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Who is in control? 

I just love when they have a gigantic gut that weighs them down. I love when a nice, flabby belly hangs between their legs when they sit. I love when that same hefty sack of a stomach bounces off their thighs when they walk. I love when they have a massive, blubbery, sagging orb of flesh for a belly. I love when a meaty, hanging apron gut balloons into a solid round ball of lard on top, so fully layered and encased in fat it just starts blowing up outwards. I love when a little pinch-style belly button starts changing shape and squishing together, and then becoming a deep, dark belly hole. I just love when a feedee’s fat gut gets fatter. A big, tubby belly gets tubbier. A smooth, pudgy, floppy dough ball getting so heavy and bulged. Thick side rolls, deep overhangs, folds forming, little clefts and creases. I love when a big bouncy ball of blubber is also a massively squishy, thickened blanket of meat sagging over their lap and heading towards their knees.

I love when they’re so fat it’s clear their belly dominates their life. Constant eating, constant indulging, constant gorging. I love when a body has to bend to that decision. When someone’s frame is dominated by their gigantic hanging gut. Their posture changes. They look like they’re losing balance. Either they’re bent over, desperately trying to lift up the weight and the heft, or they’re leaning back, arduously holding that massive sack of a gut up to hang off their hips. 

When someone gets this fat, the level of fat when they can barely fit through doorways or on chairs or in cars, you must wonder who is in control: them or their belly? 

Are you worried that this is you? The answer is simple. Look down. Does your heavy, blubbery gut fill your lap and your vision? Does it keep your thighs warm? Does it make every outfit a game of stretch out or bulge over? Do you love to squish it, and lift it, and flop it onto things? 

Still not sure? Answer this question: what would you do if I left your favorite food unattended next to you? A pizza hot and ready. A delicious cake, cut. Unwrapped sweets. A bowl full of your favorite pasta. A large, cool, creamy drink. I didn’t say it was for you. I just left them there and went out of the room. 

How long could you wait? Would you wait until your belly gurgled and groaned for them? Would you persevere until your mouth watered and a drop of drool escaped your lips? Would you be able to stop yourself until the phantom taste becomes inseparable from the aroma of your favorite foods and desserts? They’re in arm’s reach. 

Just stop worrying. Listen to your belly. Reward it. It’s your monument to your gluttony. It’s your reward for being a devoted, dedicated listener. It’s your prize for being so good at eating. It’s your trophy, your badge of honor, your pride for succeeding in proving you really are in tune with your desires. 

It’s your life: a hungry, sagging, soft, meaty, lardy, blubbery gut. Just keep eating.

You’re really good at eating. 

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WHHHHHEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWW

I always liked the intense intimacy of holding someone's neck. Especially in a gentle manner, as if to say "hey, I got you, I'm actually protecting your neck."

But, as with anything, feedists win this battle too.

Snaking my hand under someone's double chin. Pressing down her puffy chest fat to weasel my hand closer to what we can actually define as whatever is left of her neck.

And then having my hand wedgedddd in there. Held in place by fat. Not even an upright grip, like you would hold a cup. Nope. A flat grip, your face has gotten too plump for any other way.

Let's stay like this. Cutesy. Watch a show. I'll stroke your body with my free hand, curled up against your overflowing hips and belly. Deny the tension and oddity that is me holding you in place while treating you like a queen.

Until I mention grabbing a snack for you. In the most minute, delicate manner, my grip tightens. You would like a snack, right?

Tighter.

You ARE hungry, aren't you?

Tighter.

I've been so enamored with you these past few weeks. Noticing all of your recent plush fat spilling out of your clothes.

Tighter.

I'm going to feed you until you wind up struggling to breathe, just as you are when I hold you in my hand like this.

Release.

Catch your breath. Think about what I'm about to force onto you. It won't be long before your being overfed once again.

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sometimes the things you guys write are too real and i love it

like this is just a literal description of my binge eating lmao

Is it so bad that I want to wipe away someone's years of societal training to be polite or graceful when eating?

I want to be ignored, in a sense. Please, shove more food into your mouth when you haven't even finished swallowing the last bite. Talk with food in your mouth. Be noisy. Catch your breath in between bites, grunt.

No one is asking you to be outright sloppy, but let it show how much food shuts you down. Whatever is on TV in front of you fades away. Those worries and thoughts and ideas on your mind give way to your instinct to eat.

You know I'm present, it doesn't matter. I'm trusted. I'm welcomed into your, quite frankly, horrifying display.

It would be unthinkable to imagine any respected person behaving like this. An academic, a business leader, a favorite artist or performer.

Yet you keep eating. Every meal turns into this. One little morsel and you can't stop, not until your body literally begins to shut off. Conversations? Your personality? At best, you'll moan without a trace of sexual or intentional expression. You'll just be laid up, like a pig. A heavy, bloated animal. No planning or design behind any of this.

A true act of hedonism. Short term, immediate reward seeking behavior at the cost of any other potential good.

You'll react like an animal to my touches. It doesn't matter that it's your fourth meal of the day (all by my hand and planning). It doesn't matter that your clothes are so poorly fitting that you've been forced to stay cooped up at home an alarming amount lately. It doesn't matter that you have gone from this bright eyed, cute, and desirable person and turned into a dull, groaning heap.

You keep eating for me. Over. And over. More of your time becomes eating. More of your waking moments have the mindful, thoughtful persona of your younger self replaced by this addicted, impulsive reality.

When will you come to your senses? Or will I simply knock you off course with more intensity and consistency? Turning you into my personal item. A curiosity. How far can someone let themselves devolve into a glutton? When is it appropriate to strip away your humanity? No more name. No more worldly experiences. Blindly reacting to the one thing your body understands. Food. And more of it.

Your body becomes unrecognizable to yourself and others. The sensation of eating yourself stupid remains the same, but your body simply refuses to stop growing. In a way, you are rewarded for dedicating a life to mindless, piggish, greed. Each pound gives you justification to give up on another, fruitless experience in life. Going to the park. Traveling. Having the autonomy to do things on a whim. Your increasing size encases you in this lifestyle.

I'll look at you one day. Fattened beyond belief. Features entirely rounded and consumed by fat and rolls. Mouth agape. Wanting more.

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health issues from obesity just make me fucking feraaallllllllllllllll yes please pls pls pls

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Belly just a sack of organ killing lard and I couldn't be happier. Playing with that gut jiggling around nothing better. This pig is heading down a serious path of destruction between her gluttonous habits mixed with me pushing her more and more her body and health have not a single chance failure is the only option

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relationship goals 🥰🥰🥰

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i need someone to ruin me.

not in the fun flirty way. i mean actually, literally, take me apart. feed me until i can't walk without waddling, until breathing feels like a chore, until my body is nothing but soft, heavy proof of your obsession. i want to be swollen with indulgence, stuffed past reason, spoiled beyond recognition.

i want to wake up in a haze of hunger and syrup-sweet affection, only to be greeted by another round of force-fed breakfasts in bed. i want you to look at me like i'm your prize pig, your project, your possession.

i want the teasing, the pressure, the constant, creeping growth. i want the way you’ll sneer when i say i’m full, the way you’ll smile when the scale creaks louder every day. I want your hands everywhere, greedy and proud, shaping me like clay into exactly what you want.

no escape. no diet. no mercy. Just feed me.

i want to be broken—beautifully, thoroughly—by appetite.

i want to be yours in the most obscene way possible. a thing you keep fattened, pampered, and pumped full of calories until i’m unrecognizable. until i'm helpless. until my body is a bloated, quivering monument to your obsession and my surrender.

don’t just feed me. force me. hold me down and pour milkshakes past my lips until i’m whining and leaking and begging you to stop, even as my gut growls for more. make me cry from fullness, then coo in my ear about how proud you are. tell me i was made to be this soft, this greedy, this round.

push me to the brink. watch me struggle to lift myself from the bed you’ve made my prison. slap the side of my belly and laugh when it jiggles for seconds after. make me wear tight clothes just so you can watch them give out, seams snapping like they’ve finally admitted defeat.

you said you wanted a pig? then feed me like one. treat me like one. no dignity, no limits. spoon after spoon, bite after bite, until i’m gasping and drooling and too heavy to fight you. make me need you to eat, to move, to breathe.

make me forget who i was before you turned me into this.

just a swollen, spoiled, overfed mess made for your pleasure.

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I don’t hear muscle atrophy being talked about enough and that’s a damn shame. Regardless of your current weight, it’s never too early to start degrading your muscles to nothing. Don’t just be obese, be fucking useless for anything but pleasure.

Nothing better than asking your pet to flex and seeing no difference. To grope their arm fat and detect nothing but useless blubber then bone. To truly know this thing that used to be a person will never retake control of it’s life.

Don’t care if you’re 500lbs, 350lbs, or 180lbs. If you need help getting up, can waddle around comfortably, or can run a mile. You need to stay in bed or on the couch. Limit your movement to the bare minimum. I want you tracking your daily steps and keeping them below 1000 a day at the absolute maximum. Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, that number will decrease until it reaches zero. Permanently.

No lifting anything except junk food to shove down your throat. Fruits and veggies are out along with lean proteins. Starve your muscles and glut yourself on simple carbs that fill you with calories but leave you starving again in an hour without actually giving any nutrition. Overfed and undernourished.

There are some really huge but quite fit and active fatties out there. That’s not what I want for you. I want you gasping for breath, red in the face, legs burning walking up the stairs at only 250lbs. Unable to meaningfully participate in sex without almost passing out at 350. Immobilized hundreds of pounds earlier than your peers not from sheer weight alone, but crippling weakness.

Start today. Drive instead of walk to the store. Switch to remote work or give it up entirely to be a dependent pet. Make yourself so useless you can never recover and only spiral further.

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A sea of fat and she is stuffing her face to get even fatter for you.

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TW weight loss

I have no where else to vent about this so I'll vent about it here.

I am on semaglutide, one of the weight loss/diabetes injectables. It's always a bit of a point of friendly contention between me and my partner bc obviously he wants to enable me as much as possible, whereas for me this kink is... just a kink. a bedtime fantasy. BUT when I'm horny, oh boy do I want to make it all real.

so I've been known to skip a dose here and there. in the past it's been fine, I can just eat more without getting sick which is awesome.

this time..... oooooooh fucking boy it was AWFUL!!!!!!!

I don't think I ever really understood what the "food noise" people talk about meant. I figured I'd just have more cravings, think about food more, want to eat more... that's awesome and totally the point right? NO.

it was a horrible overwhelming anxiety spiral. I wasn't just having cravings I was having an attack on my psyche by every possible craving in any possible dimension. I wanted this, I wanted that, I needed a little bit of anything and everything and I had nothing available so it had me frozen in place and overwhelmed bc I couldn't decide what to get bc there's so many options and nothing was enough but everything was too much and I didn't know what to do and all I knew was my brain was spinning and I felt fucking miserable.

it's just food, right? I'm being dramatic? but the way it feels, is that nothing would save me from feeling so mentally, emotionally, existentially empty and needing everything to fill the void - everything that is just out of reach and impossible to attain.

those are the feelings I never want to experience again.

I don't care about weight loss, weight gain, I don't care. THAT is what I need help escaping from. I'm never skipping a dose of this medication again.

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BigBootyBeautyXXL

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The Whole Point

Another thought, when a feedees quality of life starts to dip for me that's when it starts to get REALLY sexy. Like walking is harder, perpetually out of breath. Thighs always chaffing, can't reach past your breast or belly. Driving is harder, basically when there independence starts to sleep and they are reliant on me? That's the perfect situation.

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legsssssss 🖤

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uh oh 😬

sooo.... no one told me bellybuttons can actually be an erogenous zone? that getting belly fucked was a thing for a reason and not just a "tee hee big tummy" fetish thing?

i almost had an orgasm last night just from playing with my belly button and if that's how my brain + body are wired i think...... that just sort of seals my fate

i need to stop thinking, stop fighting it, and eat

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this is outright sadistic (and that's why I love it)

The Diet

Imagine you could close your eyes and fast forward a few years for me. We've been living together for a while now, and the effects of my constant encouragement (and your insatiable appetite) are starting to rub off. How many times have you sized up your wardrobe? I'm starting to lose track.

After another night of binging to the the point of nausea, you turn to me and defiantly state that you'll be starting a diet. I can see the resolve etched into your face, God you're so cute when you're grumpy. I give your stretched gut a pat, smile, and promise I'll do all I can to support you. Too bad my fingers were crossed behind my back...

About a week into your new diet and I can tell you're STRUGGLING. Skimpy salads. Whole-wheat toast. Pathetic excuses for starvation rations in my opinion. Here's where I come in.

Suddenly our pantry is stocked with our favorite snacks. Ben and Jerry's in the freezer. Kettle chips galore. It's for me I say. I'll let you eat whatever organic crap you want, but surely you cant expect me to give up my treats after a hard days work?

As the weeks go by, I sense your resolve slipping. I find cellophane wrappers buried in the bottom of the trashcan, underneath the innocuous spam mail you've organized in the garbage. I find cartons of ice cream with different expiry dates than the ones I purchased, expertly replaced to appear as if you haven't been plowing through gallons at a time. I'll give it to you, you're clever. Too bad you're not as clever as me.

So here we lay, me tracing your beautiful stretch-marks, brand new since you've started your diet. I rest my head on your pillowy shoulder and sigh contentedly, knowing tomorrow will be another trip to the mall. You need a new pair of jeans after all.

Yes darling, your diet has been nothing but a BIG success ;)

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Juicy Jackie

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good LORD these are the legs I want