my secret kink blog

“Hey, I’ve noticed your partners been breathing really heavily lately. Maybe it’s time to adjust her diet?”

“I know how much you love your partner, but she’s been getting pretty big from all those extra treats you’ve been feeding her.”

“I’m worried about your partner’s health! People aren’t meant to be obese like that, she’s having trouble moving around like she used to. It’s not cute, it’s actually really sad.”

*Said while I’m putting away a large portion of food into an already bulging belly* “Wow, your partner is really food motivated, huh?”

Bonus points if when I come over, her family rubs my belly and praises me for how cute and chubby I am while scolding my girlfriend for how much bigger my belly has grown since the last time we visited. While she denies their claims, she sets me down at the dining room table and puts yet another plateful of food in front of me so I can fill my belly to the brim. My breathing gets heavier throughout the argument until my plate is clear and I’m dangerously close to popping. The entire drive home my loving girlfriend praises me and rubs my aching gut, but not before handing me a thick and calorically dense shake to soothe the rumbling in my stomach. Maybe she’d feel a pang of guilt when I tilt my seat back in the car to allow room for my bigger belly and pant from how full I am. Maybe she’d wonder if she should cut back on how many treats I get. Maybe she’d see reason when she’s having to help squeeze me into my jeans because my belly is getting so big that I struggle to button them myself.

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.

I say this as a staunch fat liberationist who was vehemently anti-fat fetish for years. I know the arguments. I know the elements of feedism that can be problematic if not handled with care. I really get it.

every fat person should have agency over whether they participate in this kink, and refusing consent is so valid. but wanting to participate, enjoying the fetish, leaning into it…

these things can be healing, too. feedism is actually so divinely sacred to me now.

if you’re in the same boat, feeling shame or embarrassment or guilt… please take care of yourself. give yourself a hug from me.

you’re okay.

you’re not a bad person.

you are allowed to love this with your whole heart.

you are allowed to seek joy this way.

that’s beautiful.

you’re beautiful.

after a full month of the routine, you assess their progress. when their stomach is empty, they feel even hungrier than before. they barely get satisfied from the amount of food you've been giving them, only getting to feel some semblance of fullness when they're stretched with water. maybe they even HAVE lost some weight from the smaller portions... so you give them a cheat day. you take them to an all-you-can eat restaurant and tell them they can have as much as they want. their stomach growls on the way there as they imagine all the types of food they're going to eat. you both arrive and they hastily pile a massive amount of food on their plate. this is the first time in weeks they've been able to eat anything unhealthy... and they go all out. they devour whats in front of them, and quickly go back for more. a month ago, they couldn't even imagine eating like this... but now they can hardly control themselves. your feedee doesn't want to pass up on the opportunity to stuff themselves for as long as they can while they have the chance, so you're in the buffet for a couple hours. they only stop when they're absolutely sure they can't fit any more, with their belly jutting out under their shirt. you're sure they've got at least 10 pounds of food in their gut. you smile, knowing that your plan is working. they never could have fit this much before... you're sure this is the most they've eaten in their life.

now you say that you're going to take them off the diet plan, because of all the progress they've made... but in the process of the diet, you've made it almost impossible for them to control their hunger. their stomach got so used to being stretched every day that normal meals barely satisfy them anymore. their body always wants MORE. they only feel full when they're packed with as much food as they can possibly fit into their belly. it becomes rare for them to be seen without a noticeable gut, constantly snacking in order to fill up any possible space.

you don't even have to lift a finger anymore. every day they just gorge themselves. any pounds they actually managed to lose over the past month all come back within a week. the fact that they once couldn't stretch their stomach with ease almost feels like a distant memory at this point. eventually, they even get concerned and raise the idea of a diet again... but they give in to their newfound hunger immediately. who knows how long it would take for their stomach to get back to normal at this point...

uh, well. here's this anyway.

~~~

I can't stop.

can't stop thinking about a cute boy hauling his overfull belly into bed next to me.

he's trying to be quiet about it. he always tries when he's up late into the night, snacking mindlessly and reliably ending up stuffed while he reads or games or whatever it is he does after I'm asleep. but stealth is nearly impossible at his size—the floor creaks beneath his weight and the bed sinks when he sits down—so I'm half-awake when he scoots under the covers beside me, and my hands instinctively reach for his belly like it's developed its own gravitational pull.

I can't stop thinking about whispering awe-filled, teasing praise into his ear (oh my god, baby, what did you do? as though this doesn't happen every time. you really can't help yourself, can you? mmph, can I—). about big hands pulling me in to his chest, wrapping me around him as I attempt to soothe tight, hot skin.

I’m so glad you asked! Let me list off what I’ve got for you:

Books I personally recommend:

- The New Topping Book and The New Bottoming Book, by Dossie Easton and Janet W. Hardy

If you’re having kinky sex at all, you need to read at least one of these two books. Point blank. They’ll teach you the very basics of negotiating properly (which is critical!), and help you identify what you are and aren’t into.

- Mindfucking Mindfully, by Sir Ezra Where this book really shines isn’t actually in helping you “mindfuck” people, it’s in taking a close look at how to do so ethically. It’s a great answer to the question “how do I get someone to consent to something and still surprise and shock them with it?”

- Real Service by Raven Kaldera and Joshua Tenpenny This is a slightly niche pick but there simply isn’t a better book on the subject. It’s written from a 24/7 M/s perspective, which is not what I do, but the book itself is an indispensable guide to giving and receiving service. The phrase “if the Master doesn’t want it, it isn’t service” will be burned into my psyche for quite some time. I love this book a lot. Maybe my favorite out of all of these.

- Enough To Make You Blush: Exploring Erotic Humiliation, by Princess Kali This one’s high on my reading list; I’ve heard it recommended by a number of people whose opinions on these things I trust.

- Pretty Much Anything Midori Has Ever Done Midori is a great resource for this stuff - I haven’t personally read much of her work, but she’s a well known sex educator and great at what she does. She’s known for bondage, but has a lot of range beyond that.

- This Negotiations Worksheet from Bex Talks Sex This is what I default to using a lot of the time for negotiations. Forget BDSMtest, you don’t need that, it’s no good. Just look through this worksheet’s wordbank with your partner. Big fan especially of the “how do you want to feel?” section.

Books I can kind of recommend:

- The Ultimate Guide to Kink, edited by Tristan Taormino This book is weird. There’s a lot of good info for experienced players, but some of what’s written here skeeves me out. I think if I had a top that thought the way some of the tops in here think, they would not be topping me for long. But there’s some good techniques and so on to pick up that I wouldn’t have otherwise. I liked the distinction one of the authors makes between being sadistic in the sense of inflicting pain and being sadistic in the sense of doing something your sub doesn’t “enjoy.”

- The Ritual of Dominance and Submission, by David English Man, this book fucking sucks. The writing and editing are garbage, and the fear and protocol play described need way more careful negotiation than he ever lets on, let alone recommends. This is some 50 Shades bullshit. The only time I recommend this book is to tops like me who tend to be very affirming to their partners and need a guide on how to really scare them - when their partner consents and when you negotiate it, which this book sucks at teaching you. Really good content on fear, punishment, and protocol play, really terrible presentation of the topic though. Don’t read this if you don’t already know what you’re doing.

- Paradigms of Power, by Raven Kaldera I love this book. Great book. Very focused on 24/7 M/s play though, and, being an anthology, some chapters are better than others. If you can’t read something and pick out what is and isn’t for you, don’t bother. But some really great inspiration, and generally pretty well written. Big fan of the discussion of leather throughout the book.

Then she met you.

She stood out at Dyke Night, standing quietly in the corner in a long, red dress that was new and fit badly, baggy, a bold color on a nervous, unflattering cut. You were there watching all the people drinking and mingling in their ironic, niche t-shirts and vintage crops and bizarre combinations of flannel, and there she was, something new, picking at her nails and sipping seltzer water. You walked toward her quietly, saying a soft hello when you were close enough for her to hear you, but she still jumped, and your heart melted. Who was this soft, sweet, scared girl? What was she doing here all alone?

You gave her a soft smile, asked her name, gave her yours in return. She smiled back and you were dazzled, already lost in her warm green eyes, the long folds of her skirt, the brilliant gravity of her grin. You pulled her aside to a quiet corner of the patio, pushed a beer into her hand, asked her where she was from, and that's where it all started.

They are a set, do not separate.

not paying attention while you snack on a bag of little cookies only to find each one must have added a pound to your frame, gaining 40 lbs in the span of an hour. trying to pull your shirt back down only to find you've definitely outgrown it already. the cookies taste so good though...having a handful more only to find that your jeans have popped open now too. well, you're gonna need to get new clothes anyway...may as well finish the bag.

being fed donuts that add 5 lbs a pop and realizing you've gained 60 lbs in the time it took your feeder to coax you into eating the entire dozen. smiling as they massage your new tummy and finding that your appetite is catching up with your new weight; honey, do we have any more?

being funnel fed a shake that adds as much fat to your belly as the amount it stretches it out inherently; so you find that your rounded-out belly didn't go away in the morning, it's just squishier now instead of packed-full. checking the scale to find it added 50 real pounds. patting your newfound gut with pride and going to get a hefty breakfast to keep it growing.

you seem to think that my personal objective is to fatten you up. To enjoy seeing you gaining weight as fast as possible by my hand.

And although that helds some true, it isnt really the process im trying to do.

You see, im not trying to fatten you up. Im trying to make YOU fatten yourself up.

Im just enabling you, im giving you the tools. Im giving everything you need to become an increasingly unhealthy blob of lard. And you fall for it every single time.

I buy extra food? You eat it

I bring snacks? You devour them

I take care of the house? You dont move from the couch

I bring you bigger clothes? You grow to fill them up.

The one burying that body of yours in fat is not me. Its you. It has always been you.