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I have a feeder on standby

Hopw these make me boost my weight up to 500

I ask, prodding the newly formed pudge around my midsection.

“Of course, of course. I love that you’re gaining weight for me but I’ll help you put the breaks on before things get too out of hand. I’d just love to see you a little chubby is all. More to grab.”

How could I say no to that? Getting to eat more without worrying while you’re becoming even more attracted to me? Sure I’m not a huge fan of the little outline my belly is forming in my shirts, but it’s not like I’m fat or out of shape or anything. Nothing to worry about.

- - -

“Breakfasts is served!”

I come to groggily, awakening to the sweet scent of your cooking coming through the door. Breakfast in bed was quickly one of my favourite parts of letting go for you, but even still it was becoming a little much. It was perfect when you were bringing bacon eggs and pancakes, but now with the waffles on top I’m stuffed every single morning. Even more concerning are the “milkshakes”. They’re delicious but they’re the thickest milkshakes I’ve ever had.

Not that you mind, clearly. You’ve been ecstatic with how much weight I’ve put on. We still don’t have a scale so I can’t even tell but none of my clothes fit anymore, not even the stretchy ones, so I think it’s nearing time to slow down. I can barely see my feet anymore with how far my belly sticks out.

And I don’t mind the teasing, I know it’s part of what gets you off about this whole thing, but buying me a bra for my “new pair of tits” went a little beyond playful ribbing. It’s starting to get hurtful now, especially since this was all your idea.

- - -

We finally got a scale. I can’t believe you. How could you let this go so far? 107lbs I put on, all because of you and your pampering and your begging.

“Please baby, just a few more”

“I know these are your favourites baby, what harm can they do”

And now I don’t even get the luxury of those niceties. I guess you figure I’m not going to turn back anymore? That I’m too far gone? So now you can get off however you want.

The first time you called me your “piggy”, I was taken aback, but I thought you’d cut it out when I told you to stop. But the humiliation makes it all the better for you doesn’t it?

Grabbing my rolls and shaking them to watch my whole body jiggle. Calling me “lard ball” when I’m struggling to roll myself out of bed. Slapping my “behemoth” ass whenever you force me to waddle for my own food so I can stuff myself to satisfy the massive appetite you nurtured for me.

So this is where it stops, the gaining, the humiliation, all of it.