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I’m so high I’m 4 Popeyes sandwiches in. Fuck I need to be so fat so fat my heart is yellow with lard

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Just give me weed,food and cuddles and I’ll be your death piggy and let you ruin my body

#death feederism

garlicbrednmore

I want to relinquish all control over my own body to some rich feeder who only sees me as a plump sex toy.

They feed me, house me, provide for me and all I have to do is submit myself to their control. Make a complete pig out of myself 24/7.

I have to stuff myself to the brim daily, my belly taut - stuffed painfully full.

I must be naked at all times so that my consistent growth can be admired.

I am required to be available for their use at all times, my mouth, my widening ass, my belly button as it grows ever deeper. I would say my dick, but under this arrangement that will disappear under my fat pad pretty quickly.

fuckablegut

Free use feedee

keep-eating-pig

You had such a pathetic, terrified little face when the doctor told you about the diabetes, the dangerously high cholesterol, and that blood pressure ready to burst... and now look at you, my greedy fucking pig—shoveling literal butter down your throat like the disgusting hypocrite you are.All those pathetic promises about losing weight, fixing your life, and “getting healthy”... every single time they crumble the second I snap my fingers. You always end up right back here: on all fours at my feet, wheezing and oinking like a brainless animal instead of using words. It’s so fucking funny how low you’ve sunk.

Anyone else would be scared shitless. They’d hate themselves. They’d actually do something. But not you. A part of you is terrified, isn’t it? Good. I want that fear simmering in your gut. But your filthy pleasure is stronger, pet. That desperate need for my attention and that bottomless gluttony drown out everything else, don’t they? You’re completely helpless now, trapped inside this bloated, ruined body you can’t stop feeding.

And we both know exactly how this ends for you, pig… but you’re going to keep crawling back and begging for more anyway.

bagelmiester

No I don’t feel sorry for you. You should’ve never asked to dip your toes in if you didn’t want to end up where you are now. I don’t care if you can barely think for yourself anymore, let alone move, because you wanted this. Whine all you want, but I know the struggle turns you on, the reminders that you’re beyond reason and beyond any point of return only make you more desperate to keep going. You can pretend, but the last time I got you on your feet, you couldn’t have been happier to be off of them again with a tube in your mouth pumping melted ice cream down your throat. Or what about when you stopped fitting the sizes in normal stores, or the time you ripped your clothes in public, or the time(s) you got stuck in that booth? Some of the redness in your face might’ve been embarrassment, but I see through you, most of it was as unbridled lust for more. Every time you try to prove me wrong, try to convince me you can still stop or have any sort of control, it just shows me how much further I can take you… how much further you’ll take yourself. Even now in your little moment of clarity, I could slide this pizza in front of you and you know what’d you do? You’d go right back to being the greedy piggy that you’ve been up to this point, you’d forget what we were talking about and start shoving slice after slice into your mouth like you’re drowning and each little hit of grease is a breath of fresh air. How else would someone let themselves get fattened into such a blob of a farm-pet that their own family can’t even recognize them anymore? Your only directive anymore is greed, you crave abundance in every aspect of your life and now you can’t go without it. Besides you’re out of breath just whining about what I’ve done to you, and you’re clearly trying so hard to think of your next words it’s almost pathetic. It’s not so easy to go back to ‘thinking’ when every second of each day is filled with desperate gorging, is it? Just forget whatever upset you and let the warm embrace of heavy, greasy calories fill you while you remember the only thing that makes you happy… more. Now do I need to start feeding you this pizza or are you going to be a good piggy and start eating it yourself?

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One positive thing about having depression is I could care less if im muscular and hot or morbidly obese and eating myself into a early grave

#death feederism

themfatal

i’m trying really hard to convince her that the bed is the best option for her aching obese body. a hog like her should lay on her side all the time, so that the ever growing belly can rest against the mattress instead of challenging gravity, wasting precious calories.

i’m also monitoring how much time she actually stays in bed. sometimes she falls asleep in the middle of the day from eating a lot and her hours in bed reach like 19 hours out of 24.

can’t wait for the day she’ll try to get up like she usually does and she’ll realize she can’t stand anymore for whatever reason: ankles or feet too swollen up from insulin and blood sugar, or maybe her articulations simply stopped supporting that much of a terminally obese hog.

i want to see the fear in her eyes. i want to hear her heart skip some beats because she thought she’d have more time before failing to stand from that point to the exact minute of her fattening and agonizing end. i want to hear her rasping breath trying to utter some worried words and i want to press the funnel to her lips and simply reassuring her that I’m gonna take care of all her needs without her having ever again to touch the floor with her soles.

i want to dry her tears while i stretch that big balloon stomach out with extremely caloric slop and to listen to her organs struggling to keep up with me and my plans for her.

i want her eyes to go cloudy from diabetic retinopathy, i want to blind her with so much sugar that she’ll not even understand what i’m feeding her. i want her little sausagy fingers to go numb with sugar, i want to put a nasogastric feeding tube into her intestines so that she’ll gain weight 24/7 without even me needing to move a finger for it. well, i’ll do it anyways… i mean, i’ll keep feeding her high calories fried junk while she is fed slop by the tube.

i don’t care if she suffers, she’s mine to do whatever i want with her. she’s my fattening pig, and i cherish her in the same way a farmer cherishes their prize-winning fattest hog.

she’s my pet, hell, even less than a pet sometimes, since i’d never do anything like this to my cat. she’s my first project and i love her so much that she has to expire exactly the way i programmed her to.

until then, i’ll simply keep reanimating her to fatten her up to my wishes.

she cannot die if i don’t allow her to.

(i honestly hope she sees this post before i get home from work, so that i can get to taste some of that fear as soon as possible)

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