#feedist intox

[fckingsofthips]

Feedist Kinktober, Day 10 - Exhibition

I don't think she realises how much she's eaten. The first fold of her belly is creeping over the waistband of her skirt, barely covered by her top.

Everyone else has finished eating, said the mains were big enough for them, but she wanted dessert.

"Oh don't worry, we don't want you to feel like you can't have a good time!" "Oh I know, we'll get some more cocktails so we've all got something on the table."

She's out with her five friends, all joined at the hip since their college days, but only she has piled the weight on, year by year. The group chatters around her, getting giddier with their sickly sweet cocktails, while she fills her mouth with spoonfuls of creamy cheesecake and vanilla ice cream. The cheesecake, sliced into, reveals fluffy pockets of air, a deceptively light, whipped texture to it. The biscuit crumbles as her spoon hits it, preceding the sharp tap of metal against porcelain. She's entranced, paying no mind to her body's cues that it's had enough, holding the ice cream in her mouth to melt and trickle down her throat. When she finally finishes, everyone insists on splitting the bill evenly, even though everyone knows she's eaten more than her fair share.

Into the night they go, ready to party until sunrise (or until the first person complains of being tired and the rest of them realise how much they want to go back to the friend's house they started in.)

I don't think she realises how much she's eaten. As her belly has expanded, she's tried to mitigate the press of her waistband by shifting it higher, to little success in making it comfortable. It's revealed a glimpse of her cellulite covered ass cheeks.

The girls all follow her into the kebab shop, eyeing her new revealing setup, and everyone orders something to soak up the last two hours' of alcohol. She finds bliss in the heat of soft potato, teeth tearing through the gentle fried crisp of the fries, tongue lapping at the salt and seasoning they're coated in. She barely notices as people tip their leftovers into her container, happy to keep chasing the satisfaction in each bite. Once finished, she lets out a huge, rattling belch that alerts the other patrons to her ass spilling off the kebab shop seat, the upper fold of her belly spilling out of her too-small top and over her restrictive waistband. Her friends don't gawk, instead cooing over her big belly, giving it a pat, and helping to lift her off her seat.

Time to call a taxi and head back to someone's house together. Squeezing into the van to fit around her, drunkenly rubbing her thighs, leaning over her and resting their heads on her soft shoulders. Giggling each time she lets out another tight burp, soothing her with caresses if they suspect she noticed.

I don't think she realises how much she's eaten. All staggering through the front door, someone's thoughtful enough to unzip her skirt, and she eases down heavily onto the sofa, stomach rolling out over her thighs.

Someone brings out a bowl of chocolate snacks, placed in her arm's reach, but she doesn't need to lift herself. Slender hands bring the sweet chocolate to her lips, and she moans in pleasure as the chocolate melts and gives way to a rich caramel. The girls rub and soothe her belly, gently pushing at the firmness as it loudly tries to digest.

When her moans turn to snores, the chocolates are put away, and they all fight for space on the sofa to curl up next to her.

She doesn't realise how much she ate that night, but they do.

[degeneratefae]

getting a little too good at double fisting ben and jerrys tbh.. (if such a thing is even possible)

[emptyheadedhousecow]

still fat

900 words · 5 min read · emptyheadedhousecow.tumblr.com · November 2024

The funnel is empty. The blanket is dotted with crumbs. The pizza boxes are on the floor — there's a grease stain on the bedsheet where it had been carelessly placed half an hour ago, but that's a job for tomorrow. The box of aftercare chocolates is open and the best ones are already gone. It was hot, but the libido is gone now, and appetites are more than sated. Your feeder is curled up beside you, half-asleep already, small beside you, eclipsed by your mass. The pain has been kissed and rubbed away, but you're still swollen and stuffed, and most importantly, you're still fat.

They woke up before you. The pizza boxes are gone, and the funnel too; through the walls you hear the dishwasher churning, something sizzling on a stovetop, and fresh coffee being ground. There's a hunger brewing inside you already, but the stretchmarks on your sides are itching again, and the moisturiser is just out of reach. They'd jump at the chance to help, but it's not sexy right now, you just want the discomfort gone. You shift and roll, and build momentum, and grab the bottle, and then come crashing back down on the mattress in a breathless heap, your fat splayed out in exactly the same way it was before. You breathe, and recover, and you have to remind yourself, like every other morning, that your body has grown into something made of carbs and lard, even though everything else is back to normal, you're still fat.

Your day would be easy for anyone else, but everything is an ordeal for you. It seems like every time you shower you discover a new fold that needs to be cleaned and powdered. You need to catch your breath while washing your hair. You could wear clothes, if you wanted, but it's so much easier not to try, and you're increasingly unsure just how long it's been since you wore anything at all. Your feeder brings you all the food you could want, four meals a day or five if you're lucky... and you're grateful, of course you are, but not every meal is sex. You eat because you're hungry — a deep hunger that's only satisfied when you're pushed to breaking point — and you eat to shush, if only for a little while, that tiny voice inside you that's always demanding more more more. You knew this would happen; that every time you push yourself, your appetite grows a little... and you've pushed yourself a lot. You don't always eat because you want to, you eat because you HAVE to, because that's what a body as fat as yours craves, and day after day, you're still fat.

And then the funnel's back in play, and another order is lined up on the pizza app. Can you down the pitcher of cream before the pizzas arrives, and then the pizzas too? It's always an offer, never coerced. It was such a struggle last time, you only barely made it, but that only means it'll be easier now. And the tiny voice inside you can't be silenced, and the deep hunger is so very demanding, and it does drive you wild to see them this excited. You agree. You know you won't be able to stop yourself from pushing yourself to your limit, again, and you know that if you manage it, next time there might be another pizza on top, and that's far beyond what any normal person could eat, and as exciting as that is, you can't help but worry a little. But the preparations are underway, and your feeder's in the kitchen already, and all you need to do is eat, which you're amazing at, so this is just the best option, right? After all, you've done this a hundred times, what's one more? Tonight won't change anything, not really — either way, you're still fat.

The next day is always the same as the day before. Your feeder is dressed in a tenth of the time it takes you to shuffle to the edge of the bed and you're exhausted already. A kiss and a smile and you're helped to your feet, but you're not steady, and your balance is always unfamiliar, and it wasn't so long ago that it wouldn't even have occurred to you that you might need help getting up, and yet here it is, a development as casual as a second portion of breakfast. It ought to worry you but you are so very hungry, and the little voice is louder than your own thoughts these days, even though the pressure from last night's feast remains. Food is brought directly to the bedroom, once a rare treat but now the norm simply because it's getting harder to walk to the kitchen, even assisted. Getting dressed isn't an option anymore, for sure there's no clothes that still fit you, and that means no going outside, even in the car. Not that you've been outside in a long time. Perhaps you begin to slowly realise, if you hadn't been in denial about it already, that your last opportunity to lose the weight has quietly disappeared, who knows how long ago, and you never even noticed. But that doesn't seem nearly as important as finishing the plate of food that's in front of you. Maybe you'll get a chance to think about that later, maybe not — it feels like a very permanent fact of your life that you're still fat, forever.

[gooseboy42]

I desperately need someone to come over to my place and get me so stoned I can barely move so they can fuck me and feed me as much as their heart desires. I imagine after a week of that my waist would be much wider and my brain far less functional

[janeborowski]

I need a real feeder. I need someone who will take me all the way in every way they can help. I'm not just talking I wanna be oh 300lbs, 600lbs.

No

I need to weight a fucking ton. I need to be fed the most unhealthy slop imaginable. All food deep fried. Tied up to a bed till I'm fully immobile all over. I'm not playing anymore. I want to be killed by my greed to grow. I want it more than anything.

I want to be made stupid and dumb. Completely fucking BRAINDEAD. I want my heart to struggle even when I'm only 600lbs.

I want to be a REAL Death Feedee. And I want all of you to help with it.

I want grease pumped into my blood. I want my arteries clogged. Oxygen needed every second of every minute. Body in constant pain. Room trashed with wrappers and food boxes. And the best part?

You'd control everything.

I couldn't leave if you kidnapped me and tied me in a basement. I couldn't say if I wanted to be cleaned once I can't move. I couldn't protest eating once you have that tube permanently attached. I couldn't be saved from death if you controlled my medicine and life support.

I want you feeders to end me. I want to be a hog. A pile of useless, dumb lard. A whore to be fucked constantly for your pleasure.

Booze and weed constantly shoved in me, barely conscious all the time. It all being too much in the end. You killing my liver, kidneys, lungs, and then finally my heart.

So get the fuck to it.

[degeneratefae]

i look so fucking round :0

[butterbean-fa]

Will someone please tie me to my chair and stuff me into oblivion? ☺️

[janeborowski]

No yeah..i..like fuck. I think I'm really 100% a death feedee. I'm so desperate to become like all those fucked up fantasies you read about.

Just a stupid hog, heart barely able to function, sweaty and grease all the time, food on my body, trashy pigsty of a room, brain completely gone, constantly high and drunk, garbage grease piles shoved down my throat at every waking moment, barely able to breath, walking taken away 600 lbs ago, heart constantly hurting, needing oxygen all the time, diabetes taking over my body, just..fuck.

Please fucking help me get like this..

[gooseboy42]

(Part 1)

I play with the hem of my tight shirt, anxiously sitting in the doctor’s office’s waiting room. It’s been a few years since I’ve been to the doctor. I know I should go at least once a year, but it’s such a hassle and doctors make me nervous. Especially with all the weight I’ve gained recently… I know I’m gonna get lectured on taking care of myself better. Exercising more, and dieting, but I really don’t want to do any of those things.

“Wren Johnson? We’re ready for you.” A nurse calls into the waiting room from a nearby door.

“Uh, coming!” I say shakily as I haul myself out of the chair and walk towards the door. I’m taken to a room and the nurse closes this door for privacy before continuing.

“So, what brings you in today?” She says as she looks at a clipboard.

“Oh, uh, just a regular checkup?” I laugh nervously.

“Alright then, let’s get your vitals and then I’ll go get the doctor.”

My blood pressure and pulse are normal, but then it’s time for the dreaded scale. I suck in my gut and step on, as if that’ll make a difference. I watch as the scale flickers before landing on a number and staying there. 303lbs. Shit, I didn’t think I had passed the 300lbs mark, last I had checked I was still clinging to 292lbs. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised with my eating habits…

“That’s everything!” The nurse says cheerily, snapping me out of my shock. “I’ll go grab the doctor.”

She leaves the room and the door closes. I sit down in the chair and stare at myself, I’m huge. Maybe I could stand to lose some weight, I’m getting so out of breath constantly and walking is becoming a chore-

*knock knock knock*

“Hi there! Thank you for waiting,” the doctor says as she walks in the room. “I’m doctor Vivian Brooks. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Now, what can I help you with?”

“Oh, I um, I just haven’t seen a doctor in a while and I figured I should get checked out. And also…” I trail off, getting too embarrassed to finish my sentence.

“It’s alright,” Doctor Brooks smiles at me. “This is a judgement free space, I’m just here to help.”

“Alright, I guess I just realized I could probably use some help losing some weight.”

“I see, I can help with that. We’ll make sure to get you on an exercise routine, a good diet, and I have some medications we could try. But let’s start with the physical examination, just to see where you are right now.”

I nod and stand up, after which she starts to examine me. After she does what I’d expect a doctor to do, Doctor Brooks goes to a nearby cupboard and grabs a measuring tape.

“Last thing I need to do is just take some measurements!”

“Oh, are you sure? I’ve never heard of that before?” I say nervously.

“Of course, it’s part of our new diet regiment. I know what I’m doing, I promise.” She says and smiles warmly at me.

Something about the look in her eyes, it’s captivating… I have to trust her, it’s a compulsion. I let her measure me. My belly is at 57”, and my thighs and arms are equally impressive. By the end of the measuring I’m starting to breathe a bit heavy from standing and moving around so much. Doctor Brooks gives me a strict diet and exercise plan, as well as sends in a couple prescriptions for me. None of it seems like a traditional weight loss plan… but I’m not the doctor here, and something about her… I need to do what she wants. I have to make her pleased. So I decide to follow that plan as strictly as possible.

3 month follow up

I’m sitting in the waiting room again, this time much less anxious. Those pills Doctor Brooks prescribed sure do wonders. My stomach rumbles, begging for food. It’s been a whole 3 hours since I’ve eaten, which is not normal for me now. I’m supposed to snack on something at least once every two hours, something about “steadying my metabolism”? It doesn’t really make sense but-

“Wren Johnson?”

My name is called so I pry myself out of the chair and head towards the door. The walk feels a lot harder than last time for some reason.

I enter the room and we do the same routine. Other vitals, and then weight. I step on the scale and stare blankly at the number as it flashes, 331lbs. How? I was following the plan exactly!

“Perfect,” the nurse smiles as she heads for the door. “Doctor Brooks will be in shortly.”

She leaves and I sit down, worried about what Doctor Brooks will say. I just wanted to make her proud.

*knock knock knock*

Doctor Brooks enters.

“Hi there Wren! I heard you’ve made excellent progress.”

“What? But I gained-“ I start to say, but she cuts me off.

“Exactly! You gotta gain some if you want to loose more, right?”

I’m about to argue how that makes no sense when I make eye contact with her. Her eyes are so pretty, and there’s something in them I can’t quite name, but it makes me feel good. It makes me want more. I realize I was starting to play with my belly without thinking.

“That’s a good pig” she says as she grabs my belly from behind, and I can’t help but moan. Somewhere in my brain a voice is screaming about how unethical this is, but it is quickly drowned out by how good it feels.

“I think we’ll up the meds and double your food intake, how does that sound, hog?” Doctor Brooks says, and I can only nod dumbly in response. “Good hog, you’re gonna grow so big for me,” she smiles wickedly.

Something in my brain is different, maybe it’s just that this feels so good, or maybe something is chemically altered in my brain, but I now have one goal. Grow as fat as Doctor Brooks wants me.

[degeneratefae]

help what’s the best high calorie weight gain powder? asking for a friend (myself) 😇

[janeborowski]

Ragh..I wanna be put in a food coma rn so bad xwx

Make me all drunk, full and sloshy. Dumb brained and stupid as you try to cram more food in me as my mushy brain can't comprehend it plz

I want my brain gone from so much booze and food. Waking up full and drunk only to be forced to do it again...I need it so bad