you can call me r. they/them. more intense (or “dark” or whatever) kink/fetish over at @kinkandstuff. both are sideblogs (so i don’t follow from this url)
in my 30s. white(??) queer fag, disabled, fat little brat. submissive leaning switch, bottom leaning verse.
leftist. very much fat liberationist, anti-racist, pro sex worker, and so on. if you see a post that’s antiblack, transmisogynistic, antisemitic, ableist, zionist, etc. or a post i’ve reblogged from someone who embodies those things, let me know please.
this blog contains various BDSM/kink/fetish/sex topics and depictions. there is an emphasis on weight gain/feedism content. tags available on request, but otherwise assume few to no TWs/CWs beyond this point.
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Good morning. I hope you slept well. You looked really peaceful this morning so I decided not to wake you up before I left. These midnight feedings really seem to be helping your sleep, I’ve noticed. Beauty rest has a whole new meaning when you wake up fatter every time, doesn’t it?
Anyways, I just wanted to leave you this message to let you know that I might be back a little late tonight. But don’t worry, I made sure that you’ll have everything you need for the day. The pantry and the fridge are full of your favorites, baked goods and some joints are on the counter, I pre-packed a few bowls for you too, if that’s what you’re feeling, and of course you have my card on the delivery app for anything else you might want.
I have to admit, the way you’ve been giving yourself to this lifestyle has made it really hard to focus at work lately. When I think about what a perfect, lazy pig you are at home while I earn all the income to enable you…it just drives me crazy, you know that? Nothing else feels as good as enabling you, indulging your wildest fantasies of being a complete hedonist, watching your body fatten up and concede to the excessiveness of it all… It almost makes me want to stay home and tend to you all day. I know I can’t, but….fuck, you have no idea how badly I want to.
I want you to be extra greedy for me today, okay? Don’t deny yourself a single thing. Even if you’re full, eat more. Keep your high going all day and really indulge. I’ll be putting in some deliveries for you throughout the day when I get the chance. And I expect to come home to empty wrappers and containers all over, with your big, pretty belly hanging out of your shirt for me to grab and admire. I’ll have dessert to feed you too, don’t worry.
I plan on doubling your weight by the end of the year, and I’m going to do everything I can to get you there. There’s no such thing as too big for me, I’ll take care of every need, every desire, even if you get too fat to heft yourself around. All that matters is that you live your best, most pleasurable life, and I’ll handle everything else.
Alright, I should probably get going. I’ll need some time on the drive to work to clear my mind from this. I’ll see you tonight, piggy.
For some reason, I really like the way my body is shaped, like some weird cascading river of lard.
I used to be super self conscious about my belly shapes, because I had never seen anyone with the same shape, but I learned how foolish it is to think that.. I mean it’s my belly, of course nobody has the same shape, it wouldn’t be that fantastical and unique if someone did, right?
I feel like with the way my belly is set, it’s an armor, a plushy armor that keeps everything hidden in plain view.. you know, so you really have to work to get to the sweet spots. It feels nice. It’s like unwrapping a huge jiggly gift.
Also I like using words that are used to insult fat people, as cute little descriptive terms. And if I could just live in a bra and nothing else my entire life, I would.
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Gods, I want to be addicted to someone getting fatter. All I can think about is kissing and kneading your fat, daydreaming stuffing you until you're fit to burst, knowing that it'll make you larger and softer. Just have your gains and your hedonism consume me until it's all I can think about, all I'll ever be service to
I find it so fascinating the consistent urge you have to be a complete pig even when faced with any form of embarrassment. Whether through social humiliation the glares eyeing you up and down as you jiggle, your gut poking and bouncing out under your shirt, soaked in sweat as you huff and puff your way about. Even when faced with personal shame you eat your way through it. New pair of paints won’t fit? I’m sure it’s nothing that chugging a pint of ice cream wouldn’t fix. The way your face reddens as you realize the arms of the chair are entrapping you in, forcing your love handles over the sides. Most people would hate to be in your predicament. They would be revolted at the slightest sign of pudge. Yet the only thing that gets you off is a packed stomach and handful of fat to jiggle to get yourself off. The social disdain only fuels you and your desire to be an absolute slob. Humiliation is sexual gratification for you, piggy. A well conditioned hog not even oblivious to it all but entirely self aware. You love to be looked down upon and beg for me to remind you how much you’ve let yourself go. To be reminded how much of a pig you are as you promise me you’ll get bigger and bigger.
Thinking about how fat i truly want to become turns me on beyond belief, i need this hedonistic lifestyle so badly, i want a dominate feeder to just take control and fuck and feed me into immobility. I want to feel the struggle on my poor feet as i attempt to lift my enormous arse up from the sofa for yet another trip to the fridge to see what i can mindlessly stuff into my overworked body. I want to break a sweat trying to slide my way onto the edge of the sofa, my jiggling, swaying double belly pouring past my knees and raised almost above my head, im completely englufed in my own fat. The struggle becomes to much to bare and i come crashed back down into the sofa, a wheezing, furiously jiggling mess who cant even heave her fat body up on her own anymore. Just having to lie their waiting in anticipation for my feeder to return from work, i would be turned on beyond belief by this point, no point trying to reach my fat fupa though, i haven't been able to reach myself for a longgg time. Im becoming impatience, hungry and horny. All i can do is sit there, grabbing handfulls of my soft, growing body, imageing the look on my feeders face when he walks through the door and sees me pinned down to the sofa by my own gluttony. Suddenly i hear the lock on the door turn, my pussy tenses and i let out a senseless moan.
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Tw: Health issues, fat shaming, nonconsensual gaining
What’s the matter babe, something wrong with your food? It never takes you this long to polish off a family meal deal. Usually, I can’t even get to the next drive-thru before you’re tilting your head back to choke down the last of the fries. You know I love seeing those pudgy hands pouring the crumbs and salt and grease down that blubber-covered throat of yours. But we’re almost there and you’ve barely finished the second burger — what’s going on?
Ohh, the cashier at the last place really got to you, huh? Yeah, they don’t usually play along like he did when I try to fuck with them. It’s always funny to see how uncomfortable they get when I talk about how big you’re getting, how hard it is for you to get around when you’re fat enough to take up the entire backseat of a car, how all this fast food is the last thing in the world you need but I keep getting it for you anyway. But not him, though. He was ready to give you a lecture about what all these processed foods — the ones loaded with saturated fats and sugars and sodium — are doing to your body. Called you a fatass right to your face! From the drive thru window! Man, I wish I’d recorded it; your fans would have loved to see that, you getting redder and redder from blushing, shifting your flab around while he went on about diabetes and heart disease and fat, lazy customers.
You’ve got to admit there’s something to what he was saying, though. I mean, you didn’t used to have to take a break just getting into the car. It hasn’t been easy for you for a while now, but to already be out of breath and panting like a dog by the time you’ve barely gotten to the car, sitting on the edge of the backseat with your fat filling up the door frame? It’s obvious you’ve gotten a lot heavier and a lot more out of shape, really damn fast. You had to spend a good five minutes with one huge blubber-packed leg and a good foot and a half of belly and side roll hanging out of the car before you were ready to start scooting those hundreds of pounds into the middle of the seat. With all the rocking and jiggling and wobbling you had to do, I wasn’t sure what was going to give out first: you, or the suspension. I’m not looking forward to trying to get your fat ass out when we get back home, not after you’ve stuffed ten or fifteen thousand calories’ worth of greasy junk into your bloated gut.
It has to be obvious to you how you’re steadily ruining yourself. Wrecking your body. Sabotaging any chance you might have left of living a normal life. If you had even a little self-control, you could probably level off your gains here, come up with some kind of a fitness routine that even a fat cow like you could manage, and start getting back down to just being regular fat instead of reality-tv fat. But you can’t resist it, can you? However unsettled someone like that cashier makes you, however much they might make you stop and think about what you’re really doing to yourself, you’re going to have me drive us through our usual date night cycle of fast food, aren’t you? You’re going to stuff burgers and tacos and fried chicken and ice cream and donuts and chips and candy bars into that blubbery sack of fat in your lap, and wash it all down with sodas and milkshakes and slushies until you look like a tick ready to pop and you’re barely coherent anymore. And then I get to have my real fun.
So you may as well make your peace with all this. Know that you’re not going to be able to make your future anything more than an endless round of trips through the drive-thru until, finally, you’re too porked-up even to get hauled around for that anymore. Until you’re almost unrecognizable as a person under a belly that’s heavier than most people. Until your arms and legs are so heavy with lard and bloated by your indulgence that you can barely lift them without help, let alone use them. Until there’s not a car left anywhere that’s wide enough for you to cram your dump-truck ass into. Until just sitting upright and staying awake is a workout that leaves you out of breath.
That’s when the food will start coming to you. I’ll miss our little outings like this, but having a date night at home will be a different kind of fun. The endless parade of delivery drivers, showing up every half-hour or so with enough from your favorite fast-food stops to feed a small party. I’ll be there to help you through the food coma, keep you focused and eating, even as you can feel the grease starting to flood your arteries and your breathing slow and your eyelids droop. Giving you all the stimulation you need to keep choking down more garbage and make it that much more impossible for you to do anything on your own again. Isn’t that what dates are supposed to be for anyway? Bringing you closer together as a couple? I don’t know about you, but I think it’s romantic.
Because we’re a team, and there’s nothing sexier than knowing I’m feeding you into the fattest version of yourself. Whether you like it or not.
Me : Baby… that chair doesn’t even come close to holding you.
You : Ugh, I knew it. These tiny Spanish cafés weren’t made for someone my size.
Me: Exactly. You’re too much—too big, too gorgeous—for something that flimsy. I kind of love that.
You: So… no romantic dinner in the plaza?
Me: Who said we can’t make it romantic? We’ll order everything to go. Tapas, paella, sangria, churros—all of it. And then I’ll spread a blanket under the orange trees just for us.
You: A picnic instead of a table?
Me: Mhm. No chair arms squeezing you, no one watching. Just me feeding you bite after bite while you lean against me, belly getting heavier, lips glossy with wine.
You: …You’re making this sound way too good.
Me: That’s because it is good. I want to watch you eat until you can’t anymore, then kiss you while you’re flushed and full. Spain will hear the way you moan for me.
You: You’re going to ruin me.
Me: Ruin you? No. I’m going to worship you—every soft, greedy, overflowing inch of you. Tonight, the only thing bigger than your appetite will be the way I want you.
let's dive in Honey. I've got the perfect plan to destroy your diet and get you packing on the pounds.
Here's what I'm thinking for tonight:
Starter: We'll kick things off with a massive, greasy, loaded pizza topped with every fattening ingredient imaginable, from pepperoni and bacon to extra cheese and a buttery crust. No sharing.
Main Course: Next, I'll cook up a family-sized portion of deep fried chicken wings drowned in BBQ sauce, paired with a huge side of fried mozzarella sticks and delectable garlic bread smothered in butter.
Side Dishes: We can't forget the essential sides - creamy mashed potatoes slathered in butter and chive, and heaping servings of fried onion rings. I want that tummy to be stuffed to the brim.
Dessert: To top it all off, I'll make you an enormous chocolate lava cake, dripping and gooey, paired with a big scoop of premium ice cream. I want you to feast on dessert until you can hardly breathe. I'm aiming for a food baby that makes you look almost pregnant.
I can already envision it, you, wobbling around the house, struggling to get up off the couch, lovingly worshipping let's dive in with gusto. I've got the perfect plan to sneak attack your diet and packing on the pounds.
We are not stopping at just one day of binging though. This is a lifestyle now, a journey of you eating your way to obesity and me cheering you on every gluttonous step. Forget about exercise or self-control. Your new life is all about indulgence, all the time.
So are you ready to dive in and be a good, greedy piggy for me tonight? I'm so excited to watch you overindulge and blossom into the blubbery, adorably overfed gluton I know you can be. Your gluttonous desires call to me, and I can't deny you a thing.
Not just insatiable for food, but insatiable for fat.
You want to grow endlessly more enormous. For you, bigger is always better. Rounder, softer, heavier. No size is too great, no weight is too much.
You didn't used to be like this. You've always enjoyed the plushness, the warmth, but you were never this desperate for more. But you found that bigger and softer you became, the biggest and softer you needed to be.
And now look. You're a hog, a whale, a blob. An endless mountain of adipose, who's entire day consists of eating, gorging, and growing. And yet you still have that little voice, that itch, that is telling you that you need to expand, to fatten your way to even greater levels of depravity. And the more you gain, the louder that little voice is going to get.
The pleasure you get from feeling all of that blubber move. Rolls atop rolls. Crevices and valleys of pure fat pouring onto each other. The slightly movements sends ripples throughout your entire body, and shivers down your spine. The fatter you get, the more of this pleasure you'll feel, and the more insatiable you'll become. The more you eat, the fatter and more hedonistic you'll become. Its a never ending cycle of fat, greed and pleasure, and you're stuck in the middle of it, experiencing far too much mind bending pleasure to ever stop.
And if it feels this good to be this big, just imagine how good it'll feel to be even bigger.
Make them so huge that they need to talk themselves through the act of waddling more than a few feet. They should be mumbling things like "C'mon, just a few more steps" and "One foot in front of the other" as encouragement.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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feedee that is too big to touch themself because there is too much fat in the way so they need to ask their feeder so sweetly to 'take care of them' but their feeder teases them by withholding pleasure and watching their helpless feedee grow more and more desperate as they realize how restricted they really are by all the excess fat on their body, and only offer relief after their feedee starts pleading for their touch
total fullness should be considered a design flaw. why should my body ever stop me? it's going to need food eventually. just let me stay full enough that eating i can just keep topping-off, over and over and over and over again without my body wanting to stop
