Fluffy Feedee

you deserve a sweet treet

(mild inconvenience)

how unfortunate. another?

(mild inconvenience)

aww.. another?

another?

another?

another?

another?

wow, you're stuffed..

Oh my goodness! You've gotten so big since the last time I saw you! I mean, just look at you. Your belly is stretching out your shirt, your thighs are rubbing together, and your chin is practically buried in your neck rolls. How could you let yourself go this badly?

You're just so fat now. Don't you care that everyone thinks you look like a massive fucking slob now? I bet your arms can't even reach around your fat, bloated belly anymore. Your shirt is obviously 2 sizes too small, especially with that fat belly hanging past it. When was the last time you could even see your feet?! Do you even know how big you've become? I mean, it's almost incredible that you've managed to gain this much weight.

To be force fed until I'm sobbing and whimpering. Bonus points if those cries are muffled by more food.

To be tied up and stuffed until the ropes are merely decorational because there is no way I'm escaping by that point.

To be funnel fed shakes after every feeding to make sure my belly is absolutely stretched to its limit.

To be fucked from behind while I eat cake on my hands and knees. Make this a regular thing until I am too fat to do it.

To get so fat I can't do anything but eat and grow even bigger for you.

To be weighed and measured often to ensure I'm gaining fast enough.

To have photos taken of me at every milestone so I can look back on how much I've gained.

To be collared like a good little pet only to outgrow every collar. Eventually, these will be hidden under my chins, but I still want the reminder that I'm owned.

- “you should really lay off of the treats, honey. you’re getting kind of chubby.” as you shove the last bite of a donut between my lips.

- “that’s a big portion baby. you know all that food is just gonna make you softer and rounder, yeah?” after you’ve placed the plate that you’ve piled high for me, on the table.

- “fuck, you’re a heavy girl, huh? since when did you get so big?” as you grope my hips and hanging belly after telling me to sit on your lap

- “jesus princess, might be time for a larger size again, you’re just spilling out of these things” as i try on the pants you picked out for me, knowing they were way too small.

- “wow angel, you’ve really fattened up over the holidays, haven’t you? maybe you should start thinking about that diet.” after you’ve stuffed me with another holiday meal fit for 5.

That’s your cue to disregard my feelings. No more praise, no more encouragement, make it known that you are in charge of me.

I don’t control what happens with my body, you do. You decide how big I get, and you decide when I stop.

Humiliate me. Embarrass me. Flaunt your sleek, toned body to make me understand that I could never turn things around. Get it through my thick skull that there’s no going back to thin for me anymore.

Make me feel like such a useless tub of jiggling lard that any attempt at exercise would only be met with mockery. “Look at that fatty on the treadmill, even their double chin is bouncing”.

And if none of that works, if I keep insisting, then you just take me by force.

Tie me to the bed and lock me in my room, take away my mobility until you can feed me and feed me and feed me into a big ball of shame and blubber. Make me so fat and embarrassed of myself that I’ll never want to show my face outside again.

tell me i can only move around our flat on all fours. that i have to be naked 24/7.

make me eat my food out of a bowl or off the floor like a good dog.

feed me treats constantly and then frown about how big i’m getting and threaten to put me on a diet.