If you're 18+ and feedism-inclined, welcome! You can call me Arch š
Minors, disrespectful users, or AI content accounts, please do not interact. I block accordingly.
I'm mostly here to share my writing and enjoy being part of the vibrant, growing tumblr feedist community. I don't DM often, but I'm always happy to hear from you if you want to talk writing or you've been enjoying mine :)
My ask box is always open for your inquiries (and I've quite possibly left an overlong, encouraging anon message in yours if I love your stuff!).
Outside of this space I'm often reading or running (half marathon in the works!); I'm always happy to chat about books, comics, movies, or the show that has you hooked!
These tags will help you find what you're looking for:
my.writing for text posts of my own writing!
my.shorts for snippets of teasing/encouragement I've written!
You can find more of my (longer) writing on DeviantArt.
my.answering for asks and responses!
my.rambling for my various thoughts!
my.reading for reblogs of text posts I like!
my.reveling for reblogs of art/gainers I admire!
Thanks for stopping by! Grab a snack and read something!
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Imagine a woman in thi dress that just comes in two halves, because the sides are "corseted" ā black lace, silver rings. It's meant to have windows of skin. She's in full glam, as beautiful as ever, eating.
It's a sequence over time.
A little bloating as she eats turns into a curvy tummy, turns into a belly, turns into a gut. Her boobs are growing, her ass and hips and softening, her thighs are widening. Whenever a hand is freed from eating it gravitates towards her gut, manicured, dimpled hand rubbing in to relieve some pressure.
The windows of flesh between those laces grow, spill, until it goes from suggestive to wholeheartedly lewd. The lace is used more and more until it can no longer be tied at the hem. The rings at the bottom where the lace normally goes through is forgone to keep the lace relevant and the dress done up. The knot of the lace gets higher and higher the more weight she puts on until one day it can't be used at all on the final town under her arms.
The dress is bend together by the straps over her shoulders. It covers nothing. But she's still wearing it, right? Her hips are stuck under the arms of her chair. She's waiting for it to crack or break but the food keeps coming. She's full but hungry, hungry but full. Her makeup is smeared from all the eating.
But doesn't she look beautiful in her dress?
This is really neat, anon! Sorry it sat in my inbox for so long. I love how the construction of the dress itself lends to fitting at multiple sizes, you've got me thinking about using more clothing descriptions as I'm writing!
What are some of your favorite and most inspirational WG writers/stories?
I've been in a bit of a writing funk this week, but it was fun to put this together! Thanks for the ask!
TheSpookyEnd on DA writes some of my favorite one-shots, they really know how to pace larger weight gains within a singly story and I think I revisit their stories the most. I'd recommend The NEET Trap, Alien Hospitality, and Moving Out.
On tumblr, I'll shout out:
@the-2nd-one who is consistently making me think about some of the classic tropes in new ways. In particular their fixing the population crisis through fattening men snippets/AU sticks with me.
@wafflekink has great premises and blends in flavors of feedism-adjacent kinks really well. Clueless is brilliantly-written wg denial.
@laaauraeve is a pal and writes some of the best-described scenes, this one about a fat husband is a great example.
I've been drawing a lot more inspirations from talking with folks on here more than reading other longerform feedist fics lately? I'm especially partial to text posts where gainers are writing their own fantasies or experiences, those are really what I find myself revisiting a lot!
Maybe you could play off the first few pounds as an accident. Weight fluctuates, everyone knows that.
But an unwavering gain like yours? Your weight climbing pound after pound, month after month, every inch of you softening and rounding out as you ate and ate and ate yourself from chunky to chubby to fat. That paints a different picture. People tend to notice that much weight in such a short time.
Still, you could've settled into your fatness. Just been someone who "enjoyed eating" a little too much. Blamed your metabolism, chalked the pounds up to stress or work. These things happen, everyone knows that.
But you just couldn't help yourself, could you? Not when there was food around. You order more than everyone when you go out, you take a second helping at every meal. The way you eat, it doesn't exactly go unnoticed.
Somewhere along the line, everyone just decided you were a Fat Person now.
Maybe you've always been bigger, maybe this was a real surprise, but now you've been permanently classified with the irrevocable, extra-large label of fat. Showing up heavier than your last visit doesn't draw as many comments. Extra food finds its way to your plate.
Still, you can feel eyes on you when you eat. You're somewhere between a cautionary tale about what can happen if one doesn't exert total discipline over their appetites and a lost cause; a complete casualty to gluttony. You're not going to lose weight at this point, everyone knows that.
Do you think everyone can tell that all this weight wasn't exactly an accident?
That you've been regularly stuffing yourself to the point of breathlessness, gawking and grabbing at every softening inch of your body as the number on the scale grows and grows.
The countless moments you've spent with your hands on your plush belly, feeling it growing heavy and round as all the extra calories started to stick and mold this fattened, truer version of yourself. This greedy, outward manifestation of your hunger for more made unmistakable for everyone to see.
You're not fooling anyone. You're not hiding all that weight.
You're fat. You're going to get fatter. Everyone knows that.
He's standing on the scale again, the thick slab of his fat belly and sides wobbling with his labored breaths as he leans forward enough to read the number. His mouth scrunches a little. Dissatisfaction atop his oversatisfied body.
"What is it?" his feeder asks, coming up behind him and resting a comforting hand on the shelf of fat made up by his love handles. "360! Oh my god, that's great! See, I told you those shakes were making a difference, that's up twelve pounds from last month."
"It'sā¦ not enough."
"Look, you've been literally drinking down as many liquid calories as you can. Every day. Three pounds a week is a lot! I know you want to be bigger, it's justā"
"I don't just want to be bigger," he says, his hands running soothing, longing lines along the stripes formed on his belly where the skin is already struggling to stretch over the fat being packed on, pound by pound. "I need to be bigger. So much bigger."
"We can try adding more fat. Cooking things in butter and maybe fitting another shake in before bed? I know you don't sleep as well on a full stomach, butā¦"
"It just won't be enough," he says, more than a little crestfallen. In the last half-year, he packed on sixty pounds. Ten additional pounds of fat was finding its way onto his body every month. His belly had widened and spilled out at his sides, started hanging lower and pushing out rounder against his shirts. His chest and face were fuller, swollen with fat.
But he needed more. And his feeder knew it.
"There is one thing we could try," his feeder says. His attention perks up immediately. "You remember my college roommate, the one that does that food science stuff? There'sā¦ something sort of experimental. But it's supposed to be pretty reliableā¦"
Not even a full second lingered before he could blurt out, "Yes. Please!"
His feeder goes into the kitchen and brings back a vial of liquid. He looks skeptical. "What is that some magic thing to make me gain a hundred pounds in an instant? Something out of one of those stories to blow me up?" he snorts.
"No, but itā¦ you'll gain a pound a day. Every day that we add this into your food, if you really fill yourself with enough food, it's a metabolicāit doesn't matter, but you'll gain a pound a day with this. Should we try it out?"
He grabs one of his softened pints of ice cream from the counter, peeling off the lid and offering it to his feeder to as a vessel for the compound. "A pound a day, huh? Let's try it out."
True to the claim, when he stepped onto the scale the next day, he was exactly 361 pounds. This one pound felt more exciting than any of the previous sixty; it felt like it came with a near-certain promise of more. The compound made the shake sit heavier in his belly than normal, like his belly was somehow needing to stretch a little more into discomfort to accommodate that one single drop, but the next day brought another pound. And another the day after.
For the first week, he had fun searching for the extra pound on his body with his feeder.
"I think it was a tits pound yesterday, I can feel it," he laughs, waking up bloated on the seventh day and taking the blender into his hands to chug down the new day's shake, giggling through his greedy gulps as his feeder gropes at his swollen chest.
The first month brought thirty pounds as expected, bringing him to a heavy 390. His belly was rounder, his sides were thicker, his rolls and thighs visibly puffier with the as his body tried to allocate the weight around somewhat evenly. He was laying on the couch, his hands jostling his extra fat around, feeling for himself how much more of his belly rested against his widening thighs when his feeder brought the shake in.
"Are you sure we can't try more than a drop? It feels so good being able to tell I'm getting fatter like thisā¦" he asks.
"If we pour the whole thing in, you'll still just gain a pound today, and then we'll be out," his feeder assures him, taking his belly in their hands and coaxing his mouth open to chug down his shake, watching as the creases on his neck bulge with his every swallow. His arms rested more against the swollen bulges of fat at his sides than against his torso. New, pink stretch marks were dappling his skin everywhere from his lower belly to his arms.
"What if I ate more?" he pleads, kneading his doughy fat with such intensity that it seemed he was expecting it to rise.
"I could spoonfeed you the most fattening thing you have in the kitchen, but you'd still gain a pound a day."
Grumbling a little, his plump face in a cute, eager pout, he goes back to tipping the blender against his mouth, making sure every drop slides down his throat.
By the end of the second month, things weren't fitting him well. His underwear waistbands had gotten tight, shirts clung to the roundness of his middle belly and let the bottom hang free. The warmth of the summer demanded shorts, but his thighs could barely squeeze into his biggest pair. His feeder shifted his wardrobe, everything elastic and forgiving and oversized as they continued dropping a pound per day into his swelling form. The 400 milestone had come and gone, the next day's pound always spurring him on.
"You could just not wear anything, you know," his feeder teasees, folding all of the once-oversized shirts that were now frayed and torn at the seams where his fattest parts strained them.
"I'd bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he grins, lifting handfuls of his belly fat to show that there wasn't much exposed at all beneath it, given how much his thighs pressed together and his underbelly sat heavy against them. His feeder's hands admired and soothed every inch of his swelling body.
"At this rate, you'll be too big for anything in your closet next month," his feeder smirks, always wanting more of him.
Halfway through the fourth month, he was starting to feel the extra weight adding up. He was breathless, panting and red in the face from carrying groceries from the car. The exertion needed to move his body these short distances was proving enticing to both of them; it didn't take long for him to be breathless and panting on the couch for entirely different reasons.
His feeder was straddling his lap, pressing against the mass of his belly, with their thumb on his chin to guide it open for his daily shake.
"It's not getting to be too much? A hundred extra pounds isn't enough for my big guy yet?" his feeder asks, dangling the first drops of shake at the blender's edge.
"More. I can take it. I want it. Please," he says, that same eagerness from when he was a meager 360 pounds holding steady in his voice and on his face, "please make me even fatter."
As he gained, every day felt like another opportunity to feel the excessive weight affecting his body in new ways. He felt huge, and knew he'd get even bigger the next day. The next week. The next month.
His feeder started to take care of some of the little things: tying his shoes; holding the blender up so his heavy arms wouldn't get tired during his daily shake; lifting his deliciously-inconvenient rolls out of the way when their mutual affection for his body demanded reaching and spreading to reward his indulgence with even more pleasure. The almost-anxious need he'd felt to push himself to grow and grow at any cost was softened into a blissful relishing of how much of his day was filled with thoughts and sensations of food and his own fat.
Five-hundred pounds seemed like a good point to reevaluate. The number seemed so far off, until it wasn't. His weight climbed by a pound a day, but the sheer size of his body was reaching the point where even a couple weeks' worth of pounds seemed to be lost in the swollen, blob-like mass of his belly or the spreading rolls of soft fat on his sides and thighs. Spaces around his body were closing rapidly: his chin brushed his chest; his side rolls folded onto his butt; his thighs pushed each other apart until his belly was resting on the couch, demanding more and more space.
The shake with the compound would earn him his pound, but he was finding more and more that his love for the immense amounts of food he could eat was retuning. Why, after all, if he was going to gain a pound anyways, wouldn't he want to cram himself full of as many sweet, greasy calories as his growing stomach could accommodate? His feeder delighted in feeding him as much as he could handle.
"You know, five-hundred pounds was last week," his feeder says, tracing small circles on his immense belly as they dipped a spoon to scoop another mouthful of ice cream-soaked cookies into his mouth.
"Really?" he says, shifting a little, his weight making the couch groan, the distance imposed by his belly between him and his feeder making his mind tingle. "How do you know? I haven't made it onto the scale recentlyā¦"
"Because I can count," his feeder says. "The number is practically tattooed on my brain, then I add one to it first thing in the morning. Plus, these are unmistakably the tits of a five-hundred pound guy," they add, lifting and letting his swollen roll of a moob flop onto his belly. "You're 506 pounds, in case you were wondering."
"Mmmm say the number again?" he says, breathing heavily as he struggled to lean forward against his own bulk for his mouth to meet the next bite.
"Five-hundred," his feeder says, tipping the shake into his mouth, listening to his growing moans as the shake filled him and his feeder's hands pressed against the bloat. "Six pounds."
Six-hundred, he admits to his feeder, was really the number he wanted to experience. Big enough that he could retain some shreds of independence and mobility, but enormous enough to struggle a little. The colder winter months were designed for him to lounge on the couch, his body swelling to take up the tiniest bit more of it each day. The warmth of blankets, baked goods, his feeder's touch, and his own soft fat keeping him happy and growing.
He didn't need the scale anymore. His feeder would write the new number on a small dry erase board on the other side of the room so he could see it ticking up. 525. 526. 527. He wondered when he would feel it again. When he would have one of those oh shit moments about how much bigger he'd gotten. But the couch's support and his feeder's care kept him growing with ease. 541. 542. 543. The holidays arrived, with many extra treats for the big guy.
Tracking his weight wasn't enough. His feeder documented the spread of his hips, the size of his arms, the weight of his moobs. He became obsessed with finding new ways to quantify his fatness, eating his way through more and more of his day, most pleased with himself when his jowls were wobbling against his chest fold mid-chew.
The food was the work and the food was the reward.
The compound upheld its part and he continued his growth into spring as the impossibly-big 600 pound milestone loomed.
The weather warmed and with his feeder's help he emerged into the blooming yard at 598 pounds, not daring to sit on any furniture that couldn't handle his weight, feeling the warm rays of sun hitting all of the new fat that had accumulated on him since hunkering down for such a cozy, caloric winter.
"There's not that much left," his feeder warns. He looks up, face smeared with frosting as he eats his "happy 600 pounds" cake by the handful. The vial had a little less than a quarter left. "I should've known you weren't going to spread this out."
He grins. "I am spreading out," he says, leaning back on the couch and letting his fat splay outwards towards the arms, hardly any room for his dedicated feeder to join him to sit without being on or tucking under his bulk.
"What ifā¦ we just used it up," he suggests. He was heavy, very heavy, but he could still manage to move. He'd get some more movement in. The depth of his belly threatened to spill past his knees when he sat, the fat folding into thick, biteable rolls for his feeder to admire and attend to.
"You know I can't say no to you," his feeder says, their mouth locking onto their favorite roll on his neck as their hands interlaced with his and they made a meal of feeding him his shake.
The days passed more quickly now, though he moved less and less. He would accept some help heaving himself up from the couch to take few wobbling, breathless steps to the other side of the room. He spent hours with his hands running across the vastness of his own fat, knowing each day and each shake meant one more pound and one fewer day remaining that he could unwaveringly count on growth.
His hips and thighs reached the sides of the couch at 640. For fun, he showed his feeder how he'd outgrown the entryway to their kitchen by 650. "I guess it's really up to you if I get fatter now, I literally can't get to the blender" he says. His feeder only grins in return and lifts the shake to his lips again, utterly devoted.
Soon he shifted to counting down the pounds he had left to gain before the vial ran out. He estimated 30 left. Then 20. Ten, probably. Was it the 697 that mattered more or the ten?
Everything about his body drove him wild. Every dimple. Every fold. Every spot his feeder touch felt electrically charged by the swelling fat expanding his area of perception. His feeder spared no teasing detail about how utterly cumbersome his body had become to navigate and the intensity of their shared pleasure at those inconveniences grew together, too.
The last drop made its way into his shake one morning, topping him out at 714 pounds. His body was enormously fat, every part of him overflowing with soft, heavy flab that cocooned him and his feeder in their embraces together.
"I'm so, so hugeā¦" he hasps, like an exhalation from the unrelenting journey he'd taken over the last year. His soft arms rested against his front, chubby fingers kneading constantly on his belly as though he needed to physically verify the weight was still there.
"Does it feel like you'd hoped?" his feeder asks.
"Better," he admits, taking the time to feel how the weight encumbered his limbs and begged him to stay as sedentary as he and his feeder would allow. "I can't believe we used it all."
"I can," his feeder says, warmly, their hand patting the middle of his belly to ripple out across the few hundred extra pounds caked onto his increasingly-shapeless body.
"I guess this is it thenā¦" he says, with a sigh. His eyes and hands moving along every inch of his body they could reach, trying to soak in the feeling of being this big, knowing the compound-assisted gravy train had come to an end. His feeder's hands wrapped around him, sinking into the mass of his body.
"What if youā¦ maintained," his feeder suggests.
"You meanā¦ stay this big?" he asks, turning over his hands to survey his arms, thinking about the potential of carrying around this weight for more time.
"Yeah," his feeder says. "It'll take a lot of eating, but I think you might just be ready for that," they said, playfully squeezing the bulk of his cheeks. "You might need to really pile on the sweets and stuff to keep the weight on, but what's a few extra desserts a day when you're seven-hundred gorgeous pounds?"
"Feed me as much as you want, being this big I don't ever need to gain another pound," he says, moving his hips to entice his feeder to return quickly with his vanilla shake, grateful for everything the compound had given him and determined with his feeder's help to sustain all the weight he'd grown during the year.
Every single pound felt like the most important one he'd gained.
~
this one goes out to the ever-inspiring @stonednsoft, whose greed for his next pound is unmatched :)
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iāve always loved the concept of chastity cages. the whole idea of someone having the key to mine is fun too. like āooops lost your key! guess youāre not getting out todayā¦ā šµāš«šµāš«šµāš«
but iām just not a fan of how they look and i know that itād be so uncomfortable to wear one. maybe thatās the exact vibe some people are going for, maybe some actually find them cute and cozy idk, no hate, but itās just not my thing.
i think itād be much better if someone just plumped me up by a few hundred pounds or so and made me grow my own chastity cage instead. instead of hard yucky plastic, soft plushness would engulf my cock. feeling it creep up, inch by inch, each one i lose giving both of us extreme pleasure.
soon, i wouldnāt be able to touch, i wouldnāt even be able to see. iād only be able to feel. feel all the pent up desperation. begging for release, begging for my partner to take care of this endless desire. but theyād say no of course, not until iāve eaten enough for them, not until theyāve cum, not until they finally decide iāve earned it. eating huge feasts, gulping down funneled weight gain shakes, feeling the pressure build and press against my poor little dick. theyād grind against any part of my body they could while i ate, and in between courses force themselves against my face and make me get them off. over and over, day by day, hours and hours of pleasurable torture.
then, after iām stuffed to the gills, after theyāve orgasmed to the point of soreness, theyād finally reach under my gut, push through the heavy pillow that is my fat pad, and give me what iād been craving for god knows how long. i doubt iād even last 30 seconds. maybe for now it only takes a simple reach, but with each pound, theyād need to shove more and more of their arm into my blubber to reach my needy nub. maybe soon itād be the entire arm, maybe soon theyād do that, stretching and reaching with all their might, but they just canāt find it any more. just softness, ever expanding. theyād have to get some kind of a pulley system installed that would lift my gut up while they searched, lessening the distance they had to dig. or maybe they knew such a day would come, when iād simply get too big for both of us to reach, and they shove a long vibrator into some warm sweaty fold next to my cock, the press of a button making me jiggle and moan. thatād be how i got off now, forever, no hands, no mouth, no human touch, just the vibrations and wobbles of my own lard. maybe if i was really good, if i passed some milestone, theyād use the pulley and remind me of how things used to be. but perhaps iād get too big for that, the machine unable to lift, or even if it could, even with mechanical assistance my partner still canāt fund wherever my cock has gone. itās forever sealed, buried in a luscious prison by the thing itās always loved the most. because really, has anything really changed at this point? my fat has always been the thing thatās made me cum. itās always been what i truly craved. now weāve just made it official. if i want them to press the button, if i want to hear that muffled buzz and feel the good jiggle, i better get eating.
Maybe you could play off the first few pounds as an accident. Weight fluctuates, everyone knows that.
But an unwavering gain like yours? Your weight climbing pound after pound, month after month, every inch of you softening and rounding out as you ate and ate and ate yourself from chunky to chubby to fat. That paints a different picture. People tend to notice that much weight in such a short time.
Still, you could've settled into your fatness. Just been someone who "enjoyed eating" a little too much. Blamed your metabolism, chalked the pounds up to stress or work. These things happen, everyone knows that.
But you just couldn't help yourself, could you? Not when there was food around. You order more than everyone when you go out, you take a second helping at every meal. The way you eat, it doesn't exactly go unnoticed.
Somewhere along the line, everyone just decided you were a Fat Person now.
Maybe you've always been bigger, maybe this was a real surprise, but now you've been permanently classified with the irrevocable, extra-large label of fat. Showing up heavier than your last visit doesn't draw as many comments. Extra food finds its way to your plate.
Still, you can feel eyes on you when you eat. You're somewhere between a cautionary tale about what can happen if one doesn't exert total discipline over their appetites and a lost cause; a complete casualty to gluttony. You're not going to lose weight at this point, everyone knows that.
Do you think everyone can tell that all this weight wasn't exactly an accident?
That you've been regularly stuffing yourself to the point of breathlessness, gawking and grabbing at every softening inch of your body as the number on the scale grows and grows.
The countless moments you've spent with your hands on your plush belly, feeling it growing heavy and round as all the extra calories started to stick and mold this fattened, truer version of yourself. This greedy, outward manifestation of your hunger for more made unmistakable for everyone to see.
You're not fooling anyone. You're not hiding all that weight.
You're fat. You're going to get fatter. Everyone knows that.
I would give it all for a continuation of your story about fat pet play with ChunkāI have reread it so many times. Tysm for sharing it š
awww thanks Anon! I do have a couple of ideas in my brainstorm doc about revisiting Chunk/fat pet play, so you may get your wish sometime down the line! Glad you're enjoying that one so much, it was something new and different for me to write :)
Also out of curiosity is there a term for a Feedism role reversal? Like an actual term? It's been plaguing me ever since I wrote about the two friends where one lost weight and fed the other vicariously so he gained what the other lost and I justā I don'tā Augh! It's such a fun concept and if there isnāt an actual term for it then there should be.
Weight swap? Role reversal? Weight switch? Reversed weight? Idk man.
So I don't know at all who put this site together, but there's a huge list of feedism tropes here:
I don't love a lot of the exact terms they choose, but I find the taxonomy helpful when trying to differentiate the core of one story from another.
They might classify what you're talking about as a Yin-Yang Diet, or the Feeder-Feedee Flip more generally. Maybe with a hint of Splash Damage to get the unintentional bit?
People on reddit talk about the "feeder to feedee pipeline", but I like having some terminology to throw around. Curious if you'd pick a different one, let me know!
Feedee who's not necessarily in denial about their weight, but rather the vastness of their appetite to the point of forgetting how normal or "fit" people eat.
They see how little of a portion their feeder/partner eats. They expected one bowl, sure, but... that's a tiny amount, surely?
They ask them if everything's okay. They couldn't imagine ever eating a portion that small and being satisfied.
"You know you're gorgeous, right? You don't need to starve yourself just for contrast or whatever. I love you for you. You should eat properly."
And their feeder/partner looks down at their own plate, which is actually a little fuller than normal and goes, "Huh?"
"That portion. It's tiny. Are you okay? You not feeling well or something?"
"Baby, this is a big portion."
"No it's not."
"Yes it... wait a minute. You don't know what a normal portion size is anymore, do you? You're so far gone, you can't imagine eating this much. Oh my god."
(Etc)
Like idk if it's enough for an actual text post but it's a scenario I play around with in my head a bit lol. What do you think?
I love this coming from a perspective of care and worry from the fatter partner. Not teasing their thin partner about barely eating because they take so much of the shared meals, but their focus literally so zeroed in on their own food, their own portions, and how even these huge helpings barely leave them sated that seeing the pitiful size of a normal serving has them wondering how literally anyone could manage on such little food.
The fatter partner eating all the time and slowly realizing they're rarely so completely full to self-describe as 'not hungry'. The amount of time they spend thinking about food, waiting for their next really filling meal expanding as they grow. While their partner's portions and diet remains pretty constant.
I think focusing on the moment of realization like that is fun. The feedee realizing that they've been given essentially a serving platter compared to the miniscule size of a normal plate. Maybe the feeder likes the contrast, or maybe it's just the natural progression of things as the feedee takes up more of the bed, and the couch, and the table with their meals.
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It would be fun if the other varients of Mark are inspired to try getting fat upon seeing how much your version of him enjoys it.
lensless agrees it would be fun :) but gaining is a lot harder than he thought!! it takes way too long, and you have to eat soooo much... i don't know if he'd have the patience to keep it up alone, but having a buddy helps. mark feels rather fond towards him and nostalgic, even
close-ups and sketches under the cut!
this was a lot of work, i've never drawn a wg sequence before, but a ton of fun to figure out too. i spent a lot of time thinking about what to make lensless eat/how to draw it. but i don't have plans to do something like this again for a while at least LOL
i also kept running into the problem of making lensless too big in the early stages... i had to keep going back and making him smaller so it would look like an actual progression of growth HAHA
Love the idea of teasing someone because theyāre turned on by me being a stereotypical fat gamer nerd.
I mean, all I do every day is park my fat ass in front of my computer and game and stuff my face. Most of the time Iām wearing outgrown graphic tees that canāt even cover my gut anymore, guzzling soda or beer and shoveling snacks in my face while my eyes are glued to the screen. Iāve been addicted to World of Warcraft since the beginning, and play a plethora of other games that Iāve sunk hundreds and thousands of hours into. It isnāt uncommon to hear me breathlessly ramble on about lore and mechanics in between greedy bites and loud, belly-shaking belches.
I also work fully from home - I donāt even have to exert myself waddling into an office or squeezing myself into āprofessionalā attire. There are rolls and ridges in my ass fat from how much time I spend sitting, parked like a beached whale in my XL office chair. Iām incredibly sedentary, out of shape, super morbidly obeseā¦and I just keep ballooning because of my habits and my hedonism.
And youāre telling me that's what turns you on? A nerdy fat fuck like me continuing to grow lazier, greedier, fatter?
I think we can both agree that's pretty pathetic. Adorable, though.
You should feed me about it.
Maybe if youāre lucky, Iāll let you worship my belly and fetch me snacks while I raid.
I know you normally write about male gains so maybe this isn't up your street but imagine a celebrity who's considered a sex icon. Her fanbase is primarily men crushing / thirsting over her, she drives them crazy.
Her nudes leak for whatever reason, as is a big problem irl with female celebrities. She takes an absence from the spotlight, she says, to focus on "herself".
Word gets out to only her die-hard fans that she's now doing adult movies.
Imagine a guy, a fan of hers, tuning in obsessively. He keeps up to date but... she's putting on a bit of weight. He figures now that she's not in the spotlight anymore she doesn't need to worry as much. Maybe the leaked nudes stressed her out.
It's definitely her. Not an impersonator. She keeps gaining weight.
She makes an appearance in articles again because of paparazzi but it's just a scandal of her noticeable gain. That confirms it for him that it is her.
She keeps gaining.
To him, her beauty doesn't wane, which scares him. Her breasts and hips get bigger, her thighs widen, her fingers and feet chub up, her belly starts to pool. Most of the time, she's spilling out of the outfits the porn directors have appointed her. Her roles change from the girl next door to the apartment next door to the role of a MILF. It's a gradual change. The mom jeans, 90s-ish updo, and copious cleavage in overtaxed leopard print still leaves him breathless. In that one, something new happens though that he doesn't pay much mind to at the time:
She presses the guy's hand to her naked stomach as she's riding him and says, "It's tough being a mom. Look how big they made me."
A day or two later he checks her online. No kids. He understands it's just for the plot, that it wouldn't have been real, but he had to check. Why put attention on how big she is? The title does say "Fat Curvy MILF"... Hm.
That isn't her biggest. She keeps going. Going. Going. She goes from "curvy" to just fat. She's still curvy in a way, but it's not what you'd think when you see her.
She reaches the point of barely walking in her movies. Her arms are thick and jigging, her chest is massive, her belly too. She's pink-cheeked and panting like she's having sex even before the event happens. Every step to this point that he's witness he's been no less attracted to.
If anything, he's harder than he's ever been. He can't get off without thinking of her. He wants to feed her. He wants to feel her all over. Feel the softness of her fat in a discovering way, he's never felt anyone like her before.
The guy in the porn (different guys ā sure ā but the guy of the hour) becomes a feeder. He can barely breathe as he watches it. He's hand feeding her cake and she's moaning like it's pleasuring her.
He can pretend the guy is him.
Thoughts?
This is neat! You're really good at making me think about new slants on some of the more common dynamics/tropes. I like the unintentional slide into the FA/feeder role, it's so often the gaining/feedee person who can't help themselves from sinking further and further into the kink. I can totally see a guy going from mystified by her change to gripping tighter and tighter to his crush on her as she changes and subsumes everything about herself physically that used to be attractive to him and core to her persona.
Can't emphasize enough how brilliant that is to have the "decline" be into fat attraction in general. It makes sense; it's taboo, it's confusing for him, he slowly admits he's not just gawking at her change, he's relishing watching her get bigger and thinking it's weird, but he won't be so rapt by her if she gets any "worse". But he's wrong, and every subsequent time he sees her, she's fatter and he's still into her. I especially love the detail about him reading something sexual into her baseline panting once she's getting to that size, really nailed that type of subconscious eroticism developing for him. Great idea as always!
Also re:me normally writing about male gains...
So funny because I read that bit of your ask and I was like... huh, no I don't? So I went back to my 2026 stories directory post and it's entirely BHM/BHM/SSBHM or POV/genderless stuff written this year and I'm just like huh. I absolutely did not clock that I'm in such a Big Guy era at the moment lol, but I love writing about anyone getting fatter of any gender :)
I think 1) my perception is that there's a lot less male gaining writing out there and I did at some point I did intentionally try to lean into writing more about guys gaining to explore new premises, 2) I often have Complicated Feelings about being a guy in this online space and I may be overcompensating out of concern that what I write could in even the smallest way contribute to/mirror some of the behaviors/dynamics that make this community difficult (for women) to participate in, and 3) big guys are hot!
Eating Himself Out of Office 3: Epi(mmobi)logue (SSBHM, Immobility)
tw: this final installment includes a man gaining weight to the point of immobility (without further health implications)
if that's not something you enjoy reading, check out the previous two parts! This continues to be inspired by @evermore-xxl's lovely fantasy about her partner gaining a substantial amount of weight after getting an office job. Enjoy!
~
She could tell something was different from that first morning when he was allowed to work from home permanently. There hadn't been much hesitation in his growing habits to this point, especially not when there was food around, but unspoken between them was this new reality that he truly didn't have any reason to hold himself back when it came to eating. And she, for her part, didn't have to hold herself back with offering him up as much as she wanted.
"Is there any more bacon?" he calls out from the bedroom, still lounging in bed and pushing a too-big bite of his ninth pancake of the morning into his mouth, the chocolate chips and M&Ms inside still warm and gooey on his tongue as he chews.
"Plenty!" she says back, stacking another three fluffy, chocolatey pancakes onto a second plate, letting the dollop of butter on top soften for a few seconds before drenching them in sugary syrup. She can just squeeze six slices of bacon on the edge of the plate. He's propped up in the center of the bed with all of their pillows behind his back. The soft, huge mass of his belly resting in his lap, rolling onto itself in the spots where only a year ago there were merely the slightest of folds forming. His plate is balanced in one hand as he eats the last bite, then allows her to exchange the empty plate for his next full one.
"More pancakes tooā¦" he says, giving her a knowing look, but starting in on them without hesitation. He runs his hand across his belly between bites, seeing how fixated she is on the soft vastness of his middle. "Not fat enough for you yet? Trying to feed me until I literally can't leave your bed?" he says cheekily, leaning back and letting her hands slide under to take the weight of his belly in her grasp, drawing her into the bed with him, her body dwarfed by his size already.
She wants to answer openly; to tell him that she's only dreamt about feeding him bigger and bigger as he's grown so much fatter. She thinks about watching his beautiful body expand towards the edges of this bed, to feel him grow soft and heavy with her care. But the increasingly legitimate possibility of it happening almost makes it harder to speak aloud, so she brings her face down to press against his increasingly-stuffed middle and kisses the peak where she can tell he's most full and sensitive. The color flushing in his face brings her back in for another peck, then she marks his belly with a hickey, enamored with the enthusiastic moans struggling to escape his pancake-packed mouth.
The ping from his laptop beckons him to work from his nearby desk, meaning the end of his meal. Sheād suggested moving the desk into the bedroom and he hadnāt argued ā the fewer steps he needed to take at this point, the better. He starts to roll himself towards the edge of their bed, her eyes bouncing between every inch of overfed flab as he moves. He goes to push himself to his feet, but lands back on the mattress with an embarrassed groan, the frame creaking underneath him. With a deep breath, he tries again, this time righting his weight enough to stand, taking a few unsteady steps to his chair.
His work shirt and joggers are draped on the back of his chair, but trying to force the latter on will inevitably make him late for his morning meeting, so he forgoes pants and starts buttoning his work shirt as far down as he can manage. Sheās watching from behind with awe as his wide ass drops into the chair, his thighs naturally spreading to accommodate the space demanded by the sheer size of his belly. She sees his butt and love handles swallow up most of his visible underwear as the weight pools and piles up. Heās entering a meeting with his camera on, pudgy hand reaching for the bowl of pretzels waiting for him on his desk so he can chew through a few during his many muted moments.
She doesnāt try to overfeed him, but heās gotten so, so big that she doesnāt want him going hungry either.
Eggs, sausage, and hash browns at 9. An extra large pizza all his own at 11. Three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at noon. He's ordered two huge burritos before knowing sheād be bringing him those first two lunches, but he doesnāt let the third go to waste once it's delivered. A pint of ice cream. She makes cookies, they barely have a chance to cool before theyāre stacked onto a plate for him to devour. Afternoon bagels and cream cheese. A rather large bowl of chocolate chips that she helpfully refills until heās eaten the whole bag. Huge slices of watermelon. Grilled cheese sandwiches. After every task she completes at her own desk, she finds herself back in the kitchen getting him a snack or something to drink.
There's something about him sitting in there without proper pants that has her mind buzzing. It's not just that he's getting too big for his clothes againāthat's become routine at this pointāit's the raw comfort on display and growing acceptance of his size that seems to have her sneaking glances at every bulging bit of his body when she pops into their bedroom to shuttle his next bit of food.
He's pulled his laptop onto his belly by the late afternoon; the bloat in his middle eased by leaning back in the chair and avoiding the uncomfortable squeeze that comes with trying to reach his desk. She brings him a plate of mozzarella sticks, fresh from the oven, which he readily accepts onto his belly/table ejecting his laptop onto the desk.
"You know, my job does subsidize as many delivery meals as I want during work hours," he says, patting his belly as he chews. "Might as well take advantage of that until they see how many meals I'm packing away and how much it's costing them."
"Too distracting having me in and out during the day delivering you homemade meals, big guy?" she asks, teasing him as she brushes a few crumbs from his front.
"That part I love, but you shouldn't have to spend so much time making me stuff. I'll order more delivery, let you do your work during the day. Besides, probably better for me to get at least a few steps in going to the front door and back, right?" he says, groaning as he pushes himself out of his chair, the arms hitching on his sides. She loves the visible difference in his belly throughout the day: how in the morning it's doughy and wobbly; then by the afternoon there's a firm mass of food inside of his stomach bloating him outward, even at this weight, making his waddle more pronounced as he navigates the extra bulk into his movements.
They order noodles for dinner and he downs so much broth that she can hear his swollen belly sloshing when they finally roll him into the bed. He falls asleep on his side, with her hands tenderly rubbing his belly and back, feeling for herself how big he gets after a day of eating like this. Feeling the accumulating pounds adding into more features for her fingers to explore across every inch of him.
His shift to ordering delivery throughout the day, it turns out, has two benefits she didn't fully anticipate. First, she has the voyeuristic pleasure of watching him wobble into the living room, half-dressed, then grasp at the frame of the front door while he bends over, straining past his own belly enough to retrieve the delivery bags waiting on the stoop. Second, when he orders his own meals, his tendencies towards the heaviest, most fattening foods are completely indulged. It's burgers, pizza, wings, stir fry, sandwiches. Double entree orders; family-sized portions. Everything hot and delicious, leaving him overfull at the conclusion of every meal, but never so full that he balks at any snack she offers him.
The steps from their bedroom to the front door aren't many, but she can hear his panting breaths grow louder as the day goes on. His movement becomes more of a shuffle with every additional meal. He grunts more when he has to bend low to reach the tantalizing bags, his pudgy hand blindly reaching past what his body obscures to find his food. His bloat builds, alongside her bubbling need to spoil him herself, until the workday ends and she can cook an enormous dinner, stuff him with far too much dessert, and delight in knowing he'll wake up ever so slightly bigger the next day.
Five full delivery meals in a day becomes common. He gives her affectionate greetings as he passes her home desk. She watches his body swell rounder by the day. His belly hangs lower. His legs get thicker and rub against each other as he walks. She's almost embarrassed when her breath hitches watching him struggle to bend over more and more. Soon she orders a small table to set outside the front door so he doesn't have to face that obstacle.
The only obstacle he faces, really, is the sheer size of his own growing body. The gaming chair at his desk grows uncomfortably narrow over the next few weeks, though she knows he's growing increasingly wary about it breaking under his weight. Instead, he starts working from their bed, his laptop perched on his belly, one hand clicking and typing away while the other lifts the next bite of food to his lips. He constantly grazes. Sometimes he's still eating through his prior delivery when the next arrives. He insists on retrieving his own meals from the front door, though she's overeager to take that responsibility off his hands, too.
It's after eight weeks of working from his bed when his body makes the decision for him. It's a Monday morning and she's barely logged in for work when she hears the familiar pattern of his approach. The loud groan from the frame of their bed that means he's getting up. The first couple plodding steps, heavy on the floor as he gets his balance. The sound of the bedroom door opening, then the creaking of that floorboard just outside their room thatā
Except she doesn't hear the floorboard creak. Instead, she hears some unusually strained grunts and groans. Leaping up, she rounds the corner to find him there, wedged into the doorway of their bedroom. His belly has pushing forward enough that it's halfway through, but his bulging sides have completely stuck him there. His heavy arms are giving their best effort at dislodging him, but it's no use. The lower sides of his belly have pinched against the frame if he tries to go backwards; his butt and hips holding too firmly to let him clear the doorway going forwards.
She finds herself rather stuck, too. Her mouth dropping open, gawking at just how big he looks.
His overfattened body too huge and wide to clear the doorway. Her mind whirls with thoughts of just how much food he's eaten to reach this point, every bite he'd taken walking him down the path to rendering himself too fat to squeeze out of their bedroom. She would have savored the moment forever if not for her understandable need to help him.
"I guess the dozen donuts I have outside aren't going to exactly fix this problem," he says, his face flushed red with the exertion of trying to free himself and the tingling embarrassment of having eaten himself to this size.
"I don't see a problem," she says, grabbing handfuls of his belly and gently pushing his bulk backwards into the bedroom. He takes a couple staggering steps to steady himself, panting. She strides up to him, pressing herself against his soft, round front, and embraces him, her arms wrapped at his sides as she tilts her head back to kiss him. She leads him to the bed, eases him down, and swiftly retrieves the donuts.
"I'm not getting too big, right?" he asks. Though they both already know the answer. He shimmies to get comfortable, sending tiny wobbles across every gorgeous bulge of his body. She knows he's going to be spending much, much more time in that one spot on their bed and she's prepared to support him in every way she can.
"Never too big," she promises, and opens the box of donuts, setting it atop his belly for him to enjoy as she watches and rubs the tender spots where the doorframe squeezed him.
She retrieves all of his deliveries from that point on, letting him work from the comfort of their bed.
His belly soon begins resting on the mattress between his legs, gradually overtaking his thighs and then his knees, plumping up day by day as she brings him all the food his ravenous appetite can hope for. His thighs thicken and soften with underuse as he swells, happily pinning himself to the mattress with his own weight and her love for him.
True to her word, she never feels heās getting too big. As he widens and gradually expands to fill more and more of the bed, her adoration for him only grows. He outgrows the last of his clothes, his body on full display for her to pamper, prod, rile up, and reward ā no matter how many rolls and folds have to be lovingly maneuvered to ensure heās satisfied.
Sheās often perched against his belly, leaning against it to push delicious food into his eager mouth, praising him for being so good and greedy. She loves that feeling of resting on his vastness, like she could just sink into him.
He eats like itās his job, though he never waivers in his commitment to succeeding at his actual job. He takes meetings (camera off) his chunky arms resting on his blobby chest as he continues using his laptop.
It almost seems silly, now that heās occupying nearly the whole bed with his enormity, that they didnāt realize sooner how much they both love the experience of growing him. They laugh together about how going to the office is what started this whole thing in the first place; the best type of workplace hazard neither of them could have anticipated.
After nearly a year of working from home, he turns his laptop around during his third lunch to show the sizable amount of his annual bonus. Her nails sink instinctively into his belly slightly, the sensation of how far away her touch feels while still being undeniably against his vast belly has him swooning. She knows just where to rest her hands or apply playful pinches that leave him completely lost for works; it helps that those spots are becoming more numerous as he grows.
āWeāre going to feed you that entire bonus, you know,ā she says, clambering up against his belly, careful not to put too much of herself on him. She squeezes his heavy chest, his moobs resting atop the mountain of his belly, feeling him quiver at the sensation. She reaches his plump cheek, pressing her mouth to the warm soft bulge of his chins. āIāll get you a nice big cake to celebrate,ā she promises, kissing him.
āIf we celebrate too much, Iāll outgrow the bed,ā he says, grinning, knowing itās the exact thing to rile her up. He watches her orbit him, her hands gliding to the furthest point of his belly, feeling how close it is to overtaking the edge of the mattress.
"You're just too good at your job, you can't help but achieve enormous success, huh?ā she asks, taking a step back to marvel at how enormous and soft heās gotten. The sheer size of his body is almost intimidating; every inch begging to be loved and felt. She can't wait for every moment they'll spend appreciating how huge he's gotten. Even if he never grows another pound, she'd love him all the sameā¦ but they both know he's going to grow more. He can't help himself.
She takes his chunky hand in hers, his thick fingers barely spreading far enough to let hers slide between. They kiss, then return to their laptops. He continues his work. She continues hers, allowing her focus to drift to a new tab where she orders him that cake. She leans against the side of his belly, both of them content in their work and eager for the work still yet to come.
Heāll never be too big for her, no matter how hard he works at it.
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are you kidding? of course. yes, every time - i want you to keep funneling as much food as you can take into that belly of yours. You should be painfully overfed, your belly should jut out so much from the food that I can barely see the fat hang off of it from how stretched you are.
but also.. ask every time, so your feeder can have the satisfaction of telling you "of course."
