#forcefeeding

[the-duchess-of-domination]

Pizza Delivery Boy

i’ve always loved classic porn tropes with a feedism twist.

imagine ordering five pizzas for delivery—a margarita, a Hawaiian, a pepperoni, a sausage and bacon, and a cheese. its late into the evening and your trap has been set. you wait patiently to strike.

within 30 minutes you hear a knock at your door. you open it, and standing before you on the welcome mat is a pudgy twenty-something wearing a backwards hat and a tight t-shirt donning the logo of your local pizza joint. he’s balancing all five pizzas in his arms, and he seems hasty to dump them onto you and get his tip.

“thank you,” you say, taking the pizzas. “i can’t believe nobody showed. what am i going to do with all this pizza?”

though apathetic and moody, he asks what you mean.

“i was supposed to be having a party tonight so i ordered all this pizza. nobody showed, so now i’m stuck with it. i hardly have any room in my fridge!”

he doesn’t take this bait, and instead tells you the total. you pull out your wallet and give him two twenties. while he’s calculating the change, you have a suggestion.

“hey, tell you what. do you want some of this pizza? i’d hate to see it go to waste.”

he shakes his head. “thanks but no thanks. im sick of pizza.”

“how could anyone be sick of pizza?”

“i eat it on my breaks. i go home smelling like pizza. i get dough under my fingernails. it’s lost its appeal.”

“oh…i see. well, if you change your mind…”

he drops the change into your open palm, pondering. it’s a slow night after all, and admittedly he’s feeling a little peckish. someone called off, forcing him to work twice as hard. maybe eating something isn’t such a bad idea.

reluctantly, he takes you up on your offer. once he’s entered the threshold you invite him to make himself comfortable and have as much pizza as he likes. he rolls his eyes a little at your incessant kindness. some people are just too nice. he peeks into the boxes on the counter to see what he wants. he decides that pepperoni sounds the most appealing.

the cheese pull is sublime. the pepperoni is curled and crispy. there’s just enough sauce. for whatever reason, it’s hitting the spot. he decides another slice couldn’t hurt.

as he’s grubbing, you drag a chair to the center of the kitchen.

“sit down if you like. im sure you’re exhausted.”

he nods. doing deliveries and making the pizzas has given him weak Bambi legs and quite the appetite. he takes a load off and opens the box of Hawaiian.

“a lot of people don’t like Hawaiian.” you say. “what are your thoughts? do you think fruit belongs on pizza?”

he shrugs. “i dunno. it’s my favorite, but i guess it’s weird when you think of it that way.”

he gobbles the slice and wipes his greasy fingers down his pant leg. he looks like he’s about to get up, but you stop him.

“well, i for one don’t like Hawaiian at all. you should have some more, since it’s your favorite. here—“ you round the counter and give him the entire box. “go ahead. it’s all yours.”

score, he thinks. he is warming up to your hospitality. he downs three more slices before deciding he is on the verge of uncomfortably full.

“what’s the matter? not hungry?” you ask.

“uhm. starting to get full. y’know i should head out, my boss is going to wonder where i am—“

“nonsense, you just need a little help—here, why don’t i feed it to you?”

you pick up a piece of Hawaiian. you hover it in front of his mouth. he looks stunned.

“what?”

“go on then. i can’t eat all this by myself.”

looking unsure of himself, he bites into the slice you’re offering. you gently coax the entire slice into his mouth.

“there you go. you don’t even need to use your hands. tell you what, why don’t i tie those up for you?”

you ambush him and bind his arms behind his back. his feet come next.

“comfortable?” you muse.

he squirms in the chair. “hey! what’s going on?”

“don’t worry. just relax.” you open the box of Hawaiian. “you’ve still got four slices here. open wide!”

you stuff his cheeks full of pineapple and ham. his cheeks are so full his groans are muffled

“good, isn’t it?” he thrashes and turns his head away when you hover another slice in front of him. “now, that’s no way to treat your host. keep still.”

you force him to finish the Hawaiian pizza. by the end he’s left panting, his already tight shirt riding up his pale belly.

“ohh, no more!” he begs. “i can’t take anymore. my belly hurts.”

you smile and laugh. “well, what next? margarita or sausage and bacon?”

looks like he’s going to have to call into work tomorrow.

[drpeppertummy]

hmmmm how about a vampire who is Terrible at keeping themself well fed being forcefed by a loved one/group of friends etc ?

didnt feel like giving them details so feel free to use this as like. a template idk

[ID: a drawing of two generic, un-detailed people, a human and a vampire. the human is leaned over the vampire and holding them in place with the vampire's head to their neck, forcing them to drink. the vampire is clutching at the human, looking surprised, their swollen belly gurgling as they gulp down the blood.]

[futureimmobilemodel]

Good morning! It's time to rise and shine. We have a long day of stuffing our faces, and getting stoned.

I've already polished off 6 McDonald's burgers, and an order of hotcakes. Try to keep up! 😈 I'll be drinking an entire case of soda tonight.

[one-time-i-dreamt]

In Pokémon Go, you can feed wild Pokémon berries endlessly. So I was trying to catch a Jigglypuff, so I just kept ramming pinap berries down its throat until it grabbed the Pokéball from my hand and just hopped in.

[bellyasks]

this may be a little intense, but how about some force feeding dialogue?

oihohoihjhjjd force feeding is another huge guilty pleasure 4 me

"Ugh, please, I'm too full, I can't eat any more…"

"Come on, there's still a little give left. You can fit more in there."

"I can't fit any more. I feel like I'm gonna explode."

"Would you quit whining? We're nowhere near done yet, there's still a whole plate left."

"Can't we at least take a break?"

"Sorry, sweetheart, but we're not stopping until that shirt's nice and tight, and it still looks pretty loose to me."

"Oh, my belly… Please, there's no room left…"

"You think you're full? Honey, I'm gonna show you the meaning of the word 'full.'"

"I don't think I can take much more… Can we slow down? Please?"

"I guess your belly looks pretty full, but I don't know. I kinda wanna see how far we can push it."

"Oh, god, I'm so full… The pressure…"

"The only way we're stopping before this bowl's empty is if you explode."

[momsspaghetti1818]

My future self 🤞🏻

[the-duchess-of-domination]

Emotional Eating

sometimes i like to think about a guy who eats his feelings.

i imagine his relationship with his girlfriend has turned sour. she broke up with him last night. he drives home from her house in the rain, fighting back bleary tears and lip quivers. when he gets home he cries into the wee hours of the morning.

the next day he wakes up in the afternoon. he doesn’t go to class or work, instead texting his family and friends about what happened. although he wants to be left alone to sulk, his mother knows how to make him feel better: make him his favorite chocolate cake. she figures it’s the least she can do.

she quickly gets to work. while she’s sifting flour and melting butter, his friends come over to cheer him up. they bring him treats they know he likes, like sour gummi worms, salty caramel ice cream, and lavender-flavored boba. he’s so grateful for his friends that their kindness just makes him cry harder.

his friends don’t stay long, seeing his emotions as still raw. there isn’t a bone of resentment in his body toward his ex-girlfriend. he misses her so much it hurts. he wants her back, and his friends know there isn’t anything they can do to help. among a melted pint of ice cream and sour gummi worms he eats and eats, out of both sadness and boredom. most people lose their appetite when they are heartbroken—but not him. he’s hungier than ever.

the doorbell rings, and his mother drops off a Black Forest cake. it was his favorite when he was a kid, and receiving it now is a comfort. he hugs his mom goodbye and takes it inside.

he doesn’t bother to slice it. he takes a big spoon from the kitchen, sits on the couch, and begins absentmindedly working through it. as he scarfs it down he nurses the gummi worms, salty caramel ice cream, and lavender boba his friends got him. for a brief hour he feels like the man. he is on top of the world. who needs her, anyway? he’s single and free now. he can do whatever he wants.

staring at the TV he tries to spoon more chocolate cake into his mouth. his teeth clink the spoon. he peers down and realizes there is no cake left.

all at once it hits him. the pleasure has worn off, and his guts are boiling. Black Forest cake, boba, gummi worms, caramel ice cream—all swirling inside his tummy. now not only is he heartbroken, he has the mother of all stomach aches. it really can’t get any worse than this. he becomes hyper aware of the fact that he is really, truly alone. she isn’t here to comfort him anymore.

he calls you. you’re his friend, and you’ve always had a little bit of a crush on him. he begs you to come over, that he just needs someone to talk to. you oblige.

knocking on the door, he takes his sweet time. he opens it, doubled over and hobbling. he looks a little green around the gills—but you don’t comment on this. after all, nobody looks good after getting broken up with.

you spend the night with him. he cries on your shoulder, telling you what he did to himself, what she did to him. he tells you that while his stomach is full, his heart is empty. you tell him this is a cheesy thing to say. he gets a little mad at you for not taking him seriously. his gripes turn into moans as he fusses over his distended gut. you laugh a little and start patting his back, telling him he’ll feel better soon. the physical touch between the two of you feels good. a little too good.

without warning the both of you lean into a kiss. you taste the chocolate on his breath. he hums with satisfaction, and before you know it you’re in a full-blown make out sesh. it doesn’t last long before he recoils, queasy belly gurgling.

his stomach (and his heart) hurt. you decide that kissing is too much right now, so you gingerly place a hand on his stomach, rubbing it.

you don’t know what you are to each other now, but it doesn’t seem to matter. all that matters is this moment. this moment of intimacy.

[drpeppertummy]

fuck you. fills your fairy with strawberry juice

[ID: a drawing of a fairy laying on her back, squirming and looking panicked as a dropper filled with pink juice looms over her. her belly is extremely bloated and pink with the juice.]

[futureimmobilemodel]

Professor!

I accidentally used your new potion that increases a Pokemon's size!

Professor! What should we do??

I'm swelling up! 😩

[akihatohnoofficial]

forcefeeding akiha mushrooms and he's pathetically struggling to eat them like that gif of the incredibly sickly anime girl struggling to eat a chicken nugget

UGHHHHH WHYYYYYYYY

[canispembroke]

Buffet in Bed

Zerda and Pale are out on a trip together-- and looks like Zerda's treating Pale to an all-you-can-eat (and then some!) Buffet!

Pale's the bed, btw.

I'm too lazy to post this on other sites RN so yall get it early :)

[mychlapci]

Ratchet should forcefeed prowl like those birds when he overworks himself. He’ll do it anywhere too, he doesn’t care, prowl is Getting his fuckin energon ratchet swears to Primus.

Prowl feels normal and not sexual at all about the experience of their head medic immobilizing him and forcing a tube into his throat before giving him his full load of energon for the day

aggshshshsb i was never actually into tube feeding, but I'm absolutely making an exception for this. i don't even think he should even be necessarily immobilized, i think Ratchet should just wrangle Prowl from the back and then quickly shove that tube into his mouth. Send an entire cube of energon flying straight into Prowl's fuel tank in one quick shot. it's so fast his gag reflex doesn't even activate.

[chubunited]

Make sure to stay hydrated this july 4th!

[squishy-squish-deathfeeder]

You are an immortal being, vampiric, (perhaps slightly cannibalistic). You spend the ages finding potential piggies across the country. All pigs of all sorts, you find your next victim and destroy them. Maybe once you choose a fit, healthy guy if you want a challenge, just to see him break and weaken and fade. Maybe the next, you pick a weak, meek, naive, pig that will be like instant putty in your hands to shape. Maybe you just pick someone no one will miss just so you can experiment and try out new things. But every time, they are transformed from a normal functioning adult into a mindless, gorging blob. All of them made into dumb fattening pigs, so horny and wanting for more. Some fight and fight hard against your charms and seduction, but all break in the end, even if the pig needs a fun cocktail of drugs to turn it permanently docile and vacant. And you just sit back and watch, humiliate, ridicule, encourage, praise, affirm, and love one blob after another descend from the intelligence of humanity into helpless sacks of lard. When they health problems got too much, sometimes if you were bored with a pig, you would watch them suffer until they died so that you could get it over with and move on to the next, but sometimes you’d try to prolong your favorite ones. If the diabetes required a foot, you’d happily comply and remove it. They usually, at that point, aren’t using their feet much anymore, so might as well make room for more fattening. Maybe sometimes for fun you’d even remove their other foot and even hands. Just to turn them into truly helpless globs of flesh. Unable to stop you or fight back. And under your hypnotic charms they don’t even realize they lost the ability to speak, they can’t remember their names or where they came from, in fact if you told them they had been there with you their whole lives, they’d believe you. There was nothing outside this. Nothing outside you. You are all there is. You are the provider. You give love and pleasure and food. You are good. You are all. They will fall under your control and spell every time eventually. Always an achievement when a tough, fighter finally snaps and their brain breaks permanently and they are essentially lobotomized. The looks of rage and anger slowly erode to nothing more than dumb horny cross eyes glazed over vacancy. From a person to a pig, a human to a hog. Nothing but your plaything. You aren’t sure when, but at some point over the ages, you lost your own humanity and hardly see them as people anymore. No hopes dreams goals or ambitions. They are all always just cattle. And when you feel like culling, you don’t hold back. The peasant starving on the road was no more or less of a person to you than the famous influencer that strangely disappeared and stopped posting one day, they were all nothing but playthings for you to enjoy and pass time with. All for fun. Their lives don’t matter. They may protest in the beginning, but you don’t hear much complaints from them so they must like it too, you reason. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Nothing will stop you once you’ve identified your next victim.

Lots of good little stories to be played out with this scenario

Cruel cakes is undoubtedly a fitting name for you. Your planning and details for intricate stories or even small snippets are incredibly interesting with cruel, fattening twist and turns. We'll make wonderful useage of these ideas, I promise you. Thank you unbelievably so, darling.

[the-duchess-of-domination]

Thinking about

coming home from work to a lovely and miserable sight: your boyfriend stretched out on the sofa with his pants unbuttoned, his sore, churning belly distended past his hip bones. before you had even rounded the corner, you could hear him sighing and mewling to himself. your entrance catches him by surprise, and he clears his throat and sits up too fast. the movement makes him slosh and he recoils.

“what’s the matter with you?” you ask, although based on the way you can hear his stomach flip-flopping you already know.

“i dunno—“ he whines. “but i think im sick. my stomach is killing me.”

you and him have been through this routine before. you apathetically take off your coat and shoes. “well, what’d you eat, hm?”

“i didn’t even eat anything!” he complains. “all i had for breakfast was ice cream sandwiches!”

you hang up your coat, smirking. “ice cream for breakfast, huh?”

“yeah. i had three, but they were those little ones, anyway. it wasn’t even that much. i just needed something to eat, and that’s all i could find. anyway, then after that for lunch all i had was a bag of chips.”

“a little bag?”

“a big bag of salt and vinegar. oh, and i forgot, i had two sleeves of those cookies. the chocolate mint ones i like.”

you start to laugh. “your stomach ache is a real mystery, huh?”

the joke goes over his head. “that’s what im saying! after that i barely ate anything else. just had a slice or two of that cake that’s been sitting on the counter. the one from your birthday?”

you turn your back to him so he can’t see you cracking up. “uh huh. only that?”

“yeah, except for the candy, but after that i got thirsty, right? so i drank the rest of that soda that was in the fridge. it was halfway full and flat, anyway. but other than that, that’s all i had. right before you got home i was eating some chocolate chips, and out of nowhere my stomach started hurting really bad. weird, right?”

you perch on the edge of the sofa, grinning down on him. you poke him in his exposed belly, which he does not take kindly to.

“so i guess the ice cream, chips, cookies, cake, candy, and soda have nothing to do with your belly ache?”

he makes a face of confusion.

“nothing at all?”

it slowly dawns on him.

“oh.” he says.

“yeah.” you say. you stand up. “anyway, what do you want for dinner?”

he groans nauseously and covers his face with a blanket.

[drpeppertummy]

Insane Indulgent Sunny Event

[ID: a drawing of a guy laying on his back, being pinned down by two disembodied hands. a third hand rubs his distended belly, while a fourth brings a forkful of pasta to his mouth, to which he replies "Please... I can't eat any more..."]