I’ve been my wife’s submissive for over a dozen years and in that time she’s put well over 200 lbs on me. I’ve gotten so heavy (5’6 470 lbs) that the weight has become a form of bondage. It keeps me at home. It keeps me in bed at times. This my wife says is what turns her on. How much my weight has confined me. Confined me to being a house hubby. Confined me to needing her to pleasure me because I struggle to reach. She gets turned on by the idea of my weight confining me to he bedroom. Eventually the bed.

I’m not exactly confined to the house. I could waddle down the driveway. Even to the end of the street. But I feel the bondage. Waddling at any pace at all and I feel the fat on my hips shake up and down, my moobs jiggle, my belly apron swings from side to side. It tires me out quickly.

My wife and I used to go out to bars every Saturday night. She still goes out, but I’m confined to the house. She gets dressed in front of me while I’m in bed, pinned to the mattress from all the weight she’s put on me. She’ll bend over and tease me then come over to the bed and give me a good jiggle like she’s spinning the Price is Right wheel.

When she comes home drunk she straddles my belly and has her way with me. Depending on her mood sometimes she stuffs me with cske, cookies, donuts, whatever we have. We can still fuck. I lift my belly apron with two hands, she slides me in. She cums very quickly on these nights. I try not to.

Rosie Jade trying to lie by saying she was “groomed into feederism” on a podcast is so hilariously cute.

She ballooned like crazy during her time making content and was very clearly loving every second of it.

Even now after claiming she’s retired from the life style she currently has a 20yo boyfriend who is into feederism, it makes you wonder doesn’t it?

She never grew out of feederism, the only thing that grew was her insatiable hunger and ever so expanding waistline.

She loved every second of this.

Once you surrender to the piggy life style you can never go back, you are doomed for morbid obesity no matter how hard you try and fight it. Your one purpose in life is to swell to the point of bursting and nothing more. ;)

Thank you so much to an anonymous contributor for this commission!

Would you like to commission me? Head over to my Ko-Fi page :)

TW: intox (alcohol and weed), manipulation, health issues, immobility, darker themes. Read with caution!

***

I didn’t realize it was going to end up like this.

I have always been into feedism. Ever since I remember, I dreamt about becoming fat; it had a thrill to me that was more familiar and intimate than the lure of sex. I would religiously observe people who gained weight; secretly stuff pillows under my shirts to see what I looked like – all the stuff that so many feedees experience ever since childhood.

It’s hard to commit to a fantasy like that when your choices aren’t entirely your own, though.

But that’s when college changed everything.

Of course, many people go apeshit in college. For so many of them, it’s their first time of being away from home and they feel like they can cut loose. There’s parties, alcohol, weed.

For me, it was the first opportunity to try feedism for real.

I don’t think it would have ended the way it did if it was a solo project. I would have eaten a bit more liberally, gained a couple pounds, passed it off back at home as Freshman 15, and gave up, scared of long-term consequences and judgment.

But instead, I had the (mis)fortune of meeting you. My future feeder.

It was literally my first party. Huge crowds at the frat house, and I barely knew anyone, so of course I drank a bit too much to give myself a little courage. But, having near to no experience with alcohol, I overdid it. I was just sitting by the pool table, having one beer after another, and the next thing I knew, I almost lost balance when I tried to stand up.

That was when I found myself leaning on someone’s strong arm.

The details of the night are a bit fuzzy. I remember suddenly finding myself outside with you, rambling drunkenly about something idiotic, and you listening with a gentle smile on your handsome face. You were two years older than me, and you knew how these types of parties went. And then you said something jokingly about gaining weight from drinking too much beer in freshman year… and I guess my brain wasn’t ready for how loose my tongue had become with booze.

“I – hic! – fucking hope,” I mumbled, poking at my own medium-sized middle.

“Sorry, what?” you asked politely.

“Hope that I – hic! – get fat. Like, proper fat. I fucking love fat. I want to be the-the fattest.”

In hindsight, it was really fortunate that it was you and not someone else who was forced to listen to my ranting. Anyone else would have shared with their friends how they accidentally met a freshman freak at that one party one time; but you smiled rather knowingly and said:

“If you want, I can help you make it happen.”

“Wait – hic! – really?”

“Yeah, really. And we can start with getting you another beer.”

“Wh-what for?”

“Empty calories.” You flashed me a grin. “Vodka will be an even better choice next time. For now, it’s probably a bit too much for you.”

“N-next time?” I asked uncertainly. My head was spinning, both from the booze and from the fact that someone turned out to be so receptive to my darkest secret.

“Of course. If you want to really get fat, you’ll need to be doing this on a regular basis.”

In a flash, you were back with another can, and you were explaining everything about alcohol and weed, and how they helped increase one’s appetite; about eating out late in the night and snacking; about adding sugar to everything and eating the most caloric options.

I really wasn’t entirely sure about all of this, especially the intox part. I was into eating a lot of food, not drinking a lot. But then again, you were so persuasive and you really explained the whole process very well. It would just make it easier to consume more calories, I reasoned. I hadn’t tried weed yet, but if it was true what they said about munchies… well, it was going to make it easier, too.

So I agreed.

I had no idea what it really entailed for me.

***

I was actually quite shocked how fast the first results came. I felt constantly bloated from the alcohol combined with late night fast food orders. My jeans stopped buttoning properly by the end of the month, and I switched to elastic. And then you introduced weed, and the munchies hit me really hard. I found myself ravenously shovelling full bags of chips into my mouth and still being hungry after.

Combined with my new sedentary lifestyle of a student, this radical change had radical consequences. It didn’t take long to start feeling heavy and generally fuzzy. The amount of numbing substances I was consuming sometimes meant that I barely felt fully sober – always either slightly drunk or high, or on my way to getting drunker or higher. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t noticing the changes too much… but they were happening.

My constant state of intoxication also meant not doing too well in college. I turned from a straight-A student to a B student in the span of two months, and it was only going to get worse. My brain was slowly losing the ability to retain information, and it was becoming solely focused on food and booze.

By the time Christmas rolled, I had a small paunch. I loved it so much, but I was barely able to appreciate the newfound fatness through the haze of intoxication. Were the circumstances any different, I’d be scared of reuniting with my family, but as it was, I barely cared.

My appearance raised some eyebrows in the family. “They’re feeding you well out there, aren’t they?” my dad commented, seeing my modest beer belly straining my sweater. My mother watched, horrified, as I inhaled the Christmas dinner, and asked for seconds, then thirds. But I didn’t care. All I wanted to do is to return to the campus, and to my newfound way of life.

I was sent away with some mild warnings and mentions of exercise. The first thing I did after coming back was to stuff myself with Chinese food as I smoked weed with you. I was so proud of myself: barely managed to confess my kink and I already had a feeder and a life of my dreams!

Well, and then around the time spring rolled, I started seeing the first cracks in the surface.

I officially reached the obesity threshold for my height. I was now visibly fat, with a sizeable beer belly and a double chin. My thighs rubbed as I walked, and I was starting to have a hard time bending over. My new weight combined with my utter lack of physical exercise meant that I was getting winded simply walking down the school corridor. As the weather grew warmer, it started to get embarrassing, with sweat pouring down my forehead and chubby cheeks. There was no mistaking it – I was now a stereotypical, certified fatty.

I didn’t go back home for the spring break. I cooked up a weak excuse about needing to study for exams. But the truth was, my mental fitness was deteriorating alongside my physical one. I couldn’t focus on lectures, constantly either in the state of mild intoxication or slightly hungover. All I could focus on, sitting in the lecture halls, was how the old flimsy chair was creaking slightly under my ass, or how my pants were struggling for dear life. It turned me on so much, and so the moment lecture ended, I would head back to my dorm room to stuff myself more.

I spent more and more time at your place. You had a lot of room, and a very large guest bed – something that I didn’t really question at the time, too spaced out to question anything. There, I would take edibles, stuff myself silly, and end up in a giggling fit when I couldn’t reach something over my belly.

And my belly was becoming more and more of a problem. Initially, it was a growing hard ball of fat, the typical beer belly – but over time, it started acquiring all that soft fat that I loved, hanging over the waistband of my pants, and forming double rolls when I sat down. It was starting to pool between my legs, and made everything more challenging, from standing up to walking to breathing, not even mentioning reaching for something on the floor. You bought me some grabby sticks that I could use and I started to slowly realize where my feedee path was leading me: to the world of reduced mobility.

By the end of my freshman year, I weighed 300 pounds. I was entering adulthood as an obese addicted glutton, and I was starting to realize it wouldn’t get better in the future. I couldn’t stop eating, drinking, and smoking if I tried. I typically consumed around 5000 calories per day, and often more, as I stopped even counting booze into that number.

I was testing out all the consequences of weight gain that I’d found so hot in stories I’d secretly read growing up. None of my clothes fit. I managed to upsize some of them, but I could barely ask my family for a whole new wardrobe expense. You, my feeder, were quite well-off, and you teased me more than once about buying me specialty clothes… something that I brushed off as a joke. But then later, I realized that the offer of new clothes was not a theoretical one; it was instead dependant on my behavior. If I stuffed myself even more, gave myself even stronger munchies, then maybe you’d consider getting me a new shirt.

For now though, you enjoyed watching me struggle.

I still remember that one class in May of my freshman year, one humiliation amongst many. I was quickly reaching 300 pounds, but wasn’t quite there yet. It was getting hotter. My t-shirt was damp with sweat, hugging my wobbly belly. I couldn’t even tell if it was covering its entirety, but probably not – I was developing quite an overhang these days.

I waddled into class, huffing and puffing with exertion, provoking stares that I had already somehow managed to get used to. I was always the topic of every gossipy conversation now, my ballooning figure on everyone’s lips, people barely recognizing my fat ass as I grew month after month.

I plopped myself on a chair in the back. By that time, I was firmly a C student who’d take every opportunity to escape the professors’ attention – even if it was becoming more and more challenging at my size.

Unfortunately, getting unnoticed was not to be my fate that day. As I sat, I heard a loud RIIIP and realized, mortified, that my pants had split. Panicking, I glanced around, only to notice a couple students giggling opposite me. I had no idea if they realized that I had just shredded my pants or if they actually thought I’d farted. I had no idea which would be worse.

I spent the entire lecture anxious about having to get up and waddle away with a large hole in my pants, and I waited until everyone was out of the classroom to painfully pull myself to my feet and waddle in the direction of the door.

Unfortunately, my humiliation was not over. The professor called out my name and asked me to stay after class.

Embarrassed, I stood there, in ripped pants, my belly hanging out of my shirt, and listened as she voiced her concerns. She was very worried about my skyrocketing academic performance. She didn’t want to pry, of course, but she had to ask: was everything okay in my personal life, or at home? Of course, it wasn’t her place to say, but she couldn’t help but notice…

“E-everything’s fine,” I mumbled. “I’ve just been so busy lately… and…” I couldn’t even finish the sentence. My fried brain wouldn’t let me come up with a good excuse.

She gave me the last worried look and let me go. Humiliated, I turned and prayed that she didn’t look at my ass peeking out of my pants as I waddled away.

When I told you this story, you were absolutely delighted. You grabbed my chubby cheeks, jiggled my hefty belly, and said:

“Oh, you’re so gone now. Turned yourself into a total fatass. You just can’t help but be humiliated now.”

“I – I,” I stammered as they pushed a bong past my lips.

“We’re going to stuff you so much today. As a reward.”

I could only nod. I couldn’t help it; I was addicted to food, to drink, to weed, to the attention you gave me…

By the time the day was done, my belly was tight as a drum.

***

The results of the final exams came. It was official: I had failed. The old me would be terrified for my future and for my family’s reaction; but as it were, I was honestly almost relieved. I didn’t have to try and concentrate on my classes anymore; I could just eat, drink, and spend all my days with you. I didn’t even think about having to leave my dorm room.

So unsurprisingly, I was quite shocked when my addled brain finally put two and two together. I had nowhere to go, except home. I knew I couldn’t go home, it would be a disaster.

“Just move in with me,” you said, and at this point, I knew it was inevitable. The last alarm bells sounded in my brain, but I ignored them. I didn’t have a choice. I had already been set on a path that led to ballooning beyond my wildest dreams.

Soon, I realized what the rest of my life would actually look like. You convinced me to change my phone number, so that no one from my old life could contact me. You moved me into the bedroom with the enormous bed and from day one I realized that I won’t be leaving it much. I still remember my first morning in that bed: you brought me a mountain of pancakes for breakfast and fed me past my already quite strained limits.

And when I asked for soda or something to wash down that massive breakfast, you handed me a beer.

By the end of the summer holidays, I was up to 350 pounds. My world was now restricted to the four walls of your apartment, and consisted mostly of me gaping at a TV screen or playing video games, whenever I was sober enough to even be able to move a controller. I would be feeling much worse with this if I wasn’t high or drunk all the time. I would be alarmed that one morning when I realized that it took me five minutes to get out of bed. Or when my hips brushed the doorframe for the first time.

Instead, I kept drinking, smoking, and eating.

***

I huff, trying to adjust myself in my reinforced bed.

I don’t even budge. I sigh, taking a swing of vodka with my one hand, while with the other, I reach into a pack of chips. I eat them loudly, belching and wheezing between chomps, as the chips fall from my chubby hand. My fingers no longer close over things properly.

As I gorge, I look at the TV screen, but I don’t even register what’s playing, and I don’t care. I’m hungry. I finish my chips, belch, and call out to you for more.

If my life went a different way, I’d be finishing college now. Instead, I lie in this king-sized bed, spreading over the mattress, my mobility long forgotten, constantly drunk or high as I wait for you to bring me another meal, clean me, or change me. I am a mountain of fat, and I can’t stop getting even fatter. And you oblige me: you bring me alcohol, weed, and copious amounts of food. You care for me pretty well, all things considered. I have all the “toys” I need, including a cpap mask, a bariatric bed, and a walker – when I could still walk, of course. Lately, it’s been getting harder to lift my arms to constantly feed myself, so you have been tube-feeding me more and more. I often notice that you mix in alcohol into the sludge I consume. But I don’t mind. These days, it feels almost like water.

When I met you, I was young and impressionable, sure. But I could have turned back, right? I hadn’t been destined to become and immobile blob, and yet, here we are. So many steps of the way I could have stopped, and yet I didn’t. I think we both know why: I got addicted so fast, and not just to alcohol or drugs, but to the heady feel of gaining and getting worse on purpose.

Lust The sin that starts it all. Your fetishization of fat infected your libido until there was no room for anything else. Time and time again, you lay in bed with your vibrator, thinking of how hot it would be to grow bigger, fatter, and wider. Now you can't get off to anything else but the thought of you eating and growing. You masturbate more and more to your twisted fantasies that someday you'll turn yourself into a massive hog of a human. This first sin is where it all starts. This is hardly where it stops.

Gluttony The sin that bridges you to your inevitable fate. You start to eat with an eagerness that becomes difficult to contain. The pain that used to make you stop eating when you were full gets ignored. Instead, you want to keep going beyond your capacity. Your petite frame is overwhelmed by the overnourished glut of calories and starts to store the excess as fat. You grow at an alarming rate, but you don't stop. You don't want to stop. You're ensnared by your new piggish behavior, abandoning reason when it comes to moderation around food. You had control of things, but you threw that control away. As you start to get fatter, leaving your skinny body behind, your lust thanks your gluttony for the gift it continues to give it as your fantasies show up in the reflection of your bedroom mirror. Gluttony is a gateway sin. You'll never look back.

Greed The sin that cements your future. As you continue to turn yourself into a fat girl, your brain transitions to your new lifestyle. There was a time when you used to have restraint when it came to your desires or what you put in your mouth. That time is long gone. MORE. You always want MORE. Regardless of your hunger levels, when you see food, you want MORE of it. Regardless of how many times you've masturbated in a day, when you feel even the slightest bit of pleasure, you want MORE. In the back of your head, you've convinced yourself that you deserve MORE as much as you can eat. When you go grocery shopping, you can't help yourself as you pile your cart with as much as you can carry. Food has become a material possession for you, so you accumulate it en mass. MORE, MORE, MORE. To feed your growing gluttony and lust, you let your greed step in, enabling your primal desire to acquire MORE of what you want. You hoard more than you can handle, but somehow that makes you feel good, safe, and secure. Sharing is no longer something you're capable of doing. You've let yourself turn into a greedy fat pig of a person that always wants MORE. This is who you are now.

Envy The sin that pushes you further down your path. Despite the fact that you're a full-fledged fatty now, you could be fatter. You've put on 100 pounds, but you're well aware that many others are bigger than you. You look at fat girls that are 50, 100, and even 200 pounds fatter than you are with envy. Every part of you wants to be as big as they are. Though you're already fat enough, you're downright jealous of any girl that has managed to turn themselves into a bigger fatass than you. So, of course, you use this to spur you further along. You eat with increased vigor, picturing yourself growing to the portions of those ampler than you are. You want what they have with every bit of your being. There isn't a part of you that wants to stop until you're fatter than those you aspire to be. This envious little sin helps you grow another 50 pounds. Good for you.

Sloth The sin that ensures you'll never go back. With all the food you've been stuffing yourself with, there is nothing more suitable than sitting on your ass all day. Any kind of exertion no longer has appeal to your fat BBW body. You've let yourself turn into a lazy tub of lard. Getting up is a chore. You're only really motivated to exert yourself when you need to get more food. Why waste the energy? Eating and masturbating is hard enough work for you anyway. Each and every one of your movements at your new size feels deliberately sluggish. You're a big lumbering waddling fatso that is better suited for a sedentary life. After all this time, you've become drastically out of shape and can hardly push yourself physically like you could when you were skinny. Your soft beanbag chair of a body is made for comfort, so you let yourself spiral down that path. This sin is a weighted blanket, and it's growing heavier as you let yourself grow weaker.

Wrath The sin that shows you your place. While you've allowed yourself to turn into a lazy, gluttonous, greedy, lustful pig with dreams of getting bigger, people around you have taken notice. After gaining 200 pounds, the rest of your family/friends and society can see the sins written all over your much larger body. You get comments about your weight like never before, passive-aggressive and right to your face. You're the target of fat-shaming and humiliation due to your inability to contain your gluttony, bottle your greed or even stop being lazy enough to update your outgrown wardrobe. Though you feel embarrassed by what others are saying about you, you can't help but feel angry that they don't understand what you're trying to accomplish. You tap into that anger, eating with renewed vigor whenever someone comments on your weight. You masturbate to any humiliating comment made at your expense. If they think you're fat now, you'll show how fat you can really get. They'll see.

Pride The sin that makes it all worth it. At some point, you've eaten yourself into a body any would classify as enormous. Welcome to the life of an SSBBW. You couldn't be more proud of yourself. This is what it's all been about, growing to a size that brings you pure unadulterated self-satisfaction. You can't help but share yourself with others that find your body just as desirable as you do. When you're not too lazy to get off your ass, you post pictures and videos of your lard-filled body online for your admirers to get off to. The more popular you get, the more you want to grow even fatter. You don't care about doing it for them, but you want to do it for yourself to prove the value of each pound you've crammed onto your overburdened body. You've become a selfish fat pig that loves to show off her body, getting off to your perverted sense of accomplishment. Your primal urges are out of fucking control, as you've devolved yourself into a barely walking lardpile of consumption fixated on self-pleasure.

Imagine being stuck in a cell, with a ginormous feast being placed in front of you every day and only allowed to leave once you can eat it all in one sitting

You wake up, disoriented. you look around, nothing in your dark surroundings but a bed and a table. suddenly, you hear a commotion of people in robes, faces covered, rush to bring something onto the barren table in your cell. They disappear in a flash, all that’s left behind is an absolute banquet. A feast that could overfeed about 30 people at a buffet, piled with junk food. Rich creamy pastas, pizza stacked upon pizza, a plate of burgers piled high enough you wondered how it hadn’t fallen over, and piles upon piles of sugary desserts with the most delicious smells filling the room. You wonder if this was supposed to be your last meal, but your thoughts were cut short, by the greedy rumblings of your belly. You were starving, and decided there was nothing else left to do but dig in.

Almost a year has gone by, but to you it had felt like a lifetime. You would wake, stuff yourself with reckless abandon with no fear of judgement or consequences, and go back to sleep. There was no way to tell how often the meals were being brought to you, in fact the only way to tell that time had passed at all was what it had all been doing to your body. When you had first woken up, you had been reasonably thin, maybe a small potbelly from the occasional lack of willpower from time to time but nothing to worry about. Now however, you had grown immensely. If there had been any chance of holding back in attempt to save your figure it had long since flown out the nonexistent window. Your belly had swelled outward, inflated, and sagged lower, you had noticed any sights of what had been your feet had become less and less frequent. Your legs had become heavy with fat, the fat on your thighs threatening to overlap your knees, and the beginning signs of cankles showing on your calves. Your tits had grown substantially, with rolls forming along the sides making your puffy arms rest a little higher than they had before. However, you had certainly done a number on that buffet, having before only been able to stomach a pizza at most you had started to get creative, wrapping burgers with entire pizzas and shoving them into your rapidly swelling gut with as much force and speed as you could. It was the only pastime you had really, so you made the most of it by constantly testing the bursting point of your greedy gut.

It had been a few years of endless feasting before you had begun to notice your mobility diminishing. You were now able to eat enough to feed a large family before slowing down, but your travel from your bed had begun leaving you winded, and took great deal of effort to take your lumbering waddle over to your meals. Your stomach of course, the culprit. Its rolls had swelled with fat so much it now hung down past your knees, fighting your wobbling thighs for space. your knees and feet had long since been covered by the swell of constant calories you had been shoving in. Your elbows had long since disappeared under the size your upper arms had ballooned to. The next day you had woken up, with the familiar smell of food filling your senses, and attempted to get out of bed. You struggled to gasp for air, trying with feeble attempts to propel yourself with enough momentum to get forward, and more importantly, your meal. Each attempt was rather hindered by amount of gut covering your lap. Suddenly, the masked people reentered into your room, and instead of leaving the food on the table, they pick it up piece by piece and began feeding it to you. One after another they stuffed greasy food straight into your greedy belly. The speed they each filled your mouth was almost too fast to chew, forcing you to swallow bigger bites as quickly as you could. “Please, go a little slower” you tried to call out between bites of food, but only one of them replied, “Too bad, you should have never been as greedy as you were in the first place. Fat fucks like you don’t get a say in this matter.”They continued to stuff your face, and once you had eaten enough to feel sick of your usual feast, you cried for them to stop. They fed you their last handfuls, and quickly as they had came, they left. One lingering long enough to instal what looked like a hose coming out of the ceiling.

The next time you awoke, you expected to to greeted by your usual meal of the table, but you noticed that the table had been removed from your room entirely. The only thing that caught your eye was the hose they had left the day before. Starving, you placed it in your mouth and began to suck out of desperation. You were instant met with what tasted like the blend of greasy food you had been eating for years. you noticed at the corner of your bed they had also left a small device, with words _ out of _ eaten. The lights being too dim to properly read, you cast it out of your brain and begun swallowing. It felt so good, the constant flow of calories filling your overstretched gut. You watch it rise with every gulp you fill it with, greed and lust overpowering you with the desire to fill it as big as possible. There was no way to tell how long you spent swallowing, only the rapid expansion of your body. each time you took a nap you would awake with your belly before you looking visibly larger then it had before.

An incomplete version has been circulating, so have the whole enchilada on me.  : )

I released Gym Failure Friends XXL as a pay pack earlier this year with lots of guest contributions and a nice guest story. I’m officially done “selling” it, but i you liked what you saw and feel compelled to donate I have a ko-fi for that sort of thing. Enjoy!

Bonus Art, Story, and Guest Art Under the Cut

Bloated, Tipsy, Burpy, & looking hot AF from this angle. Reblog if you wish you were underneath this Heavy Gut right now 🤭

A little disclaimer: This is just a fantasy post made "purely" for entertainment. I do not recommend doing this IRL… or do I? Don't care :D

By "ruined," I mean gaining a ton of weight, losing all your fitness, dropping braincells, and turning your entire life into a nonstop hedonistic binge.

Minimize Movement: Don't move a muscle unless you absolutely have to. Set up your life so you never leave the bed if possible - switch to online classes, work remotely, or better yet, find a feeder to bring you food and handle all the boring adult stuff. Move your bed right next to the door or bathroom to cut down on those pesky steps. Rule of thumb - fewer steps mean more flab. This'll cause you to lose muscle mass and strength super quick, so you'll get exhausted from the tiniest activity and spend even more time lounging around, packing on the pounds like the lazy sow you aspire to be.

Track Your Calories: Count those calories, but make it brain-dead easy - no thinking required. Download an app that lets you just select your food and it counts everything up. Set your goal to double your current weight in three years - the app will tell you exactly how many calories to shove in daily. Bonus if you've got a feeder doing it for you. If you miss your daily quota? No cumming the next day, or double up on the eats. That'll turn you into a calorie-obsessed piglet who lives for that stuffed feeling.

Always Be Snacking: Keep snacks on you at all times - bags of chips, candy, energy drinks, or shakes. The second you're not eating a main meal, start munching. Aim for a perpetually full stomach. Pro tip for the extreme pervs: Hold off eating until afternoon so your body thinks it's starving and hoards more fat. Or gorge late at night when your metabolism is the slowest.

Guzzle Sugary Drinks: Chug high-calorie liquids nonstop - sodas, milkshakes, energy drinks, whatever packs the most empty calories without effort. Keep a stash by your bed and sip constantly - it'll bloat you up, spike your sugar addiction, and make you even lazier since you don't have to chew. Why bother with solid food when you can slurp your way to obesity?

Eat Unhealthily: Yeah, it's cliché, but feedees should live on fast food - burgers, pizza, fries every damn day. It's insanely addictive - once your body craves that greasy hit nightly, the pounds will pile on like nothing. You're not a health nut - you're a junk-food junkie.

Smoke Weed: Light up that green! If smoking's not your vibe, go for a weed pen or edibles. This stuff makes you dumber, hungrier, and hornier - tailor-made for perverted pigs like you. Don't even get me started on building a dependency - it'll have you munching mindlessly while your brain turns to mush.

Ignore Your Health and Body Signals: Tune out any pain, fatigue, or doctor's warnings - those are just your body whining about the fun we're having. Push past fullness, ignore heartburn. Focus on the instant pleasure of indulgence - long-term consequences? Who cares when you're living the hedonistic dream? Keep going until you're a wheezing, waddling mess - adorable!

Link Sex with Eating: Wire your brain to associate sexual pleasure with stuffing your face. Every feedee I know who gets wet/hard just from food, is enormous - why? Eating turns them on, leading to more edging and more eating in a vicious, delicious cycle. Achieve this by edging or pleasuring yourself every time you eat, and never edge without food nearby. It's a total mindfuck, but perfect for turning you into a food-obsessed fuckpig who can't tell the difference between hunger and horniness.

Build a Food Addiction: Link eating to every emotion - not just sex. Bored? Stuff it down with a burger. Sad? Ice cream binge. Happy? Celebrate with cake. Angry? Eat fries to calm down. Make food your go-to for everything, so when life hits hard (like a breakup), your first instinct is to gorge - and get ridiculously aroused in the process.

Watch Tons of Porn: Dive deep into porn, especially feedism stuff on Tumblr, Twitter, DA, or wherever. Consume and interact with the kink constantly to normalize obese bodies in your brain. You want to reach the point where gaining for fetish feels totally normal. Plus, porn's more addictive than heroin - spend your days jerking off instead of exercising or thinking straight. Waste away into a porn-addicted blob.

Only Edge: No full orgasms for lazy pigs who can still get out of bed - you haven't earned it! Seriously though, edging is insanely pleasurable, prolongs the fun, and builds addiction. It also prevents that post-nut clarity where you might regret your life choices. I edge all day and finish late at night - your goal is waking up horny and needing that dopamine hit from touching yourself first thing. Bonus: Gooning - sexualize your own addiction to porn and edging until you're a drooling mess.

Follow Softcore on Your Normie Socials: On your regular social media, start following softcore porn, mukbangs, plus-size models, or ideally plus-size porn stars. It'll trigger more edging while normalizing obesity and gaining. Soon, scrolling Instagram will make you crave calories.

Experiment with Hypnosis or Audio Files: Dive into weight gain hypno audios or files designed for this kink. Listen daily to reprogram your mind into craving expansion, laziness, and submission. It'll amplify the mental conditioning, making you dumber and more obedient to your urges.

Get Dumber: I adore bimboification, but this isn't just my kink - being stupider is great for gainers! Someone who doesn't think, plan, or question gets fattened way past their limits easily. Flunk out of school, forget responsibilities. Focus only on food, weed, porn, sex, or your phone screen. If a thought strays from gaining? Shut it down. Plan nothing but your next meal.

Create Rituals: Build daily habits, like weighing yourself just for the thrill of seeing the numbers climb, or snapping progress pics for the community. Make stuffing sessions sacred events with specific snacks and porn. These rituals reinforce the hedonism, turning gaining into a worshipful routine.

Join the Community: Nothing motivates a gainer like hundereds of anonymous profiles urging you to get fatter. Believe it or not, the internet's full of pervs cheering on your self-destruction - some even pay for it! Start an OnlyFans, Fansly, or whatever, and monetize your body. Ideally, let it replace your job.

Corrupt Others: Spread the kink! Talking to someone unsure about gaining? Tell them how amazing it feels and push them to start. Friend scared of hitting 300 lbs? Shove 'em over the edge. Buddy worried his girlfriend won't gain? Assure him she secretly wants it. The more people you drag into this with you, the better you'll feel - misery loves company.