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The gym was packed that humid Thursday evening when Alex first noticed her. He was in the middle of a heavy deadlift set—veins popping, thick slabs of muscle straining under his tank top—when she walked by the rack. She was stunning: long dark hair cascading down her back, curves hugged by tight yoga pants and a cropped top that showed a soft, feminine belly. Her eyes lingered on him a second too long, a small smile playing on full lips.
Her name was Lila. They chatted between sets. She was new to the area, worked in marketing, and had a wicked sense of humor that made him laugh harder than he had in months. Alex was the picture of discipline—six-foot-two, 215 pounds of carved muscle, low body fat, strict macros. Lila seemed impressed. “You look like you could bench a car,” she teased, her fingers brushing his arm. The spark was instant.
Their first date was at a upscale steakhouse. Alex ordered his usual: grilled ribeye, no butter, double greens. Lila ordered the same… plus an extra loaded baked potato, garlic bread, and a rich chocolate dessert she insisted they share. “Come on, one bite won’t kill you,” she purred, holding the fork to his lips. He ate it to be polite. The way her eyes lit up when he did made his cock twitch under the table.
It started innocently enough. Lila loved cooking. After a few weeks of dating, she began preparing “recovery meals” for him post-workout. Bigger portions. Creamier sauces. “You burn so many calories, babe. You need to refuel properly.” Alex didn’t argue—her food was incredible, and the sex afterward was even better. She’d ride him slowly, hands roaming his hard abs, whispering how sexy he looked when he was full and satisfied.
Month by month, the changes crept in.
She upgraded from healthy casseroles to decadent ones—mac and cheese loaded with four cheeses, burgers with bacon and onion rings on the side, late-night milkshakes “for gains.” Alex noticed his abs softening just a little, but he was still lifting heavy and Lila worshipped his body. “I love how strong you are,” she’d moan while gripping his thickening love handles during sex. Her feeding grew more deliberate. She’d straddle his lap on the couch, pressing bites of cheesecake against his mouth while grinding against the growing bulge in his shorts. “Just a few more, baby. For me.”
By six months, Alex had put on 25 pounds. His muscular frame was still powerful but noticeably softer—thicker waist, heavier pecs, a budding gut that jiggled slightly when he walked. He mentioned cutting back. Lila pouted, her beautiful face turning mischievous. “But you look even hotter like this. More… substantial. Let me take care of you.” That night she tied him lightly to the bed (a new kink they were exploring) and fed him an entire extra-large pizza by hand, licking the grease from his lips between bites, then sucking him off while he digested.
The dynamic shifted fully into feeder territory around the one-year mark.
Lila had quit her job and moved in. She no longer went to the gym with him—she preferred staying home, baking. Alex’s workouts grew shorter as exhaustion from constant fullness set in. His once-chiseled 8-pack was buried under a prominent, round belly that hung over his belt. His muscular thighs had thickened with fat, rubbing together. Lila couldn’t keep her hands off him. She’d spend hours rubbing his growing gut, feeding him heavy cream shakes through a straw while he lay back, half-hard and blissed out.
“You’re my big, strong man,” she’d whisper, her voice husky as she pushed another forkful of pasta Alfredo past his lips. “I love watching you get softer for me. Bigger. Heavier.” Her own body had stayed gorgeously curvy, almost contrasting his expansion on purpose. She’d make him sit on the scale in front of her, biting her lip at the climbing numbers—250… 270… 300 pounds. The sex evolved: she loved smothering his face with her tits while belly-pumping him, or riding his thicker cock reverse cowgirl so she could watch his gut bounce.
The “death feeder” edge emerged slowly, darkly intoxicating.
Lila started talking about it during late-night feedings, when Alex was stuffed to the point of immobility, his massive belly distended and gurgling. “Imagine if you just… let go completely,” she’d murmur, rubbing slow circles over his stretch-marked gut. “No more workouts. No more limits. Just me feeding you until you’re truly enormous. Dependent. So full and heavy you can barely move.” Her fingers would slip lower, stroking him as she described it: hospital beds, mobility scooters, endless calories, his heart working overtime under hundreds of pounds of soft fat. “It would be the ultimate surrender, baby. I’d take such good care of you… right until the end.”
Alex knew it was dangerous. Insane, even. But the way she said it, the worship in her eyes as she forced another liter of weight-gain shake down his throat, made him throb. He was past 350 pounds now, his once-muscular body transformed into a bloated, quivering mass of fat. Lila had to help him shower. She loved it.
One night, after a 10,000-calorie day of her famous death-by-cheeseburgers, onion rings, fried oreos, and heavy cream, she crawled on top of his enormous belly and whispered, “Say it. Tell me you want me to make you my helpless fat boy. Tell me you’ll let me feed you to the edge.”
His voice was thick, aroused, a little scared. “Yes… keep feeding me, Lila.”
She smiled beautifully, kissed his full lips, and reached for the next funnel.
The dynamic was set. She was his feeder. His enabler. His beautiful, loving path toward total loss of control. And Alex, buried in softness and pleasure, was hooked.
As the months rolled on, Lila’s control became absolute. Alex had ballooned past 420 pounds. His once-powerful, gym-hardened body was now a vast, heavy landscape of soft fat. His belly dominated everything—a massive, pendulous apron that rested on his thick thighs even when he sat, covered in angry red stretch marks and constantly gurgling from the endless intake. His chest had turned into heavy, sagging moobs that jiggled with every labored breath. His arms and legs, still carrying some remnants of muscle beneath the padding, were thick and cumbersome. Simple movements left him winded.
Lila thrived on it. She was more beautiful than ever—fit, curvy, and radiant—while deliberately sculpting him into immobility. Mornings started with her straddling his enormous gut in bed, funnel-feeding him a liter of heavy cream blended with weight-gain powder, peanut butter, and chocolate syrup. “Good boy,” she’d coo, stroking his bloated cheeks as he gulped it down. “Drink it all for me. Feel how full you’re getting already.”
She’d canceled his gym membership months ago. “You don’t need that anymore, baby. Your only job is to grow for me.” Instead, she kept him parked on the reinforced couch or their custom king bed most days, surrounded by snacks. Delivery apps ran constantly: family-sized pizzas, buckets of fried chicken, Chinese takeout by the tray, milkshakes thick enough to stand a spoon in. She’d sit beside him, one hand always on his belly, rubbing and kneading the soft flesh while hand-feeding him bite after bite.
The sex had grown darker and more intense. Lila loved climbing onto his massive body, using his belly as a pillow while she rode his fat-hidden cock. She’d press down hard, feeling his labored breathing under her, and whisper the death feeder fantasies that made him throb.
“I read about this guy who hit 600 pounds,” she’d murmur, grinding slowly as she pushed another donut into his mouth. “His heart just… gave out. So swollen and full all the time. Wouldn’t that be perfect? Me feeding you until your body can’t handle how huge you are. Until every breath is a struggle and you’re completely mine—too fat to leave, too addicted to stop.” Her fingers would trace the veins on his overstuffed belly. “I’d keep you right here. Tubes if I had to. Constant calories. Watching you expand until the end.”
Alex’s mind was a haze of arousal and submission. Part of him—the old disciplined athlete—knew this was suicidal. His blood pressure was through the roof. His doctor (the one Lila reluctantly let him see) had warned about heart failure, diabetes, and organ strain. But Lila was there through every appointment, smiling sweetly, then rewarding his “bravery” with a 5,000-calorie feast when they got home. The fear mixed with the pleasure in a way that made him harder than he’d ever been.
By 480 pounds, he was largely housebound. Walking to the bathroom left him panting and sweating, his tree-trunk legs chafing. Lila had to help him shower, soaping every roll and fold with loving care before drying him and leading him back to the feeding chair. She’d started using a funnel more often—easier to get larger volumes in. 8,000… 10,000… sometimes 12,000 calories a day. His belly would swell so tight and round after sessions that he could barely move, just lie there moaning in stuffed ecstasy while she massaged him and jerked him off.
One evening, after a particularly brutal feeding—three whole cheesecakes, two family buckets of chicken, and a gallon of heavy shake—Alex lay there barely conscious, his gut an obscene, drum-tight sphere. Lila crawled up, kissed his sweaty forehead, and whispered:
“You’re getting so close, my love. I can feel your heart racing under all this beautiful fat. Tell me… do you want me to slow down? Or should I push you further? Make you my helpless, bed-bound feedee until your body finally surrenders completely?”
His voice was weak, stuffed, trembling with lust: “Don’t stop… keep feeding me.”
Lila’s smile was pure, wicked devotion. She reached for the next batch of brownies.
The spiral deepened over the next two years.
Alex crossed 500 pounds, then 550, then 600. His world shrank to the reinforced bed in their darkened bedroom. Lila had quit pretending entirely—no more fake doctor visits, no more half-hearted concerns. She sold his old workout equipment, blocked the windows with heavy curtains, and turned their home into a feeding den. He was now completely bedbound, his body a grotesque, immobile monument to her obsession: a 650-pound mountain of pale, stretch-marked fat. His belly was a vast, sagging apron that spilled over his knees when he was propped up, constantly bloated and noisy. His legs were swollen pillars buried in rolls, barely able to twitch. Breathing took effort; his heart thudded heavily in his chest, overworked and enlarged.
Lila remained stunning—lithe, beautiful, with that same mischievous smile. She wore tight clothes that showed off her flat stomach and perky breasts while she tended to the bloated wreck she’d created. Every day was the same intoxicating routine:
Morning funnel: two liters of ultra-dense gainer mix (heavy cream, butter, protein powder, corn syrup, and crushed pastries). She’d straddle his massive gut, tube in his mouth, cooing encouragement as his stomach ballooned. “That’s it, my helpless fatty. Fill up for me. Feel your body breaking down under all this weight.”
Throughout the day: near-constant hand-feeding. Pizzas, fried chicken family packs, entire cheesecakes, gallons of ice cream, greasy takeout. She’d rub his taut, overstuffed belly in slow circles, pressing deep into the fat to help it settle so she could pour in more. At night, the “special sessions”—where she’d climb onto his chest, grinding against the small, buried cock hidden beneath his lower belly roll while describing his inevitable end.
“I want you to go out this way,” she’d whisper hotly, her fingers squeezing his moobs as she fed him donuts. “Swollen, addicted, and completely ruined by me. Your heart straining under hundreds of pounds of my fat. Doesn’t that turn you on? Knowing I’m the one who’s going to end you with love and calories?”
Alex, mind fogged by constant fullness and endorphins, could only moan in agreement. The fear had long since melted into desperate, masochistic arousal. He lived for her touch, her praise, the way she’d kiss his bloated face and call him her perfect, dying feedee.
At 720 pounds, the decline accelerated.
His skin was tight and shiny over the enormous gut. Edema swelled his feet and ankles. He could barely speak above a whisper. Doctors weren’t called—Lila handled everything with online supplies and her own “care.” She installed a proper feeding station: a mechanical lift to reposition his bulk, adult diapers for when he couldn’t signal in time, and IV lines for hydration when his body started shutting down.
The final month was spent almost entirely on his back, belly rising like a grotesque dome. Lila fed him 15,000+ calories daily. She’d lie beside him for hours, one leg draped over a massive thigh, hand slowly pumping his cock while pushing endless shakes and sweets into him.
“You’re so close, baby,” she murmured one evening, after a record 18,000-calorie day. His heart was racing irregularly under her palm, buried deep beneath layers of fat. “I can feel it. Just let go. Let all this beautiful destruction finish you.”
Alex’s eyes were glassy, his breathing shallow and wheezy. “Lila… I… love you…”
She kissed him deeply, tears of twisted joy in her eyes. “I know. And I love owning you completely.”
For the feeders
The end came on a quiet Tuesday night.
Lila had just finished a marathon stuffing: four family-sized lasagnas, two dozen cream-filled donuts, and a final two-liter funnel of pure heavy cream and melted ice cream. Alex’s belly was painfully, obscenely distended—tight, red, and gurgling violently. He lay there sweating, gasping, his massive body trembling.
She climbed onto him one last time, careful not to crush him, and rode him slowly, her hands pressing into the quivering fat. “Let it happen, my love. Cum for me while your heart gives out. This is what you wanted… what we both wanted.”
His orgasm was weak, shuddering. Then his breathing hitched. His face flushed purple. The massive, overworked heart—struggling for years under hundreds of extra pounds of fat, plaque, and constant inflammation—finally faltered.
Lila kept grinding gently, eyes locked on his, whispering sweet encouragements as his gasps turned to gurgles, then silence. She felt the last faint flutter under her hand, then nothing.
She stayed on top of him for a long time afterward, stroking his still-warm, enormous belly, a serene, satisfied smile on her beautiful face.
Her perfect death feeder achievement was complete.
In the crumbling heart of Eldrath, an ancient city of spires and fog-choked alleys, lived a man named Kael. Once a soldier turned scavenger, he survived on what the ruins offered after the world had forgotten the place. Then the monsters came.
They rose from the sewers and crypts beneath the city—twisted things of rot and shadow. Some were gaunt, many-limbed horrors that skittered across walls. Others were hulking brutes with too many teeth. The infestation spread like plague. Screams filled the nights until the screams stopped. Kael barricaded himself in an old watchtower, rationing bullets and blades, until the walls themselves began to bleed black ichor.
On the final night, with the city burning behind him, Kael fought his way out. He hacked through a swarm in the market square, his sword slick with foul blood. A creature with a woman’s face and spider legs nearly took his arm. He lost two fingers to its jaws but kept running. By dawn, he staggered through the broken eastern gate, chest heaving, blood streaming from a dozen wounds, and collapsed into the dark embrace of the Whispering Forest.
The trees closed around him like silent judges.
Hours later, or perhaps days—fever blurred the time—a soft voice woke him.
“Poor lost lamb,” it purred.
A woman knelt beside him. Tall, pale, with hair like midnight rivers and eyes the color of poisoned wine. She wore robes of deep green and black, stitched with silver runes. Her smile was gentle, almost maternal, as she pressed cool hands to his burning forehead.
“I am Seraphine,” she whispered. “You’ve suffered so much. Let me help you.”
Kael, weak and grateful, drank the potion she offered—a sweet, thick liquid that tasted of honey and nightshade. It slid down his throat like liquid fire, then turned to velvet in his veins. At first it eased his pain. Then the heat changed.
His body grew heavy, obedient. His mind fogged with sudden, overwhelming need. Every glance at Seraphine sent lust crashing through him like a storm. His cock hardened painfully against his torn trousers, throbbing with desperate worship.
Seraphine’s smile sharpened into something cruel and delighted.
“There we are,” she cooed, tracing a fingernail down his chest. “My strong warrior. My pet. You belong to me now.”
Kael tried to resist, but the potion had rewritten him. He could only groan as she pushed him onto his back in the mossy clearing. She stripped him slowly, savoring his helplessness, then mounted him without warning. Her tight, wet heat enveloped his aching cock as she rode him with languid, possessive rolls of her hips.
“You fought so hard to escape them,” she laughed softly, pinching his nipples until he whimpered. “Only to become mine. How delicious.”
She used him for hours. When she grew bored of riding his face, she bound his wrists with living vines and took him from above again, slapping his chest and throat while demanding he thank her for every thrust. She edged him mercilessly—bringing him to the brink with her mouth, her hands, her body—only to stop and laugh as he begged incoherently for release.
When she finally allowed him to come, it was inside her while she choked him lightly, whispering spells that bound his soul tighter to her will. His orgasm tore through him like surrender, leaving him shaking and addicted.
Days blurred into nights of abuse and ecstasy. Seraphine kept him collared with enchanted iron, naked on all fours in her hidden glade. She rode his cock while casting spells, used his tongue for her pleasure while she ate forest fruits, and whipped him when he showed even a flicker of lingering pride. Sometimes she invited shadowy forest spirits to watch as she degraded him—making him crawl, fuck the dirt at her command, or thank her for every slap and bite.
Kael’s mind screamed in the small cage that remained of his old self, but his body obeyed with slavish devotion. He loved her. He hated her. He needed her more than air.
And deep in the Whispering Forest, the witch smiled as her new toy hardened again at her slightest touch, ready for another night of endless, cruel use.
In the shadowed heart of an ancient forest, where moonlight filtered through twisted oaks like silver threads, lived Elara, a witch of insatiable appetites. Her cottage was a lair of velvet drapes, flickering candlelight, and shelves lined with glowing potions. For years, she had toyed with lovers who came and went—none lasting. None enough.
One stormy night, a traveler named Marcus stumbled upon her door, seeking shelter. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a rugged handsomeness and a cocky grin, he boasted of his conquests in distant villages. Elara’s dark eyes gleamed as she invited him in. Wine laced with her special elixir flowed freely. As he drank, his limbs grew heavy, his mind foggy with lust.
“You think you can handle a witch?” she purred, circling him like prey. Marcus laughed, reaching for her, but his hands froze mid-air as the spell took hold.
Elara chanted ancient words, her fingers tracing runes over his chest. His clothes dissolved into mist. His body—strong, muscled, virile—began to change. Bones and flesh obeyed her will. His arms fused smoothly to his sides, becoming sleek, padded grips designed for her hands. His legs merged and reshaped into a thick, stable base, firm yet flexible like living silicone. His torso compacted into a powerful, cylindrical core, rippling with enchanted muscle beneath smooth, warm skin. And between what had been his thighs, his cock swelled enormously—thick, veined, and eternally rigid—now the centerpiece of her new creation. A living fuck machine.
Marcus tried to scream, but his voice emerged as a low, vibrating hum of pleasure. His mind remained, trapped and aware, flooded with overwhelming sensation. He could feel everything: the air on his new form, the heat building in his transformed shaft, the uncontrollable urge to thrust when commanded.
Elara smiled wickedly, shedding her robes. Her body was pale and curvaceous, nipples hard with anticipation. She ran her hands over her new toy, squeezing the firm grips that had been his arms. “Perfect,” she whispered. “You exist for me now. To please. To fuck. Endlessly.”
She mounted him slowly, sinking onto his massive, pulsing cock. The sensation was exquisite—warm, throbbing, alive. Marcus felt her tight wetness envelop him, every ridge and vein of his transformed body tuned to her pleasure. He couldn’t move on his own, but Elara’s magic animated him. With a flick of her wrist, his hips began to piston—slow at first, then faster, deeper, pounding into her with mechanical precision and supernatural stamina.
“Yes… just like that,” she moaned, riding him hard. Her hands gripped his sides as she ground against him, her clit rubbing against the smooth base of his shaft. Juices dripped down his form. He could taste her arousal, feel every clench of her inner walls. His mind screamed in humiliated ecstasy—he was no longer a man, just a tool for her cunt, her pleasure.
Elara used him for hours. She rode him reverse, facing away so she could watch his thick length disappear inside her again and again. She bent over a table and commanded him to thrust from behind, his base slamming rhythmically against her ass. When she grew tired, she simply whispered a new incantation, and his cock vibrated intensely, pulsing waves of pleasure through her until she came with a shattering cry.
Throughout the night, she came repeatedly—on his face (now a smooth, featureless mount perfect for grinding), on his cock, even using enchanted straps to bind him in new positions. His transformed body never tired, never softened. Cum, when he was finally allowed release, was thick and endless, filling her or spilling over her thighs as decoration.
By dawn, Elara lounged on her bed, lazily stroking her living fuck toy. Marcus’s awareness burned with endless, helpless arousal. He was hers now—her personal sex slave, a warm, throbbing machine built solely for her pleasure.
“Welcome to your new life,” she murmured, sliding onto him once more as the sun rose. “You’ll serve me for centuries… and you’ll love every second.”
From that night on, travelers who passed the witch’s cottage sometimes heard the rhythmic moans echoing through the trees—Elara’s endless satisfaction, powered by her devoted, transformed fuck machine.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
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