Playing with My Food 💕

I'd love to take you to a park full of joggers, wearing clothes that are way too small for you, revealing your jiggly cellulite to everyone. Having you stuff yourself like a pig on a public bench in a sweat-stained t-shirt and yoga pants, unshowered, validating every possible negative fat stereotype.

I'd have you look at all those fit girls running around while whispering in your ear how much of a hog you've become and how far you are drifting from anything considered a functional woman ; yet whispering how much I crave it. Telling you to open that box of donuts the second you are done with your burger to disable yourself a bit more. Whispering that you probably shouldn't even bother showering tonight either, since you're far too lazy for that anyway.

It’s so weird going shopping and seeing a top that I think would fit me and it turns out it’s super tight as fuck because I no longer wear a small/medium 🐷

I totally agree! I think a lot of it is fatphobia, but also the inability to understand kink and anything that is “outside” of your own way of life.

Feedism is about consent, it’s about autonomy over our bodies, it’s about expressing ourselves in the way we see fit!

People see all feedism as coercive and it’s always the hot button topics like death feedism that get the most attention. I can say for all the people I’ve met in the community, none of us are being coerced or forced to do anything, we are all glad to be here. We have had this fetish our whole lives and it’s been insanely isolating and shameful. That’s why it’s so important to find community and break the isolation - realize you have nothing to be ashamed of and you are completely justified in loving what you love!

On the topic of death feedism - for 90% of people it’s just a fantasy. It’s something that’s hot to roleplay or think about, but not actually something they are aiming for. But for the 10% of people who are really serious about achieving it, who are you to tell someone what to do with their body and life? If someone is making the conscious decision to go down that path, then what is really the problem? It may seem like extreme because IT IS EXTREME. That is kink. It doesn’t always fit in a perfect box you can put on the shelf and forget about when you see fit.

You’re already too fat to be hot. That double chin and porky belly? Those stretch marks? Feeder bait and nothing else.

Too fat to turn back. Maybe you’re already there. So fat, pathetic, and out of shape that you’ll never be thinner than you are now. Each month is a before picture for the next time you realize you went up another pant size.

Too fat for chairs isn’t far off. A few months from now (especially if you keep stuffing and getting yourself off to these asks), you’ll sit your enormous fat ass onto a chair and the legs will give out. Splintering as they fail to carry your weight.

Too fat to be taken out in public. You think I’d be seen with a hog like you? A pathetic mess that can hardly waddle. Wheezing with ice cream stains on her triple chin. No, you’ll stay in your pen where you belong.

Too fat to walk. You saw it coming didn’t you? That slow lumbering to the fridge was getting tiring. Just lay back let the tube fill your body with fattening sludge 24/7 and grow.

Too fat for normal sex. With that belly as huge as it is and those tree trunk thighs. There’s simply too much lard in the way. Don’t worry piggy that won’t be a problem, every roll and fold has its uses. You don’t mind do you? You’re too fat to have dignity or self respect anymore.

no responsibilities.

no routine.

no fixed times.

no duties.

just filled to the brim with good food, endorphins beaming from your little piggy brain and dopamine rewarding you for engorging and gobbling on anything edible within a radius of 2 meters from you... wondering what's for dinner.

you wake up at improbable hours, and then you eat, you hit up the pc and devote your hours to videogames, streamings, and food until you go to bed.

i don't even have to encourage you by now...

you're digging your own grave a bite after another.

you know, i see the posts you publish on your kinky socials.

you almost always say that it's me filling that ball of lard you have as a gut...

...but in reality, if I make you stuff once a week it's a lot. After all, I work full time and I'm often too tired to do much but cook for you a filling meal and then going to bed listening to some ASMR to fall asleep...

but you... you love to appoint the entire guilt on me.

you love to tell everyone that it's me rendering you so obese that you can't even walk anymore.

you love to make everyone think "boo hoo poor feedee, her wife is fattening her up!"...

...while in reality you panic if you don't eat for even an hour.

the other day you literally had a meltdown because we didn't have anymore cookies.

and two days before that, you begged me to find another job just so that you could order mcdonalds more often.

(i'm searching for it, of course...)

i'm watching your puffy body sink in the mattress and i can hardly recognize each body part as a human one...

you're deforming your meat vessel by adding so much lard it's becoming unrecognizable.

you're digging your own grave a bite after another...

i'll sleep all night, like always...

...and instead you, like every night, will wake up around 5 am and eat whatever you can fit in your mouth without having to cook it.

oh, my dear hog...

you are so lost in the folds of your own obesity...