~Hello~

Desperately craving a big, greedy boy to feed. I'd come home to find him pinned to the couch, round bloated belly forcing his thighs apart. Evidence of all the greasy fast food he's crammed into his gut scattered all around him, a mess of discarded wrappers and take out containers. A testament to his lack of will power.

He's gorged himself to the point that his comically tight shirt barely covers his swollen, fat belly. Truly an overfed hog.

(part 1/4)

For one, you’d get to eat a lot more of whatever treat you’ve been craving lately. No need to limit yourself, you’d be free to have two of it, three of it, 10 of it, a whole bowl of it, three whole bowls of it, who knows. Maybe that treat for you is maple bar donuts or maybe it’s cookies or maybe it’s ice cream. The point is.. wouldn’t it feel sooo nice to be able to fill up your tummy with as much of it as you wanted without a care in the world? Or maybe you could care a little bit, like about how good it feels to have a stomach full of your favorite treats. How satisfying it feels to not have to control yourself, to be able to eat to your hearts content.. How it makes you wet, knowing that full, stuffed feeling is gonna make you a little bit softer tomorrow.

You’d also have changes like outgrowing your clothes. Probably more than a single size. If you don’t have much of a tummy to start, you’re bound to gain a good bit of perfect plumpness around your midsection, along with everywhere else of course. Your thighs will press together, your tummy will rest in your lap, your tits will swell up more than you thought possible. You’ll have small little things happen to you, almost like life is teasing you for your gain — your growing belly or ass will knock things over, you’ll suddenly find tying your shoes is harder than you remember, or maybe it’s more difficult to reach around your your expanding waistline when you’re trying to get yourself off.

Accept that you just aren’t meant to be able to fit into regular clothes, aren’t meant to be able to stop after one portion, aren’t able to walk a mile.

Take the easy path. Give up. Don’t push yourself to be anything more than the lazy glutton you are. Forget restraint or self betterment. Reject anything uncomfortable and hard.

Do you really want to work a soul draining 9-5 every day until you’re too old to enjoy life? Wouldn’t you rather be a pampered pet, fed and allowed to bed rot and scroll TikTok for as long as you want, your only responsibility hitting new weight milestones? All you have to do is give up.

If you have a reading of a piece of art that enhances your experience with it or you wanna create new meaning or you just wanna have fun who cares. Any reading of any piece of art is compromising on the author's vision anyways. The "perfect" version of that piece of art only exists in the mind of the author and is compromised by forcing it into reality anyways.

not in the fun flirty way. i mean actually, literally, take me apart. feed me until i can't walk without waddling, until breathing feels like a chore, until my body is nothing but soft, heavy proof of your obsession. i want to be swollen with indulgence, stuffed past reason, spoiled beyond recognition.

i want to wake up in a haze of hunger and syrup-sweet affection, only to be greeted by another round of force-fed breakfasts in bed. i want you to look at me like i'm your prize pig, your project, your possession.

i want the teasing, the pressure, the constant, creeping growth. i want the way you’ll sneer when i say i’m full, the way you’ll smile when the scale creaks louder every day. I want your hands everywhere, greedy and proud, shaping me like clay into exactly what you want.

no escape. no diet. no mercy. Just feed me.

i want to be broken—beautifully, thoroughly—by appetite.

i want to be yours in the most obscene way possible. a thing you keep fattened, pampered, and pumped full of calories until i’m unrecognizable. until i'm helpless. until my body is a bloated, quivering monument to your obsession and my surrender.

don’t just feed me. force me. hold me down and pour milkshakes past my lips until i’m whining and leaking and begging you to stop, even as my gut growls for more. make me cry from fullness, then coo in my ear about how proud you are. tell me i was made to be this soft, this greedy, this round.

push me to the brink. watch me struggle to lift myself from the bed you’ve made my prison. slap the side of my belly and laugh when it jiggles for seconds after. make me wear tight clothes just so you can watch them give out, seams snapping like they’ve finally admitted defeat.

you said you wanted a pig? then feed me like one. treat me like one. no dignity, no limits. spoon after spoon, bite after bite, until i’m gasping and drooling and too heavy to fight you. make me need you to eat, to move, to breathe.

make me forget who i was before you turned me into this.

You didn't think it would come to this, did you?

When I suggested some "pet play", you were probably expecting me to slip a cute little collar around your neck, to pull you around on the end of a leash, and maybe make you bark for me while I use you like my own personal fleshlight...

You had the wrong kind of pet in mind though. I didn't want a cute little puppy or a sweet, gentle kitten... I wanted a pig.

A big...

...fat...

...disgusting hog. One that would oink and squeal for me while I feed them endless snacks and grope their thickening belly paunch. One who wouldn't even notice how tight their clothes are getting because they're too lost in their own gluttony to think about what they're doing to themselves. One who eats until their fullness makes them horny, then allows that horniness to turn into even more hunger, until they're so stuffed that they can barely move...

I didn't think it'd be this easy to turn you into one, though. Honestly, I think you were made for this, fatass. The way the world around you just slips out of focus when I put food in front of you, and doesn't return until you're a grunting, oinking pile of lard on the floor, licking the plate clean after another proud display of gluttony for your owner...

Were you ever really a person, or has this greedy hog within you just been waiting to show itself all along? I don't know why I'm bothering to ask you. I haven't heard you speak in anything but oinks in so long... You're probably too far gone to even hear my words. Nothing more than a greasy, slobbish mess, crawling around at their owner's feet, waiting for their daily slop to chow down on while their fat ass gets fucked from behind.

You're not my partner anymore. You're my pet. My possession. My Hog. Not that Hog remembers ever being slim, or athletic, or disciplined. Hog just knows how useless and pathetic it is now. How disgustingly greedy and animalistic it let me make it. It used to obey a strict diet... Now it just obeys its owner when they slide a stick of butter down their throat and tell it to swallow. Hog is so good at doing as it's told now. Hog is too broken to have any shame any more...

Does it remember how long it used to spend picking out a cute outfit for our dates? How it would fret about looking chubby in its new top, or being too embarrassed to order itself a burger? Thank goodness those days are behind us... My Hog doesn't even think twice when I take it for a walk through town, crawling laboriously on all fours with a leash attached to its collar, its massive curtain of soft belly brushing the ground beneath it as I lead it to bakeries and cafes and restaurants, buying it treats for it to enjoy while passers-by stare at the disgusting, naked pig being paraded around. I don't know if Hog can hear their awful comments over the sound of its belly slapping against each thigh with each step, but maybe its best that Hog doesn't know what a gross and mindless glutton they think it is.

I should feel bad for turning my partner into my own perfect pet hog, but to be honest... I really don't. Because I realised long ago that despite everything, you did all this to yourself. All I did is put the trough in front of you; you ate up all the swill, all by yourself. You saw an opportunity to become such a fucking useless bucket of blubber and you grabbed it, never letting go, even now that you can't move because your gelatinous gut has grown too big and heavy for you to even crawl anymore.

I remember feeling huge in the first picture. Stuffing every once in a while, maybe once or twice a month, taking pictures and being shocked at how bloated I'd look even though In normal life I was still fit, and I certainly didn't look very big when I wasn't stuffing. Posting them here like some little secret and then forgetting about my blog for weeks at a time was kinky fun, but that was it.

In the most recent picture from just a couple days ago, I am literally double fisting McDoubles. I do that pretty much everyday. I check my blog here dozens of times a day. My knees hurt from carrying and lifting myself and I am verifiably obese all day everyday. My life now revolves around eating.

something makes me so feral when I see a feedees age in their bio anywhere from 18-22, its something about how you are in the best shape youll ever be in your whole life, your metabolism as high as it'll ever be, and you're still that fucking huge? Good god...

It's different if you're in your 30s, at that point everyone gets a little chubbier, maybe you give in and let go and you're really letting those piggy tendencies work their magic on that fat gut of yours.

But you're seriously telling me you're 19 and 250+ pounds?? You have to have put some serious work into being a fatass like yourself.

That would make sense for those grazers to be big with how they spend most of their time eating, but that's missing one thing. That they're born small. A calf is tiny. Most dogs would be bigger, if not by height then by weight. So how does a calf grows to become a metric ton as an average?

Milk. And not only milk. Cream. That fatty part of the milk, that stays on top of it if you leave whole milk undisturbed. Thah liquid, drunk daily, turns cute small calfs into behemoths of far cows.

So that's why you're gonna stock up on cream and drink that stuff every night, so you grow into the nice cow I want you to be, the nice livestock you are on the inside, the fat fuck that's gonna moo for me to ask for even more.

Haha thought this was a non-sequitor huh? Think again till you won't be able to think at all when all your dopamine receptors are fried with pleasure as I force another bottle of cream to your lips and grope your far gut.