After an hour of staring at the screen it still hasn’t fully hit you. Screenshots of your horny activity online were embarrassing sure, but it’s what comes after that leaves you with a lot in your stomach. Your family’s contact info, your friends social media accounts, whoever this is they know who you are and they’ve found the contacts of everyone you are close with.
And then there’s the final message.
“You can still make this all go away. Nobody has to know about your shameless habits. All you have to do is indulge in the gluttony you claim turns you on so much. All you have to do is give in.”
This was ridiculous. Giving into blackmail is letting the terrorists win. But when you really considered it you would rather disappear off the face of the earth than let your family and friends know how often you were engaging with online feedist content. For as long as you can remember you’ve thought that plush, soft jiggly fat is the hottest thing in the entire world. But to get that fat would only be embarrassing.
To walk around with 50 extra pounds of horny induced blubber on your frame would give the game away. Everyone would know how much of a shameless horny glutton you crave to be.
But now, it seems like you don’t have a choice.
So you get to eating like there’s no tomorrow.
First you shove an entire pack of double crème oreo’s down your throat.
Then you chug a litre of coke.
You order an obscene amount of mcdonald’s.
You guzzle a couple packs of instant ramen.
Then, in your gluttonous, horny trance - you melt a tub of ice cream and drink it like a milkshake.
After a day of stuffing yourself like a hog you look down at your bloated tummy looking like it’s ready to burst, and you ponder on how little of a push it to push yourself to your limits.
After a month of stuffing yourself to the brim day in and day out, you finally got another message from your blackmailer.
“Send a pic to prove progress. Otherwise info will be released.”
You squirmed again at the thought of your family knowing about your goon habits. Gross.
So you set up a camera and set the timer.
How do you even take a progress pic for something like this?
I mean, you’ve seen hundreds of feeder’s before and after pics, but now that you’re taking one yourself you feel lost.
So you do what feels simple. Take off your shirt and turn to the side. That’s when you finally see the damage you’ve already done.
You honestly thought you had just been looking bloated, but seeing yourself on camera let’s you really see the fat you’ve packed onto your thin frame.
Your flat stomach has been replaced by a distended and tight belly. Stuffed full, but you can still see your lard jiggle as you bounce up and down. You now have back fat poking over your jeans which are stretched taut with the extra room your ass and thighs are taking up.
As you gaze at the screen you almost forget the point of this whole thing as you get lost in the allure of your own porked up frame until — flash. There goes the camera.
After an hour of staring at the screen it still hasn’t fully hit you. You stared at that progress pic you had taken a year ago, comparing it to the one you had just taken, and you can’t even recognise yourself anymore.
After a few months of stuffing yourself to the brim, the blackmail messages had ceased. But by that point you were already uploading your progress pics online, so maybe they were seeing them there.
You had gotten so lost in your own gluttonous sauce, that you had forgotten what even started this whole thing in the first place. You got so obsessed with making a pig of yourself that you had forgotten you could ever stop.
In that first progress pic you looked malnourished compared to now. Sure, you weren’t looking toned by any means, but a little belly and some thick thighs was nothing compared to the butter ball that stared back at you in the reflection on the screen.
That little tight belly now weighs you down, hanging over your stretchy shorts and pressing into your tree trunk, cellulite covered thighs. Your chunky upper arms spread out about as wide as your old thighs used to, and your thick sausage fingers fumble at the screen trying to get a better look at your skinny former self.
Your formerly flat chest now bulges out and presses against your fat neck and you lay down. Your face, once sleek and defined, is now round - your cheeks puffy, framing nicely the smile that creeps across your face as you think about how much more of a lard ball you can turn yourself into.
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