Pig In Need Of Master

That’s your cue to disregard my feelings. No more praise, no more encouragement, make it known that you are in charge of me.

I don’t control what happens with my body, you do. You decide how big I get, and you decide when I stop.

Humiliate me. Embarrass me. Flaunt your sleek, toned body to make me understand that I could never turn things around. Get it through my thick skull that there’s no going back to thin for me anymore.

Make me feel like such a useless tub of jiggling lard that any attempt at exercise would only be met with mockery. “Look at that fatty on the treadmill, even their double chin is bouncing”.

And if none of that works, if I keep insisting, then you just take me by force.

Tie me to the bed and lock me in my room, take away my mobility until you can feed me and feed me and feed me into a big ball of shame and blubber. Make me so fat and embarrassed of myself that I’ll never want to show my face outside again.

(Slob warning)

Ryan rolled over slowly to shut up his phone's alarm that he had forgotten to not to set, his eyes bleary and still half closed. Ryan was desperately trying to carry on his Saturday sleep-in before Scott. He tapped several times wildly at his phone, which sat amongst chocolate bar wrappers, before the phone fell on the floor. It continued to beep away at Ryan amongst the crisp packets down there.

Groaning, Ryan shuffled up the bed and pushed himself up, his head lulling to one side as sleep still clung to him. Ryan groaned again as he bent over, picked up his phone and finally silenced it. He was about to lob the phone back on the bedside table when Ryan noticed not one but two messages from Scott. Immediately, the fuzz of sleep fell off Ryan and he sat bolt upright to read the messages. Ryan's heart skipped a beat and his hands shook a little.

just lettin you kno i gotta be at my mum's for 6 (don't ask) so i'm going around 3 today. if you still wanna meet up i could pick you up at 9 instead? i could take you for a fry up before we do our clothes and maybe that way wash the clothes you get dirty so bring spares lmao

guess youre still sleeping atm but i'll be at the laundrettes like normal if you do wake up. i promise you man we'll still go to the pub if you get there before 11, tryna make sure we have time

Ryan's eyes flicked to the top of his phone for the time, and barely registered what it said before his body sprung into action. Well, tried to. Knowing Scott for over a year now had made a few changes to the way Ryan's body worked. Quick movements were harder and movements that didn't tire were less common these days. But the remedy to those facts was Scott himself.

Ryan stood up and lurched backwards for a second before he stablised himself on the table.

"Half an hour," Ryan said through gritted teeth. "I can make it."

Ryan walked over to the wardrobe with its peeling white vinyl and tore a t-shirt from a hanger, leaving it swinging and clattering with the others. It was getting hard work to wiggle his arms through the sleeves of most of his shirts now, but Ryan didn't care. He did pause though when the bottom hem of this one only just made it below his belly button. But Ryan only paused for a second, reassuring himself that Scott wouldn't mind. After all, the way he had met Scott wasn't exactly normal.

Next Ryan grabbed the pair of jeans he had left strewn on the floor and then pulled open the drawers for a pair of underpants. Hands full, Ryan threw the clothes on the bed and changed his underwear, suddenly very aware of how much his belly and newly grown fatpad wobbled as he did so. Again, Ryan reassured himself that Scott wouldn't mind and began putting on the trousers. He had to sway his hips and wriggle his rear to force the tired pair of jeans over his bottom and fatpad. There was no way skinny jeans like these could cover up his exposed lower tummy either but the usual solution, the big hoodie, sat stained in the laundry bag on the back of the door. Ryan shoved his feet into a pair of unlaced converse and sucked air through his teeth as he picked his phone back up again.

sorry mate omw now, Ryan messaged Scott, after retyping the message several times. Ryan didn't know whether that was the nerves or the added width of his fingers.

Even putting his phone in his back pocket felt risky now, Ryan's expanded rump did seem to push it back out again. But it couldn't be helped so Ryan crammed it in anyway and grabbed the laundry bag off his dorm door and ran the best he could to the stairs.

~

Scott peered out the windows of the laundrette's again, trying to spot Ryan. Jigging his knee, Scott turned his head back inside and stared down at his phone as his own washing already was in the machine. Then, suddenly his phone in his hand buzzed with a message from Ryan.

sorry mate omw now

Scott smiled softly and kicked his feet on the ground a couple of times, remembering. Who knew that you could become friends with someone because they couldn't get a stain out of something? That must be over a year ago at this point. The friendship, and the guy, had grown a lot in that time.

Fifteen minutes later, a puffing and panting Ryan arrived at the laundrette's and draped himself on the bench next to Scott, trying to recover his breath. Scott tried not to stare at Ryan's under belly which wobbled with each inhale and exhale.

"You didn't need to run, you know?" said Scott, playfully jabbing Ryan in the pudgy arm. "I would have waited until twelve to be honest."

"Oh," Ryan panted. "Now you tell me."

"Course mate," Scott replied. "Now let's see what you've managed to muck up this week. I don't know how you do it."

Ryan gave his best nonchalant shrug and opened the large drawstring bag up.

The first stain from the start of it all was a mistake, the second and third were obviously not and Scott called it straight away. Ryan remembered the small mischevious smile Scott had when he accused Ryan of putting stains on the shirts on purpose. Nonetheless, Scott then invited Ryan to the pub once they had both washed and dried their clothes. The fourth stain, which happened that afternoon, was a mistake but did have the same cause as the previous two: Scott. Ryan just couldn't get his body or mind under control around this man. The way Scott talked and immediately slipped into his life, like something familar and acted with Ryan as if they had known each other for years, somehow put Ryan both at ease and completely off-kilter. And like some sort of clumsy slob, Ryan managed to get barbeque sauce all down him. But Scott didn't mind. In fact, to Ryan, it felt quite the opposite somehow.

"Well, most of this you can just get off fine with just wash powder, but yeah a couple of these might need some of the oxi stuff," said Scott, rumaging through the bag, brushing his wavy black hair out of his eyes. "There is a lot of stains on these though. God, how did your mum survive washing your clothes?!"

Ryan smiled sheepishly. He hadn't been so messy at home, not even as a small kid. But after that day at the pub, it was like something had changed inside him. It started of with midnight snacks nightly to think about the looks Scott would give him, though Ryan felt like sometimes the looks in the pub were completely imaginary. And then it somehow got to at least three takeways a week to imagine Scott was with him as he ate, like at the pub, big portions, messy portions. And now here he was at twenty-six, doing a masters and wearing half his food on his clothes and the other half permantly stuck to his middle.

"Right, I've got the things that need oxi powder, you load in the rest," directed Scott.

"Thanks," said Ryan, heaving himself up from the bench. His belly jiggled over the waist band and Ryan suddenly flushed bright red as he saw his reflection in the washing machine door. The top of his belly sported the logo of a band this t-shirt was for but it was all stretched out of proportion. His lower belly was hanging freely over the waistband of his black jeans while his hips buldged upwards and spilled out over the waistband too. Ryan felt his embarassment run hot but he still wished he could wear his hoodie to cover everything up. It was because of his dedication to the hoodie that the extent of Ryan's growth hadn't quite dawned on him until now.

"Is it working?" Scott asked, looking up from rubbing the powder into Ryan's dirty hoodie. He caught a glimpse of Ryan's stare into the dark drum of the washing machine. Ryan had been wearing this hoodie nearly every time they met up, especially the last few months, thought Scott. Even those two times in summer.

"Er yeah," Ryan said hurridly, bundling everything into the washing machine and getting up the laundry app on his phone.

"Here you are then, both of those things should be fine with that on them," Scott said, peeking a look over Ryan's shoulder as he pushed the other two things into the machine.

Scott looked at the fast food and delivery apps Ryan had to swipe past before the laundry app and rubbed his friend's podgy shoulder. The seam threads had snapped in a couple of areas.

"I'll just go next door and get us some snacks while we wait," Scott said, pointing with his thumb.

"Oh," Ryan said quietly. He looked down at his body and subtly nodded. "We're not going to the pub after all?"

"Nah, we will," said Scott, though in truth he was about to suggest not, for Ryan's sake. But the disappointment was clear and Scott didn't like to hear that from Ryan. "Just thought you probably need some sorta breakfast after that running about. Crunchies are your favourite, right?"

Ryan couldn't help looking relieved and nodded, before plonking himself down on the bench to watch the washing machines.

~

Next door in the corner shop, Scott scanned the short aisles for chocolate. Spying them, Scott grabbed a multipack of crunchies. He threw them in the air triumphantly and caught them again with a chuckle. However then, Scott paused to think. Ryan did seem so uncomfortable just now, staring at his reflection. Scott glanced to the single bars on the shelf and back down to the multipack in his hand. A good mate doesn't make someone feel uncomfortable. But Ryan always looks so happy in the moment, eating and chatting with him. It was a surprise to see Ryan dressed as he was today, half a belly exposed, but that look didn't seem bad to Scott. It was actually... cute.

Scott felt goosebumps prickle on his skin and it wasn't because of the drinks' fridge humming behind him. This guy was basically a stick when they first met. Scott had been taking him for late lunches weekly for a year and the thought of Satudays were getting Scott through the week at this point. To see his friend eat like he ate and change like he was changing was near-on addictive. This wasn't friendship, and it hadn't been for a long time.

Scott turned and took two bottles of diet Dr Pepper from the fridge with his eyes wide in realisation. He was fattening up a man like one would fatten a goose for Christmas. As if in a trance, Scott placed the pack of chocolate and the bottles on the till and tapped his card when the shop owner rang everything up.

Scott continued his ethereal walk back into the laundrette where he found Ryan trying to pull in his belly and yank his shirt down over it to no success. Everything just tumbled out again onto Ryan's lap.

"Are you alright, man? You look like you've just seen a ghost or something," Ryan said, looking up at Scott in concern.

Scott slowly shook his head before sitting down next to Ryan. There was a long silence, broken only by the whir of washing machines. Ryan looked from his friend's body to his own. When they met, they were in the same league, Scott was skinny and elf-like and he was too. Now Ryan felt like he definitely was the odd one of this pair.

"Why did you muck up your clothes on purpose, that second time we met?" Scott asked eventually.

"I didn't, you just thought I did-" Ryan began.

"Nah, don't. I thought you were lying then, and I know you too well at this point. I know for sure you're lying now," Scott interuppted with care in his voice. "And why do you always wear that?"

Scott was pointing at the hoodie swirling around in the soapy water.

Ryan's heart was thundering in his chest as he looked at Scott's face. There wasn't anger on it, but the determination of an interrogator. A look unfamilar all the same on Scott's normally friendly face with its dark oak brown eyes.

"I... I was wearing it when we met," Ryan said, twiddling with the shirt again. "It was so oversized it reached my knees. Now its just baggy. Because I'm fat."

Scott gingerly placed his hand on Ryan's shoulder. As soon as his fingers touched Ryan's body, his fingers fell relaxed. He didn't need more answers. He knew that even if it was something different, Ryan felt something for Scott like Scott felt something for Ryan. But unlike himself, Ryan had known since the first time they had met. That's why he had stained his own clothes, and continued to go for meals with Scott despite how his body and behaviour were obviously changing.

Ryan slowly tipped his head onto Scott's hand and the pair sat side by side watching the machines spin their clothes, with Scott gently rubbing the back of Ryan's neck.

"Can I have one of those drinks?" Ryan asked after ten minutes.

Wordlessly, Scott carefully retrieved his hand from behind Ryan and undid one of the bottles of Dr Pepper and handed it to him. His eyes watched like an eagle as Ryan gulped down the fizzy drink in almost one go. Ryan's second chin wobbled with each swallow and his plump lips panted after it was mostly gone and Ryan broke the bottle away from his mouth. A single trail of brown sticky liquid went down Ryan's face and dripped onto his belly.

"How about a crunchie?" asked Scott, raising an eyebrow. He had already taken one out of the packet.

Ryan smiled, and took it from Scott's hand but letting the moment linger in the air a little. Ryan opened the chocolate bar and began eating, not caring as crumbs hit his chest and belly. As each bar came to the end, Scott handed Ryan another. Occasionally, Ryan took a sip from the last of the bottle of pop and then the second bottle, but whatever he did, Scott watched intently. It wasn't imaginary at all. There was no talking, but the conversation was alive, filling the air with electricity.

Looking around the laundrette and seeing the other people were busy, Scott leaned in close to Ryan. "Can I touch it?" Scott asked with his hand already hovering over Ryan's stomach.

"Sure, if you wanna," said Ryan in reply, trying to play it cool, but his breathing was rapid and shallow.

Scott firmly pushed down on Ryan's belly and produced a burp from Ryan. It was loud, long and rattled around the room. A couple of people looked at the pair with confused looks before wrinkling their noses. Ryan had gone bright red again as he also let out an involuntary whine. He looked wide eyed at Scott, knowing he was now forever putty in this man's hands.

"You know what? We're not washing our clothes next week," declared Scott. "We're getting you new ones. But keep the hoodie."

Ryan nodded, eyes shining.

Scott leaned in even closer to Ryan than before. "And I'll be paying for your takeaways from now on," he whispered. "As long as you video call me each time you do."

Strike putty. Ryan was just going to be butter. Melted butter in Scott's hands.

Feedist kinktober list by Fatguarddog

Shaking the thoughts of my work day away, I hung my leather satchel on the hallway hooks.

"I'm home, Fluffy!" I called out into the house.

But no one came trotting to greet me. It had been a long time since that last happened. I threw my keys into the bowl on the table under the mirror with a sigh and pushed further open the ajar door into the living room.

The room was large and had matchingly grand windows, giving hints to it being the avante garde seventies' build I had been lovingly restoring. And there my pet was, lazing around in the most seventies' part of the room, the conversation pit.

You were laying in a shaft of light beaming through the window panes, belly exposed and snoring. Your limbs were all splayed out and your mitten-like hands twitched occassionally. This was all my fault really, I couldn't help but spoil my pet. Still, it was daunting to see how happily you had taken to this life. All about you in the shag rug were wrappers of food taken from the treat cupboard, something you knew was not allowed while I was out. But you had became just so greedy you didn't care for any sort of discipline. I'd have to work on that later.

"Fluffy?" I said sternly. I folded my arms and loomed over you, frowning.

You woke up with a start and as soon as you eyes met mine, you looked away again. You knew what you had done.

"Look at me, now," I said slowly, over-emphasising every letter.

It was a gorgeous struggle to witness, how you at first tried to sit up but found no core muscles there to help so you resorted to rolling around in the mess you'd made until you built up enough momentum to push yourself up on the side of the pit, kneeling. By the time you were staring up at me with those big blue doleful eyes, you were exhausted. You shoulders went up and down with every heavy breath and your face was tomato red.

"I like feeding you those treats myself, and I better be able to go over to the treat cupboard and find some to feed you tonight," I said, leaning over a little to play with your curly brown hair. "I will be able to find some, right, Fluffy?"

You bit your lip, still coated in chocolate, and looked down and away from me again.

I snapped my fingers for your attention. "Hey, if you don't lie to me it will be so much better for you."

"I ate everything," you confessed. "But I was so hungry! I'd already eaten the lunch you'd prepared but my tummy was still rumbling."

"And you had to eat everything?"

You nodded earnestly. "I did! I was star-ving!"

I smiled and shook my head. You were always one for the dramatics. "Okay, up you get," I said, rolling my eyes. I had to help you pull yourself up onto the ledge and stand. You breathed heavily for awhile, each gasp filling the silence while I waited for the inevitable.

"So... is it dinner time yet?" you said with a hopeful tone and twisted your body about in that cute way I can't resist. Your love handles wobbled happily above your bum as your belly slapped against your thighs, the overhang was seemingly extending daily.

"Sure," I chuckled. "I've already ordered you some of your favourite, fried chicken, good job too as you're so hungry today."

In thanks you launched your body into mine, your enormous belly squishing against my torso before you had chance to nuzzle your face into my chest. Your shirt that had been desperately clinging on for dear life for months was really looking on its last legs now. The side seam had split in two places and the neckline of the old t-shirt was stretched and baggy from you jamming it over your head each morning. I held the back of your head, letting the sweet curls of your hair entwine with my fingers as my other hand explored your back rolls. It was getting harder to do that, all the flab on your chest and belly pushing your back further and further out of my reach when we hugged like this.

I put both hands gently on your soft wide neck where your collar sat and felt for the buckle and tried to slip two fingers between. I couldn't, I could almost scarcely fit my little finger inbetween the leather and the thick flesh.

"Darling, before food arrives, I think we should loosen that collar and do a weigh in."

You broke away from me and looked at your belly. "You think its bigger? I know its big, but I don't think its grown."

"It is a lot bigger, Fluffy," I confirmed, patting it. "When was the last time you went and had a look in the full length mirror?"

"I don't know, its too close to the front door," you mumbled as you played with your side rolls. "Cus I'm not going out anymore, I forget its there."

I ruffled your hair. "Silly boy, let's get you to the bathroom."

Your level of laziness was astounding. You'd actually stopped having fast food and takeaways for lunch because you couldn't be bothered to walk along the hallway to the front door and talk to someone other than me for a few seconds. Instead, I was pre-preparing meals packed to the gills with grease and carbs each evening. Originally I was meal prepping for the next couple of days but after you'd raided the fridge for three days worth of food, I had to do it daily to keep up with your appetite.

You waddled slowly in front of me, guided by my hand at the base of your back. Your arse jiggled with each laborious step and you had to keep readjusting your shorts that slipped down, perched on the roundest point of your bottom, rather than up at your hips because your bum and fatpad had grown so much. The waistband was worn with half-snapped elastic showing through. You didn't care though. It was sweet, this stained and ragged outfit was one I had bought you around when you first moved in with me. But now it was your uniform, the uniform of an obese near-housebound boyfriend.

I pushed open the door to the bathroom which you had to wiggle through and turned on the light. In the sink mirror I could see our faces together. Yours was round like the moon whereas mine was sculpted and sharp. A scruffy attempt at a beard sat on your second chin, while my jaw was clean shaven.

I crouched down to the under sink cupboard and pulled out the scales. I'd upgraded them to a higher weight limit pre-emptively a few months back, but you wouldn't have known because the effort of bending was too much these days.

I placed the electronic scales on the floor and tapped them with the heel of my leather shoe, activating them.

"Go ahead, sweetheart," I offered with a cheeky smile. "Let's see just how badly you're being starved, and how much more we have to go to get you to a healthy weight."

Holding on to my wrist for support, you lifted one leg onto the scales before the other. Your legs shuddered for a few seconds longer as you stood still and waited for the creaking scales to make their decision.

Finally after flickering around many numbers, the scales flashed up 35 stones and 11 as their final verdict. 501 pounds. You hadn't just put on weight since your last weigh in, you had exploded. Three months ago you had been 30 stone 4, 424 pounds. Over seventy pounds in three months must have been a new record for you. You had been going through food quicker and my trips to the supermarket had been crawling up in price, it was true. But near on half a stone a week was crazy.

"Hmm, I think someone is not being truthful, saying they're starving," I said, kissing your neck whilst undoing your collar.

"I am though, I eat stuff and it doesn't fill me up properly," you insisted. You gathered up your underbelly, huffing and puffing as you did before letting it go. It slapped against your legs with a satisifying noise and you laughed. "My tummy is very big you know! We just weighed it." God, you were so innocent. Seemed almost cruel to do what I had planned for your punishment. Almost.

"I think it might have been helped by the fact you don't move very much, darling. You do know this means that you might get stuck in the lounge one day, if you keep eating and not moving like you do? And it won't be pretty," I explained, rebuckling the collar two notches looser. "I'll have to get special medical things in for you."

"But you wouldn't starve me if that happens, would you?" you implored, looking into my eyes via the mirror.

"Of course not, darling," I said, turning your head to look into my eyes truly. "You are my beautiful boy who will get treats until the day he dies." I booped you on the nose with a wink.

Your face lit up and you began waddling out of the bathroom, ready to resume relaxing in the living room.

"Hey Fluffy, don't think you're getting out of punishment today. That chicken is on its way," I warned tapping the watch on my wrist. "Just two minutes away by now."

"What do you mean?" you said, eyes wide with fear. "You don't mean-"

"Oh yes, sweetheart. You've got to open the front door. Like that," I smirked, gesturing to your clothes.

"No no, I can't!" You blubbed, backing away from me as quickly as you could, but it was easy to catch you as that wasn't very fast. I began pushing you in the direction of the front door rather than the living room as you tried to plant your feet into the carpet.

"If you're so hungry all the time, the least you could do is thank one of the many people who help fill that gut," I said, continuing to push you towards the door.

"But," you protested, finally seeing yourself in the hallway mirror. "I look terrible!"

Your bulging thighs, marbled with cellulite, wobbled almost precariously on top of your stubby lower legs, knee fat hanging over the first quarter of them. The front of your shorts was obscured by the overhang of belly that was over midway down the thighs, despite the large fatpad beneath. Your love handles squished the sides of the shorts down, where they sat halfway down your rear. The bottom of both cheeks hung out the hem of the overworked shorts with plenty to grab. Rolls that went from your back and around on to your side converged just above your belly button, forming the beginning of a double belly. Your moobs, likewise, had begun linking up with other parts of the body, pushing into your armpits and joining your bingo wings on your arms. The t-shirt rather than covering this fact up, emphasised it, shrink wrapped over your body.

After so much pushing, I instead pulled you into my arms and looked down at your plump face, which had been created by my loving enabling.

"You do not look terrible," I admonished, holding you tight. "Sure, your clothes are a bit ratty. But your body is the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen. You can be, and I'm pretty damn sure you will be, 800 pounds of pure lard and you'll still be beautiful. You'll actually be more beautiful. And if you can't see that, I'll have to get a bigger mirror."

"But what will they think, the delivery-" you continued.

"Ah ah ah," I interuppted. "As you said, you don't go outside. Who cares what they think. What about what I think, Fluffy? And what about what you actually think? Not what you're 'meant' to think."

Slowly, the panic lifted from your face and you turned your head to face the mirror. You scooted the table to the side to properly see your legs, and hand against my chest for balance, struck a pose with your leg kicked up behind you. You slowly lowered your leg, eyes transfixed as the fat moved independently from your limb even with the smallest of movements. It shifted and unfolded like an unfurling fern of pure fat.

"I... look amazing. I did this, with you. I thought I couldn't do anything." You fell against me, exhausted from all the emotions and standing for so long.

"That's right, darling. You did what you do best, eat and wrap me around your little finger for more food, somehow," I reassured as I played with your hair.

There was a sudden rapping at the door and you staggered round to face the door.

"Go get 'em, tiger," I whispered, slapping your wobbling arse.

You gave a small moan and waddled closer, hand outstretched towards the handle. And then you opened the door for the first time in a year.

YEP. I don’t think anyone has ever reached a ton (that we’re aware of) but I can absolutely try! God that would be so hot.

My goal is to literally be an immobile pile of lard. Feeder(s) making sure I’m clean and washed, but just plopped in front of a PlayStation with a modified controller so I can actually play, a tube for me to suck gainer shake from, intermittent feedings of my favorites (pizza, burgers, cake, etc), and a webcam set up to stream me 24/7. It would be hot if you guys could choose what goes into my shake, etc. Like tip a dollar to make something happen - change the shake flavor, have me eat a candy bar, turn on a vibrator, etc.

I want to be ignored, in a sense. Please, shove more food into your mouth when you haven't even finished swallowing the last bite. Talk with food in your mouth. Be noisy. Catch your breath in between bites, grunt.

No one is asking you to be outright sloppy, but let it show how much food shuts you down. Whatever is on TV in front of you fades away. Those worries and thoughts and ideas on your mind give way to your instinct to eat.

You know I'm present, it doesn't matter. I'm trusted. I'm welcomed into your, quite frankly, horrifying display.

It would be unthinkable to imagine any respected person behaving like this. An academic, a business leader, a favorite artist or performer.

Yet you keep eating. Every meal turns into this. One little morsel and you can't stop, not until your body literally begins to shut off. Conversations? Your personality? At best, you'll moan without a trace of sexual or intentional expression. You'll just be laid up, like a pig. A heavy, bloated animal. No planning or design behind any of this.

A true act of hedonism. Short term, immediate reward seeking behavior at the cost of any other potential good.

You'll react like an animal to my touches. It doesn't matter that it's your fourth meal of the day (all by my hand and planning). It doesn't matter that your clothes are so poorly fitting that you've been forced to stay cooped up at home an alarming amount lately. It doesn't matter that you have gone from this bright eyed, cute, and desirable person and turned into a dull, groaning heap.

You keep eating for me. Over. And over. More of your time becomes eating. More of your waking moments have the mindful, thoughtful persona of your younger self replaced by this addicted, impulsive reality.

When will you come to your senses? Or will I simply knock you off course with more intensity and consistency? Turning you into my personal item. A curiosity. How far can someone let themselves devolve into a glutton? When is it appropriate to strip away your humanity? No more name. No more worldly experiences. Blindly reacting to the one thing your body understands. Food. And more of it.

Your body becomes unrecognizable to yourself and others. The sensation of eating yourself stupid remains the same, but your body simply refuses to stop growing. In a way, you are rewarded for dedicating a life to mindless, piggish, greed. Each pound gives you justification to give up on another, fruitless experience in life. Going to the park. Traveling. Having the autonomy to do things on a whim. Your increasing size encases you in this lifestyle.

Knowing that I'll never fail to feed you any less than "too much." Always enough to be "too much."

Being kept in an continuing cycle of grief, resignation, acceptance when you feel your body. Of course your belly sticks out more. It's so bad now. It's so much worse than before.

Feeling yourself slip away. Rational defiance gives in to pleasure. Too stupid to overcome a cute face and a caressing hand. Doing anything it takes to keep such an alluring beauty drawn to you.

Losing hours of each day to eating, too bloated to function, and sleeping. An addiction. The rising number of the scale stripping away your clear thoughts. Another hundred pounds? How much of your day will it demand to gain that. How much time. How much of your hobbies, your alert self will be sacrificed to achieve that?

Gradually becoming dumb. Empty minded. Moving from one room to the next requires so much strength, it turns you into a wheezing animal, incapable of any thoughts but to end it as soon as possible. To continue being unmoving and still once again.

One day, you will succumb to the need to accept food from me, your feeder. You'll remain fixed in place, trapped by routine. Being this big means you have little use for anything but eating, and the cycle of uselessness stemming from it.

You're a blob. Utterly boring. Unable to interact with the world. Only capable of accepting more food. Rewired to need more, and only more. The panic and fear grows louder, but more distant. Buried.

The ideas that you "aren't hungry" or "shouldn't" are ones that can be broken.

Realizing that bloated, lethargic afterglow from stuffing yourself is allowed more than once a day. It can be constant, even.

Knowing that the answer to what you've been doing doesn't have to be a defined, certain statement for others to respect you by. Focused on food. Eating. Letting your attempts at having interests and interesting qualities go away. They were fake notions to begin with.

Time isn't something for you to measure accomplishments by. There isn't any "I can't believe summer is almost over," not in the sense that regret from a lack of living is the concern.

Food is a stimulus. It triggers an instinct. You need it. You survive because of it. It's a matter of safety. Security. Tethering your comfort and emotional needs to food is easy.

What happens when someone simply eats at any given opportunity and loses worry over how your behavior is perceived?

Stowed away in a dark room. Consuming. Mindlessly satisfying your needs. Selfish. Nothing compares to this. Nothing that wills you to go outside. It's a waste of your time on things that do not rank as highly as eating.

Normal becomes obscene. A rejection of any discomfort that isn't an immediate reward. Conversations that are dull, labored due to being overfilled. Losing track of your body. Thighs you can no longer reach. A belly hang that you'll never touch the edge of. Having such large, heaving breasts that you cannot see past them. A stranger to your own form.

Eating is all that's left. Your mind loses the ability to coordinate movement due to neglect. The world is not something to interact with, it's gradually become out of reach. Even something so trivial as moving your arms becomes a limited act. Rewiring your own brain to accept reality as eating, the only action left to your being.

I’ve always been into this kink and gaining weight but never found it that much fun alone so I never truly got fully 24/7 into it but i always think how much better and hotter would be with a feeder, not any feeder… a truly perverse comprised feeder…

A feeder who’s only goal in life is to make me as fat as possible.. Making sure my every daily routine is just being in home watching tv and barely moving from the sofa or bed.. Making sure all my meals are highly processed junk foods (pizzas, cakes, cheeseburgers) making sure that i eat this foods in a daily basis.

Making sure all I drink are milkshakes or soda and weight gain milkshakes.. funnel feed me tons of calories in crazy amounts every night leaving me as a pig in bed barely able to move.

And a Perverse mindset too… a feeder who makes sure every goal or plan I had in life is gone.. my life is now gaining and getting fat for him/her. I want a fully compromised evil feeder.. someone who’s willing to make me obese no matter what.. punishing me for not gaining 10lbs per month leaving me tied and force feeding me every night.