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[bearwithmi]

strange and like irrelevant/unimportant question but I'm just curious:

feel like you can make a case for all of them

[bearwithmi]

You put the funnel in my mouth and I open up eagerly.

Thick, heavy, creamy shake dripping down my throat. Gulping all down. I am greedy as fuck. My belly gets fuller, rounder with each gulp. But I can't stop. I don't want to stop.

"More." I beg in between desperate gasps of air. Its hard to breathe with such a swollen, overfed gut.

So you feed me more.

Not even a 2000 calories shake was enough to fill me up. You feed me more with anything greasy, sugary, fattening. I can't help but let out a relieving burp, panting as I try to rub my belly. It's heavy, aching. Pinning me down compeletely.

"Please help me out of this clothes."

You help me strip down, every inch of me jiggling as I immedietly sit back on the couch. Everything is so soft, so fat. Your hands ran through my body, squeezing and rubbing, helping me digest the enormous amount of food I consumed.

"You are fattening me up so much, babe."

You realize me eyeing some cookies on the counter already. And without a break, the cycle starts again.

I will fatten up so much more like a good, good piggy.

[bearwithmi]

A Journey into Your Future

One day, you decide to try out the whole feedism thing. You are young, in your early 20s, and your metabolism is fast. The perceived "risk" feels very low; you wonder if you even manage to gain 5 pounds. After 3 months of experimenting with eating more caloric food, you almost give up - the effects are hardly noticeable. But that's when a curious thing happens.

"Don't get discouraged," a strange voice says to you. You spin around, only to see a genie-like creature sitting in your chair. Their skin has a blue hue to it, and even as they sit, they seem partly transparent.

"Who are you?" you ask.

They smile. "An admirer and an encourager. That's all you need to know."

"But how-" you start, but don't manage to finish the sentence before the stranger snaps their fingers and the reality changes before you.

You are somehow still in your room, but you are watching it from above. On your bed, you see... yourself. Except, your belly is softer and is starting to sit plumply in your lap. The other you is sitting on the bed and watching something on your laptop, while mindlessly snacking from an XL package of chips.

"This is a year from now," the strange genie whispers to your ear. "You see, the problem with your little feedist experiment is that while you started eating more, you still also moved a lot. But 3 months from now, you are going to break your leg. You will become completely sedentary for a couple of months, and you will continue to eat. And when your leg is okay again... well, there will be a little more to you. You will have broken your fast metabolism."

"I look like I'm at least 20 pounds heavier," you say, feeling yourself blush. This is all you dreamed of: to be chubby, maybe a little fat. This excites you.

"25 pounds, to be exact," the genie says and smiles slightly dangerously. The words about broken metabolism echo in your head. Once you entered this path, can you ever go back...?

The genie snaps their fingers again.

***

You are on the back porch of your house. The alternative you is splayed in a chair, sipping on some smoothie... or is it a weight gain shake? In shock, you take in your new physique: your belly, spilling in your lap and entirely covering your crotch. Fat thighs smashed together. Love handles digging into the armrests of your chair, making you wonder if you're getting stuck. You peer at your own face, only to see a permanent double chin hugging you. Chubby cheeks made even larger as you sip your drink.

"This is three years from now," the genie says. "You just entered obesity."

You feel panic course through you. You will become obese at 25. Is this a good idea? Is there any way to go back? At the same time as you're thinking this, the other part of you doesn't want to stop. Heavy, heady thrill courses through your body. In three years, you will be at least 70 pounds heavier. All rolls. A fatty.

You barely suppress a moan.

***

The next scene makes your head spin. You are in your room again, on your bed, only, your bed is now king-sized. Propelled on a mountain of pillows, you are watching something on your laptop again, except this time, it balances precariously on the top of your gelatinous belly which spills over and in between your trunk thighs. You are snacking again, and your upper arm rolls hang and quiver as you bring full Oreos to your mouth and down them in one go. Your neck has disappeared under a fat roll. Your lips form a permanent pucker, squeezed by your cheeks. Your facial features have changed completely due to all the fat. You look like a different person.

"Five years from now," the genie whispers. "150 pounds heavier."

***

You don't even have the time to process what you've just seen before you are transported again. Below you, on the bed, spills... you. You are in a half-sitting position, but you're quite sure it would be rather difficult for you to even sit on your own. Each of your limbs sports rolls so thick that they look like small bellies on their own. And your proper belly... well, it almost covers your knees. Your triple chin quivers as you slowly swallow, your plump lips closed around a funnel hose. You are watching something on a TV that hangs on the opposite wall - and no wonder. Your fingers are now so plump that using a laptop must be quite impossible.

"Congratulations," the genie whispers into your ear. "You are 30 now. Eight years from now, and 300 pounds heavier."

You gulp, but have no time to respond before you see the door to your future room open and an unknown person enter. You look at them in disbelief - their facial features are that of the genie, except the blueish hue and the semi-transparency are gone. All in all, they look like a regular human being. They are carrying a tray filled to the brim with burgers.

"I brought you your breakfast," they say, and the future you makes some effort to smile through the funnel hose.

"Who are you?" you whisper to the genie.

They smile wide. "Your feeder, of course. I'm so glad I accessed the magic that allowed me to reach you before I actually met you. And right at the moment when you almost gave up on gaining!"

Your head spins. How are these time paradoxes even possible? What's going to happen now...?

A snap of the fingers.

***

You are in your room, and there is no one beside you. You had a strange dream. Something about rolls and heaviness and being stuck in the bed. You feel a little aroused, and you blush.

You eye a packet of cookies you brought in your last attempt to gain weight before you decided that it wasn't working out.

Come on. Eat them all. There's no harm.

Was that your own voice...? You can't say.

Eat them, and skip the gym today.

Almost on autopilot, you reach for the packet.

Oh well, what's the worst that can happen? You probably won't gain more than 5 pounds, anyway.

[bearwithmi]

Woahhh

[bearwithmi]

[bearwithmi]

Diversity win! The horniest person you know is on the asexual spectrum

[bearwithmi]

🙈🙈🐷🐷🙈🙈 tubby growing boy

[bearwithmi]

I’m posting this from bed, stuck on my back, feeling everything I just ate absolutely stretching me out. It hurts so much. I need my belly rubbed and handled please, while I’m stuck like this

[bearwithmi]

like I think someone can believe both things at the same time, like being in a relationship with a feeder where they don't feed other other people would be fun, but I would also be up for meeting up with a feeder casually.

and even if someone would only be in an exclusive feedist relationship themselves, that doesn't mean they don't believe other people can have casual feedist relationships (or non-casual non-exclusive feedist relationships ofc)

I’m actually so interested in these answers

Let’s get into it

[bearwithmi]

Buffet Policy

"Who pays attention to the fine print at a buffet?" you whine, glaring daggers at me from across the short table.

I push the plate closer to you with just my finger—a simple, innocent movement. I don’t reply. Why argue when you could be eating?

"You knew," you seethe, one hand clutching the outline of your packed gut beneath your shirt. You’ve eaten so much you’re sluggish and exhausted, and yet you still look so soft and doughy. "You had this planned."

"I don't see why you're so upset. You took this from the hot bar."

"That was before I ate your food!"

I shrug magnanimously. Of course I planned for something like this to happen. I couldn't pass up the picture of you like this—beached in the buffet booth, fighting between pushing your swollen stomach out to relieve the pressure from your torso, and trying to suck in so it doesn't push against the table. The graveyard of buffet plates, trays, and bowls tells a clear story. So do your stifled burps and food-induced haze, but I see how your gaze lingers briefly on the remaining food.

"It's policy." I point out the sign near the front of the buffet that you hadn't noticed all this time for your dogged focus on the endless supply of good food. White background with big black text:

TAKE ALL YOU CAN EAT

EAT ALL YOU TAKE

FOOD LEFT OVER = CLEANUP FEE

"It's part of their zero waste policy." I put my hands on the table. "If you can't finish what you took, you pay extra."

You groan, but it doesn't sound as aggrieved as the last one. You eye the food, rubbing the top of your gut. I make an internal note that this is your last time in a booth. You lean forward to pluck a spring roll off the plate and struggle visibly around your belly being pressed up against the table. Poor thing.

Before you put it in your mouth you burp, hand over your lips. We both know the fee is inconsequential and we could take the extra cost and leave, but that wouldn't make for any fun.

"You could help me with this," you mutter between bites.

I smile. "Oh, I'm too full."

"You're evil."

I touch the little bowl of sauce the dish came with, nudging it towards you. Without complaint or hesitation, you take it from me. I am more than content to sit idly and watch you eat. You haven’t noticed it yet, but your double chin gets pushed out with each bite. It’s very charming. So is your struggle. Me watching and your exhausted pace make for a charged, monotonous silence. I’m happy to watch.

“You’re being weird,” you tell me between labored bites. You’re clearly at your limit, but you don’t slow down. “In public.”

I open my hands sheepishly, but I can’t hold the ignorant facade. “If you’re tired of doing the work yourself, I could help.”

My euphemism doesn’t catch. You say, “sure, yeah,” and nudge the plate in my direction.

I wait for the right moment to take a roll off the plate and feed it to you. This is such a regular movement that you don’t even register what has happened until you’re swallowing.

“Is that what you meant by “help”?”

“I thought your hands might be getting tired.”

You groan, but it quickly twists into an exasperated laugh. We both laugh.

We don’t end up paying the leftovers fee. You polished off the spring rolls and everything else. I got a little worried about you when you were plowing through the noodles—single-mindedly stuffing yourself between pants for air and beleaguered burps—but right after you finished, you moved right on to the egg tarts. Now you waddle home, huffing and cursing me all the way to bed, where your swollen belly lies beside you on the mattress.

You take my wrist and move my hand to your stomach, making me soothe your warm, packed gut. I oblige, and can’t help but reach around your bloated belly to squeeze your soft love handles.

“If we keep going like this, I’m gonna get huge.” You groan, and it tapers off into a burp. You take my hand again and guide it up to the part of your belly that sticks out the furthest. I rub the spot gently, easing another burp out of you. Since you’ve gained weight even your mouth is plumper. You moan with discomfort again. Your tummy is still so overstuffed that you’ll probably still be full tomorrow morning when I bring you breakfast in bed.

“I’d like that,” I murmur, but you’re already half asleep, and soon drift off under my diligent ministrations. It isn’t only that I’d like for you to get huge, I know you will.

[bearwithmi]

Treat Training

We try treat training and it doesn’t quite work as intended. In theory it seems easy enough but in the moment I quickly realize that we both overlooked a key element of this: I cannot deny you anything.

You’re seated at the edge of the bed, looking up at me, at the palm-sized little cake I’ve decided is the “treat,” and waiting for a command so we can start conditioning, and I realize that, regardless of what you do or how you behave, that I have no way of bringing myself to withhold treats. You’re just to soft, to big, too sexy, and too good for me to want to do anything but shower you in rewards.

From a classical conditioning standpoint the night is a complete failure. I press a treat to your lips for every minor shred of good behavior, and before good behavior, and when I’m not sure what to do, but do know that I love seeing your second chin bob as you chew. And you’re so so good for me the entire evening, doing everything I ask, accepting each treat with fervor even later on when you’re tired of the sugar. And of course you get a treat for pulling through to the end of the night.

This continues. I love indulging you and you love being indulged, so we do a lot of play, and many treats disappear into your growing belly, and you are conditioned to do absolutely nothing but expect treats from me. These “treat-training sessions” have no effect on your behavior but clear repercussions for your waistline. Just this small, regular indulgence is enough to make a dent in your wardrobe. New rolls stacking above your tighter jeans, soft tummy spilling out of everything, hell, even your shirtsleeves are getting tight with how thick your shoulders and back are, and how much fat hangs off your upper arms. Your insatiable belly is taking up more space on your thighs and your thighs are taking up more space on the couch, and yet you are still so insistent that we keep up this little game of ours.

We set up for yet another treat training scene. You look up at me with such a needy, desperate look, and so of course I feed you a slice of brownie from the "treat tray." Your double chin I so love has grown to push insistently on your jaw and your throat now. Your neck is obscured entirely. And when you are done chewing, you look at me again with those pleading eyes, all soft and decadent and perfect.

And I’m more than happy to keep indulging you.

[bearwithmi]

Attention all fat men

I am doing this to your belly

[bearwithmi]

it's fucked up that ever since I was like 8 I thought that if I could do 3 wishes, one of them would be to be able to eat whatever i wanted without gaining weight (after i'd managed to get skinny first). I wasn't even a fat/chubby child but that doesn't matter. it's fucked up that an 8-year-old child (maybe I was younger) already feels like they need to fight their body and make sure they stay skinny or get skinnier

[bearwithmi]

[bearwithmi]

roughly 50 lbs gained since the first two pics. i need way more

[bearwithmi]

I just wish I could gain weight but I have a fast metabolism and I'm already unable to put any money into savings

[bearwithmi]

Okay… I might be at the point of no return. I’m way too addicted to growing this soft heavy belly

new clip just dropped hereee ✨