Alternative FFA

Kink Identity: FFA. Occasionally, feeder. But, I'm much more of a fat admirer than into feeding someone.

Sexuality: Straight cis woman.

Relationship status: Married. (And loyal - can't believe that needs to be said).

Location: New England.

Hobbies: Writing, music, driving my cars, reading, and drawing.

Point? I write fat fantasy stories; and have been for 24 years. Occasionally, I'll rant about real life issues.

Open to DMs? Yes, but I don't engage in any kink encouragement. I'm not a feeder for anyone but my husband, and I am not looking for a feedee.

Enjoy access to my stories: I have MANY that have never been posted on here. I have a subscription platform. There are lots of stories that are completely FREE if you're a Patreon member. Subscribe to get immediate access to new content! (Or the ability to get your own ideas written in my style - although I have limits.)

You eat dinner and your undershirt starts to ride up, displaying the stretchmark riddled fat belly that you've created. But you like the feeling of the cold air tickling your exposed and sensitive flesh. You don't even try to pull the shirt down. It's as if you want your belly seen.

You wake up in the morning, earlier than you need to, feeling ravenous. (But of course you're starving, the way you eat before bed, you're too full to breathe... your stomach is a suffering empty vessel the next morning). You gluttonously stuff yourself with everything you can. What else would that extra time before work be for? Coffee? Hell no.

Your appetite is impressive. But then, you try to dress for the office, grabbing the largest clothing you have, and you can't even button your shirt. You had just purchased these button down shirts, how do they no longer fit?

It looks like it'll be another day off for you... but will you spend it buying clothes that fit? Or will you push that to another day so that you can indulge your gluttony? For you, time off is an invitation to spend the day ordering take-out and treats.

You're going to lose your job soon... I don't think the "I can't find clothes that fit me" excuse is going to work with them too much longer.

Outgrowing clothing is one thing; but eventually, you'll waddle into the house at the end of the day, plop yourself on the sofa, and it WILL collapse beneath you. It's really only a matter of time until all the furniture fails on you and suddenly even the doorways themselves will become restrictive.

But, for me? You outgrowing your world is such a pleasure to watch. You always seem surprised as you become too fat or too heavy for one thing after another.

But I'm not. Not one bit of me feels shock or surprise. I see the way you eat. I see the way you avoid exercise (you won't even stand from the couch to get food if I'm there... you let me use my energy; after all, we can't have you expending calories).

You want to be immobile. Your beautiful deep voice has never literally stated your goals or desires on that front. It's that unspoken, elephant in the room. But your actions certainly shout out your need to become as fat as possible.

I can't keep my eyes off of it. But you know I love it. The way I stare at you... you know you're sexy. And the bigger and fatter and more jiggly you get... the more I can't take my eyes or hands off of you. They aren't stares or touches of digust or disappointment. In fact, my positive attention only makes you want to get fatter and outgrow everything in your life.

At this point? Go ahead big boy... outgrow your clothes and waddle naked around our house. Outgrow our furniture, force me to buy bariatric items. Outgrow our home... make me spend tens of thousands widening doorways, reinforcing flooring and the structure itself.

Part Three - Stocking Their Homes

Posted on Patreon for my loyal paid members.

----------

Do you want to join the fictional competition? Do you want hints on gaining through a fat fantasy story? Here it is. ♡

----------

All five contestants were ready to dive in. The filming of all the food entering their homes and being put away was extra footage that would be interspersed with their first meal. Peter and Billy were the two that dived in quickly. They began to cook. Bacon was sizzling, ham was baking, bread was toasting. They were over the moon to be able to cook this much. But could they eat it all?

That was the cliffhanger for the first episode. Clips of multiple plates of food, all five men diving into it like their life depended on it. But the filming faded out. What the viewers saw was the stocking of their fridges and pantries; them force feeding themselves, groaning and moaning as they started to get too full to breathe.

All five men were eating as if their life depended on it. But some were better with the camera than others. Peter and Billy seemed to take first place when it came to gluttony and providing the content the viewers would squirm over (positive or negative reactions). Theodore, Broderick, and Robbie were more hesitant. They wanted to stuff themselves, certainly. But the camera caused anxiety. They waited... waited until the camera crew left for the day. Then they indulged.

The producers had to chastise them for it. The whole point was to film every pound gained in this gluttonous extravaganza. Them needing privacy to eat was against the whole premise of the show.

----------

I know that what I post turns you on. But you've got to be patient.

Just like if you're waiting on a feeding... you need to wait until I've cooked for you.

You need to wait until the funnel system you desperately hope for is delivered.

You need to wait until you're so full that you struggle to breathe.

My content is like that. You need patience. If you want it, it will come. But, you fat gorgeous person, you need to learn patience!

Do you want to meet the characters?

The five men who have signed up to become 600lbs?

Or even better, do you want to read about them gain; getting fatter and fatter until they can win this competition upon hitting 600lbs of fat?

Who will hit the goal first?

-----------

Wanting My 600lb Life - The Game Show

It's began.

Part one is free for any Patreon members following me. All other chapters are for my loyal paid members.

---------

The show was greenlit. And Frederick began to look for contestants. He dove into all the fat fetish websites that he could. He found himself aroused at quite a few of the fat male gainers. But he did his best to push his desires from the forefront of his mind. He was there to find contestants, not to get off on these beautiful male gainers.

The 5 contestants were chosen. They were all male. No doubt, due to Frederick's sexual attraction to fat men. Maybe if the first season of the gaining reality show kicked off, the second season would feature women.

But Freddy did his job. There were over 400 applicants, desperate to become 600lbs. He, and the other producers of this show, approved the five:

Peter - starting weight at 205lbs

Theodore - starting weight at 196lbs

Broderick - starting weight at 201lbs

Robbie - starting weight at 198lbs

Billy  - starting weight at 202lbs

Now, it was time to figure out the rules. It was time to figure out how to film them gaining. Would it be episode after episode of gluttony? Or, would small games be instituted?

---------

Is there any other way to go about it?

What are "limits" exactly, when you want to be as fat as possible?

Is it when you reach "impossible"?

What should I put effort towards? I'd appreciate votes.

3 days to vote towards what you'd like to read from me!

Wanting My 600lb Life - a weight gain version of the reality show. Where multiple contestants try to be the first to hit the 600lb mark. They all start at a similar weight: between 150-190lbs. After all, we don't want someone larger with an advantage against the other feedee contestants. But are they really feedees? Outside help in this gaining competition is against the rules. It's up to the contestants to get as fat as they can as quickly as possible.

The Life of Mycroft Astor - a strong inspiration from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories. In the Sherlock Holmes universe, Mycroft is his older brother. He's very large, which is why he doesn't do field work like Sherlock. But he's also a better researcher and has more advanced deductive reasoning than his famous brother. Sherlock does show up at Mycroft's house to get advice when he can't figure out a case. There is also the hint at Mycroft having governmental power. (Honestly, just Google the character, it's as if he was created just for fat fetish content, but about 150 years ago). No one has picked up the batton with that yet. At least from what I know.

What's Behind The Curtain? - A usual story line. A female caregiver hired by the state. She's only assigned this patient due to the fact that no one else will take him. He exists in what was once a dining room. It's now a bariatric paradise. He has an industrial bed and harness, he has a handle extending from his ceiling that will hold him. But, as he's gotten impossibly obese, will that handle hold? Will the ceiling collapse? Will he outgrow all the tools that he put into his home to adapt at his size?

Hiding His Desire - A morbidly obese artist. He wouldn't define himself as such, but his artistic talent can't be ignored. He reaches a weight where he requires help. But his desires are discovered when his caregiver finds a sketchbook of graphic fat illustrations. She had assumed that he wanted to lose weight. She was there to help him diet and exercise. His absolute abhorrent attitude towards that goal should have been the hint. But when she finds that sketchbook with graphic drawings of morbidly obese bodies... she realizes that he wants the exact opposite. He wants to become as fat as he possibly can. Will she help him towards that goal?

---------

Go ahead and vote on what you'd like to read!

---------

I entered his room. Apparently, at exactly the right time to hear a loud belch escape him. Was he making room? Or was this gassy emission normal for his size? He looked towards me, slightly disappointed that I wasn't carrying plates of food. I had to explain, "Your meal is ready. It's just going to take a few trips to bring it all in."

I began to set up the folding trays next to his bed. I set up four of them, two on each side. He could only watch. Then I ran to the kitchen. I had to take four separate trips to bring all the food to him. I caught him already starting to stuff himself on the second trip.

Was I encouraging something dangerous? Was I just as guilty as the circus staff? Providing him so much food that gluttony was the prime definition?

On my fourth and final trip bringing food into his new bedroom, he had already finished a few plates. I was in shock. But, apparently this was normal for him. I would have to adapt to this new normality. I sat next to his bed, in a large burgundy upholstered chair. He looked at me, expecting something. But I didn't pick up on it.

It had only been maybe a few seconds of silence until he asked, his mouth full, his voice muffled, "Why are the doorways so big? Did you have a large person in here before?"

I had not. In fact, the house came that way. Doorways had been expanded... but I assumed it was to make the main rooms seem bigger and more spacious. Not one bit of me thought about the previous owners, and just why they had invested money in expanding the entryways. It certainly wouldn't have been to accommodate a morbidly obese man. But, it turned out that way, didn't it?

I replied, "Actually, this is how I bought the house. I don't know who lived here before me. I just knew, when I saw you, that I had a home that would fit you. I just had to get you out of that circus."

His mouth was full, but his deep voice, muffled by the food, said, "I don't know how to thank you. I haven't had a home in a very long time. In fact, I began to think that the carriage I resided in was that final place... the final bed that I'd eventually die in..."

Tears fell from his face, "I... I... had no expectation of a rescue, or a re-housing. I... oh God, Mary, I am so grateful."

I reached out towards his fat and bloated face, gently wiping the tears from his cheeks. He gasped, getting a breath between the sobbing. He seemed to finally control his emotions and he said, "Let me just finish. I don't like to waste food."

At this point, he stopped using utensils. His fat greasy hands just reached for the food and he pushed it deep into his mouth. Between the swallowing, the burping, the gasping and moaning... I started to realize what I had gotten into.

I was a caregiver. I would have to be a feeder as well. The term "feeder" wasn't really a thing. There was no obvious fetish definition of it at this point in time. But, it was an unavoidable reality with a man this fat.

---------

Oooo, somebody didn't like my response! I'm actually laughing. I'm sorry if you felt I responded in "anger", you've definitely misread it, if that's the case.

Also, dunno how you can read "anger" from a text response. I'm like the least angry person alive. If you interpreted it as anger, maybe step back and check yourself.

But I'll do the same. After reviewing my response... this is my answer:

I do have a dry sense of humor. I could see how, if someone was unsure, they could read my sarcastic humor as anger. But it's not my intention.

Edit:

Also, being an FFA on any kind of platform... I'm bombarded with sexual asks and messages that I occasionally do respond slightly aggressively towards. When you're dealing with so many guys hitting you up for sexual reasons, despite me saying everywhere that I can that I'm taken... it's an instinct.

-Insert Smiley Face-

My girlfrend went off to India, returning in a few months. When we'd met, I'd been lean, skinny.

I picked her up at the airport and the first thing out of her mouth was a puzzled look on her face, followed by "You got fat!"

We went back to my place. Clothes came off.

"You've got breasts!" she laughed.

She was obsessed.

"Your stomach is HUGE! Are you pushing it out?"

"Haha, no."

"Wow. You look 6 months."

Got on top of her.

"You're so heavy!

She squeezed my new love handles as I fucked her.

She got off when I ate her pussy. I eat pussy really well.

We ate a meal.

"Your stomach is hanging," she said. "I've never slept with a guy whose tits are bigger than mine."

I was so turned on, I can't even tell you.

I think "Wow, you got fat!" are the hottest four words on earth.

The humlity of giving up your lean, hard, fit body and growing a fat, flabby one where girls no longer check you out, and you have a pad of fat surrounding your penis. Everything falling, collapsing. No muscle tone.

A lot of chips!

Walking around the room naked and seeing her watching, and she can't believe how fat you got.

This isn't a question. Why is it under "asks"?

Is this a fantasy? Did it really happen?

I live with my fat man. Everything I post about my relationship is real.

But people can't tell the difference: is my post real life? Or is my post a fantasy? I keep it vague. I go back and forth... a fat fetish fantasy, then a real life anecdote.

Access to the first parts of these very long stories are for free members, but if you want access to every chapter, you'll have to be a paid member.

Times are tough though. Which is why I have many free stories, and subscribing is also free.

Check it out!

----------

I entered my large kitchen and thought, Oh gosh, do I even have food for this man? I certainly did, if he had a couple hours to wait while I cooked. But the noise that came from his belly told me that he needed something now.

I made a choice. I'd quickly make him a few large sandwiches, then I'd start cooking a real meal. It was after midnight. I wasn't expecting him to need a full meal, but I was truly ignorant at the job I had taken on. They tried to warn me: the circus owner, Ethel... but I was so determined.

I wasn't going to give up. I was going to adapt and give this gigantically obese man a home. If it required constant cooking, then I'd take care of tonight, and hire a chef in the morning.

I made some large sandwiches. Would they even fit in his mouth? Of course they would. His appetite had to be impressive given just how heavy and fat he was. I put them on a few plates and walked them to his room. I knew I'd have to explain why he was only getting sandwiches, so I think the first thing from my mouth was an apology. Was that even required? I brought in the sandwiches and said, "I'm sorry it's not enough... I just knew you needed to eat now, so I've made these to tide you over. I'll be cooking you a full meal as you eat these."

He looked pleased. As his fat hand extended to grab the plates, he said, "Oh that's wonderful, thank you."

I felt the anxiety fall from my shoulders. I was doing something right. I left him with his sandwiches... but had to look over my shoulder to see if he could get his mouth around them. My God, the bite radius of his man. He opened his mouth and half a sandwich disappeared in one bite. I felt that anxiety again. That rush that said, "You need to start cooking, NOW. Cook everything you have. He needs to eat. He'll probably always need to eat. There will be no breaks. Just constant consumption."

---------

But it's because you know. Your belly knows also. You're about to be stuffed into a coma.

Technically, you are already extremely full. You've eaten enough for a family of twelve. But that wasn't dessert. Dessert was different.

What's the rule? If you don't finish your dinner, you don't get dessert. And I don't think that has ever happened with you. Dessert is your favorite part: a large shake made of heavy cream, vanilla ice cream, protein powder, and even sticks of salted butter. You loved the taste of the salty-sweet vanilla concoction I always made.

As the months passed, your meals got bigger, and so did your dessert. I even had to buy a bigger blender to save time. You were sucking it down so quickly I'd have to use it twice just to make enough.

But now, the larger blender was getting put through its paces, that's for sure.

.........

I stood by your door, holding the large funnel filled with your nightly dessert drink. Funneling it into your mouth and belly was more arousing for you than just drinking it from a cup. In fact, the funnel system was your idea.

I held it above you and your greedy fat hands grabbed the tube, stuffing it deep into your mouth. You mumbled. I knew what you were trying to say, "I'm ready, open it! Feed me!"

I turned the knob that was pressing the tube closed to prevent spillage. That familiar creamy white fluid began to flow and you swallowed as if your life depended on it. The dribbles of cream from the sides of your mouth just told me you weren't swallowing fast enough. My small thin fingers swiped what your gullet missed and pushed it into your mouth. You could only moan in pleasure and touch your belly. Your hands held all that fat as if it was precious, your fingers stretched out across your flesh. As you got fuller, I watched as your belly became impossibly bloated and distended, it was as if it was growing beneath your fat hands.

You needed to burp. I could tell. But with that tube deep in your throat, you couldn't. Did it make you pull the tube away? Certainly not. Even if was just air trapped in your belly, you loved being too full to move... too full to burp. You were going to finish your dessert. Burping will have to wait until later.

It wasn't just the freedom to belch that you were looking forward to. It was your nightly belly rub; and if you were capable, your nightly fuck. As you've grown, my own mouth has had to take a new role in the relationship. Your belly had become so large, and the flesh surrounding your dick was just as fat. It began to diminish any ability to feel you inside of me. Not to say that there weren't occasions where you were capable... it was just getting more and more rare.

But I'm a giving partner. You ate so much, you were barely able to breathe with all the food in your stomach. The one thing you deserved above all, was to cum. If conventional sex was now too difficult... I'd suck on you until you came.

---------

I found the man in the stupid tophat. He was busy with other attractions. I told him, "when you have a moment, I'd like to speak with you about Ichabod."

He grunted in annoyance and shooed me away. He said, "Wait until the show is over, I'll come find you."

I replied, "Well, you'll find me with Ichabod."

"What, in his carriage?"

"No, out back."

"He's supposed to be in his carriage! If I'm advertising a fat man in the freak show, he should be there to gawp at! If he's not, I'll fire him!"

"Well, that works out then, doesn't it? He's coming with me. He won't be joining your group on the travel to the next stop tomorrow."

The circus director looked shocked. As if I was robbing him. He said, "And do you just happen to have a replacement for him? He's the star attraction, I'm not letting him go for free."

I asked, "How much then?"

"How much, what?"

"How much money do you need to let him go?"

......

---------

But, there were fat admirers then... I'm so sure, whether they were vocal about it or not.

It was a period in time when the object of my desire would be in a traveling freak show. There were no fat rights then. In fact, there were no rights for anyone who wasn't a white male landowner.

But, will I rescue him from the circus?

---------

This story is free for members of my Patreon. Even free members! There is a lot of free content, besides this.

---------

The night came. Patrons filled the campground. Ichabod had been returned to his trailer. All I could do was pay for another ticket and walk the grounds. I came across a few friends. They were more concerned that I was out without a male escort than anything else. But I didn't care. It was about Ichabod. I wanted to see him.

I joined the crowd filtering through the freak show section. The laughter and shock at those in the carriages... it seemed cruel. Especially when we reached the Fat Man. He was the last attraction at the end of the Freak Show carriages. The viewers only had awful things to say...

"Ewww, that's so gross!"

"What a freak!"

"How'd he get so fat?!"

I stayed silent.

Ichabod noticed me. He made eye contact. All I could do was smile and wave. But it looked as though he felt betrayed. I had helped him bathe earlier in the day, why was I watching him with the other patrons?

I could tell. So, I exited. I needed to find some of the staff from earlier. There were ropes, pinning off the private back area for the human attractions.

I snuck under one. I knew the freak show would continue until midnight. So, was I supposed to wait? Or, would I find the bravery to go into his carriage before the circus closed for the night?

Of course, I found my way. The bearded lady, who I now knew as Ethel, was taking her break. She saw me and said, "Looking for Ichabod, dear?"

I nodded. I asked, "is he going to be in his carriage all night getting gawked at? Or, do I have an opportunity to visit?"

She said, "given how heavy he is, he stays in his carriage. But, I bet if you encouraged him to leave and take a break, he might listen."

I said, "Okay, but, how am I supposed to get him out of the carriage?"

Ethel seemed to be thinking. She said, "Here, we'll do it together."

She whistled to a few of the circus staff and they came to her. She said, "Let's give Ichabod a break. There's a young woman here to see him."

They recognized me from before, and they agreed to help him out of the carriage.

The door opened and I could only watch as he waddled out. Two men, holding his arms, veins popping out of their heads from the muscular effort it took to just assist him lifting his own weight.

I heard him grunting and moaning in effort on his own accord. But when he laid eyes on me, he seemed to calm his breathing.

They escorted him to a large metal bench - probably the only piece of furniture outside of his carriage/trailer that could hold him.

I smiled at him and asked if I could sit beside him. He looked so suspicious of my intentions, I felt guilty, despite knowing my intentions were good.

---------

Now, I enjoy going shirtless, knowing this BLOB of fat is hanging down and these full-on breasts go swinging as I walk! And I find the looks of disgust or laughter hot! :) So thanks....may I please have another 71 pounds?

Is this even a question? Or some kind of fetish story you want written? Cuz I've basically written it already.

But hey, props to you if you're really determined to be a big boy that needs feeding and attention. You find the right person and it might be too intense. Us FFA/feeders can tell the difference between someone who wants a fantasy experience, versus someone who is invested and wants to truly gain and be big in real life.

"You're such a glutton. What a fat man you're becoming!"

"Come on, you fat fuck, keep eating. Show me how determined you are!"

...

Oh you love being teased while you're fed. But is it really a tease if everything I call you turns you on?

I constantly order food for you. You insist that you're full, except you can't help but keep eating. Whether I'm stuffing it into your face or not.

You say, "I'm not feeling up for it." As you literally push a slice of pizza deep into your gullet.

You burp and moan... still insisting that you don't want it yet. It's, "Oh, I'm just tasting it."

But honey, if you eat all of it... is it really tasting anymore?

You always keep up your appetite. You can pretend denial all you want. But your unstoppable gluttony says otherwise.

Keep getting fatter. Keep eating. Feel that pleasure and eroticism as your mouth is full of food and I call you a fat fuck.

If you eat enough, you know your reward. I'll stuff you silly with dessert as I fuck you. Aren't you living the dream?