feedee

I know, I know. It's hot in stories: the near-painful everyday stuffing; the sole fast food diet; the extremely rapid weight gain. But look how tiny you now are. You bought 5000 calories' worth of burgers and fries and you almost made yourself sick. This is a short way to burnout and disappointment.

But thankfully, you have me. I'm going to make sure that the changes are small but consistent. I'm going to get your stomach increasingly more stretched out and ready for overeating. We're start slow, by adding 50 calories to every meal and snack. It feels like almost nothing; a bit more butter, one more cookie... You barely feel it, and you are impatient. I tell you to trust me.

Then, two weeks later, I ask you to eat a small snack just before bed. It doesn't have to be anything heavy; just a handful of nuts will suffice. We're making your body used to getting sustenance the last thing in the evening... and then the first thing in the morning. I also encourage you to drink some fizzy water. Just water for now - but it will still stretch your stomach.

Lastly, let's make sure you move a bit less. I don't tie you up to the couch; it would be too big of a shock for now. Let's just give up on that one weekly gym visit. You can still go, just less often.

A month in, you might still not notice any changes, but I am. You used to almost jump out of bed, and now it takes you a while to lazily stretch and get up. More and more often, I bring you breakfast to bed, and we're starting to make it a habit to eat a big meal, then stay in bed a little longer.

You've consumed too much feedist content over the years to realize what's actually a "significant weight gain". When I weigh you in a month after the beginning of my "treatment", you're up 10 pounds. You think it's nothing. Trust me, it's not.

Because now you're used to eating larger meals. To snacking before bed. I am now entering the second phase of my plan: getting you used to eating the more sugary, more greasy equivalents of your daily meals. You're still so innocently unused to loads of sugar; pop tastes too sweet to you. I encourage you to mix it with water for now, to ease you in. I exchange milk for cream. I add more butter.

One day, just for fun, we count all the calories that this treatment added to your daily number. We come up to 1000 and your eyes widen. You practically didn't notice the difference.

That's when it starts. A cup of heavy cream before bed. Sweet dreams, honey. A full package of Oreos consumed in a day, and you barely notice them gone as you graze. I now keep snacks always within reach. I am about to tell you to stop going to the gym altogether before you yourself tell me you don't feel like it anymore.

We upsize your wardrobe. You're excited. It's two months later and 15 more pounds on top of the first ten. A small layer of fat coats your stomach. Just enough to make you softer, not enough for many people to notice.

I think you're ready now. I take you grocery shopping and tell you to choose the most caloric versions of everything. No more water in your soda. No more "light snacks". Everything is heavy now.

You're getting hungrier. You keep finding ways to eat more. And you're also lazier. A once walkable distance now requires a ride. You keep asking me to fetch you things instead of getting up yourself.

I organize your first stuffing.

It's not drastic. I just let you sit on the couch for hours and eat. I don't make you painfully full, but I make sure you are always full. The moment you feel like you have some room, I push another treat past your lips. Breakfast flows seamlessly into lunch, then dinner, then supper. By the end of the day, I tell you how much you ate. 8000 calories.

You ask me to repeat this two weeks later.

Months pass. You upsize twice. You're overweight. It's a slippery slope, I rewrote your brain. Your lifestyle is that of a fatty now: you sleep in, barely move, snack constantly, stuff your face at midnight. You got addicted to sugar and fat. Your movement slows down. It's like you're trying to conserve energy. Your birthday passes, and you eat a whole chocolate cake in two days. That wouldn't have been possible six months ago. A day later, I catch you on trying to tie up your shoes. You're panting, your belly bunching up as you bend.

A year later, I weigh you. You gained 80 pounds in a year. You're all you dreamed of: double-chinned, with a slight overhang, developing a waddle. You don't really need me as a feeder anymore. You're set up for a lifetime of gaining weight.

watching them eat until their so full their belly protrudes from their shirt, exposing a sliver of skin so round it looks cartoonish. gently rubbing and coaxing moans/burps from them in order to feed them more. pressing an ear up against them to listen to the churning while they digest. realizing how full they are from the sheer lack of give their belly has.

Hey @growingbelliesshrinkingclothes, why did you reblog some transphobic trash?

I need somebody to fatten me up for porn.

I need someone to look at my pics and imagine me twice as fat, and get so fucking mad I'm not that big already that they track me down, kidnap me, lock me in their basement, tie me to a chair, and just force feed me slop.

Day-in, day-out.