feedeetgirl

[feedeetgirl]

Up. Come on, wobble forward. I know it’s hard to move with that apron of belly hanging down, dragging like a wet tarp full of meat. But you’re going to do it anyway, because I’m tugging that collar, and when I pull — you follow.

Good pig.

You're sweating already. Just from standing. I can see your thighs trembling, your breath whining out like a busted bellows. But this is important. Today’s your check-in. I want to see the numbers. I want to document just how far you’ve fallen.

Let’s start with the tape.

Arms up. No, higher — or as high as they go now, which is barely past nipple-height with all that lard weighing you down. I wrap the tape around your gut, burying it beneath the folds, pressing into the warm, stretched-out blubber until I hit resistance. There. I pull it tight. You flinch. The flesh squirms around it.

“Eighty-nine inches,” I read out loud, slow, amused. “That’s over seven feet of belly, pig.”

You blush. I see you blush — somewhere under the puffed cheeks and the fat-padded neck, a bit of shame still flickers. Good. You’re supposed to feel it. You're supposed to feel exactly how unnatural you are.

“You know the average waist size for a healthy adult?” I murmur in your ear. “Thirty-four inches. That means you’re almost triple. You’ve got more belly in one side roll than most people have on their entire body.” I pad your blubbery gut that's hanging in front of me.

Then I slide the tape lower. Around the hips now. More numbers. I take my time.

“Your thighs — forty-three inches. Each. That’s a full waistline just in your leg. And your upper arms? Bigger than most gym guys’ chests. And not an ounce of muscle to show for it.”

You shift, awkward, half-aroused and half-horrified. Your eyes lower. But your body betrays you — the way you tremble, the way your breath comes faster. You want this. You need this. The shame only makes it sweeter.

Now the scale.

I tug the leash. You grunt, stumbling forward. It takes effort to hoist all that mass. Your belly slaps against your knees with each tiny step. But eventually, you make it. I guide you onto the platform — steel, reinforced. You pant, drool threading from your lip.

And then the number appears.

“936 pounds.”

I smile.

“That’s nearly five of them. A whole family’s worth of meat stacked into one greedy, wheezing carcass. And you’re still gaining. Still swelling. Still pretending this is just some kink and not full-blown biological ruin.”

I lean down. Grip a love handle. Knead it. Soft. Hot. Leaking sweat. “They’d be in shock if they saw you, pig. Just a regular person, walking past the grocery store scale, and there you are — almost a thousand pounds of bloat and feeder’s pride, barely mobile, breathing like you’re being strangled by your own body.”

You shiver.

You’re turned on.

I can tell.

Because this is what you really want, isn’t it? To be broken down into numbers. Into stats. To have someone take stock of the damage and call it beautiful. Or disgusting. Or both.

I pull the tape measure off you with a snap. You flinch.

I tug the collar, lead you back to the mattress, let you collapse into your own overfed ruin.

“Next month, we’ll pass a thousand. And then we start comparing you to livestock weights.”

You don't answer.

You just moan.

And I write down the numbers. Every one of them.

[feedeetgirl]

Reblog if you are your username :3

[feedeetgirl]

Need this rn.

[feedeetgirl]

[feedeetgirl]

REBLOG if you need to be teased, praised, reminded of how fat you're getting 💕🐽

You deserve it!

[feedeetgirl]

Oversized T-shirts turning snug is so satisfying.

Everyone has these comfortable big shirts that give you a lot of room to move around in. They're the perfect chill out clothes and perfect to throw on for a quick snack trip.

But as time goes on and you take a few too many trips to the store you might notice that your midsection seems to brush more and more against the soft fabric. It's especially noticeable if you have Breast that should keep your shirt far away from your stomach. You'll tell yourself that you're just bloated and move on. Maybe put some more soda in your shopping cart because you ran low. A couple of days later, as you throw an empty ice cream container away, you notice it again: a brush of soft cotton on your midsection.

It must have shrunk in the dryer after all.

Weeks pass and the brush against your belly becomes constant and your brain stopps registering it as an oddity.

Sure, you know you gained some weight, but your favorite shirt still fits without issues so it can't be that much.

A few weeks more and your back at the store. As you reach up for the donuts on the top shelf you feel a slight breeze caressing your softening lower half as your shirt rides up a bit. You take your donuts down and move to put them into the cart, when you notice that the shirt got stuck on your petruding love handles, unable to fall back down without some help. You mutter annoyed and embarrassed about that dryer as you pull it down quickly.

A couple more weeks and the tug at your shirt becomes a constant, a habit you don't even notice your doing anymore.

The cool breeze at the lowest part of your gut becomes soothing in the summer heat, as you stand in front of the freezer getting your third serving of ice cream.

And then, one day, you struggle to put on your favorite soft T-shirt. After a bit of fighting you get over your swollen body and look at yourself in the mirror. The shirt is tight, cutting into your arms, compressing your chest and pulled taunt over your distended gut. The fabric doesn't even cover half of it anymore, it's a crop top now.

You smack your naked gut and decide that it's a no pants day today, before waddling to the kitchen to grab some cupcakes.

Let's see how much longer your favorite crop top can last.

[feedeetgirl]

p-please?

I want to express my love for you by making you as fat as humanly possible ❤️

[feedeetgirl]

I would do this everyday

Social Media of Sex, JOIN NOW

[feedeetgirl]

I dont make the rules I just enforce them.

[feedeetgirl]

Make me this fat please

Warning! Hot pork roast on the table!

[feedeetgirl]

need this rn

[feedeetgirl]

"beautiful eyes"

[feedeetgirl]

[feedeetgirl]

yes, please.

[feedeetgirl]

Please make me like this, pleeeease

✨ fuck I gain so fat 😻✨

[feedeetgirl]

Desperately need to push a fat girls thigh rolls out of the way and passionately eat them out while they mindlessly stuff their face. I want to feel their huge, soft belly shake and convulse while I make them cum over and over again with my mouth. I want the weight of their stomach to get heavier and heavier on my head as they stuff themselves closer to capacity with each orgasm. I want to completely break their mind with pleasure and make them cry out for more until they can’t even think properly. I desperately need to make a feedee completely addicted to pleasure and my presence and to melt their brain down until they only want to eat, cum, and be taken care of.