#just two feedees and feeders

[femmefeedist]

just two girlfriends playing with each others' chub 🥰

@in-love-with-fat

🍀my links🍀

[cherrysoftbody]

That fun feeling of ummm. Stuff so bad during weedtime that you feel like one of those candy jars from the county fair. 100000 beans in me maybe more.

[epigstolary]

Welcome to Epigstolary, a place where I write about gaining, feeding, and all things fattening. My stories are usually at the higher end of the scale, with an affectionate emphasis on teasing, humiliation, and the consequences of extreme gluttony. If that sounds like your cup of tea, I think you’ll enjoy what’s in these pages, and I hope you’ll check out some of the stories linked below:

CONTENTS

Incubus — A shadowy creature has already made you eat yourself well past morbid obesity, and he’s not even close to being done with you.

Tough Guy — You may think you’re a man’s man, even if that waistline says otherwise. But your enabling partner’s happy to let you keep thinking whatever you want.

On Your Own — What does the future have in store for your superchub self without your feeder?

Real Talk — Your friend has some “advice” to share with you about your weight and habits.

Rebound — It’s easier to regain, and then some — as you’ll soon find out.

The Middle of Nowhere — Part One — A gainer who chooses an idyllic life in the country with their feeder might have gotten more than they bargained for.

The Middle of Nowhere — Part Two — How does a rural superchub handle dinner guests and a trip into town?

Lecture — You’re the focal point of a scientific teachable moment about the effects of hypermorbid obesity on the human body.

Deaf Ears — You haven’t been listening to your feeder’s warnings about your habits, and this is the result.

Step By Step — You don’t become a superchub overnight. But there are signs that’s where things are going.

Big Deal — It’s time you gave your feeder a talking-to after they get cold feet from your recent gains.

The Makings of a Glutton — What makes a superchub? A menu of food that’s terrible for you, apparently.

Too Much of a Good Thing — It may be wonderful, but the weight of your feeder’s affection is catching up with you.

A New Home — A newly-immobile superchub gets used to life in a facility meant to help them lose weight, but the caregiver who fed them that size has other plans.

Sedentary — Years of poor diet and too much time on the couch has made it harder and harder to get around.

A Normal Life — You consider a return to civilian life after years as a live-in feedee.

Out and About — Your feeder recounts their favorite things about taking you out and showing you off to unsuspecting, shocked civilians.

Wish Fulfillment — You awaken to find yourself the immobile superchub of your dreams, but how long will you get to enjoy it?

The Look — Your feeder wants to make sure you understand your situation.

Weakness — Your feeder confronts you with how your weakness for food brought you to your current obese condition.

Best Intentions — Unsuspecting bystanders gape, mock, and try to help as you begin mysteriously and rapidly gaining hundreds of pounds.

Enabling Delusion — You and your partner still think you’re going to lose the weight. Your friends think differently.

Center of Attention — Your popularity as a superchub influencer won’t save you from humiliation when your gains finally catch up to you.

Consumed — A poetic exploration of how gaining grew to dominate your life.

Expressions — A feeder recounts a gainer’s progress through how they react to their burgeoning body.

The Biggest Size They Make — You’ve been fighting your wardrobe for a long time, and now you’re losing the battle.

Morning — Nothing beats a cozy, comfy morning being spoiled by your feeder.

Excuses — You always have an excuse ready for why your weight isn’t a problem. But there are signs that you’re only fooling yourself.

The Deal — Your bodybuilding arrangement with a savvy gainer proves to be more than you bargained for.

Over The Edge — An admirer puzzles over how you let yourself get to the edge of the gaining abyss.

Just A Number — That’s all weight is, but yours has been going up alarmingly fast.

A Growing Problem — Your partner finally gets their concerns about your weight problem off their chest.

When, Not Whether — Gaining like you do isn’t sustainable. You’re heading for a crisis; it’s just a matter of time.

Realization — Your partner finally takes off the mask, revealing their inner feeder once it’s too late for you to do anything about it.

No Going Back — You thought you could experiment with gaining and lose the weight after you’d had your fun. You were wrong.

Trough — A shadowy feeder sets you up to eat like the farm animal you are, to see just how long you can manage.

Big and Tall — A rotund clothes shopper needs the help of a chaser sales clerk after a sartorial mishap.

Polite — You’ve gotten too fat to make fun of, but the polite restraint from your friends tells you everything you need to know.

Vignettes

You Ate

Beyond Your Control

Animals

Love

The Tailor

Comment Section

Drive-Thru

Scale #1

Scale #2

[housecow]

something about people that don’t seem like they’d be into feedism gets me... they may be active in their community, well-liked, in shape, they might make healthy choices often. no one suspects they’re outside of the norm in any odd way. sure, people wonder why they just haven’t settled down yet—they could find someone, right? easily?

but no one knows that their eyes linger a little too long on the 400lb woman they see at the grocery store. no one knows how they fantasize about being between those monumental thighs—how they don’t mind if they have to fuck rolls or a belly button if access is just too limited. maybe that’s the way they want it, too. no one knows that the sight of morbid obesity accompanied by an overfull grocery cart of fattening, processed food is enough to distract them for hours.

after all, it isn’t normal in any way to want to make someone fatter. despite knowing that, 200lbs just doesn’t seem like enough anymore. they fantasize about getting a dedicated fatty to completely lose control. they know they’re getting deeper into this rabbit hole. their friends bring up someone normal sized, someone conventionally attractive, and they can make a comment or two to play along but fuck. the only thing on their mind is what an extra 200lbs could do to her.

and that’s just so fucking underrated. it’s all about the descent of the feedee, usually, which is understandable—we’re giving our bodies and minds to the cause. being fat is hard.

but with feeders, it’s so much more.. sinister. they can have everything, they know what they like and can get it—but the idea of fat lingers. they will want to squeeze, caress, kiss, bite, or maybe just cuddle up to the mass they’ve helped cultivate. nothing else can fill that hole and they know it.

maybe i can’t lose this weight, but you can’t get me out of your mind. that’s the power here, i think.

[hedonists-den]

Concept: Feedism Thruple

Two people start dating, fall for one another, and become comfortable enough to confess something: they're both feeders. It's a curveball, definitely. Neither of them are feedees in the least, and they're not interested in mutual gaining. What to do? Their relationship is perfect aside from this, but it isn't something either of them can deny.

So, they discuss the possibility of adding a 3rd to their relationship: a serious feedee. Someone who is ready to completely throw ambition aside and basically become a doted-on house pet. The couple can have their feeder desires fulfilled, they maintain their loving relationship, and the feedee gets to be double overfed.

After a little while of searching, they find someone perfect. All three have been chatting for a while, they've met up a few times, and they're all in agreement for the feedee to move in to the feeders' house.

It begins immediately. All parties are eager to start. The feeders make sure their feedee is eating 5 full meals per day, with snacks. The feedee is completely adored. Hand fed, encouraged, caressed, just spoiled beyond belief. The arousal that builds as feedings continue is unrivaled. Absolute euphoria.

The effects of such infatuation on all sides is...startling. In just a short amount of time, the feedee has piled on weight like crazy. With food and attention in excess, their body can't help but swell to more than twice the size of either of their feeders. Every need and desire is fulfilled. They're enabled to be the ever-fattening partner that each of them wanted.

For the feeders, just having a feedee that they can share is a strong aphrodisiac. Not only can they not keep their hands off their fattened pet, but they can't keep their hands off each other. The house is just permeated with desire and indulgence.

[mistyffa]

Something I've been thinking about a lot recently is working with another feeder to blow up a feedee...

Especially if they're starting at the same size as us. Just having a cute NEET girl move in with us, her body all tight and toned. It starts small with my partner and I cooking her bigger meals than she's used to, always with a healthy slab of butter. There's always snacks lying around the house, specially curated to her tastes so she forgets she's even overeating. After a few months she's developed a nice, soft layer of pudge over her entire body, her hips are a little wider, a bit of a double chin is coming in, her belly pushes against her leggings and dresses, and she's started to slow down a little.

Then the weight starts to pile on faster. Depending on each of our moods, one of us feeds her more intently while the other comforts her and takes care of the house. Sometimes for fun we'll whisper about her progress just loud enough for her to hear us from the next room. We talk about how much thicker and softer her thighs are, how her tits have gotten fuller, how cute she looks when she's snacking on the couch. Then we act surprised when we walk into the den and see her double-fisting a soda and an ice cream sandwich with a sly grin on her face. By this point she's solidly chubby; her thighs and belly jiggle when she walks, and she hasn't quite realized the wardrobe she started out with is much too small for her now. She totally fills her athletic shorts, which nowadays she only uses to lounge around the house, and she always needs one of us to help clasp her bra.

Fast forward another year or so, and she's completely puffed up. She'd put on at least a hundred pounds and gone through two wardrobes. The first time she popped the buttons off a pair of pants, we went out for dinner to celebrate, but now it's become a regular occurrence. Her days all blend together for the most part. My partner and I would set up our work schedules so one of us will always be home with her, preparing her meals and feeding her so she doesn't have to waste any calories standing by the stove or moving the food from her plate to her mouth. Essentially every waking moment for her is spent completely stuffed. On weekends, when we're all home together, we like to have a little extra fun. My partner and I would cook her at least five full meals a day, each a couple thousand calories, with lots of snacks and sweets in between. When she's not eating she's splayed out on the couch, puffing on her wax pen. One of us cuddles her, rubbing her belly and squeezing her tits, whispering teasing words into her ear. The other kneels on the floor between her legs, holding her gut out of the way while she eats her out. Then the timer goes off, and it's back to pigging out.

At night, we'd stand her up in front of a mirror and point out every new stretch mark and curve. We'd talk to each other about how much we loved her huge hips and her hanging gut, how cute her plush arms are, how fun it is to cup her double chin when we kiss her. We never address her directly so she can squirm in her overwhelming horniness. Sometimes we like to pull out her old clothes and help her try them on. Lately it's taken both of us just to pull her old tshirts down over her belly and breasts, at least twice as wide as they used to be.

She loves it though. She loves the attention, the humiliation, the constant care, the approval she gets when she outgrows another outfit. She loves nothing more than lounging around all day, stuffing herself to her heart's content, smoking pot, and watching TV.

And we love it too, of course. Watching her grow and settle into her new body, then do it all again. Doing everything for her. Talking about our plans for her. Our next goal is to make her big enough that she needs help standing, which doesn't seem too far off, seeing as she's already huffing and puffing every time she needs to get up on her own. And we can't wait.

[weight-gain-stories-lena]

BEN'S IMPOSSIBLE FATNESS

Male Feedee and Female Feeder

-Part 1-

Ben was just 19, a gaunt figure in a world that seemed to care little for him. With nothing but the tattered clothes on his back and a weathered backpack, he wandered the streets, avoiding the hustle and bustle of city life, blending into the background like a forgotten shadow. His stomach growled endlessly, but food was scarce. He learned to survive by finding scraps and sneaking into alleyways for comfort.

One evening, while wandering near the outskirts of the city, he happened upon an imposing mansion. It stood tall and grand, surrounded by a high, iron fence and lush gardens. The gates were slightly ajar, and curiosity nudged Ben forward. He slipped through the opening, his footfalls light on the soft grass, unaware that this simple trespass would change his life forever.

Inside, the estate was magnificent. Expensive marble floors, towering windows, and walls adorned with art. Ben, lost in awe, wandered through the back garden, when a soft, controlled voice called out to him.

“Who are you?”

Startled, Ben turned to see a woman standing on the balcony above. She was in her early thirties, her presence commanding but graceful. She wore an elegant silk dress that swayed gently with the breeze, her long auburn hair cascading down her back. The way she looked at him—calm and calculating—sent a shiver down his spine.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Ben stammered, backing away, realizing his mistake.

The woman raised a hand, signaling him to stop. “No need to apologize. What’s your name?”

“Ben,” he muttered, his eyes cast downward.

She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a thoughtful smile. “Ben, how interesting. You look… hungry.”

He felt a pang of embarrassment but nodded, not daring to speak. The woman studied him for a moment longer, then gestured toward the grand doors behind her.

“You’re welcome to come inside,” she said with an air of finality. “There’s plenty to eat, and I think you’ll enjoy what’s in store for you.”

Ben hesitated, but the allure of food was too much. He followed her inside, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and unease.

The woman introduced herself as Alexandra, the owner of the mansion, and it quickly became clear that she was not a typical lady of wealth. There was a peculiar glint in her eye, a certain amusement in the way she spoke, and a sharpness to her that intrigued Ben despite his wariness. Her two maids, Ann and Mai, were equally strange in their own right—quiet but ever-present, attending to Ben with gentle insistence.

Over the next few weeks, Ben’s life began to shift. Alexandra, with her charming ways, provided him with more food than he’d ever seen in his life. Large plates of pasta, juicy steaks, decadent cakes, and endless pastries appeared before him at every meal. The maids, Ann and Mai, were always there to help him, urging him to eat more, to indulge in the richness that was now his daily existence. The food was delicious, but it wasn’t just the taste that kept him coming back—it was the way Alexandra looked at him as he ate.

She would watch him with intense eyes, smiling at the changes happening to his body, her words always positive, encouraging. “Look at you, Ben. You’re growing so wonderfully. You’re going to be bigger than I ever imagined.”

Ben couldn’t deny that her words made him feel… something. Something strange, perhaps twisted, but undeniably real. At first, he ate simply to please her, to keep the meals coming, but as the weeks went by, he began to indulge for himself. His stomach stretched, his clothes grew tight, and his limbs grew soft. He was becoming unrecognizable, but the pleasure he found in eating more, in letting himself grow, was overpowering.

Alexandra, watching with delight, would often comment, “I’m so proud of you, Ben. You’re shaping up to be exactly what I’ve hoped for.” Her voice was always kind, always encouraging, but there was something else in her gaze—a spark of dark amusement.

Ann and Mai were always by his side, tending to his needs, filling his plate even when he thought he couldn’t eat another bite. They never stopped urging him to keep going. Each meal was a challenge, and Ben, as much as he felt his body protesting, couldn’t bring himself to stop. There was a sick pleasure in it, a strange power in watching himself grow, and Alexandra seemed to feed off that same energy.

As the days passed, Ben’s transformation became more noticeable. He could barely recognize himself in the mirror anymore. His once-thin frame had bloated into something almost unrecognizable, his face round and soft, his clothes stretched and strained. But as he gazed back at Alexandra, she looked at him with the same unwavering fascination.

“You look absolutely perfect,” she’d say with an almost eerie smile. “I knew you had it in you, Ben.”

Despite the growing discomfort, despite the aching in his joints and the tightness in his skin, Ben found himself unable to leave. The mansion, with its food, its strange comforts, and Alexandra’s watchful presence, became his new reality. The boundaries between desire and discomfort blurred. His body became a tool of entertainment, and he could not turn away from the strange pleasure it gave him, nor the twisted joy he saw in Alexandra’s eyes as he continued to grow.

And so, Ben stayed, eating and growing, trapped in a cycle of indulgence and fascination, all for the entertainment of a woman who took delight in watching him change, in watching him disappear into a version of himself that he could neither control nor escape.

-Part 2-

As the weeks turned into months, Ben’s transformation only deepened, his once lean body now a distant memory. The food was relentless. Alexandra, with her perfect poise, watched with growing delight as he grew, her eyes never straying from the sight of his expanding waistline, his softer limbs. He could feel himself getting heavier, the pressure on his joints becoming more pronounced, but there was something addictive about the process, something intoxicating about the food and Alexandra’s praise.

The mansion had become his world. He spent his days lounging on plush cushions, watched over by Ann and Mai, who seemed to delight in making sure he ate far beyond what should have been humanly possible. The meals never stopped. Breakfast was an enormous spread, lunch followed with decadent pastas and meats, and dinner was a lavish affair with sweets and rich dishes. Ben could no longer imagine a life without it, the comfort of endless indulgence washing away the remnants of the life he had once known.

Alexandra’s voice was a constant presence, her words never losing their sweetness, always encouraging. "You're getting so much bigger, Ben," she’d say, her eyes never leaving him. "I think you've gained even more since yesterday. You’re becoming exactly what I imagined."

Ben could hardly argue. His body was swollen, stretched to its limits. His stomach protruded outwards, his thighs thickened to the point where they rubbed together with each step, and his arms had grown soft and doughy. His face had rounded out, his cheeks soft and plump, and his neck had thickened, making his once sharp jawline a distant memory.

At first, there was discomfort. Ben could hardly breathe after each meal, his body groaning under the weight of the food he consumed. But the discomfort faded as his body adapted. He started to crave it. He found himself eagerly waiting for the next meal, the next chance to sink into his new reality. Alexandra’s praise, her constant remarks on his progress, were the driving force behind his indulgence.

“You’re so perfect for me, Ben,” Alexandra would coo as she watched him devour plate after plate, her voice filled with excitement. “I can’t wait to see you even bigger. You’re making me so proud.”

Ann and Mai would always be nearby, urging him on, refilling his plate before he could even finish the first course. "Come on, Ben. You can do it," Ann would whisper, a knowing look in her eyes. "You’re so close. Just a little more. You deserve it."

Ben didn’t know what he deserved anymore. All he knew was the sensation of fullness, the satisfaction of watching his body swell, the thrill of growing larger for the woman who had become both his captor and his sole source of joy. There was something profoundly satisfying in the way his body obeyed, how each bite of food made him bigger, softer, and more like what Alexandra wanted. His once-scrawny arms and legs were now thick, heavy, and sluggish, and the clothes that had once hung loosely on him now barely fit, stretching to their limits.

One evening, as he sat in a plush chair, his belly stretched out like a great balloon, Alexandra approached him with a glass of something rich and golden. "Here, Ben," she said with a smile, handing him the glass. "A little treat for you. I’ve been thinking you deserve something special."

Ben took the glass, the liquid sweet and heavy, a mixture of cream and liqueur that tasted like decadence itself. He drank deeply, savoring the rich sweetness, feeling the weight of it settle in his bloated stomach.

“You’re getting so big, Ben,” Alexandra said, her voice full of satisfaction. “I think you’ll be the biggest I’ve ever had. Don’t stop now, though. I want to see you even bigger. You’re doing so well.”

Ben looked at her, his thoughts hazy from the fullness and the rich food. He didn’t know what was happening to him, but there was no way out. All he could do was surrender, to the food, to Alexandra’s expectations, to the life that had become his new prison.

The following weeks saw Ben’s weight skyrocket. He was no longer able to leave the mansion, his mobility increasingly restricted by his swollen frame. Simple tasks, like walking to the bathroom or getting up from a chair, became monumental efforts. His body had become so heavy, his stomach so large, that even sitting for long periods became uncomfortable.

Yet through it all, Alexandra remained constant. She would stand before him, inspecting his growing form with admiration, her voice filled with pride. "You’re magnificent, Ben. Look at you now. I’ve never seen anyone grow this fast. You’re my perfect creation.”

Ben would smile weakly, his eyes glazed with the constant state of indulgence that had become his life. He couldn’t remember when he had stopped resisting, when he had stopped caring about the outside world. All that mattered now was pleasing Alexandra, growing for her, becoming the object of her twisted fascination.

The maids, Ann and Mai, continued their silent work, feeding him endlessly, making sure he ate more and more each day. Ben was no longer a person in the traditional sense—he had become something else, a mere vessel for his own consumption, a creature whose only purpose was to grow larger, to fill his stomach and stretch his body beyond any reasonable measure.

And Alexandra, her smile always warm and delighted, would watch it all with rapt attention. "You’re getting so huge, Ben," she’d say, her voice thick with satisfaction. "Soon, I won’t be able to recognize you at all. And that will be the best part."

In this strange world of endless consumption and twisted admiration, Ben knew only one truth: he was becoming the man Alexandra wanted, and in the process, he had forgotten who he had once been.

-Part 3-

Ben’s body, once thin and angular, was now a mass of folds, rolls, and soft curves. Each day, he could feel his body expanding with each meal, every bite stretching his stomach a little further, making him larger and larger. The sensation was both overwhelming and oddly comforting. The ever-present weight of his bloated form kept him grounded, and it wasn’t long before his entire existence became consumed by the process of eating and growing.

Alexandra was more than pleased with his progress. She seemed to revel in it, her eyes lighting up with every new change she noticed. “Look at you, Ben,” she’d coo. “Another roll here, another fold there. You’re becoming a masterpiece, my masterpiece.”

The maids, Ann and Mai, continued their unwavering assistance, encouraging him to eat beyond the point of discomfort. Each meal became a challenge, one that Ben found harder to resist despite the heaviness in his limbs, the stretching of his skin, and the relentless pressure in his stomach. He’d sink into the soft cushions of the mansion’s plush chairs, his body barely fitting into the space. His thighs were thick, soft, and they pressed against the sides of the chair, his belly overflowing, sagging and folding over the waistband of his pants.

Ben’s meals became bigger, grander, and more indulgent with each passing day. Alexandra had taken to creating special feasts just for him, elaborate spreads filled with everything he’d never had before: towering stacks of pancakes dripping with syrup, rich lasagnas, and piles of golden fried chicken. But there were always more desserts—massive chocolate cakes, rich pastries, ice cream sundaes topped with whipped cream and cherries. The sight of it all, piled high before him, was intoxicating.

"You can eat it all, Ben," Alexandra would say, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I want to see how much you can take. Keep going. It’s incredible to watch you grow."

Ann and Mai, ever loyal, would serve him, replenishing his plate before he’d even had a chance to finish. "You’re doing so well, Ben," Ann would whisper as she cut another piece of cake and gently placed it in front of him. "We’re so proud of you."

Ben would look at the mountains of food before him, unable to resist. His hands, once nimble and lean, were now thick and slow, but he could still hold a fork, still feed himself. The food went in, bite after bite, mouthful after mouthful. His stomach groaned under the pressure, the flesh stretching in ways it had never known before, but there was something thrilling about it. He could feel his belly pushing outward with every bite, his body ballooning with each passing meal.

Alexandra’s voice was always there, guiding him, coaxing him forward. "That’s it, Ben. Another bite. You’re looking even bigger now. I can see the changes already. You’re getting so much more… substantial."

Ben’s once-flat belly had become a soft, round sphere that bulged outward, draping over his waistband. His clothes, which had been too loose just months ago, now stretched tight over his expanding form. The waistband of his pants would often cut into his soft, swollen stomach, creating deep indentations in the flesh. His shirt, too, would stretch, the fabric strained and pulling at the seams as his body grew larger and larger.

"Look at those rolls," Alexandra would say with a tone of adoration, her eyes following the soft folds of Ben’s expanding midsection. "You’re absolutely perfect. I love seeing you grow. Another few meals, and you’ll be even bigger. Just imagine how much more I’ll be able to watch you eat. It’s going to be incredible."

The idea of growing more for her, for Alexandra, became a constant thought in Ben’s mind. It was all he knew now. His body was no longer his own; it had become a canvas for her enjoyment, a source of her satisfaction. He could feel his skin stretching tighter, his body sagging with the weight of the food, the indulgence.

Every meal felt like another milestone, another step toward becoming the person she desired, the person she adored watching. The folds on his belly grew deeper, each one creating another layer of softness, his thighs thickened further, and his arms grew softer with each bite. His once-prominent collarbones had disappeared, swallowed by the fat that now made up most of his frame. He was unrecognizable to himself, and yet, each new change brought a strange thrill.

The more he ate, the more he expanded, and Ben couldn’t help but notice the slight ache in his joints, the way his knees would creak under the added weight. But even this discomfort didn’t stop him. The thought of disappointing Alexandra, of not growing for her, filled him with a sense of dread. She was the only constant in his life, the only one who offered him both the food and the praise he craved.

One evening, after another large meal, Ben sat slumped in a plush armchair, unable to move. His stomach was a massive dome, pushing outward so far that he could barely look down at his lap without feeling a wave of exhaustion and discomfort. His clothes were strained, the buttons on his shirt pulling against his bloated form, threatening to pop.

Alexandra stood in front of him, a smile of approval on her face as she observed his swollen state. “You’ve outdone yourself today, Ben. Another roll, another fold. You’re simply magnificent. I think you’re the biggest you’ve ever been.”

Ben could barely nod. His face flushed with embarrassment and satisfaction, his stomach heaving as it expanded further. “I… I can’t eat anymore,” he muttered weakly, feeling the weight of his overstuffed belly.

“Oh, but you can,” Alexandra insisted, her voice gentle but firm. “You’ve done so well, Ben. Just a little more. One more bite for me.”

Her words were a command, and somehow, Ben found himself taking that last bite, despite the overwhelming fullness that threatened to choke him. As he swallowed, he could feel his body responding, his stomach stretching further, the sensation of being impossibly full, of growing beyond his limits.

“You’re becoming perfect,” Alexandra whispered, as if speaking to herself. “I can’t wait to see how big you’ll get next.”

Ben’s mind was foggy, his body sluggish and heavy, but one thought pierced through the haze: he had become what she wanted, and for the first time, that thought gave him a sense of purpose. He was growing for her, for her enjoyment, and there was nothing else left for him but the constant cycle of eating, expanding, and pleasing Alexandra.

As the days blurred together in a haze of indulgence and expansion, Ben's body continued to grow, each meal leaving him fatter, fuller, and more distant from the person he had once been. He was no longer Ben, the hungry, lonely street kid. He was a creation of Alexandra's making, molded into the shape she desired, growing larger with each meal, with each roll and fold, until there was no turning back.

-Part 4-

As the weeks wore on, Ben’s transformation was becoming undeniable. Every day, the weight of his body seemed to double, and his once-fragile frame had now become a bloated, unrecognizable version of itself. His stomach swelled outward, pressing against his clothes, which had become progressively tighter and tighter, as if his body were outgrowing even fabric itself.

Alexandra, of course, was absolutely thrilled with his progress. She stood in front of him, admiring the changes in his body as though he were a work of art. Her smile was as radiant as ever, always encouraging, always pushing him to eat more, to grow even faster. Ben could see the pride in her eyes, the sense of achievement she felt watching him expand.

“You’re looking absolutely perfect today, Ben,” she would murmur, her voice dripping with affection. “I can already see the changes. Another inch on your belly. Those thighs—so thick, so soft now. I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

Ben’s own feelings were conflicted, but he couldn’t deny the twisted satisfaction he found in Alexandra’s approval. The more he ate, the more she praised him, and the more he longed to satisfy her in any way he could. He wanted to please her. He wanted to see that glimmer of delight in her eyes when she saw him get even bigger. The idea of growing faster, of becoming even more of what she desired, was intoxicating.

But it was no longer just about the food. Ben could feel the limitations of his body pressing against him, his clothes feeling impossibly tight as the days passed. His once-loose shirt now strained at the seams, the fabric stretched thin over his bulging stomach. His pants, which once hung loosely on him, were now so tight that they dug painfully into his expanding waist. He could no longer bend down to tie his shoes without struggling to breathe, and getting up from a chair required more effort than he had ever imagined.

One evening, after another lavish feast of endless plates piled high with food, Ben sat back in his chair, his stomach painfully full and stretched to its limits. The waistband of his pants dug into his soft belly, creating deep indentations in the flesh, and the buttons of his shirt were so tight that they looked ready to pop off.

Alexandra watched him closely, her eyes tracking the way his body strained against the fabric. “I think it’s time for a new wardrobe, don’t you think, Ben?” she said, her voice teasing but also approving. “Your clothes can hardly contain you anymore. You’re growing so quickly, it’s almost like you’re made to get bigger and bigger.”

Ben nodded weakly, his hands resting on his enormous belly, feeling the pressure of the food inside him. “I—I want to grow more for you,” he said softly, his voice heavy with the weight of his own desire to please her. “I want to get bigger. Faster.”

Alexandra’s smile deepened, her gaze full of satisfaction. “You’ll get even bigger, Ben. Don’t worry. I’ll help you. We’ll get you there faster. I want to see how much you can handle. How much you can eat. You’re doing so well.”

The thought of growing faster for her, of satisfying her even more, burned in Ben’s mind. He could already feel his skin stretching, the discomfort in his bloated stomach a constant presence, but now, it was no longer a deterrent. It was a challenge. He wanted to grow faster, to feel the tightness in his clothes reach the breaking point. He wanted to surpass the limits of his own body to see the look on Alexandra’s face when she saw him become even larger than before.

And so, the next few days became a blur of indulgence. Alexandra and the maids, Ann and Mai, pushed him to eat more, to consume faster. The plates of food were endless, and Ben could no longer keep track of how many times he ate each day. Each meal felt like it stretched the boundaries of what his body could endure, but he kept going. The food was rich, decadent, and impossible to resist. Every bite pushed him further into his transformation, and every bite brought Alexandra closer to the pleasure she so clearly craved.

One evening, after a particularly massive dinner, Ben sat back in his chair, his stomach gurgling painfully under the weight of what he had just consumed. His clothes were visibly struggling to contain him. His shirt was now stretched so thin that it barely held together, and the waistband of his pants had burst open, unable to contain the sheer volume of his stomach.

Alexandra was beside him in an instant, her eyes filled with something close to adoration. “Ben,” she said, her voice low and full of satisfaction, “look at you. You’ve outgrown your clothes. They can’t even keep up with you anymore. You’re becoming exactly what I imagined—so large, so perfect.”

Ben could barely move, the weight of his body pressing him into the chair. His hands rested on his enormous belly, feeling the soft rolls that had formed around his waist and chest. He felt the folds of fat under his chin, his neck now almost completely hidden by the mass of flesh. His body was so heavy, so cumbersome, and yet, there was a strange sense of pride in it. He had become what Alexandra wanted, and the look of pure satisfaction on her face was worth the discomfort.

“I’ll need to get you new clothes, Ben,” Alexandra continued, her fingers gently brushing over the folds of his stomach. “We can’t let you outgrow your wardrobe too quickly. But don’t worry, we’ll make sure to keep you fed—keep you growing. I want to see you even bigger. You’re becoming something amazing.”

Ben looked up at her, his breathing labored but his mind focused only on one thing: satisfying her. "I want to grow for you," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I’ll do whatever it takes. I want to make you happy."

“You already have, Ben,” Alexandra said, her smile both approving and almost possessive. “Now, let’s see how much more you can grow. You’re going to be even bigger, I promise.”

And with that promise, Ben’s world became even more focused on the endless cycle of eating, growing, and pleasing the woman who had molded him into something he never could have imagined. His clothes, now fully abandoned in favor of looser attire that barely fit, were a constant reminder of the weight of his transformation, of how much bigger he had become—and how much more he could still grow.

With each meal, Ben felt his body getting heavier, his skin stretching further, and with every bite, he felt himself slipping deeper into the life he now led. The person he had once been was fading fast, and in its place was a new version of himself—a version that Alexandra adored, that Alexandra wanted to see grow even larger.

And so he ate.

-Part 5-

As time passed, Ben’s transformation seemed unstoppable. He had become an entirely different person. His face, once sharp and angular, was now round, soft, and full of layers of fat. His arms had grown thick and sluggish, no longer able to move with the speed and ease they once had. His belly, a vast, stretched mound, now hung heavily over his waist, with folds and rolls that moved with each sluggish breath. Even the simplest of tasks had become difficult: walking, standing, even sitting up. He could no longer fit into any of the clothes he had once worn, the fabric of his shirts and pants no longer able to stretch to accommodate the immensity of his body.

Alexandra, however, was overjoyed. She could barely contain her excitement as she watched Ben's body swell with each passing day. She would inspect his form every morning, watching with an almost clinical precision as his waistline expanded, his limbs softened, and his stomach grew more and more pronounced. It was as though she had created a living work of art, each meal, each indulgence, another brushstroke.

“You’re getting so much bigger, Ben,” Alexandra would say, her voice thick with praise. “You’re becoming exactly what I want. I’m so proud of you. Keep going, just a little more. I want to see you even bigger.”

Ben, though sluggish and heavy, felt an overwhelming need to please her. His whole existence had become wrapped up in her approval. She had given him everything: food, comfort, and a purpose. And now, that purpose was clear: to become even larger, even fatter, to exceed even his own limits. The more he grew, the more she praised him, and the more she praised him, the more he ate. It was a cycle that only pushed him deeper into indulgence, further away from any sense of his previous self.

The maids, Ann and Mai, had long since stopped seeing him as a person in the traditional sense. They saw him as a project, a task to nurture and build. They no longer just served his meals; they coaxed him into eating more than he ever thought he could. His days were filled with endless feasts—mountains of food piled high before him, all designed to push him closer to his breaking point.

“Eat, Ben,” Ann would say, her voice gentle but insistent as she placed a fresh platter before him. “You’re doing so well. Keep going. We want to see you grow even more.”

Mai would always add a little encouragement, her voice soft but full of excitement. “You can do it, Ben. You’re going to be so big. Just keep eating. Just a little bit more. You’re perfect already.”

Ben would nod, too full to speak, his body already stretched tight and aching with the weight of the food he had already consumed. But he kept going. Each meal felt like a victory, a step toward becoming more of what Alexandra wanted him to be. He had stopped questioning why, stopped thinking about the consequences. There was only the next bite, the next plate, the next moment of satisfaction for Alexandra, and for himself.

“I can feel you getting bigger already,” Alexandra would murmur, her voice full of pride as she watched him struggle to finish yet another plate of food. “I can see it in your face. You’re becoming absolutely perfect, Ben. Don’t stop now. I want you to get even bigger. Don’t hold back.”

Ben could barely comprehend how much he was eating anymore. It was just a blur of taste and fullness. There were days when he felt his stomach had reached its limit, when he was so full he could hardly breathe, yet Alexandra would insist. She would watch him with a hungry gleam in her eyes, encouraging him to continue, telling him how proud she was.

“Just one more bite, Ben. You can do it,” she’d say, her tone so sweet, so convincing. “I want to see you bigger. I want to see how far you can go. You’ve been doing so well, Ben, don’t stop now.”

Ben, overwhelmed by her words, would push through the discomfort. The pain of fullness, the ache of his joints, the strain on his body—none of it mattered when he could hear her praise. He no longer recognized himself. His identity had become one with the food, with Alexandra’s vision for him. Each passing day, he could feel himself growing beyond the point he had once imagined. His clothes were long gone, replaced with stretchy pants and oversized shirts, barely enough to cover his swollen body.

His movements were slow and heavy. Standing up was an exhausting task; walking was nearly impossible without feeling like his body was going to collapse under its own weight. His belly hung over his waistband, a constant reminder of how much he had consumed and how much further he could still grow. His thighs were thick, rubbing together with every step, and his arms felt sluggish, heavy, and soft. The folds on his neck were more pronounced, and even his fingers were thick and swollen.

And yet, Alexandra never stopped praising him. “You’re incredible, Ben. I’ve never seen anyone grow so fast, so beautifully. Keep going, though. You’re not there yet. You can be even bigger.”

There was something almost cruel in her insistence. Ben’s body had become a canvas, each new roll, each new fold of fat a testament to how far he had come. The fact that it was pushing him to the brink of his limits only seemed to drive her more. She wanted to see how much more he could handle, how much bigger he could get, and the thought of his discomfort only seemed to excite her further.

“Imagine, Ben,” she would whisper, her voice full of anticipation, “how big you’ll be next week, next month. Keep eating. Don’t stop. You’re going to make me so proud.”

Ben could feel the pressure building. His skin was stretched thin, his body was heavy and aching, but the thought of disappointing her was worse than the discomfort. He wanted to be perfect for her, to become the creation she dreamed of. And so, despite the pain, despite his exhaustion, he ate. Meal after meal, bite after bite. The more he ate, the more Alexandra praised him. And the more she praised him, the more he wanted to grow.

His life had become a loop of indulgence and satisfaction, a loop that was pushing him further into unhealthy territory, further from the person he once was. But it didn’t matter. There was only the food, the fullness, and the joy of making Alexandra happy. And with every passing day, he grew larger, fatter, and more dependent on her approval.

“I’ll keep feeding you, Ben,” Alexandra would say with a smile, her hand resting on his swollen belly. “You’re going to be even bigger. You’re going to be my perfect, massive creation.”

Ben could barely breathe, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the next bite, the next moment of pleasure, the next time Alexandra told him how perfect he was. He had become exactly what she wanted—bigger, fatter, and ever more dependent on the cycle she had set in motion.

And as he continued to grow, his mind a haze of food and praise, one thing was certain: he would never stop, as long as it pleased her.

-Part 6-

As the days turned into weeks, Ben’s transformation had reached a point where his body was no longer his own. His health was deteriorating with each passing meal, and yet, he found himself unable to stop. Every inch of his body was a painful reminder of how far he had gone, but the thought of disappointing Alexandra, of failing to meet her expectations, pushed him forward, deeper into his growing obsession with food and growth.

Ben’s joints ached as the weight of his bloated body pressed down on them. His knees creaked with every step, and his back was constantly sore from the burden of his swollen belly. His breath came in labored gasps, his chest feeling tight and constricted, as though it was struggling to keep up with the demands of his now massive frame. He could no longer walk without feeling winded, his heavy body exhausting him with each movement. The simple act of standing up was a monumental effort, and sitting down had become a painful ordeal. His belly, once flat and toned, was now a vast, sagging mound that hung low over his thighs. The soft folds of fat on his stomach jiggled with every step, and even his face had grown so round that his features were barely recognizable.

But despite all the physical discomfort, the pressure in his chest, the aching joints, and the difficulty in breathing, Ben couldn’t stop. Alexandra’s sweet words, her smiles, her soft touches—these were the things that kept him going. Her approval, her praise, had become his sole focus. Each meal, each bite, was another step toward earning her affection. And her words were so kind, so encouraging. She never told him to stop. She never once told him he had eaten enough. Instead, she spoke to him with such care, as though every bite he took was an act of devotion.

“Look at you, Ben,” she’d say softly, running her fingers through the folds of his stomach. “You’re looking so big now. So perfect. I can see how hard you’re working for me. Don’t worry, just keep eating. You’re doing wonderfully.”

Ben’s stomach groaned with discomfort as the pressure from his meals built up. Each plate he was given felt like it would burst him open. Yet, he swallowed it down, each bite growing harder, his stomach stretched to its absolute limit. But he never questioned it. His body had become a vessel of indulgence, and he had lost the willpower to stop. Alexandra’s presence was his constant reminder of why he kept going. Her praise echoed in his mind.

“You’re doing so well, Ben,” Alexandra would coo, her voice dripping with sweetness. “I’m so proud of you. Look at how big you’re getting. I love seeing you eat. You make me so happy.”

She would smile down at him, her eyes full of admiration as he sat, bloated and struggling, unable to move. He couldn’t feel his body anymore, not in the way he used to. Everything was clouded by the sensation of fullness, by the never-ending hunger for more food and more of her approval.

But as his health continued to decline, there were signs that Ben was beginning to fade. His once youthful complexion was now pale, his skin loose and stretched taut over his bloated body. He was lethargic all the time, barely able to keep his eyes open between meals. His breathing was shallow, a constant wheezing sound filling the air whenever he moved. It was as though his body was beginning to give up under the strain of the weight he had accumulated. And still, Alexandra was there, always encouraging him, always feeding him more.

“Ben, you’re looking incredible,” she would say, her smile widening as she watched him eat. “I can see the changes in you. You’re becoming even more perfect. Just one more bite for me, okay? I know you can do it.”

Her words were like a balm, soothing the discomfort that Ben could feel deep within his bones. The ache in his joints, the struggle to breathe—it all seemed to melt away under her gaze, replaced by the need to please her. Her constant praise was all he needed to keep going. It made the discomfort seem like nothing.

“Just a little more,” she whispered as she placed another plate of food in front of him. “You’re going to be even bigger. I want to see you grow for me, Ben. You’ve been so good. You’re my perfect creation.”

Ben’s hands trembled as he reached for the food, his swollen fingers struggling to grip the utensils. But he didn’t care. He had long since stopped caring about the pain. His only concern now was to continue eating, to continue growing. For her.

His body had become a prison. His stomach, once flat and firm, was now a massive mound, sagging over the waistband of the pants he could no longer fasten. His clothes no longer fit, and the few items of clothing that still covered him were stretched to the breaking point. He could feel the skin on his back pulling tightly, the sensation of his body being pulled in every direction as the fat kept accumulating.

Alexandra’s sweet voice continued to coax him. “You’re doing great, Ben. I love seeing you get bigger. It’s so wonderful to watch you grow. Don’t stop now. You’re doing so well.”

Ben’s eyes were heavy, and he felt a constant wave of exhaustion wash over him. His once-active mind was now clouded by the haze of overeating and the constant need for more. His heart would pound in his chest, and he would feel faint, but Alexandra’s soft whispers kept him going. It was as if his very existence had become about pleasing her, about becoming the ideal that she wanted. His body, a bloated, aching vessel, was her creation, and the more he ate, the more she praised him, the deeper he fell into this cycle.

His health continued to decline, but Alexandra remained blissfully unaware—or perhaps, blissfully indifferent. To her, Ben’s growth was a source of joy. His physical suffering, the toll it was taking on his body, only seemed to fuel her desire for more. Each moment of his discomfort was another step toward the goal she had in mind: an even larger, more bloated Ben, one who could no longer resist her commands.

Ben knew, deep down, that something was wrong. His body was no longer responding as it should. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt truly healthy. But whenever he looked at Alexandra, whenever she smiled at him, telling him how proud she was, he pushed those thoughts aside. Her approval, her smile, was worth everything. It was the only thing that mattered anymore.

“Don’t worry, Ben,” she would murmur, watching him finish yet another plate of food. “You’re doing exactly what I want. You’re perfect just the way you are. Just a little more, and you’ll be even more perfect.”

And so, despite the constant ache in his chest, despite the difficulty breathing, despite the undeniable signs of his health deteriorating, Ben kept eating. Each bite pushed him further into an existence where his only purpose was to grow for her, to become something that would never stop satisfying her.

And in that moment, despite the pain and the discomfort, he knew he would never stop.

-Part 7-

Ben’s body had become a monument to excess. Each day, it grew heavier, more unwieldy, and less functional, yet Alexandra’s influence kept him tethered to this path. His health had reached a critical tipping point—his legs could barely support him, his breathing was shallow and wheezing, and his heart raced constantly as though struggling to keep up with the sheer mass of his body. But Alexandra’s constant praise and care kept him locked in this cycle of indulgence and dependence.

He now spent most of his days in a plush, custom-built chair that had been reinforced to hold his ever-increasing weight. It reclined at an angle, allowing his swollen body to rest without putting too much strain on him. Ann and Mai, ever-diligent, had to assist him with even the simplest tasks, from adjusting his position to feeding him the endless stream of meals Alexandra insisted he consume. His once frail body was now so covered in folds, rolls, and sagging flesh that it seemed to consume itself. His arms were like overstuffed pillows, his hands thick and clumsy, and his legs had almost disappeared beneath the massive swell of his abdomen and thighs.

Yet, as unhealthy as Ben had become, Alexandra couldn’t have been more delighted. To her, he was the perfect embodiment of indulgence and submission. His size, his struggle, his complete dependence on her—it was everything she had wanted. And now, as his health began to fail, she saw an opportunity to solidify her control over him even further.

One afternoon, after Ann and Mai had struggled to shift Ben into a slightly more comfortable position, Alexandra entered the room with a radiant smile. She carried with her a device—a portable oxygen machine—along with a tray of yet more food. The machine’s gentle hum filled the room as she set it beside him.

"Ben," she cooed, brushing her hand gently against his bloated cheek. "I know it’s been harder for you lately. Breathing, moving—it’s all such a struggle, isn’t it? But don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure you’re comfortable so you can keep growing for me. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To make me happy?"

Ben nodded weakly, his chins wobbling with the motion. His voice was little more than a raspy whisper now, his lungs struggling to inflate under the weight of his chest. "I... I want to keep growing... for you," he managed, his eyes filled with a mixture of desperation and devotion.

Alexandra’s smile widened. "Good. I knew you would. That’s why I’ve brought you something to help." She gestured to the oxygen machine. "This will make breathing easier for you, so you won’t have to struggle anymore. And in exchange, you’ll keep eating, won’t you? You’ll keep growing bigger, just like I know you can."

Ben’s heart raced at her words, the strained organ thumping audibly beneath the layers of fat covering his chest. "I will," he rasped. "I’ll do it... for you."

Alexandra motioned to Ann and Mai, who quickly placed the nasal cannula over Ben’s face. The cool rush of oxygen filled his nose, and for the first time in days, he felt a faint sense of relief. Breathing was still a chore, but the machine made it manageable. It was enough to let him focus on what mattered most: continuing to eat.

With her usual grace, Alexandra took a seat beside him and began feeding him herself. She held each forkful of rich, calorie-laden food to his lips, her voice soft and encouraging as she coaxed him to eat more and more. "You’re doing so well, Ben," she murmured between bites. "Every bite you take makes me so proud. You’re becoming something truly magnificent."

The meals were endless. Creamy soups, buttery pastries, and slabs of meat dripping with sauce—all carefully prepared to maximize their caloric density. Ben’s stomach groaned in protest, stretched so far beyond its natural limits that it seemed impossible to hold another bite. But Alexandra was there, her presence a soothing balm to his discomfort.

"I know it’s hard," she said, stroking his swollen belly as it gurgled and shifted. "But you’re so strong, Ben. You’ve come so far. Just a little more, and you’ll be even closer to perfection."

Ben’s body was giving out under the strain, but his mind was clouded by her words. She had given him everything: care, attention, purpose. He couldn’t let her down. So he opened his mouth for another bite, then another, until the pain of fullness became a dull, constant ache that he had learned to ignore.

The oxygen machine wasn’t the only concession Alexandra had made to his failing health. She had also brought in a team of private doctors who monitored him regularly, ensuring that his body could handle the strain of his rapid growth. IV drips were used to keep him hydrated, and medications were administered to support his overburdened heart and failing circulation. It was a delicate balance—keeping him alive just long enough to see how far he could go.

"You’re my masterpiece, Ben," Alexandra whispered one evening as she sat beside him, her hand resting on the vast expanse of his stomach. "I’ve never been more proud of anyone. You’ve given yourself completely to me, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. I’ll make sure you never have to worry about anything except growing bigger and bigger."

Ben, too exhausted to respond, simply nodded. His world had shrunk to the chair he sat in, the food placed before him, and the constant presence of Alexandra, Ann, and Mai. His health was failing, his body breaking down, but he no longer cared. Alexandra’s praise, her joy, was all that mattered. And as long as she wanted him to grow, he would keep eating, no matter the cost.

"Just one more bite," Alexandra whispered, holding another forkful of food to his lips. "You’re doing so well, Ben. Keep going. You’re almost there."

And so, with every labored breath, every painful movement, Ben continued to eat, his body swelling ever larger as Alexandra watched with gleeful satisfaction.

-Part 8-

Ben’s transformation had reached an unimaginable extreme. His once-slender frame had ballooned into a massive, immobile form, his body so overburdened with fat that it seemed nature itself could no longer keep up with his growth. His limbs had become entirely engulfed by layers upon layers of soft, sagging flesh. His belly stretched so far ahead of him that it resembled a massive, quivering dome, pressing against the reinforced custom furniture Alexandra had ordered to accommodate his size.

He was no longer able to stand on his own. His legs, thick as tree trunks but rendered useless by the overwhelming weight pressing down on them, had ceased to function. Each attempt to move caused his entire body to jiggle uncontrollably, yet he barely noticed. His world had shrunk to the chair he lived in and the food Alexandra constantly fed him. His body had become something beyond human—a living monument to his devotion to her and her endless obsession with his growth.

But the day came when even the custom chair could no longer support his weight. Alexandra had been watching him eat his usual feast—platters of greasy meats, piles of buttery mashed potatoes, and bowls of thick, sugary pudding—when she heard a deep, ominous creak coming from the reinforced chair beneath him.

“Mai, Ann,” Alexandra said, her voice calm but commanding, “check the chair.”

The two maids hurried over, their expressions tightening as they realized the inevitable was happening. The steel frame beneath Ben’s vast body was bending under the pressure, groaning with the strain of his incredible size.

And then, it happened.

With a loud, resounding snap, the chair’s frame gave out, and Ben’s massive body sank heavily to the floor. The room was silent for a moment as everyone processed what had just occurred. Ben’s enormous form shifted slightly, his rolls and folds spilling out around him like a tide. But he didn’t cry out. He didn’t even wince.

“I... I’m okay,” he murmured, his voice sluggish and weak. His breathing was shallow, the weight of his chest making it harder and harder to draw in air. Yet, to everyone’s surprise, he didn’t seem to be in pain. Instead, he looked up at Alexandra with his usual expression of adoration, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I’ll... I’ll keep going.”

Alexandra, far from upset, was utterly captivated. Her eyes sparkled with fascination as she approached him, her heels clicking on the marble floor. “You’re incredible, Ben,” she said softly, kneeling beside him. She placed a hand on his massive arm, her fingers sinking slightly into the soft flesh. “Even your body is giving in to your growth. You’re truly becoming something extraordinary.”

It wasn’t long before the maids and a team of workers brought in a new solution: a specially constructed platform bed, reinforced with industrial-grade materials to support Ben’s ever-increasing weight. But as they worked to transfer him, something unusual happened.

As they attempted to lift him, a sickening crack filled the air. One of Ben’s legs—the bones beneath the layers of fat—had snapped under the immense strain. The maids froze, their faces pale, but Ben barely reacted.

“Did you feel that?” Alexandra asked, her voice calm but curious.

Ben blinked, his breathing labored. “I... I heard it,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it doesn’t hurt. I’m fine. I can keep eating.”

Alexandra’s fascination deepened. She leaned closer to him, her hand brushing against his swollen cheek. “Your body is adapting,” she said, almost to herself. “Even your bones are yielding to your growth. You’re truly remarkable, Ben. This is what you were meant for.”

From that day on, Alexandra’s obsession only grew. She took every precaution to ensure Ben’s comfort, surrounding him with pillows and soft blankets to cushion his fragile frame. She brought in more medical equipment to monitor his vitals, ensuring that his body could continue to sustain his ever-increasing weight. And, of course, she continued to feed him, each meal larger and more indulgent than the last.

“You’re unstoppable, Ben,” she would whisper as she fed him bite after bite. “Even your body knows its purpose now. You’re meant to grow. You’re meant to be this way. And I’ll make sure you have everything you need to keep going.”

Ben’s body, now beyond any natural limit, continued to expand. His broken bones, unable to bear his weight, were supported by Alexandra’s machines and cushions. He no longer cared about mobility or independence. His entire existence was devoted to her, to becoming the perfect, immovable monument to her desires.

As the weeks passed, his body grew heavier and softer, his form spilling further across the reinforced platform. His bones, no longer able to support him, slowly fused into the fat that surrounded them, becoming part of the vast, quivering mass that was now his body. Yet, through it all, he felt no pain—only the constant, unrelenting fullness of his meals and the warmth of Alexandra’s praise.

“You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of, Ben,” Alexandra said one evening, sitting beside him as she fed him another spoonful of rich, creamy dessert. “You’ve surpassed every limit, every expectation. You’re perfect. And I’ll make sure you keep growing, no matter what.”

Ben, his face nearly unrecognizable beneath the layers of fat that enveloped it, managed a weak smile. “As long as it makes you happy,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I’ll keep going. I’ll keep growing.”

And so, he continued, his body expanding further into uncharted territory, his health sustained by Alexandra’s unrelenting care and obsession. Each passing day brought new milestones, new limits to surpass. And through it all, Alexandra watched with rapturous delight, her creation becoming everything she had ever dreamed of—and more.

-End-

[extra-stout-stories]

Special Delivery

As a growing gainer's mobility diminishes, his regular delivery order takes an unexpected turn. (SSBHM to USSBHM feedee, gender-unspecified fat feeder, no explicit sex. CW: Immobility, bariatric tube feeding, brief moment of dubious consent.)

Written at the suggestion of a friend, here's a special delivery of XWG and immobility/bariatric kink. I've left the gender of the feeder unspecified so that gluttons of all persuasions can enjoy it. Eat up, and reblog if you like it!

--

He paused to lean on the doorframe of his apartment building, huffing and puffing, before swiping his key card to open the door.

The bus stop was only about 250 yards from the entrance to his apartment, but the walk was getting more and more difficult. By the time he made it out of his apartment, down the elevator and to the bus stop, he was red-faced and sweaty, wheezing and gasping, his gigantic belly rolling and wobbling as he struggled to squeeze himself into a seat.

Fortunately, there was a bench halfway between the bus stop and the building. More and more often, he found himself stopping there for a minute or two or three, pausing to catch his breath and harvest his energy for the rest of the trip.

This wouldn't even be an effort for most people, he thought to himself. But he didn't mind.

He enjoyed it, in fact. For years he had been getting fat on purpose, watching the numbers on the scale rise as his body grew softer and heavier. Other people would be shocked if they knew, but it even secretly turned him on to know that he was getting so fat that just walking to the bus stop was becoming a struggle.

Still, the effort could be a pain sometimes. Like right now. As he passed through the door of his apartment building and into the elevator, feeling his belly quiver against his thighs and leaning against the wall to take some of the pressure off of his knees and back, all he could think about was beaching himself on the couch until it was time to stand up and walk again.

That time wasn't too far off. He had already placed the order when he was riding home on the bus. But the walk from his couch to his apartment door was just twenty feet. And at the end of that walk there would be food.

--

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, the buzzer rang. He took a deep breath, grunted, stuck his arms out for balance and began laboriously standing up from the couch, breathing heavily, pausing occasionally for an especially deep breath. The buzzer rang again. "I'm coming!" Slowly and ponderously, he waddled to the door.

He ordered from this particular fast food place all the time, but tonight there was a new delivery driver. He couldn't help noticing that they were substantially fat themselves, with thick thighs packed tightly into the pants of the driver's uniform, upper arms spilling like dough out of short sleeves, even a hint of belly peeking out from the bottom of the shirt. "Four burger meals, four milkshakes. Three chocolate lava cakes. And a two liter of Coke."

"That's me." He steadied himself on the wall by the door, then reached an arm out and took the bags, managing to slip both handles around his wrist and get a steady one-handed grip on the tray of milkshakes. "Thanks."

There was a smile on the driver's face as he shut the door.

--

It was getting harder and harder to reach the bus stop. He wasn't just pausing for a break on the bench any longer. Now he was stopping multiple times to lean himself against the building next to his, or on the fence that stretched the last few dozen feet from the bench to the bus stop. Then he had to climb into the bus, which was a struggle in itself, and hope that there would be a pair of side-by-side open seats at the front so that he wouldn't have to squeeze his belly in behind another pair of seats.

He found himself looking for excuses not to leave the apartment. It wasn't difficult to find them, since so many things could be done remotely now. And with the money he saved, he could afford to call a rideshare from an app instead of taking the bus. Pretty convenient.

The four burger meals were a part of his regular order rotation, and he found himself looking forward to visits from the fat delivery driver. He swapped out one of his pizza orders and started going for the burgers an additional night or two every week. Once he'd gotten in that habit, he bumped the number of burgers up to five, with an order or two of chicken wings for good measure.

As the driver handed him the last of his order, they smiled, their fat cheeks dimpling in a way he had come to recognize and appreciate. "I saw you trying to get the bus the other day."

He felt his face flush with embarrassment. "Yeah. Usually I take a rideshare, but the congestion pricing this weekend was really bad." He steadied himself on the doorframe and took a deep breath. "It's a pain in the ass trying to squeeze into those bus seats. I'm not exactly skinny."

The driver laughed. "You're a big boy. After all these burgers, who can blame you?" From someone else the words would have been hurtful, but they were said with obvious affection, and the driver was pretty fat themselves.

"Yeah, I guess I am." He grinned and patted his belly. "It's a lot of work hauling all this around. But I don't mind. I promise I'm not going to put you out of business by going on any diets."

Now it was the driver's turn to blush. "I'd miss seeing you. You're my favorite customer."

"Thanks." He hefted the bags of burgers and chicken, struggling to get a steady grip on the tray of milkshakes.

"Here, let me help you with that." The driver reached for the milkshakes, picked up the bag with the two-liter, and followed him into his apartment.

"Whew." He let out an exhausted sigh as he settled back down on the couch, feeling his quivering rolls slowly come to stillness as he sank into his favorite spot. "Thanks for the help."

"No problem." The driver was smiling again. "You know, you could put a bench there. To rest on when you're going to the door." They gestured at a spot between the living room and the bathroom door, where a bumpout for the hall closet made a natural alcove that was just deep enough to fit a bench.

"You know, that's a good idea." He grinned back at the driver. "I don't know what I would do without that bench at the bus stop."

"Or the fence. You must have been there a good five minutes before you got moving again."

He laughed. "Are you stalking me?"

"No! I was stuck in traffic. But I have to admit, I didn't mind the view. You're my favorite customer for a reason."

The driver's phone buzzed. "Shit! I have to get back on the road right now or my next delivery's gonna get cold. I'll see you soon."

As the driver hustled back to the door, he couldn't help admiring how their thick thighs and ass bounced and quivered in their snug uniform.

--

He took the driver up on their suggestion, and was glad he did. His burger binges, on top of all his other binges, were adding some serious weight to his body, and it was getting more and more difficult to walk. He had given up on the bus entirely. Making it downstairs to a rideshare was becoming an ordeal, even if it was pulled up right at the door of the apartment complex.

But he still didn't mind. With the bench in place, he could pause for a minute or two to catch his breath on the way to the door, and that made it not too difficult to order in. He had even put a mirror up on the wall opposite the bench so he could look at his flushed and panting face, the gigantic rolls of his thighs belly, and admire how fat he was getting. I'm so fat I can barely make it to the door, he would think to himself, and then all those hundreds on hundreds of pounds would quiver and shimmer as he shuddered with excitement.

Sometimes he'd spend so long in a reverie that the person delivering the food would get impatient, ring the doorbell again and again. That was when it wasn't his favorite driver, of course. They knew it would take him a while to answer the door. He found himself dropping the other restaurants out of his rotation, going deeper and deeper into the menu of what had become his favorite fast food place. And that driver always wore a smile.

One day they had another suggestion. "You know, it's not that expensive to get a remote door lock. You could open the door with a remote control, or with your phone." They smiled, fat cheeks dimpling, fat chins quivering. "That way I could bring the food straight to your couch."

"You'd do that for me?" He grinned. Their interactions were becoming more and more flirtatious lately. Sometimes he wondered if he should spill the beans and admit everything: that he was a gainer, that he had gotten this fat on purpose, that he looked forward to their delivery visits because he had a crush on them.

"Of course. Straight to your couch. Even straight to your bedroom, if you don't want to get up."

And sure enough, when he had the remote lock installed, they did.

--

It was a typical evening. He woke up from a nap to the bedroom beginning to darken as the sun began to set. He flipped on a light and pulled out his phone. Seven burger meals, six milkshakes, two family-size chicken platters… his mouth was already watering.

As usual, they came straight to his bedside, unloading the bags of food onto the bed right next to him so they would be in easy reach. But today they were rolling something in behind them as well, a large box on a handtruck.

"What's that?" he asked.

"It's a special delivery." There was a look on their face he had never seen before. The dimpled smile was there, a little more mischievous than usual. But there was an intensity in their eyes now, too, a flush in their fat cheeks that was more than just exertion. "Something I've wanted to do to you for a long time."

"For a long…?" He paused, not sure how to continue. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the labored breath from each of them.

"Close your eyes." There was a sudden note of command in the driver's voice.

"Mmmmph!" Before he knew it, there was a hand on his face, roughly shoving. For a moment he felt like gagging as he felt something slip down his throat and something else shoved into his nostrils. He tried to speak, but with the tube in his throat, all he could manage was a grunt. But his meaning was clear. What the hell is going on?

The driver spoke rapidly, their voice husky and heavy. "I know. I know you're a gainer. I know you got this way on purpose. I could see it on your face. In your eyes. The way you looked at the food. The way you looked at me." They paused and took a deep breath. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing. When I'm not doing delivery for extra money, I'm a bariatric nurse. I have this all planned out."

They were in control now. "There's a lot of calories in this tube," they continued, swiftly and assuredly hooking it up to a canister of some sort and turning the valve. "Oil mixed with sugar. Pure calories. Going straight into your stomach. You're going to get fatter. A lot fatter. And quickly."

He thought for a moment about whether he should try to resist. But when he saw the look on the driver's face, he didn't want to.

It was a look of love.

And after all, he had always wanted to be fat.

--

His routine changed again. He no longer bothered leaving the apartment at all. No longer bothered leaving his bed at all. Just stayed in bed lounging or napping, calories flowing effortlessly down his throat. His body continued to swell. Every day, in the morning and in the evening, the driver would visit to clean him and to replenish the canister of formula. Then their fingers would trace across his body, their palms lifting his rolls, their lips and fingertips sending an electric charge through the tender hidden places in his rolls and folds. He grew and grew. Would he ever make it all the way to the bus stop again? Would he ever make it all the way to the door again? If he managed to make it to the door, would he fit though?

No, he wouldn't. He knew that. But he didn't care. He was growing bigger and bigger, fatter and fatter, softer and heavier.

And if he never left his bed again, he would still be happy.

[overstuffd]

Thinking abt feeding and denial? Like setting goals for your feedee and not letting them orgasm again until they can reach it.

Sub feedee can only eat six of their dozen donuts and their feeder forbids them from getting off until they can eat all 12 in a sitting. The feedee gets so worked up and needy that they keep begging to be allowed to try again and earn their orgasm, but each time they fail. How many pounds would they put on before they're allowed to cum again?

Or a feeder who keeps changing the goals and pretending that they didn't. "Good job! You chugged five whole shakes! You can do two more right? No, I definitely said you had to have seven to orgasm tonight. You're full? You sure? Well that's too bad. Maybe next time"

Gaining progress or body parts could be fun too, but idk "you can cum when you've gained another five pounds" isn't as hot to me as "you couldn't clean your plate and now you've lost orgasm privileges for a week"

Ughh this is so exactly my sort of thing.

Setting you challenges I know you're going to fail, and then punishingly you appropriately.

Using denial as an appropriate motivator to encourage you to push yourself.

Leaving you home alone with a few thousand calories worth of snacks, a packed bowl and an instruction to have them all finished by the time I get back - or you won't be finishing for a while. Coming home a few hours earlier than you expected and telling you how disappointed I am that you have so much left. Hand feeding you the rest, teasing you the whole time, then when you beg for release condescendingly reminding you you didn't earn it, and anyway - it's time for dinner.

Keeping this going for days at a time, a week - increasing the amount of food I leave you, giving you even less time, till you're frantically stuffing yourself the minute I leave. Of course, when I get back I pull out the bag of chips I forgot to tell you about - looks like you didn't finish everything this time either.

Getting you to the point where you'll push yourself beyond what you thought were your limits just trying to earn a scrap of satisfaction.

You're so right on the last point as well - why set you a weight goal when I can see how much fat you'll pile onto your frame willingly just by being an eager slut.

[violetbeauregut]

Violet's Big Misunderstanding

It's been a while but I was inspired to write another feedee fantasy ❤️❤️❤️

Violet was browsing the ice cream section at the grocery store with her feeder at her back, absentmindedly rubbing her belly, when she heard the question. 

“When are you due?” The middle aged woman asked, her cart skidding to a halt. She gestured to Violet’s big, swollen belly and gave her a hopeful smile. Violet could see the barest hint of uncertainty in that smile. This woman knew it was impolite to make such an assumption, but was making the gamble because Violet’s feeder was worshiping her gut in a way that was almost always reserved for pregnancy. 

She felt her feeder press closer to her. He used the hands on her belly to gently steer her to face the woman. He ran a hand along the curve of her belly and said, “She looks ready to pop, doesn’t she?”

The woman chuckled goodnaturedly. “Any day now, then?”

Violet could almost feel his mischievous grin. He patted the side of her belly lovingly. “I swear she’s getting bigger by the hour.” 

“Well that’s perfectly natural, dear,” the woman said to Violet, reassuringly. “I was as big as a house by the time I had my first.”

Violet blushed deeply. Because her feeder had so readily played along, she was too ashamed to admit that she was actually just obese and not on the verge of giving birth. It was moments like these where she wondered if she had let things go too far–if she had let her gluttony and lust take her past the point of no return. It certainly felt that way, as her embarrassment at being so fat she was mistaken for pregnant warred with her arousal. 

Her feeder peered down at her, assessing her red cheeks and quickened breath. He moved around to her side and put a hand over her shoulders before making a show of squeezing her against him and rubbing her thick upper arm. “Aww, honey. There’s no need to get embarrassed; you are eating for two.”

The older lady nodded enthusiastically, saying, “He’s right. You’re pregnant, sweetheart, not fat. You just focus on growing that baby and you can always lose the weight later.” She turned her attention to Violet’s feeder. “Now you get that beautiful girl home and get her whatever she wants to eat. Make sure she stays off her feet too. Carrying around that belly is hard work.” 

Once the woman had given her fill of advice and walked away, Violet turned to him. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

He laughed again, reaching down and giving her gut a quick slap. “With how good you’ve been lately, piggy, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.” 

She blushed again, looking down at her distended belly. It was hanging heavily between her hips– a testament to how much fatter she had gotten recently. “I feel bad about lying to that woman though.” 

He pinched her chin and tipped her face back up to look at him. “Nothing we said was a lie. You are eating for two– for you and me. She made the assumption. And don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that. I know how wet you must be right now.” When she didn’t respond, he continued, “In fact, I know you enjoyed it so much that we are going to keep going. Okay, piggy?”

She nodded. She couldn’t help herself. If he gave her a choice, she would always surrender to him like the obedient sow she was. 

–

Violet waddled around the store holding an open bag of mini powdered donuts. The white sugar dusted her lips, fingers, and shirt (which had gotten so tight that it was riding up, exposing a strip of belly). The shopping cart was always in reach and trailing beside her. In addition to the fattening foods that were a regular part of their grocery runs, open wrappers and containers were littered inside. She had already eaten what would be a week’s worth of snacks for most people. 

It was frowned upon to eat in the store and then pay for the items during check out, but anytime an employee looked at her disapprovingly, her feeder would shrug dramatically and say, “cravings,” in an apologetic tone. She was left to gorge in peace after that. 

Violet was getting increasingly out of breath. Not only was she stuffed so full that her stomach was compressing her lungs, her walk through the aisles was more exercise than she was now used to. Not to mention that her heart rate would pick up everytime her feeder would make loud, teasing comments down the busiest aisles like, “pick up two, baby, I know that you’re going to gobble one up on the car ride home,” “let’s get the one with less sugar, the doctor said a forty pound gain was average, but you’re getting close to seventy,” and “careful, I know you feel like you have free reign to eat as much as you want right now, but remember that the weight has to come off eventually.” 

“I need to sit soon,” she panted. 

“Poor baby, I know that big belly is getting hard for you to carry,” he said. “Let me help you.”

He stepped behind her and let his hands trail over her wide hips until they snaked underneath her gut. He lifted her belly up with a quiet grunt that made Violet smile. 

Before she could even let him know what a relief it was to have him take some of the heft off of her lower back, a young woman popped up in front of her, excitedly holding her own swollen belly. Her’s, Violet could tell, really was a baby bump–and Violet could also tell by the way that only her belly was round while everything else looked tight and toned, that this woman was naturally thin and fit. She looked down at her stuffed, barely clothed pork belly that was covered in crumbs and sugar. She was immediately flooded with embarrassment. 

“Oh my gosh, we’re like twins!” The woman exclaimed. “I'm thirty-four weeks, but you look so much bigger than me! How far along are you?” 

“Any day now,” Violet mumbled, unwilling to lie so blatantly. 

“Oh how exciting! I’m sure you are both so ready. I know I can’t wait for my due date. I’m so sick of being this big and waddling around everywhere.” 

Her feeder laughed softly. “I bet! I’m sure you aren’t used to having to carry all that extra weight in your belly. You’re lucky though,” Violet’s feeder said, moving his hands to the side of her belly. “You’re all baby, but my Violet is swelling up everywhere.” 

After a few more pleasantries and the other woman’s sympathies that poor Violet’s fat distribution might mistakenly be seen as obesity rather than pregnancy, they finally got to the checkout line. 

“Have you finally gotten enough to eat, piggy?” He whispered in her ear. She nodded, rubbing the top of her tight belly. 

“I don’t think so,” He said with a smirk. He pointed to the rows of candy bars lining the top of the conveyor belt. He grabbed a handful of her lardy lower belly and gave it a little shake. “Go grab about six of them. You are eating for two after all.” 

She shuffled around to the front of their car and grabbed handfuls of chocolate, realizing too late that lifting her arms to reach the candy left her belly largely exposed and her deep red stretch marks on full display. She quickly scanned the faces of the shoppers around her as she desperately tugged her top down, but no one was staring at her or giving her the usual disapproving looks. Just when she thought she was in the clear, a hand that did not belong to her feeder landed squarely on the most round part of her belly. 

A large, strange man was now groping her stuffed gut. He rubbed hard circles into her belly and turned his head to speak to Violet’s feeder as if she were not even there. She was furious– were pregnant people really supposed to be okay with being touched without permission? Her feeder eyed her without responding to the man, ready to jump in at the first sign of her distress, but she gave him a look that kept him in his place. Violet let out a tremendous burp and giggled. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I ate too much.” 

“Oh, it’s alright,” he said, patting her belly again gently. “That’s to be expected with mothers-to-be.”

She feigned a look of surprise. “What? I’m not pregnant.”

The man looked at her and then back at her feeder as if waiting for him to contradict her. Her feeder just shook his head and Violet could tell he was trying to hold back a laugh. 

“No baby, I’m afraid,” he said to the horrified stranger. “Just a lardy pig belly.” 

The man released her and stumbled back, offering apologies as he fled. Her feeder hugged her from behind, his hands wrapped around her middle. He smiled into her hair and gently squeezed her fat, testing the softness with his large hands. “You sure are proud of this huge blubbery gut, aren’t you?”

“Aren’t you?” She challenged. 

“Oh yes, greedy girl,” he said, rubbing the swollen curve of her belly that had started their little rouse in the first place. “Now open that box of snack cakes and make it bigger for me. Next time I want someone to ask if you’re carrying twins.”

[overlydeniableteddy]

Fattening Valley

First pov / feedee pov / second pov feeder / intox feedism / weight gain / mention of sex

I’ve already been at the farm for quite some time, working hard to build a successful life for myself in the valley, engaging with the townspeople, pining after Harvey and slowly winning his affection…

And then one day, you come to town, taking it by storm. I offer you a place to stay in the farm house so you don’t have to worry about finding accommodation while you get settled. It’s only after a week or two that you begin to enact your master plan, only eating half of the dinner you prepared in thanks for letting you stay and giving me the rest of your portion and a few leftovers. Me being polite, I accept, not wanting to admit to you that I’m already full. You start cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner, all of them bigger portions than what I usually had. You bring me snacks throughout the day, slowing me down and making me feel more sleepy and lethargic.

The charade continues for a few weeks, a pot belly forming under my clothes, my thighs and ass looking a bit more thick and blubbery— my face puffing up slightly. That’s when you move onto the next stage, you take me to Gus’ for a big thank you dinner, all this time you’ve been making subtle moves towards me, declaring your romantic and sexual desires with me, I laugh you off and say that I’m flattered. But you don’t stop. At this dinner date, you ply me with a variation of wines and beers, getting me drunker as you flirt more and more with me, I start drunkenly flirting back for giggles. You order plate upon plate of food for me, stuffing me so full that I nearly fall into a food coma at the bar. You scoot your chair around to my side of the table, slipping your hand into my clothes, feeling the taut bloated body beneath. I rest my head on your shoulder as you make me finish every last bite. Whimpering and burping from how full I am. The other townspeople look on in confusion and worry, they thought that it was me and Harvey that were supposed to end up together… but they don’t intervene.

At midnight, Gus closes for the night. You essentially carry an exceptionally drunk me home to the farmhouse, I belch and moan the whole way back, one arm looped around your shoulders and the other resting on my stuffed full belly. Once we get back, you decide to encourage me to drink some milk I forgot to sell during the day and I comply, lusting after you with boarish desires.

The next morning, I wake up still stuffed and hungover, unable to bring myself to get up and go about the farm chores. You smile and waltz your way into my bedroom, a thick stack of pancakes and a large coffee (with some whiskey mixed in), you declare that you’ve already done the chores for the day so I should relax and take a day for myself in bed.

You start doing this more and more, always making sure I’m in a state of tipsiness at all times, it’s easier to get me to eat more this way. My bloated pot belly becomes a large hanging gut, my arms flabby sacks of fat that can’t even bring themselves to pick up even a hoe anymore, my legs thick and blubbery cellulite ridden slabs of meat. My face rounded and cherub like— constantly rosy and jolly. I’ve begun to outgrow my once baggy clothes, knitted jumpers always riding up my belly halfway, showing off a large slice of pale fat belly.

Harvey becomes worried, he sees my decline of diet and increased intoxication, he wants to confront you for my changes but I brush him off and tell him that farmers are supposed to carry a little extra thickness, it’s all just thick muscle. He’s flustered but let’s it go until I stop doing the farm work entirely, and only appear in town for our weekly date at the saloon where you get me drunker than I’ve been all week and stuffed to beyond my increasing limits.

It goes on for a year, you transforming me into a lazy, flabby pig that can’t even take care of his own farm anymore, spending his days eating and drinking in various locations— constantly outgrowing his clothes. My body truly becoming a round and blobby spectacle for the whole valley to bask in…

And then we marry, I’m yours and yours alone. Your fat, drunk piggy, a fallen vestige of a once promising young farmer.

[phattiepheeder]

I posted on Reddit but I’m curious about a Mukbang aftermath shit

I’ve been thinking about these creators that stuff for the camera, or do mukbangs and eat an astonishing amount of food. Or feedees who are constantly being fed and you see their swollen tight bellies after. These girls with huge bellies and probably an insane capacity to fill themselves eating 15 burgers or 20 burritos or 10lbs of spicy noodles.

But I never see any videos of the aftermath after taking in thousands of calories of dense and fattening and greasy food. Their bloated overpacked bowels struggling to empty in time so that they can continue to eat and digest the neverending onslaught of food. I just know they’re shitting a mountain, clogging toilets. Those that have gainer shake after gainer shake (read about a gainer who had 12 in a row through a funnel) must have the most explosive, sloppy , muddy shits. I can just imagine how their relief is short lived as they quickly refill their bellies. And their feeders must be hearing their loud frequent bathroom trips, already preparing their feeder’s next fattening gut wrecking meal.

I’m saying this because my ex-bf was a feeder and also into scat. Though I’ve lost all the weight for my health, during our relationship he helped me pack on 55lbs in 6months by stuffing me. I loved eating for him and he loved watching me take enormous shits after our feeding sessions, multiple times a day due to all the stuffing.

For those 6 months, my guts were being assaulted daily with thousands of calories. Some days he’s feed me so much, 10k calories. I’d shit 4-5x and still feel like I had more to unload, each time with a huge pile. Our plunger was working overtime so we ended up designating a bucket for me to empty into after feedings.

Sometimes after a heavy day of eating particularly greasy food, I’d empty a huge load of greasy sludge two or three times, and still my guts would be such a mess that I couldn’t leave our place without fear of having an accident. And they were the greasy kind of shits where they’d leave skid marks even after the powerful flush of a public toilet. My farts were often wet and we always needed to be close to a bathroom or have extra panties in the car. I’d just always feel like I had a stomach ache and either needed to fart or destroy a toilet.

The gainer shakes were the worst on my system. They were so yummy and made my ass get so plump and juicy , and my belly so doughy. Plus they’d go down easy when I was already stuffed. But they gave me such bad diarrhea I needed to bare down on my slop bucket with all my weight , hole spraying against the sides of the bucket. The pressure behind it was so intense that I’d get up with a circle of liquid in my ass..

For my gainer shake days, I’d sit my bare ass in the bucket while my ex fed me , knowing that shortly after I’d have to empty myself again anyways. Gainer shake in via funnel, and emptied half an hour later desperately in the same spot. I’d already have another wave of slop screaming at me for release, so as soon as I’d wipe, I’d already need to slap my fat ass back on the bucket and unleash.

Another thing we’d do is stuff me for a few days with the help of anti diarrhea meds until I was absolutely packed solid with shit. Then I’d take a stool softener to ease the turd out without ripping me in two and I’d relieve my hugely swollen gut. When my poor hole couldn’t stop desperately trying to get rid of all that waste, He’d have me on all fours with a trough in front of me and the bucket behind me so that I could refill myself as my puffy sore asshole kept sputtering wet farts and emptying. Then when my trough was empty and the bucket was full he’d refill my trough and empty the bucket and put them back in place. And it was always filled again.

Anyways, the relationship ended but it made me think of all of these feedees and if they shit as much as I used to. Or more.

[hedonists-den]

Not really a POV for this one. Just sharing some musings and a scenario where I condition you to be a mindless, pleasure/hunger-driven fatty!

Enjoy! 💜

TRANSCRIPT:

There’s a part of me that wants to make sure you always have more than enough food, no matter what, at all times. A good, doting feeder that doesn’t ask anything of you.

But every now and then, there’s this urge to give you just shy of enough. I know how much you really need, but I want you to tell me how you're still hungry even after all I've fed you. I want you to hear yourself admit to me that you need more, even when you’ve eaten more than the average person could. But will you admit it? I suppose it depends on how long you've been mine. 

When you first start this hedonistic life that I offer you, I can imagine you're shy about it. Timid about your rapidly increasing appetite. Or, maybe you’re a brat about it. Can’t accept giving up control so easily. Either way, you’re hesitant to lose yourself to it just yet. You're dipping your feet in, but you worry about what might happen if you fully accept your life as a domestic glutton.

But when you're sitting there, in the aftermath of the first round of gorging yourself one night, you can't help but want more. Your greed is undeniable. You don't want to admit it, but you can't stop yourself this time. You’re just too hungry for more. You ask me for a second full meal, just after your first. 

"I guess enough food for two people isn't enough for you, is it?"

I drink in the adorably embarrassed look on your face as you squirm over what a greedy little pig you’ve admitted that you are. It may not seem like a big deal this time, but you’ve taken the first step, and there’s no going back. Not now that there’s precedent.

The next time, I’m a little more direct about it. You finish your second meal, as you’ve become accustomed to, and I have dessert ready for you. But you don’t get it that easily this time. 

“Ask nicely,” I demand. 

You look up at me. I can practically feel how badly you want the tray of brownies in my hands. Homemade, warm and soft, still a little gooey in the middle, your favorite. You ask for them, even adding a sweet little “please” at the end. I reach down and grip your belly roll. 

“Again,” I urge, fondling your pretty gut.

You ask again, very nicely, through heaving breaths. I decide that’s good enough, give your belly a nice pat, and set the tray on it. You start digging in immediately. Like a hog at the trough. You’re getting more and more willing to do whatever I ask, so long as you can feel the rush of complete indulgence. 

But I want to make sure that the sensation doesn’t stop at just a rush. It has to be a deeper craving. More primal. More intense.

So when I began slipping my hand under your mound of a gut, between those cellulite-ridden thunder thighs of yours, and pleasuring you for every bite you take, oh you started really packing on weight, didn’t you? And there hasn’t been a feast since where you weren’t stimulated the whole way through. I admit, I never let you cum until I’m satisfied with how full you are, but you never disappoint, and you always earn it. 

It’s like you’ve had this in you all along. You just needed the right person to enable you and push you to be the best hedonist that you could be. Sure, I play the part of the good feeder a majority of the time. But I think we owe it to the dominant feeder in me for how desperate you are to eat and grow now. And I want to see just how fat you’ll let me make you.

[plushush]

Just Can’t Quit

I disappeared for a bit last Fall because I had to lose weight for a gig I was working, and I sincerely loved being fit again. I felt full of energy and momentum. Everything was effortless. I missed the rush of an intense workout, the power and confidence it gave me. I was focused and thriving and content to let my gaining experience fade into a pleasant memory.

If only I could be so lucky.

For a time, my cravings were annihilated. I felt no compulsion to indulge, no desire to look at FFA content — I was a fit feeder again! But the weakness crept back in almost imperceptibly. It was the holidays! The gyms are closed, it’s too cold to leave the house, and everyone is drinking booze and gorging on the heaviest, most fattening desserts and comfort foods. What’s the most damage I could do in a couple weeks?

FIFTEEN POUNDS.

It took less than two weeks to regain half of the 30 pounds I spent months burning off. Less than two weeks, and I was more comfortable spending days not leaving the couch than lasting even a half hour at the gym. Less than two weeks, and I was eating fast food for every meal and devouring entire cakes and pies for dessert.

Less than two weeks, and I had turned back into the greedy little piggy I was always meant to be. I don’t know if I can stop this time. I told myself I would stop after the holidays. Then I planned to stop after January. Now I doubt I’ll be able to pump the breaks once February ends. I’ve been thin my whole life, and had no issue losing all 30 pounds I gained the first time I let myself go full-feedee. This is the first time I’ve ever struggled with my weight, and I honestly do not think I’ll ever be 165 again. I exercise for a couple days and stick to a diet, then fall right back into being stuffed and stoned and sedentary for a week straight. The number on the scale keeps increasing pound by pound, and I’m excited and terrified every time I weigh myself.

I can’t stop. Don’t let me stop.

Make sure I’m never thin again.

[iwritebigbellies-blog]

FINE. A pinned post.

I'm Rachel! I am 45 f, straight, single, and men who stuff themselves has been my entire sexuality for my whole life. Oh, but I am demisexual too, so I also need intellectual/emotional connections to play, and catch feels really easy.

I really don't want to be your mommy. I have two (teenaged) kids already. That shit makes it weird. Happy to casually chat with anyone, but I won't be getting sexy with anyone under 30.

🔥🔥🔥Likes🔥🔥🔥

- Stuffing, bloating, inflation. Big, tight bellies 👌

- Tight clothes, button popping, mild humiliation

- Whining, moaning, groaning, anything vocal

- Belly rubs, massages, t o u c h

- Public stuffing (also known as "dinner dates" ❤️)

- Intox w/ trusted partners only

- Worship and submission

- Growth/size incl height and muscles...still unclear on why and how and what but yeah

- Feats. I love being impressed. I don't even care how or with what. Anything from eating challenges to personal accomplishments; show me your best, whatever it is. I love it.

👾👾👾Okay (with the right partner, if I'm in the mood) 👾👾👾

- Funnel feeding

- Embarassment/humiliation but like you better really like it

- Teasing (if it comes naturally and usually not about fat directly? I have a sharp tongue but I am not gonna drop "gee you got fat huh" on a regular basis, that is boring.)

- Mild bondage/domination but only rarely; suuuper mood dependent

- Mess: fine, if you must, but I'm not into it

🚫🚫🚫Absolutely Not🚫🚫🚫

- Weight gain and I HESITATE TO PUT THIS HERE because I am super okay with weight gain and LOVE AND PREFER guys in the 250-300lb range but I Do. Not. Care. About the WG itself. Gaining weight, new rolls, playing with fat, admiring fat--I just don't care. It doesn't do anything for me. Focus on fat and gaining and I will be so bored. I do not want to "help you get bigger." By all means, I am here for the stuffing part of your wg journey, but the gain itself is not my focus and never will be.

- Death feederism

- Immobility/sswg

- Unhealthy/lazy tropes

- Forced-anything

- Loss of intelligence/agency

- Obviously, I am in no way a feedee or gainer.

- Mpreg, vore, scat, transformation, uh, I dunno, whatever adjascent thing you just came up with

~~~~~

You can always DM me and ask me anything! I suppose I'll keep adding to these lists as stuff comes up...

[toptierteaser]

The Two Fatties within You

You have within you, two parts of yourself, two beats to your heart, two sides to your spirit. Two, ravenous wolves within, each wanting something in total opposition to the other.

A part of you wants to be fed. To be fattened like a submissive piglet. To be forced to spread your mouth wide as a handsome feeder shoves food between your plump, greedy lips, stuffing you to the brim. Your eyes wide, fearful as you wonder if he'll push you too far to the limits, if he's going to make you pop. Squirming with excitement, heart hammering from nervousness as you race, your mouth chomping and chewing and slurping, trying to keep up with the forceful, feeding hands. Your belly distending out into your lap, plumping up and out and forth. Your chubby tits resting atop the great doughy ball before you. Your thighs crammed in your seat, rubbing against one another with no space to grow. Your face softening, a double chin appearing beneath your once-defined jawline. Your cheeks filling, reddening as you wonder how much more he's going to stuff into you. Your ass expanding in the chair, filling at the sides as you wonder if you'll split.

Then there's the part of you that wants to run. To wriggle away from this frightening feeder. To waddle as fast as you can out the door. The part of you that's embarrassed at how far you've let yourself go, humiliated by the sight of your own dough-filled body. Fearful that if you attempted to run, you'd split your pants, that you would be out of breath in less than a minute. Wondering how much you would jiggle if you even so much as tried. Wondering if those shorts of yours might just split with everyone laughing and pointing and calling you a fat ass. It's the part of you that can hardly stand what a porker you've allowed yourself to become, what a piglet you've made of yourself. The part that obsessively tugs away at your shirt, internally willing the buttons not to burst, not to pop, not to break.

The two parts of you, crammed within you. Two fat boys, wedged tightly within your grown body. Filling and fattening and busting out in every which direction. Growing overweight, into obesity. Half embarrassed and half enamored at the creaking of the chair beneath your growing butt. Half frightened and half in love with the hands that shovel more towards your face. Your mouth open in part out of that insatiable need for food, that gluttony, that greed, and in part out of shock. Shock at how much of a fat boy you're becoming. Wondering how much further you will allow this to go, how much bigger you will allow yourself to grow.

Which one will win? The part of you that wishes to be thin? Or the part of you that eats, allowing yourself to be stuffed to the brim, and then some. To grow out of your pants, your shirts, straining the waistband on your underwear that threaten at any moment to tear. Who will win, the fit jock inside you that yearns to run again without feeling his lardy legs rubbing, his blubbery ass jiggling behind him for all to see? Or the fat ass, the greedy, expanding feedee who is never truly full, never satisfied no matter how much he is fed?

At the rate things are going, fat boy, I think it's fairly obvious who between the two will be crowned the champion of your body and your mind and your growing, fat behind...