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She didn't know how to respond. It flustered her immediately. Yes, she had just been there yesterday, but she didn't expect anyone to notice.

But he did notice, and what's worse, is he let her know he noticed. She could feel her face getting red and she could feel his condescending eyes on her. Was two days in a row really that bad? But it wasn't just the two days in a row. She had been coming here multiple times a week for since she moved there. It was her favorite and it was so close to her house - right on her way home from work, even - and he was the one at the window a good chunk of those times. She recognized him. Tall, dark hair, blue eyes, and a long nose. Very skinny for someone working here. And if she recognized him, it made sense that he would recognize her. Recognize her as the new regular, that is. Another hog addicted to the slop. It was humiliating to be known like that, and she was incredibly turned on by it. Just this simple comment - an acknowledgement - and she was jelly in her seat.

The rest of the encounter was a rushed blur, yet excrutiatining long. She paid in silence, got handed her bag, "Thank you", "Enjoy", "You too", and then she sped home to consume and cum to her own humiliation.

There was an extra order of fries in her bag.

. . .

It took her two whole days to return, but she didn't stop thinking about him for a moment the entire time. She was spacey at work, horny at home, yet unable to work up the nerve to face her humiliation again. Until she did.

The line for the drive-thru wasn't terribly long, but it was moving slower than it ever had. Her heart was racing from the time she spotted the sign to the moment she crept up to the window. When she finally made it to the front, she could have sworn it had ceased to beat completely.

But it wasn't him. It was one of the multitude of greasy teenagers. She was relieved. She was abject. She solemnly ate her meal in the parking lot, but at the bottom of the bag there was an apple pie she did not order.

. . .

She hadn't let herself expect to see him the next time, but there he was. Her heart was back to racing - racing a scary amount for a girl her size - and she was desperate for him to say anything at all. Silently, internally begging him to recognize her. To make any sort of comment. An acknowledgment of her return for more greasy, fattening food.

But he treated her like the average customer - like a stranger. No hint at recognition or the judgment she craved. Just another person allowing themself the indulgence of a fast food meal. She wanted to be the known regular. The one they snicker about after she's gone. She needed it. That is why she was there. That is why she kept coming back.

But then as he reached out the window to pass her the bag. He dangles it out, "Quite the order. Hungry today, are we?" Her pudgy fingers snatched it into the recess of her car, and she was gone.

It was perfect.

Eat, cum, and now an extra fry with an apple pie at the bottom of the bag.

. . .

She was back the next day. Just shy of 24hr since her last lap through. She needed him to be there, and she thanked the lord that he was as her palms got sweaty and her heart began to race almost painfully in her chest.

"Have you been enjoying the treats?"

He was acknowledging her again. This time is was personal. Directed at her. A question. About a reality between the two of them. The idea that he had been the one slipping her the excess calories - that it wasn't just a bizarre mistake - had fueled every one of her orgasms for the last 4 days, but now she was back and he was basically confirming the delusion.

"I . . . umm, but why?" She couldn't look at him. Her eyes were darting around to everything surrounding his face, only ever daring to cross the deep blue gaze of his eyes for less than an instant.

"Well, you're a regular here and you looked like someone who would enjoy an extra treat." As he spoke, even though she was still unable to meet his gaze, she noticed his eyes slide down her body, and she became accutely aware of how heavily her hungry belly was resting on her lap and how tight the seatbelt felt across it at that particular moment.

She was frozen and her face was burning, but after a polite pause to see if she was going to work up a response, he continued unfazed, "Would you like one this time, as well? . . . I think you do."

She could only sputter out the same nonsense she had responded to his first question with, "I . . . umm, but why?" Her brain was out of service, seemingly working on nothing but muscle memory, which itself only seemed to extend back to the previous 30 seconds of eternity.

"Your total is $19.51", and he was back to being just another employee. "Have a nice day."

No pies in the bag this time, but there was a phone number.

. . .

The tiny slip sat centrally on the coffee table the whole time, but she couldn't bring herself to call. She couldn't even bring herself to save the number in her phone, so she kept it centered on her coffee table, taking great pains not to disturb it, lest it get swept off the table, never to be seen again.

She wanted to call so badly. To see what would happen. But she couldn't. She was afraid of flying too close to the sun. She wanted to be called out for the weight she'd gained this year, for her growing fast food addiction, for the way she ate, for what she ate, for the way her pants dug into her expanding and softening flesh, for being such a pig. She needed someone to watch her degradation and call her out for it. To both encourage it, enable it, and chastise her for it. She didn't know if he would do that for her, if he would be her witness, her enabler, her harshest critic, but the thought that he might be was terrifying. What if it was everything she ever wanted?

And that's exactly what the number on the coffee table represented. Because, what if she actually got what she wanted? Would it ruin her forever? With an enabler, would she ever be able to stop?

So that's why she didn't call. The reality of the fantasy was too horrifying. Too enticing.

She went through the drive-thru every day for a week. She was afraid of diving in fully, but increasingly desperate for another quick hit. If they could just continue the game, that would be perfect. Diving in completely was too scary, but the little comments were at least enough to cum to. Just please, one more hit.

Each lap through made her even more desperate, but he wasn't there. He never was. And there were no pies in the bottom of her bag.

. . .

". . ."

". . ."

". . ."

"Hello?"

". . . um"

"Hello?"

"Uhhh, this is the girl from the - uhhh - drive-thru?" How was she supposed to describe herself? She hadn't even thought that far. She didn't know his name and he probably didn't know hers.

She had finally broken down in a fit of unbearable horny desperation. Nothing was working. Feedist porn, enornmous and increasing quantities of food, degrading comments from strangers online, her vibrator. No matter how many times she came, it just couldn't be supressed. So now, lightheaded and delerious, she was finally calling him, but the awkward start had her reeling back to reality and regretting every decision she had ever made.

"Uhhh . . . Oh shit! Oh my god! It's you! I thought you would never call! I thought I fucked up or, uh, like, I don't even know, just like what if I was wrong about . . ." Now he was sounding flustered. She could hear him catch his breath, exhale, and return to his usual cool, even-keeled character. The crack in the persona eased her anxiety a bit.

"I'm so happy you actually called."

"Hehe . . . yeah sorry for the delay. I was - uh hehe - a little nervous . . ."

"Oh my gosh, no worries! Are you hungry?"

"Ha. Uhhh, well . . ."

"Oh, c'mon. I know you are. You seem like the type who always is."

'Oh shit' she thought.

"Why don't you come by and I'll hook you up with something. It's also my break soon, so we can chat while you eat."

"Oh, you don't have to do that-"

"But I want to," he quipped back.

"Well, okay. I'll be over in like 5 minutes."

"Oh, so you live close by. No wonder you're here so often." She could feel a wink though the phone. Even this miniscule teasing - from him, specifically - was getting her wet. "Look, just go through the drive-thru and order your usual. I'll know it's you."

. . .

She was shaking as she came up to the window, and there he was. The fact that this was arranged changed things a little bit. Less exciting in some ways, but much more in others.

It was a normal fast-food-window encounter, except he didn't let her pay and the bag was more full than usual, and when everything was settled he told her to park in her usual spot and start eating. He'd be out in a minute.

'Usual spot?' she thought. He really has been keeping an eye on me. But she was obedient - she was desperate to obey - and went right to her 'usual spot' and started eating right away. There was a lot of food in the bag: a true sampler of the menu: a big greasy mess.

Then, while enraptured in a double cheese burger, there was a tap on her passenger-side window. She jumped in her seat, and there he was. Before she could say anything or signal to come in, he was already opening the door and sitting down.

Her mouth was too full of food to greet him, and even without the food she would have choked on her words. But it didn't matter. He was clearly going to be the one talking today.

"God, you look even bigger when I'm not standing over you." His eyes were crawling all over her. "No - keep eating," he almost snapped when she tried to put down the burger. "I've been so obsessed with watching you come here day after day. Watching that seatbelt tighten as you fill up more and more of that seat. Obviously we get a lot of fatties in here, but you were so clearly different. I'm so glad I was right about you." His words were barely registering, but the look in his eyes as he traced her bulging curves up and down said it all. As he described watching her get fatter seemingly every time he saw her, a hand cautiously but confidently slid under her tight shirt, carressing the upper bulge of her round gut. She was melting and soaking through her tight jeans.

She kept eating like an obedient pig while he continued whispering his monologue about her size, degradation, softness, and beauty. Time dialated. She was in that car having her fat groped for an eternity.

"Now, be a good girl and finish your meal." His hand slipped out of her shirt. 'What?! What's going on?' She thought to herself. She didn't want it to end. She needed more. She needed that forever. "Send me a picture of that bag completely empty when you're finished." And suddenly he was up from the seat and leaning into the car. "You will eat it all for me, won't you?"

He leaned in and gave her the softest peck on her full, fat, greasy cheek and was off. Her mouth was too full to beg. To convince him to stay for just one more minute. To tell him she would do anything in the world for him if he just stayed one more minute.

But all of that was reduced to a muffled whimper through a mouth full of carbs and grease.

A smirk. A wink. And he was back to his shift.

. . .

Until I intervene in their little bubble of hedonism to finish the job, the indulgence is not done yet and we both know it, sweet words and encouragement should keep them going "Eat for me, darling. Don't you wanna get fatter? Make our contrast bigger and your fat rolls deeper? Such a good fatty eating from my feeding hand~".

It's the joy and pleasure that we find in stuffing them with so much food, bite after bite, plate after plate. All with the sole purpose of having more pounds on their plump body, it's both the journey and the destiny that we find so delectable and irresistible, feeding them in many ways, from the sweetest to the most hedonistic and the aftermath that said feeding leaves, new stretchmarks, more fat and clothes that fit tighter and tighter.

Manipulation isn't about forcing you fatter, not really. It's about shifting the blame. It's about absolving you of misplaced guilt.

After all, I ordered the food. I made all those dinners. I brought home sweet treats. Doubled up portions. Suggested you skip the gym for a movie...but you could have said no. You didn't. You ate, you lazed, you let me bring you just a little more. You opened your mouth for one last bite every time I asked. You let me rub your full belly, reward your overeating, keep you sedentary night after night.

You wanted this. Every extra inch. Every labored breath and lost button. You just couldn't commit on your own. Of course you couldn't. We have all been trained to view excess as sinful, fat as failure. Who could fault you for sublimating your real desires? No one would give you permission to let yourself go. No one would coax you into the kind of desperate, helpless gluttony necessary to redraw the contours of your body.

And then I did.

And I made it all about me. You eat for me. You lounge for me. You lean back and drink melted ice cream - something that barely existed in your fantasies - because you know I want you to. And you grow. You balloon. You come almost unrecognizable. You allow me to make you impossibly, deliciously obese. No blame, no fault, because I did this to you. You ate, but I fed you.

So when I stand you in front of a mirror, show you all the ways you've expanded, when I tell you that you've turned yourself into a hopeless pig...you have plausible deniability.

Which one of you wants to feel what it's like to carry me with you at all times, to feel me making your body shake, weighing you down, and making you hungrier for more until you're a useless blob? But dont worry baby, I'll make you cum too. Youll feel me wrapped around your cock or puffing out your pussy, and every shake will feel like I'm teasing you. You'll feel me making you get off just by waddling in a grocery store with a basket full of ice cream as if it was my own hands playing with you in public.

I'll embarass you, make your clothes look sloppy and tight. I'll make people confront you and tell you to drop me... but you'll feel pleasure you've never felt before. Turning off your brain and handing yourself over to my desires will make you cum so hard you'll see stars and feel electricity coursing through every inch of quivering flab, so you'll want as much of me as your body can possibly handle... and then some.

So when I tell you to eat for me, this is what I mean.

I want you to give in to me 😵‍💫

I want you to lose control 👀

You are only going to get fatter 🥵

You are going to be past the point of no return 🫣

“Shhhh…quiet now, pigs don’t talk, they eat. Now be good and open up”

She stroked his cheek lovingly, wiping away the sweat dripping down his face. She snuck in a hefty pinch of his large, flushed cheek. Her finger scratched under his large double chin, like one would to a pet, as she brought the next doughnut to his mouth.

“Don’t upset me now, we still have half a dozen to go, then maybe we can discuss a break. Consider yourself lucky I’d even consider letting my hog rest, pigs don’t usually get that choice. Thank goodness you’re so cute, and pitiful. Now, open up…..that’s it….good boy”

She shoved the other half of the doughnut into his mouth, as he let out a whimper and forced himself to chew. She placed a hand on the largest swell of his gut, giving it a rough jostling and firm slaps. He moaned every time his gut was forced to move. He felt like he swallowed a boulder, and couldn’t believe she had grown his appetite to be so immense. He always fantasized living this kind of life, submitting to a feeder, growing recklessly and losing all inhibitions. He knew it would be hard and painful, and he thought he was ready for it. What he did not expect, is just how ruthless his girlfriend would get as he grew.

It started as roleplay, kink exploration, and slowly became more concrete from there. Occasional stuffings slowly became nightly affairs, then morning session were added, until now, when every meal felt like an eating competition to see just how much more she could stuff into him.

She became more enthralled by letting her feeder fantasies free, finding a partner who not only accepted her perversions, but begged for them. She was shy and nervous when she first force fed him, worried she may overdo it or make it awkward. Those fears slowly died as he grew, and now she couldn’t imagine a life without glutting a pig multiple times a day. She became obsessed with the control, the numbers rising on the scale, and just how pathetic she could make him every day.

“Two more doughnuts pig, don’t make me ask you to open again”

She roughly pinched his nipple, seizing the opportune gasp to shove more sugar and junk into his mouth. She picked up the last doughnut, rubbed it against his nipple, then forced it into his mouth, even though he hadn’t finished the last. She stared at him, as she bent down to lick the frosting from his engorged nipple, giving it a firm bite when she was finished. Her hand rubbed his gut slowly, up and down, occasionally lifting up his heavy belly hang and letting it drop. She never knew someone could feel so soft and heavy, she had always imagined it but now that she was living it, it was so much more exhilarating.

“Please……I finished…help….please…”

It hurt him to talk, even breathing felt like a struggle, but he to needed her to help him.

She smirked, knowingly exactly what he was asking

“Oh? Does piggy need to go to the washroom?”

He shook his head pathetically, not that

“Do you want me to help you to bed for a nap?”

Again, he shook his head ‘no’

“Oh, maybe piggy needs some….relief?”

He whined and nodded, trying not to move too much

“Does piggy want me to crawl under all this lard, search through all those rolls to find that pathetic little cock of yours, and make you cum? Is that what you want?”

He whined louder, not wanting to admit it, but unable to hide how aroused this made him.

“Well, unfortunately piggy, I had to make sure you ate everything…again! You’re too pathetic to eat it all yourself. So…no!”

She laughed devilishly at him, watching his will crumble

You might slip back into your old vegetable munching, fruit nibbling ways for a bit, but then... When you're desperate to cum... You'll always beg me to whisper in your ear about all the things that would change if you got fatter. How you'd outgrow the gym. How you'd start wheezing up a flight of stairs. How you'd need help off the couch. On and on, until cum, having a mind blowing orgasm to the roleplay where I taunt you for being a fat, virgin, loser.

Then... just like that... you find yourself desperate to get high every night, and to eat until you feel your gut weighing you down on the couch so the roleplay feels more real. You beg, you stuff, you cum. You say it's for me, but we both know the truth, it's for *us* baby.

A wink, a grin.

She sees me across the room and there’s an electric energy between us.

We talk, I make her laugh, and within a few weeks we’re meeting regularly for coffee or lunch and talking daily.

Within 6 months she moves in to my place and we’re spending the evenings drinking wine and eating richly.

The first few pounds are hardly noticeable, almost excusable. “Well, we did have quite a bit of pasta last night so we’re probably just bloated. It’s not that serious.”

A pound or two turns into ten. Double that for the two of us.

She’s now sporting a little chub and my potbelly is coming along nicely.

As the holidays close in she and I start stretching out our wardrobes until buttons start bursting off of softened bellies and thickened waists, seams tear and fabrics groan over fattened thighs.

The bed starts creaking louder when I make love to her, and the couch almost seems to groan in protest each movie night.

After a year, we’re both undeniably, unmistakably fat.

My belly has swollen from pot to cauldron and her hips have begun brushing against the doorframes as she passes. Still, we eat. Whether we realize it or not we’ve gotten ourselves into a routine of eating rich home cooking until our bellies are overstuffed, then washing it all down with dry red wine or sweet meads. Each night we cuddle and our guts are achingly taut with excess, in the morning we are slightly more swollen than the one before.

Now I’m starting to have trouble reaching my arms around her when we spoon and certain positions are nigh impossible for two big-bellied lovers.

She’s starting to struggle to fit into most clothes from the rack and I’m wheezing every time I come up the stairs to our apartment. We’re both approaching 300lbs and no one is manning the brakes.