Bread Grrrrl

💙 Anon Feeder

(Gender-neutral first person feeder to feedee fic, some not-very graphic sex stuff)

The first time you needed me to check if you were wearing underwear, because you couldn’t see past your tummy any more, I tore them off and jumped you right then and there. Later, in the afterglow, with your sweat-shined rolls still quivering, I cuddled into the curve of your side and asked if you thought you were fat enough yet.

You just smiled at me and panted, “No.”

The first time you had to stop for rest on a single flight of stairs, I kissed your reddened cheek, puffing with much-needed oxygen. With the taste of sweat still on my lips I asked if you thought you were fat enough.

Your head shook with determination, and you finished the stairs and said, “No.”

The first time chair legs snapped like twigs under your expanding ass, leaving you bruised and wobbling on the floor, I gasped in surprise and arousal both at the tremor your weight made hitting the floor. When I was sure you were okay, I held your hand and asked if you were getting too fat.

You laughed and pulled me down onto your belly, my own personal beanbag chair of warm, shaking blubber, and said, “No!”

(After that we always put two chairs under your ass for safety and balance, a fact I brought up for months after in bed)

The first time you came just from the jiggling motions of your own fat body, your thighs and belly and fupa caressing you to climax, you were so quiet, half out of breath, half shy, that I had to make you repeat yourself. Then I made you repeat the effect, stroking you through a proxy of flab till you were shaking and spent. I kissed you deeply, your plump lips tasting of your last massive meal, the fat of your cheeks and your double chin brushing my face as we shifted, and then I asked if you thought you were fat enough.

“No,” you whispered.

The first time I had to tap out from being underneath you, the first time the massive weight of all your blubber pressing down on me was squeezing me too hard and I needed to break for air, you heaved yourself off of me with deep concern in your eyes. While my chest heaved, the ribcage still visible, not buried under dozens of pounds of blubber like yours, you asked me, very earnestly if I thought you were getting too fat.

I waited to answer until I had caught my breath again, as if I was thinking about it. Then I flipped up onto you, straddling your belly so you could feel my arousal, hot, grinding into the mountain of blubber we’d added to your frame. I leaned close, one hand cupping a massive breast, the other grabbing one of your rolls and giving a little shake, and I whispered “Of course not.”

What kind of things should I eat? I’ve never done one before, let alone filmed one, so have no idea where to start.