down too fast and her belly sloshes forward, or when she has to shift awkwardly to get off the couch. But she won’t say it out loud. She won’t even ask the real question.

Not yet.

And I’ll keep feeding her. I’ll keep pretending. I’ll keep telling her it’s just the clothes. Just the dryer. Just bad luck.

Because she wants to believe.

And I want her to keep growing.

It’s a few days later when I find her in the bedroom, surrounded by clothes. Piles of them. Jeans, leggings, stretched-out tees, a few bras she hasn’t worn in months. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, red-faced and frustrated, struggling to tug a pair of jeans over her hips.

I pause in the doorway, watching. She hasn’t noticed me yet.

She grunts and wiggles, rocking side to side as she pulls with all her strength. Her belly bounces with each movement, soft and uncooperative. The denim catches just below her navel, refusing to budge any further. I see the button straining like it’s in a hostage situation. Her thighs are stuffed into the legs like sausages, seams visibly tugging for mercy.

Finally, with one last heave, she yanks the waistband together and manages to fasten the button.

But the zipper’s another story.

It won’t go up. Not even halfway.

She slumps back on the bed with an exasperated huff. “Ugh, what the hell.”

That’s my cue. I step into the room casually. “Everything okay?”

She jumps, startled. “God, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Didn’t mean to.” I glance around at the mess. “Looks like a fashion show exploded in here.”

“I’m just… trying to figure out what still fits,” she mutters, sitting up straighter, the jeans cutting into her middle now that she’s no longer standing. A thick roll of belly spills over the waistband, plush and pink from the pressure.

I walk over and sit beside her. “Those jeans look tight.”

“They used to be loose,” she groans, pulling at the zipper again in vain. “I don’t get it. I haven’t gained that much.”

She says it like a prayer. Desperate. Hollow.

I nod slowly, like I’m thinking it through. “Maybe they shrunk.”

“They’re stretch denim.”

“Maybe you’ve just… filled out a little?” I offer it carefully, planting just enough truth to keep her spinning.

She gives me a skeptical look. “You said the other day I looked the same.”

I smile. “You do. Just… a curvier version.”

She makes a face, tugging at the waistband again. “I don’t want to buy all new clothes.”

“You don’t have to,” I say. “Just keep borrowing mine.”

She sighs, defeated. “But yours are starting to feel tight too.”

Bingo.

“I could go shopping with you,” I offer casually. “If you want to find some comfy stuff that fits right. You’ll feel better.”

“I guess,” she says. Then, as if remembering her reflection, she groans and tries to stand up—but the jeans make it difficult. Her movements are sluggish, heavy. The waistband digs in deeper as she leans forward and braces herself on the nightstand.

“Jesus,” she mutters under her breath.

She manages to stand, but the second she straightens up, the button gives up.

POP.

The sharp little noise rings through the room as the button flies off and hits the floor with a faint clatter. Her belly surges forward with nothing holding it back, and she stares down at the open jeans in stunned silence.

I don’t move. I just watch, slowly licking my lips.

“Did that just—?”

“Yup,” I say, voice low. “That just happened.”

She stares down at herself, hands resting on the sides of her exposed stomach like she’s not sure whether to laugh or cry.

“I guess… maybe I’ve gained a little.”

I hum thoughtfully, walking over and brushing my fingers along her sides. “Just enough to grow out of your old life,” I whisper. “Nothing wrong with that.”

She closes her eyes, chewing her lip. Still trying to believe the lie. Still trying to pretend this is a phase. That it’s just the jeans, just bad sizing, just a bloated day.

I reach down and gently tug the ruined denim down her thighs, letting them pool at her feet. “You don’t have to fight it,” I say softly. “Just let go.”

She looks at me for a long time. Not denying it anymore—but not fully accepting it either.

Somewhere in between.

And that’s the sweet spot. That’s where I want her.

I guide her toward the mirror. She hesitates but follows, half-dressed and vulnerable, belly soft and heavy in the reflection. She stares at herself like she’s seeing someone else.

But I’m right behind her, arms wrapping around that growing middle, resting my chin on her shoulder.

“You look amazing,” I whisper. “Don’t change a thing.”

Her eyes flick to mine in the mirror. Searching. Wanting to believe.

And for now, she does.

She stands there in front of the mirror, wide-eyed and quiet, wrapped up in my arms with her jeans around her ankles and her belly spilling out in soft, pale rolls. She hasn’t moved in a full minute, just staring at her reflection like she’s trying to understand where the girl she used to be went.

I feel her shifting in my hold, uncomfortable. Embarrassed.

And now? That’s when I push.

“You know,” I murmur against her neck, “it’s kind of impressive.”

She frowns. “What is?”

“How far you’ve let yourself go.”

Her whole body stiffens. I feel her breath hitch, her arms twitch like she’s about to cover herself—but she doesn’t. Maybe because my grip tightens a little. Or maybe because she’s too shocked to move.

“I mean,” I continue, voice calm and low, “when we met, I could fit both hands around your waist. Now look at you.”

She flushes, red creeping up her cheeks as her eyes drop to her middle. I glide my hands down her sides, fingers sinking into the doughy softness that didn’t used to be there.

“This wasn’t here before,” I say, giving her love handles a little squeeze. “Or this.” I drag my hand over the lower curve of her belly, where it’s started to hang—just slightly—past her hips.

She exhales, a mix of embarrassment and arousal. She doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t deny it.

“You outgrew three bras in six months,” I go on, my voice just a touch colder now. “I watched you struggle with every clasp, every time pretending they were shrinking.”

“I didn’t—” she starts, weakly.

“You did,” I cut in, softly but firmly. “And you broke two chairs. You think I didn’t notice?”

Her silence is answer enough. She presses her thighs together instinctively. I can see her mind racing—humiliated, but clinging to some thread of denial, some excuse to explain it all away.

“You can’t even see your feet unless you lean over,” I say, almost conversationally. “And even then, your belly gets in the way.”

She flinches, a soft gasp leaving her lips. She knows I’m right. I see her eyes flick to the mirror again—then away. It’s too much.

“You really haven’t noticed how fat you’re getting?” I whisper, one hand gliding back up to cup the underside of her belly. It fills my palm and then some.

She makes a choked sound—half protest, half moan.

“Or do you just like pretending?” I murmur. “Like playing dumb so you can keep stuffing your face without the guilt?”

She doesn’t answer.

“You’re bursting out of every stitch of clothing you own, waddling around the house like you don’t feel how heavy you’ve gotten… And you believed me when I said it was just the dryer.”

I chuckle, low and cruel.

She bites her lip so hard I think she might cry. Or kiss me. Or both.

“You said you didn’t want to buy new clothes,” I go on, brushing a hand over her shelf of a belly. “But sweetie… you don’t have clothes anymore. You have fabric clinging to the fantasy that you’re still small.”

Her thighs tremble. She’s shaking now.

“You have gained that much. And more. And you’re still pretending you haven’t. That’s the hottest part.”

I pause, letting the silence settle.

She looks back at me in the mirror. Her cheeks are flushed, her chest rising and falling fast. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.

Because the way she leans into me—lets me hold all that extra weight she’s carrying—tells me everything I need to know.

She’s embarrassed.

She’s humiliated.

And she’s loving it.

[doublequaterpounder]

There 👏 is 👏 nothing👏 shameful👏 about 👏being/getting👏 fat 👏

now go eat.

[magickman1234]

Feeder tip #1: Grazing

If you want your feedee to truly blow up and that wonderful accidental level of blow up you need to encourage grazing. Casual grazing is the best. If you can populate their environment with snacks like chips, crackers, cookies, fruit snacks or whatever they love that you could casually snack on is central. The less filling and more addictive with lots of calories taken in with the least effort. Set out bowls of treats or put the actual bags of treats out. Normalize them eating between meals. Respond to their requests quickly and the least intrusive to their activities. Make it like grabbing them a water or drink while thirsty. Embrace their whims and grab them whatever they want so those easy to absorb treats add up. Combine this with buying bulk and rotate with sales through their desires. Normalize eating entire containers once or twice a week by this process. Reward and praise them and encourage them to leave you trophies of what they ate. Shape this to be sweet or dark based on their fantasies but remember encourage mindless self-indulgent behavior around this. It can be a quiet kink moment too to leave them a bag or box of treats. You can make it romantic too and loving by making sure they have treat options at all times. Remember though keep it super easy for them and get them used to not even having to get up for it even. Let them just relax their way into total obesity and laziness. You can use it for sweet praise about what a good [pet name] been and get them proud. If your dynamic is teasing you can taunt them for killing another bag of chips this week. It can be saved up for humiliation if your dynamic is evil like that. Nothing like springing on them you’ve been tallying the calories or bags they’ve consumed right as they’re on the edge of orgasm or to excite them while in an active stuffing session (you already ate a party sized Oreos you can do this!) Grazing is so adaptable and can be whatever you need it to be but it’s central to actual weight gain. So be kind to your feedee and free range then with treats.

[greenwitchfeeder]

Some people say “I love you” with words. I say it with an extra-large milkshake, a plate piled high, and a knowing look as I press another bite to your lips. Nothing makes me happier than knowing you’re full, satisfied, and growing for me.

[bailway]

Goals

Hello!! Sorry I have been very busy with wedding planning and earning extra money for the future. My fiancé has met his goal of 400 pounds about a month ago and he’s still growing! But with everything that has happened Recently he’s working with me.. so he’s not staying home full time anymore…

Thankfully I’m the boss of the company so I get him to do the least amount of physical labor. Instead he helps me with paperwork and computer work. So I can keep him nice and plump.

He’s struggling with his movement and now he can’t get up off the couch without needing help because he broke the couch.. I even caught him trying to put his socks on by himself , he got embarrassed and said he was trying to impress me by being able to dress himself… he’s so cute

He’s grown out of his 4XL shirts and now wears suspenders so he doesn’t always have struggle to pull his pants up. I love that I have grown him out of 3XL-4XL clothing and he’s still stuffing his face every chance he gets

I even had to buy a different scale because my old one maxed at 400 so I got a 500 pound one and he’s now 408ish. I loved putting the old scale away because he maxed it out.. felt so accomplished for reaching my goal for him.. now I’m waiting until I need to buy a 600 pound scale..

He’s been filling out nicely

[honeybelly]

The idea of constant or near constant eating is so obscenely hot.

Force feeding is an attractive idea don’t get me wrong, but what really draws my attention is the thought of being unable to stop eating.

Pushing through fullness and discomfort is a daily occurrence. Feeling antsy when food seems to be running low is normal and not at all strange. Not having enough to eat is not something that computed anymore-

The only thing that makes sense is to keep eating 🤤

(Post featuring four massive donuts I ate yesterday) ✨

[fa-lover-forever]

It's really very simple: I decide what you eat, how much you eat, when (if ever) you get to stop.

You cannot be trusted to make these decisions yourself!

You let society fill your head about nonsense about "healthy" food when what you need is to eat sugar and fat constantly.

They told you you shouldn't eat a lot and you believed them. I will correct this mistake by ensuring that are are stuffed constantly and forever. This is the only way to ensure you are getting the nutrition you need.

You protest, worry that you're getting fat and huge. You are. This is how you are supposed to be. You are supposed to be massive. I will ensure you are.

This is for your own good

[doublequaterpounder]

Getting fat and fatter on purpose is truly a top teir life experience. like full being in tune with you body, listening to every craving eating whenever you get hungry. making yourself full and fulfilled and just high feeling concept as your body grows as you listen to it

when i was fit and working out i was constantly ignoring my body and restricting it and trying to convince it to go out and over exert itself so it burns itself away but reclaiming that and enjoying the growth and feeding it what it’s wanted the whole time

true at peace lifestyle following exactly what it wants and i want to be fat and that’s very cool

[mikey-feeder]

Tightness

Today’s feeder thought: tightness.

Let’s imagine we’ve ordered takeaway, the usual spread fit for a family of four. But, as usual, it’s all for you.

Let’s imagine you’ve been a really good feedee for me, and you’ve eaten it all. You’re surrounded by the destruction your appetite has left in its wake: empty boxes, wrappers, drink cups.

Now, you’re beached. The sheer quantity of food inside your belly pushes you back, lying on the bed. I place my hand on your belly, and it’s tight. Especially the upper part. It’s solid mass.

Usually, your belly jiggles. I can push, pull, run my hands all over you and through your folds. But now, you’re bloated, taut, full and tight.

Belly rubs turn into just the tips of my fingers grazing the skin stretched across your belly. You breathe light, shallow breaths, because anything deeper hurts. You can’t think or speak, only being able to lightly moan, because you’re too focussed on breathing through the tightness, focussed on your belly.

You were wearing a pair of loose joggers at the start of this meal. Their waistband is now stretched tight across your belly, pressing in against you now. For a few moments it’s painful whilst I help you take them off, but then a breath of relief as your belly is freed.

I whisper in your ear:

“You’ve done so well, I know it’s painful, but this is how you grow. This is how that beautiful belly will get bigger, how you’ll become fatter. You want that don’t you? Rest now, try to relax, and I’ll be back later with dessert.”

Inspired by a recent feeding experience. If you’d like this to be your reality, feedees, you know where to find me.

[flusteredmfeedee]

Stuffing is really hot… but theres something just so greedy about someone just grazing on snacks all day. Not so they ever get stretched— but so their gut is constantly contempt. They’re never healthy snacks either. Always chocolate, cookies, donuts… maybe a slice of cake even!

Of course stuff like that is just as calorie heavy if not more so than a singular stuffing. And if you’re snacking constantly, you’re probably someone who sits on their ass all day with no purpose but to grow~ Maybe you found a video but need snacks to watch it. Perhaps you’re a cinema junkie who always takes snacks. What if the gab between lunch and dinner if too long? Just a snack or two… It always starts that way.

So go on, grab a snack~

[greenwitchfeeder]

The extra weight you carry isn’t just soft and gorgeous—it’s proof of every night we’ve spent tangled up, every lazy morning breakfast in bed, every indulgence I’ve encouraged. Your body is a masterpiece, shaped by pleasure, and I adore it.

[bailway]

Side effects

With me trying to get my boyfriend to 400 pounds I have been nonstop ordering food for him and I have to admit.. it’s not just him getting fatter.. I have gained 10 pounds recently from trying to get him more comfortable with his eating…

I thought that maybe if he saw me eating as well he would be more comfortable eating more… well.. that way of thinking has major consequences.. my boyfriend and I eat around 5 times a day… of course all of his portions are family sized.. but I also have put myself into all of those meals to help influence him to indulge more..

He’s gotten comfortable with eating more with me around.. and will even try to get me to eat more with him.. and of course I obey.. but my appetite isn’t the same as an almost 400 pound man.. so he ends up eating the rest..

But with me gaining weight with him it will encourage him to keep getting fatter…. Can’t have his chubby girlfriend passing him..

But I need to be able to do things for him when he’s unable to get up from the couch.. and anything he needs.. I’m making him 100% dependent on me.. but just a few extra pounds won’t hurt if its encouraging my soon to be immobile boyfriend to get fatter…right..?

This is my second time typing this because it didn’t save..

[honeybelly]

Do you ever get super enthusiastic about gaining and accidentally shove a way too huge bite in your mouth 😅 I just get fueled by my gluttony a bit hard

[doublequaterpounder]

Shout out to the peeps that have gotten fat on purpose and continue to gain weight and just enjoy being fatter and the getting fat lifestyle

been seeing a lot of people across the web inside the feedism, body positivity and plus sized community actively trying to get skinnier which they are allowed to do cause it’s there bodies and everyone is allowed to anything. (also no hate to accidental weight loss life happens and getting fat can be difficult to upkeep)

butttttt yeah shout out to those who truly love being fat and and everything that it brings us, large bodies, lots of food, softness it’s very lovely hearing y’all love yourselves and love the growth!