undercover-feedee

cupping a boob in your hand. just hold it. let the weight of it fill your palm

idly bouncing a boob against your fingers

bouncing a belly hang against your palm

laying back and finding the center of the belly and pressing intermittently. bwomp bwomp bwomp. look at that ripple

rubbing back and forth along the bottom of an overhang, noting how the bottom of the belly is soft in a different way from the top (bonus points for dimpled overhangs, W bellies, stretchmarks, cellulite)

curling your fingers around a roll. squeezing, massaging, holding

using a roll to shake a whole belly

framing a belly with both hands and squeezing, squishing, bouncing

wobbling a wide, jiggly thigh

placing ur fingers underneath a shelf of an ass and bouncing. one cheek, both cheeks, who gaf

tracing the curve of plump cheeks, double chins, soft necks with a knuckle or the pads of your fingers

splaying your hand across any wide, soft body part (belly, sides, thighs, ass) and just. feeling. rocking the palm back and forth, pressing fingertips against the surface. soaking up the warmth and comfort

running your hand up and down a whole fat torso, chest to hips, memorizing the landscape of rolls and swells and stretch marks and cellulite

finding clusters of older stretchmarks, noting the different textures between it and unmarked skin

i was trying on a bathing suit bottom with these cute strings to tie on the side, and i just. couldn’t for the life of me remember how to tie them? and it got me thinking—i haven’t worn shoes i had to tie in well over a year.

i could barely reach with both hands to make the knot—my tits were in the way, my belly filled the space i had to reach over… i got exhausted just trying to reach

i wear things that’re easy to get on and easy to get off. i can’t bend over too well because my belly is in the way. it’s starting to hang so, so low.. and i can’t even reach my feet anymore—if i tried to paint my nails it would be exhausting, i’d be out of breath in seconds

it makes me wonder what’s next. will i forget the little trick i use to get bras on? will i forget how to hoist myself up off the floor sometime in the next 100 pounds?

and then, when i finally get to those “too big to live alone without a caretaker” sizes, what will be next?

clumsy, fat fingers unable to button up shirts. the same overly softened hands struggling to hold a fork, eating without utensils is just so much easier.. can’t reach around my belly enough to button any pants, either, it’ll have been years (and hundreds of pounds of lard) since i could even see what i’m doing, anyways

Maybe they'd keep me stuffed to near capacity for days (or even weeks) with heavy, fatty foods so they can watch me struggle around a massive bloated and gassy gut that's so full it's hard to breathe like I'm some animal to be studied, all while they watch my belly and hips and thighs keep swelling with fat. They'd laugh at how the high fat diet gives me gut cramps and rub my sore and overstuffed belly, even though it's their fault to begin with.

Just some mad doctor fattening me up until I'm almost too big to move on my own and then taking notes on how I struggle to do basic tasks. They make notes of how people react to me and how offensively fat I am, how I react to taking up so much space in public. They'd experiment with putting me in my old too small clothing, noting how easily flustered I get as they eventually shred trying to contain my new mass. Theyd rub lotion into my swelling gut and eagerly map my stretch marks, thrilled as they slowly shift from their aged silver back to an angry red. They'd time just how quickly they can force my body up a pant size or three. They'd record videos and take pictures of me and post them publicly, documenting my progress for the world to see as I'm ruthlessly fattened up and turned into their pet just to sate their curiosity.