Look at yourself, you used to be so in shape. Your colleagues admired your consistency in the gym and strict diet regimen, but now they just see a pathetic, fat girl with a huge belly and a jiggling, stretch-marked body. You used to have a visible six-pack and could plank for minutes at a time, but now your soft, distended gut touches the floor as you get on your hands and knees, stuffing your fat face like a prized cow. You would go to the gym every day after work, and count your calories to ensure you looked and felt great. Now you can barely endure the walk into your office, breathless and panting, breaking a sweat after you waddled in from the parking lot, carrying a McDonald bag and some calorie dense, sugar laden coffee drink you suck down like a mindless animal.
Your days of squats and deadlifts are far behind you. Just sitting up or bending over is a lot of work now, your fat gut sticking so far out and weighing you down. Every time you bend over, your corpulent rolls and soft flesh pull your body downwards, and you strain against your bloated ball of belly fat to even put on your shoes.
What started as a winter bulk to increase strength seemed harmless, but as you grew softer, you liked the filled-out look. It’s just a little more cushion and it makes my ass look great, you would tell yourself, adding another serving of mashed potatoes or overindulging on ice cream. Your appetite grew, and you ate more and more, pushing past your calorie limit sooner every day. You felt stronger at the gym, lifting heavier, but your cardio and ab routine seemed to slowly fade away. You made excuses to skip a quick run or do some sit-ups, instead taking a day off. Soon, you only went to the gym once or twice a week, and the grocery store became your new daily stop after work.
Your co-workers never noticed the first few pounds, everyone was dressed for winter, and you liked wearing oversized sweaters and loose pants. When spring came, however, you shed the clothes. Everyone said you looked so good filled out, the guys stopped to look at your ass when you strutted down the hall swaying your hips. Others were jealous of how your boobs seemed to go up a few cup sizes without gaining much of a belly at all. You reveled in the compliments and felt secure in your new, filled-out form. On weekends, you were invited out by the men and women of your workplace. Drinks flowed as you laughed with friends and were hit on by guys. You had always liked beer and could now drink more thanks to the extra food you were putting down. The liquid calories always left you bloated and puffy the next day. Rarely did you let a lucky man come home with you, but you never kept them around long, preferring to touch and go as you pleased. You noticed some men were now interested in you who previously weren’t, and felt powerful, able to attract anyone you wanted. You became the center of attention when going out with your girls, the hot one with curves, and one who could drink you under the table. You started frequenting bars, enjoying the looks and free drinks, and forgetting about work. Your performance slipped, and your boss, although enticed by your figure, decided to take matters into his own hands to get you back in place. You were put in charge of several client files that would drain your time and leave you too busy socializing as often, swamped with work, and spending late hours at the office, surviving off of vending machines and coffee or donuts from the breakroom.
Soon, the gym was a distant memory, and your overindulgences grew more irrational: Desserts after dinner, midnight snacks, larger lunches, and more takeout. Your thighs grew closer together and your belly got softer, hips wider, boobs squishier, arms less defined, you were turning into a chubby office girl instead of a fit, attractive office siren like you used to be.
After a few more months and your boss flooding you with more deadlines and spreadsheets to complete, you were almost fifty pounds heavier than when you started gaining weight. You felt like you were losing your grip on your body, and even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t be able to shed the pounds. You tried to get back into the gym, but work drained your energy. You stayed up late, grazing on snacks and pecking away at the computer, drinking more iced, sugary coffees to boost your energy. Maybe some sweets for a sugar rush to focus or a carb-filled treat to get through this report became a frequent excuse.
Soon, your stomach stuck out past your tits and was slowly widening further. Your thigh gap was gone, and they were slowly touching more every day. You felt as if your center of gravity was shifting as your ass blew up and fanned out, making you clumsier and prone to knock things over with your newfound flesh. Your face was softer, rounder, cheeks a little puffier as you kept up your bad eating habits and tanked your sleep schedule. Those vibrant eyes full of energy were now softer, dull, and monotonous as you ate and worked. Coworkers stopped giving you compliments, instead gossiping about how you started gaining weight and going out less. Weekend outings at bars were infrequent and lonely now, no more free drinks from hot guys hitting on you, and your coworkers seemed a little less friendly as you grew softer and wider. You stayed in a complete homebody, having large takeout dinners and watching shows until the sun peeked through the blinds on Sunday, and you realized you spent another weekend drinking wine and stuffing your fat face. You felt so guilty for letting yourself go, but the temptation to stay this way was also beckoning. You loved treating yourself, and the feeling of being full had started feeling good, almost necessary, recently. You craved the greasy, unhealthy foods and sugary treats you indulged on so often. You’d started masturbating more frequently, chasing dopamine trails of food and gluttony with intense self-pleasuring and a “well-deserved” nap afterwards. You began to wonder if something was wrong with yourself; surely nobody should enjoy eating so much, the intense feeling of being full, and the addictive sedentary effects it had on you. You searched the internet, ghosting blogs and websites showcasing those who treated these activities as beautiful and sexy, you saw posts from other men and women who actively bloated themselves up, showcasing their new rolls and stretch marks. Some models were alarmingly huge and had partners dedicated to feeding and caring for them. You felt jealous, envious of those who had been rewarded for their behavior, while you were shameful and full of regret for being so fat. You wanted the praise and adoration they had, so you made an account.
You posted a before and after picture and some photos in your underwear, showing off your growing belly, how it slouched down and stuck out forwards, its soft, heavy underside covering the top of your panties. Red stretch marks surrounded your deepening belly button, and your hips had puffed out, forming a fat ring around your sides and connecting to your belly. You had a roll on your sides, it showed no matter what you did, now you were so fat. Your soft arms and plush boobs spilled out of your bra, you never bothered to buy new ones recently, just letting the fleshy cleavage and thick vein lines strain to escape their tight prison. Your bra strap dug into your backfat, and your sides were wide and flared, arching out and curving if you sat down. You gained fans quickly, praising your chubby look and flooding you with questions. You didn’t know what a feedee was or a gainer, you just said you felt like you enjoyed eating and were curious about the community. The attention and comments made you feel validated, and happy people were so eager to compliment and praise your thicker body. You posted more, talking with other bloggers and slowly exploring the hidden taboos of the feederism community.
One day, a user messaged you, asking if you accepted donations. You had never thought of doing so, but the idea seemed pretty enticing. You set up a PayPal account and put it in your bio, saying anyone could buy you a meal if they wanted to. You started getting donations a few times a week, requests for you to buy a pizza or get some fast food. You figured, why not? I was already gonna eat out anyway, so I may as well let someone else pay for it. You posted pictures once or twice a week but remained more of a snooper. Reading other people's blogs and stumbling upon some erotic stories and sexy videos of plus-sized content. You read a couple of them, POV humiliations, and detailed descriptions of how fat you'd gotten. It felt weird to read, but you also started feeling a little turned on. You would take your donation money and buy lots of takeout, then stuff yourself inattentively as you read stories and get aroused, usually ending the night with some intense self-pleasuring and a deep food-induced slumber. The next day, you would wake up ravenous, eager to get the work day over and repeat last night all over again. Clothes seemed to shrink, and you decided to just get baggy skirts and jackets, loose cardigans and flowing dresses, so you could be more comfortable and hide your body at work.
After a few months of staying in, blimping up, and becoming more popular online, you were addicted to the eating and cumming, and loved the attention the community would shower you with. You started liking how big you felt, your heavy belly covering those fat thighs, bloating into more soft, sagging fat as your gut grew rounder and wider, sagging further down. Your legs are swelling up, almost touching at the knees, and your rear is nearly doubled in size, losing its shape and growing wider and jutting out like a small shelf. You liked how your inner thighs rubbed your pussy, leaving you turned on and suddenly hungry from being horny. Your face grew soft and flushed from your red, chubby cheeks. You noticed your arms were pretty chunky now, too, wider and without any definition. You felt like an official chubby girl with a belly, and you liked it. You looked forward to big, greasy meals and flaunting your growing body online. The calories you inhaled daily were multiplying rapidly, and your gain accelerated. It had been so long since you weighed yourself, but fans were begging for a definitive number. You had to go out and buy a scale, which may have felt humiliating if you didn’t think it was so hot secretly. A big, chubby girl with a hanging gut waddling up to check out a scale, to see just how fat her lazy lifestyle had gotten her. You got home and put the scale down, hesitating before stepping on. The numbers went back and forth, slowly getting higher as you craned your neck past your wide, outstretched belly. You finally saw the numbers settle, one hundred and ninety-three pounds. You sit in shock and awe, you used to weigh one hundred and twenty pounds just under a year ago, you had no idea you had bloated up this fast, the rush was exhilarating. You were getting wet just thinking about how much you’ve been eating to get so fat, grazing every day for months, to somehow end up going from a fit girl to some puffed-up balloon of your old self.
The office hours diminished after you finished your quarterlies with a high sale and management rate; you were rewarded with more vacation time and a pizza party. Your coworkers sat around in the break room, enjoying a slice or two, but you had a whole pizza to yourself, slowly devouring the entire thing as everyone watched. You talked to friends but had no clue your greedy homelife was showing as you torched the whole pizza as if it were nothing. Some watched in disgust while others looked on, concerned for your well-being as you threw back a few soda cans, tossed the empty pizza box, and returned to work. Some of the girls mentioned gym classes and pilates, but you declined, saying you already had plans or were busy after work. The only things you did after work were eat and sleep, occasionally rubbing one out while you held your soft belly and shook it. As more time passed, coworkers grew less inviting and more mutual, no real connections or similarities between the average employee and your greedy, fattening lifestyle. You felt slightly alone, but still had your followers and friends to message. You enjoyed some roleplay with a few people, talking about extreme weight gain and your goals, sometimes being humiliated and teased or praised and encouraged for your gain. You liked all of it and kept going back for more.
Your body was growing too fast, you couldn’t keep up with your expanding size as you outgrew your clothes, skirts, and leggings, unable to contain your thick legs and hefty gut, while your work shirts lost buttons and your bras became too tight, digging into your growing upper body. You struggled to hook bras now, your arms were too fat, and your back was growing wider; your rolls made it so difficult to move. Shoes and heels became tight as your feet swelled up, and your whole wardrobe was practically two sizes too small. You couldn’t afford to replace everything you owned, and continuing to wear these clothes wouldn’t last more than a week or two at the rate you packed on the pounds. Even your favorite mini dress was beyond small on you now. Its black and white stripes make you look even wider as the fabric stretches to its maximum load. It was so tight on your overfed gut, you could see your belly button’s deep hole outlined by the fabric; it rode higher on your overfilled thighs, revealing more pale, doughy flesh than intended. Your overly ample backside was almost peeking out after taking a few steps, flaunting the dimpled flesh on the bottom of your burgeoning, squishy ass. You needed a whole new wardrobe sooner rather than later.
It finally happened one day. Your favorite dress, which was so thin and comfortable, tore. You were walking to the office printer when you bumped into a table corner, which put a small hole in the dress, and you never knew. As you waddled back and forth and shifted around in your chair, wobbling your gut or getting up for another donut, the hole grew wider and wider, revealing your stretch marks and plush hip crease as you sat, unaware. Your boss called you into the office, asking you to explain some editing you had done on a client's portfolio. As you rumbled in, his eyes widened as you obliviously shuffled your fat feet into his office, plopping your fat frame into a chair. He seemed flustered and unaware of how to handle such a situation. You noticed his glaring eyes, how they seemed fixated on your hips, you looked down and gasped, realizing you had been showing off your fat legs and gut’s side view all day. Your boss gave you a jacket and asked you to leave, take a few days off to get clothes, and consider maybe getting a gym membership.. You went home that night, soaked downstairs, it was so humiliating, but so hot. You took photos and documented your experience on your blog, bragging about how fat you were to rip a dress and how the public shame was so invigorating. You came quickly while reading the comments of followers degrading you for being such a clueless blimp and dumb piggy.
