#feedist fic
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Pignapped
Content warning: Contains violent language, physical harm, non-consensual feedism and other acts. This is just a story, don't be weird.
A commission for @collegefatty10
He was on the way back to the car after grabbing a pizza. It was routine at this point in his life. Eating all day without regard to his ever-increasing weight had led to some interesting eating habits. A breakfast sandwich in the morning had become three sandwiches with hash browns and two doughnuts. Lunch steadily grew into a multi-hour affair with trips to multiple drive-thru visits, door dash orders, desk drawers filled with snacks, and not to mention a new habit of pre-gaming before dinner. Driving to get his pizza led to stopping for fries, or nuggets, or a combo meal, or all of that, before he picked up his next greasy calorie bomb. This routine made his day predictable, pigs are simple after all. The same places and employees watched him fatten from the low 300s to his heaving 430 pounds. Day after day, pound after pound he kept ordering more. As his waddle slowed, his gut hung lower and lower, his face getting red and sweaty from the 20-foot walk from the car to the pizzeria, he was an easy target.
I had seen him months before on a lunch break. My eyes shot open as saw a hanging lard pile of a man puff his way into McDonald’s. It was a passing horny thought that I would see him again, maybe add it to my mental bank of images and memories to jerk off to later. Yet, he kept coming to the same places again, and again, and again till it was too much to resist. I mapped out his route, timed him as ordered, and ate his feasts. Noted how he favored his right leg as he waddled, his arms struggling to carry the ever-increasing amount of food he ordered. As I watched him, I couldn't help but notice the way his right leg bore the brunt of his weight, the limp a constant reminder of his indulgent lifestyle. I wondered how long he had been living like this, how many times he had ordered a pizza and not once thought about the consequences. I knew he would be easy to take. Easy to keep docile, dumb, and growing.
I waited till the moon was just a sliver in the night sky outside his favorite pizzeria. Checking my watch, as it ticked over to 8:40 pm, his sedan pulled into the parking lot, the front driver’s side sitting low as my soon-to-be pet pig drove. I watched from my hiding spot as he struggled to haul his massive frame out of the driver's seat, grunting and wheezing with the effort. The scent of greasy pizza wafted through the air as he waddled towards the entrance, his heavy footfalls reverberating on the pavement.
Once he was safely inside i made my move, slipping silently into the shadows and following him at a distance. Inside, he placed his usual order - a large meat lover's pizza with extra cheese and a side of garlic knots. His eyes gleamed with anticipation as he paid for his meal, oblivious to the predator lurking in the darkness behind him.
As he turned to leave, I struck swiftly and silently, wrapping a thick cloth bag over his head. He struggled weakly for a moment before I pushed him back to the car. With ease, I kicked his right knee from the back and watched as he tumbled into the truck. His muffled moans of confusion and fear barely registering over the hum of the engine. He was mine now, another victim added to my collection.
I paused for a moment, considering my next move. He was a strange yet fascinating addition to my collection, and I relished the thought of having him under my control. I could see him squirming in the back, his heavy breathing and muffled cries a stark contrast to his usual confident demeanor.
I parked the car in a secluded spot, away from any prying eyes. The moon now a hazy glow, bathing everything in a sickly light. I approached the car, opened the rear door, and lifted my newest prize out of the vehicle.
He was heavier than he looked, his bulk making it difficult for me to handle him. But I had experience, and I was patient. I carried him to a nearby abandoned warehouse, the cold metal of the hinges echoing as I pushed open the door.
Once inside, I placed him on a table, still wearing the cloth bag over his head.
"Hey, buddy," I cooed to the pig, my voice low and sinister. "You know, you're not going to like what's going to happen to you. I've got some pretty wicked plans for you. I'm going to fatten you up, relentlessly, until there's barely anything left of your dignity or self-esteem. You see, we're going to use you, and we're going to pleasure you in ways you can't even imagine."
The pig let out a soft grunt, the sounds muffled by the cloth bag still securing his head. I chuckle, a dark and twisted sound that reverberates through the cold, empty warehouse. Taking a step closer, my shoes scraped against the rough concrete floor.
"I've been collecting things like you for years," I whispered, running his hands over his captive's plump body. "I've come across so many of your kind, just like you, loving your comfort and your food. And I've had my way with them all. Oh, I've had so much fun, and you're next on my list."
As I approach the pig, who is still covered in the bag, he lets out a soft whimper and shakes his head, trying to free himself. His body wobbles with each attempt as he struggles against his bonds. Belly aching with his last meal the movement causes an unintended blech from beneath the bag. Swiftly, I remove the bag from the pig's head, revealing a face red, sweating, and fearful. The pig's eyes are wide and terrified as he stares up at me, taking in his new surroundings - cold concrete walls bare of any decoration, a king-sized bed next to a small bathroom, and a large full-body mirror.
"Look at you," I say with a hint of disgust mixed with fascination, "just look at what you've become."
"You know what you are now?" I ask quietly, “You are my plaything, a toy, a fat weak blubbery toy!” my digs deep into his belly hang, bringing a painful whine from the pig’s mouth.
"You are mine, completely and entirely," I continue, my voice growing menacing, "and I'm going to do whatever I want with you at my command." The pig tries to struggle again, but his movements are weak and pathetic. "Oh, but first things first," I say, walking over to the bed where I had left a set of handcuffs.
I restrained the pig on the bed, at once reluctant and terrified to yield to such volition.
"You'll get used to it, trust me," I say, my fingers tracing curious paths over his bulging form. "Maybe then you'll even enjoy it."
With the pig cuffed to the headboard and footboard, I began to study him, taking in every last curve and fold of his form. He looked so helpless and vulnerable like a lost child in desperate need of a firm hand to guide him.
Noticing the glaze that had settled over his eyes, I thought, 'Now we're getting somewhere.'
Methodically, I began to examine him as if he were an exotic creature, taking note of each flaw that had been revealed by my rough handling.
He would be my plaything, my plump and innocent pig. And I would use him, treat him, and abuse him in ways that would break him completely. I would fatten him up and weaken him until his body could no longer bear the weight of his own flesh. I would use every inch of this vulnerable creature, making him my own personal toy.
As I stood over him, watching him squirm pathetically on the bed, my mind raced with all the ways in which I could degrade him. My hands moved over his flesh, feeling him shake beneath my touch. I could feel the warmth of his skin, the softness of his fur, the weight of the fat that filled his body. It was all so delicious, so intoxicating, that I found myself growing hard at the thought of what I could do with him.
My fingers brushing feather-light against his skin, teasing him with every passing second. It was then that I decided upon the next part of his degradation. With a smirk playing on my lips, I retrieved a bucket from the floor, its contents sloshing against the sides with every move I made. It was filled to the brim with a half-gallon of lard-filled slop, designed to both fuel his growing hunger and make him feel even more vulnerable in his restraints.
As I drew closer, the pig let out a small whine, his eyes widening in fear and anticipation. He knew what was coming. I brought the bucket towards his mouth, and with a practiced hand, I tilted it so that the contents would flow easily. A funnel was inserted into his mouth, and with a cruel smirk, I watched as the slop began to pour down his throat, filling him to the brim.
End of Part 1.
#fat#weight gain#male bhm#male feedee#male feeder#belly play#fa#pig#piggy#hog#fatass#lardass#dom feedist#dom feeder#feedist fic#feedist fiction#feedist story#wg fiction#wg story#male wg#bhm#ssbhm
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Chapters: 17/?
Fandom: Original Work, Napoleonic Era RPF, regency - Fandom, 19th Century CE RPF
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Prince Regent/Female OC
Characters: George IV of the United Kingdom, Prinny, Original Female Character(s), Prince Regent, Beau Brummell, Frederick Duke of York and Albany, some eldritch things
Additional Tags: Regency, George iv - Freeform, Prinny - Freeform, Belly Kink, Stuffing, Hand Feeding, Tentacles (sort of), Depression, Weight Gain, Fat Shaming, fat appreciation, mentions of politically motivated suicide, the corn laws, Slow Burn, lots of french cooking, 1816, The Year Without A Summer, Existential Angst, too much laudanum, with some eldritch things thrown in, they also like cake, reposted after my account was hacked
Summary:
An aging, portly prince and a pretty baker’s cousin make a bet on which of them can make the other one fall in love first. Outwardly, everything appears to be in the bored prince’s favour but, unbeknownst to him, their meeting was no chance encounter and romance is the last thing on the young lady’s mind. When both of them begin to lose themselves in their wager, things take a darker turn... (Reposted after my account was hacked.)
#here we goooo#character & caricature#george iv#we interrupt your fandom posting for some cake and historical fiction#prinny#feedist fic#that was... a ride
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Bear and Sid see each other once a month for their fishing trips. Bear has noticed his fishing buddy is looking pretty plump these days.
A light-hearted one-shot about unintentional weight gain.
Rating: Mature
Original Work, M/M
Characters: Bear and Sid
Words: 5,173
AO3 Tags: Weight Gain, Slice of Life, BHM, Male Weight Gain, Feedism, Oneshot, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Rednecks, Unintentional Weight Gain, Teasing, Light-Hearted, Queer Feedism, It gets a little spicy but there's no sex
#feedism fic#feedism fiction#wg fic#wg#male weight gain#feedist fiction#feedist fic#Robin Writes#Fishing Buddies#Bear/Sid#weight gain fic#weight gain fiction#bhm story#queer feedism#belly kink
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Special Delivery
As a growing gainer's mobility diminishes, his regular delivery order takes an unexpected turn. (SSBHM to USSBHM feedee, gender-unspecified fat feeder, no explicit sex. CW: Immobility, bariatric tube feeding, brief moment of dubious consent.)
Written at the suggestion of a friend, here's a special delivery of XWG and immobility/bariatric kink. I've left the gender of the feeder unspecified so that gluttons of all persuasions can enjoy it. Eat up, and reblog if you like it!
--
He paused to lean on the doorframe of his apartment building, huffing and puffing, before swiping his key card to open the door.
The bus stop was only about 250 yards from the entrance to his apartment, but the walk was getting more and more difficult. By the time he made it out of his apartment, down the elevator and to the bus stop, he was red-faced and sweaty, wheezing and gasping, his gigantic belly rolling and wobbling as he struggled to squeeze himself into a seat.
Fortunately, there was a bench halfway between the bus stop and the building. More and more often, he found himself stopping there for a minute or two or three, pausing to catch his breath and harvest his energy for the rest of the trip.
This wouldn't even be an effort for most people, he thought to himself. But he didn't mind.
He enjoyed it, in fact. For years he had been getting fat on purpose, watching the numbers on the scale rise as his body grew softer and heavier. Other people would be shocked if they knew, but it even secretly turned him on to know that he was getting so fat that just walking to the bus stop was becoming a struggle.
Still, the effort could be a pain sometimes. Like right now. As he passed through the door of his apartment building and into the elevator, feeling his belly quiver against his thighs and leaning against the wall to take some of the pressure off of his knees and back, all he could think about was beaching himself on the couch until it was time to stand up and walk again.
That time wasn't too far off. He had already placed the order when he was riding home on the bus. But the walk from his couch to his apartment door was just twenty feet. And at the end of that walk there would be food.
--
Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, the buzzer rang. He took a deep breath, grunted, stuck his arms out for balance and began laboriously standing up from the couch, breathing heavily, pausing occasionally for an especially deep breath. The buzzer rang again. "I'm coming!" Slowly and ponderously, he waddled to the door.
He ordered from this particular fast food place all the time, but tonight there was a new delivery driver. He couldn't help noticing that they were substantially fat themselves, with thick thighs packed tightly into the pants of the driver's uniform, upper arms spilling like dough out of short sleeves, even a hint of belly peeking out from the bottom of the shirt. "Four burger meals, four milkshakes. Three chocolate lava cakes. And a two liter of Coke."
"That's me." He steadied himself on the wall by the door, then reached an arm out and took the bags, managing to slip both handles around his wrist and get a steady one-handed grip on the tray of milkshakes. "Thanks."
There was a smile on the driver's face as he shut the door.
--
It was getting harder and harder to reach the bus stop. He wasn't just pausing for a break on the bench any longer. Now he was stopping multiple times to lean himself against the building next to his, or on the fence that stretched the last few dozen feet from the bench to the bus stop. Then he had to climb into the bus, which was a struggle in itself, and hope that there would be a pair of side-by-side open seats at the front so that he wouldn't have to squeeze his belly in behind another pair of seats.
He found himself looking for excuses not to leave the apartment. It wasn't difficult to find them, since so many things could be done remotely now. And with the money he saved, he could afford to call a rideshare from an app instead of taking the bus. Pretty convenient.
The four burger meals were a part of his regular order rotation, and he found himself looking forward to visits from the fat delivery driver. He swapped out one of his pizza orders and started going for the burgers an additional night or two every week. Once he'd gotten in that habit, he bumped the number of burgers up to five, with an order or two of chicken wings for good measure.
As the driver handed him the last of his order, they smiled, their fat cheeks dimpling in a way he had come to recognize and appreciate. "I saw you trying to get the bus the other day."
He felt his face flush with embarrassment. "Yeah. Usually I take a rideshare, but the congestion pricing this weekend was really bad." He steadied himself on the doorframe and took a deep breath. "It's a pain in the ass trying to squeeze into those bus seats. I'm not exactly skinny."
The driver laughed. "You're a big boy. After all these burgers, who can blame you?" From someone else the words would have been hurtful, but they were said with obvious affection, and the driver was pretty fat themselves.
"Yeah, I guess I am." He grinned and patted his belly. "It's a lot of work hauling all this around. But I don't mind. I promise I'm not going to put you out of business by going on any diets."
Now it was the driver's turn to blush. "I'd miss seeing you. You're my favorite customer."
"Thanks." He hefted the bags of burgers and chicken, struggling to get a steady grip on the tray of milkshakes.
"Here, let me help you with that." The driver reached for the milkshakes, picked up the bag with the two-liter, and followed him into his apartment.
"Whew." He let out an exhausted sigh as he settled back down on the couch, feeling his quivering rolls slowly come to stillness as he sank into his favorite spot. "Thanks for the help."
"No problem." The driver was smiling again. "You know, you could put a bench there. To rest on when you're going to the door." They gestured at a spot between the living room and the bathroom door, where a bumpout for the hall closet made a natural alcove that was just deep enough to fit a bench.
"You know, that's a good idea." He grinned back at the driver. "I don't know what I would do without that bench at the bus stop."
"Or the fence. You must have been there a good five minutes before you got moving again."
He laughed. "Are you stalking me?"
"No! I was stuck in traffic. But I have to admit, I didn't mind the view. You're my favorite customer for a reason."
The driver's phone buzzed. "Shit! I have to get back on the road right now or my next delivery's gonna get cold. I'll see you soon."
As the driver hustled back to the door, he couldn't help admiring how their thick thighs and ass bounced and quivered in their snug uniform.
--
He took the driver up on their suggestion, and was glad he did. His burger binges, on top of all his other binges, were adding some serious weight to his body, and it was getting more and more difficult to walk. He had given up on the bus entirely. Making it downstairs to a rideshare was becoming an ordeal, even if it was pulled up right at the door of the apartment complex.
But he still didn't mind. With the bench in place, he could pause for a minute or two to catch his breath on the way to the door, and that made it not too difficult to order in. He had even put a mirror up on the wall opposite the bench so he could look at his flushed and panting face, the gigantic rolls of his thighs belly, and admire how fat he was getting. I'm so fat I can barely make it to the door, he would think to himself, and then all those hundreds on hundreds of pounds would quiver and shimmer as he shuddered with excitement.
Sometimes he'd spend so long in a reverie that the person delivering the food would get impatient, ring the doorbell again and again. That was when it wasn't his favorite driver, of course. They knew it would take him a while to answer the door. He found himself dropping the other restaurants out of his rotation, going deeper and deeper into the menu of what had become his favorite fast food place. And that driver always wore a smile.
One day they had another suggestion. "You know, it's not that expensive to get a remote door lock. You could open the door with a remote control, or with your phone." They smiled, fat cheeks dimpling, fat chins quivering. "That way I could bring the food straight to your couch."
"You'd do that for me?" He grinned. Their interactions were becoming more and more flirtatious lately. Sometimes he wondered if he should spill the beans and admit everything: that he was a gainer, that he had gotten this fat on purpose, that he looked forward to their delivery visits because he had a crush on them.
"Of course. Straight to your couch. Even straight to your bedroom, if you don't want to get up."
And sure enough, when he had the remote lock installed, they did.
--
It was a typical evening. He woke up from a nap to the bedroom beginning to darken as the sun began to set. He flipped on a light and pulled out his phone. Seven burger meals, six milkshakes, two family-size chicken platters… his mouth was already watering.
As usual, they came straight to his bedside, unloading the bags of food onto the bed right next to him so they would be in easy reach. But today they were rolling something in behind them as well, a large box on a handtruck.
"What's that?" he asked.
"It's a special delivery." There was a look on their face he had never seen before. The dimpled smile was there, a little more mischievous than usual. But there was an intensity in their eyes now, too, a flush in their fat cheeks that was more than just exertion. "Something I've wanted to do to you for a long time."
"For a long…?" He paused, not sure how to continue. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the labored breath from each of them.
"Close your eyes." There was a sudden note of command in the driver's voice.
"Mmmmph!" Before he knew it, there was a hand on his face, roughly shoving. For a moment he felt like gagging as he felt something slip down his throat and something else shoved into his nostrils. He tried to speak, but with the tube in his throat, all he could manage was a grunt. But his meaning was clear. What the hell is going on?
The driver spoke rapidly, their voice husky and heavy. "I know. I know you're a gainer. I know you got this way on purpose. I could see it on your face. In your eyes. The way you looked at the food. The way you looked at me." They paused and took a deep breath. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing. When I'm not doing delivery for extra money, I'm a bariatric nurse. I have this all planned out."
They were in control now. "There's a lot of calories in this tube," they continued, swiftly and assuredly hooking it up to a canister of some sort and turning the valve. "Oil mixed with sugar. Pure calories. Going straight into your stomach. You're going to get fatter. A lot fatter. And quickly."
He thought for a moment about whether he should try to resist. But when he saw the look on the driver's face, he didn't want to.
It was a look of love.
And after all, he had always wanted to be fat.
--
His routine changed again. He no longer bothered leaving the apartment at all. No longer bothered leaving his bed at all. Just stayed in bed lounging or napping, calories flowing effortlessly down his throat. His body continued to swell. Every day, in the morning and in the evening, the driver would visit to clean him and to replenish the canister of formula. Then their fingers would trace across his body, their palms lifting his rolls, their lips and fingertips sending an electric charge through the tender hidden places in his rolls and folds. He grew and grew. Would he ever make it all the way to the bus stop again? Would he ever make it all the way to the door again? If he managed to make it to the door, would he fit though?
No, he wouldn't. He knew that. But he didn't care. He was growing bigger and bigger, fatter and fatter, softer and heavier.
And if he never left his bed again, he would still be happy.
#weight gain fiction#wg fiction#gaining weight on purpose#feedist fiction#mutual gaining#wg fic#mutual feeding#immobile#immobility#feeding kink
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Tw: kidnapping, teasing, force feeding
Oh, love...don't you get it yet? Have you been trying to convince yourself all this time that you'll escape? Let me make it plain: you're mine.
There is no going back to your life before this. Your friends, your family, your job, none of it matters anymore. I mean, not that any of the people you knew would recognize you anyway. Not with the sheer amount of weight you've accumulated since I took you.
I'm impressed, really. It took hardly any coaxing to get you to this point. And within a few months, I would almost figure you actually enjoyed this. You certainly didn't resist very hard when I shoved all those sweets down your throat. "Oh no, please don't force feed me all that...please, I don't want to be forced fatter, I beg you!" You gobbled them down like a good captive hog, didn't you?
You'll excuse me if I have a hard time believing you actually want to leave. I'd bet that if I undid your shackles and unlocked the door, you'd stay right there and wait for your next meal like the docile pet you are.
And even if you did want to leave, where else are you going to find a situation that can accommodate you now? This room is made to facilitate you at three times your current size, and my cabinets are stocked up to sustain you indefinitely. Judging by what a blob you are now, I imagine you won't be moving much soon.
Speaking of, I have a feeling you'd find it difficult to physically escape as well. All this time locked down here, I'd say you've atrophied a bit. Lugging around all that belly must be so hard, especially with how thick and cellulite-ridden your thighs are. The way you waddle suggests you would probably have a hard time with the stairs, too.
So, I'm afraid there's no other option for you. Oh who am I kidding? I'm not sorry in the least. In fact, I'm eager to get you doubled in size asap. I think I'll start bumping your calorie intake by a few thousand per day, starting today.
You like that, huh? I can see your chubby cheeks getting red. Don't tell me this is turning you on now. That'll only make this easier for me.
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I missed this past horny Friday but that was because I went to a food truck festival and ate so much my friends had to drive me home 😅
I’m a sucker for food trucks and everything was so delicious I just kept moving from truck to truck till I could barely stand up straight. By the time we were ready to head out I could barely keep my eyes open. I didn’t plan on going all out like that but I couldn’t help myself. That’s been happening a lot lately lol
damn you really are out of control. and this is off the heels of you eating too much at lunch and needing to leave work early :3
good trucks don’t usually skimp on portions either (since you’re getting like a 20 dollar taco lol) so I can only imagine how much you ended up eating. real pig behavior if I’m honest 😉
that’s hot!!!! its hot!!!! it’s also a big fantasy of mine to do this with someone and I’m just having feelings right now okay.
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Okay I neglected to post this here for a while untuil I felt like it was long enough to share but alas! I present my long running feedism story!! It's mostly male focused, but the main man in question is African-American, so it's at least a little different from the gainer fics we usually see xD
Fandom: Original Work
Categories: F/M, M/M, multi
Tags: stuffing, feeding, weight gain, intox, recreational drug use, marijuana, alcohol, eating, polyamory, implied sexual content, belly rubs, eructophilia, humiliation, drunken flirting, more tags listed on AO3
#stuffing#weight gain#eructo#chubby guy#male weight gain#male stuffing#stuffed belly#soft feedism#male feedee#black feedee#black feedist#ao3 fic#ao3 writer#kink fic#wg fiction#noodle art#my ocs#This drawing is kind of unrelated to the fic since it's not the 2000s but i'm posting it anyways LMAO
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Feeder Prince and Servant Girl
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Aaron Horthall was renowned—or rather, notorious—for hosting the most extravagant parties and gatherings. Nobles from the entire kingdom would attend, socialize, eat the most delicious foods, indulge in drink, dance, and create a complete revelry in the prince's castle.
But lately, the prince was always left yearning after each gathering. For all the merriment that his parties had, they could never slake one particular appetite of his. All of the women of the court worked hard to maintain their figures and avoid overindulging. Proper etiquette of the land dictated so. None of them had truly appealed to him.
He had almost given up hope until he noticed one of the castle servants during an idle day of boredom. He had always been vaguely aware of her presence around the castle, but today, he saw her. She was beautiful. Her flowing, dark blonde hair was striking, as were her hazel eyes and dimpled smile that nearly made his heart skip a beat when their eyes met. She had curves the likes of which he had never seen on anyone amongst the court. Every ounce of his desire was calling out for her.
"You there," he finally managed to say. "Approach, if you'd please." He made a beckoning gesture with his first two fingers.
Her eyes darted down to the floor, and her hands clasped in front of her as she approached the throne. "Yes, my prince? How might I serve you?" She asked. Her voice was gentle, but not exactly timid. It had a subtle confidence to it.
"What is your name?" Aaron asked, leaning on the arm of his throne. He assumed the most commanding nonchalance that he could without looking ridiculous.
"My name is Lillian, your Highness."
"Lillian. A beautiful name. It suits you," he said with a charming grin. "Tell me, have you ever attended a noble's party, Lillian?"
Lillian waited a moment, seeming to choose her words carefully. "I have not, your Highness. Such occasions are much too prestigious for someone of my station."
Modesty. The prince could recall at least a dozen nobles less worthy than she to attend his parties. "Nonsense, I would have you attend one of mine as my guest. Tomorrow evening, if it would please you."
"You deeply flatter me, my prince, but would that be proper? Others may not take too kindly to a servant girl in their company," Lillian said with a hushed tone.
The prince let out a single chuckle and leaned forward, attempting to look her in the eyes once more as she kept her head down. "If it is viewed as improper for the prince to invite whomever he pleases to his own party, then those that find issue shall be imprisoned immediately."
Lillian giggled, and the prince could swear she was beginning to blush. "It would certainly be a shame if my presence caused such a stir amongst your other attendees. But if you insist-"
"I do," the prince said as he stood and descended the stairs to his throne. His heart was thudding in his chest the closer he got to her. "One of the royal chambers will be prepared as your accommodations until the party, as well as an array of dresses to choose from. Whatever you might need, do not hesitate to make it known, and it shall be attended to. You are, as of now, my personal guest."
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Let me know if you like this idea and want me to continue it!
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Late as hell, but I never intended to do all the prompts anyway, soo... Take my participation for Day 2 of Feedist Kinktober! The theme is obviously Royalty, which I'm a sucker for <3
It's a simple A/B scenario, fill the gaps with whomever you want 👀
A - ex-knight turned feedee (he/him)
B - the feeder prince (he/him)
WC: 1,082
Hope you enjoy!
"Am I…" A's eyes trailed off as he flushed helplessly, "Am I fat enough for you now, my lord?"
The prince only grinned as he watched his favorite ex-knight-turned-servant squirm under the silk-smooth hands of the royal. B has fattened his favorite guard well so far; No matter what he wore, clothes hugged A's curves mercilessly. His ass and hips practically always strained any pants he wore, skin-tight; His chubby face itself proof of overindulgence, as his cheeks and chin rounded up, giving him a cherubic, cute look. Stark contrasts to the tough-faced warrior who once walked these corridors so sternly, so above everybody… Now all he could do is waddle after the toothpick-sized prince that has claimed him as a prize piglet.
And his belly, of course… His belly stole the spotlight.
Soft and round and plump, always at least somewhat filled up, or demanding another portion. Growling easily, whenever A wasn't full for but an hour, even less. B has trained and indulged his body to the point that A would beg to be fed, even blushing red with shame. His embarrassed, needy whimpers were music to the prince's ears.
That's what you get for being so cold and mean. And hot. You get to turn even hotter, bigger, puffier, musculature melting like wax into smooth, overfed bliss… You turn into the prince's plaything, at his mercy at all times.
One that was meant to protect, well… Let's just say he barely even remembered what his armor looked like. And holding a sword, he would only hurt himself. No, B thought, his hands sinking lower, into the flabby, plump underbelly of his pet thing - A would never be a knight again. He was making sure of that.
Spoiled and overfed and conditioned, he would learn to love the life of pampering and luxury without any shame. B would yet break his sorry ego.
"A-Ah, my master… Dear prince…" A whispered breathily, glaring down and whining a little as the prince's gentle yet decided hands toyed with his chub. "Oh… my lord…"
"You know the answer to that, silly." B clicked his tongue, smirking into the other's neck. His hands explored deeper under the fat, into those tight pants, barely able to release the sorry waistband from its misery. A moaned when his fat spilled out and jiggled, a prime image of indulgence and unbearable, always growing gluttony. "You should always grow some more. That's my order~"
A could only stare absent-mindedly, bliss on his stupid little face, so bloated with good food and laziness. B grew this fatness personally, the prince always behind it, going to many measures necessary to fill up his gut some more.
A started so modestly. In such denial, going as far as to go against his prince at times. Despite clear orders, A was a prick that needed some further discipline.
Finally realizing his subservience to his lord, he hesitantly let prince B pamper him, taking him away from the actions of protection and bravery. He barely ever escaped the attention of other knights, as his plumpy, soft form became more and more apparent. A knew if he were them, he wouldn't recognize himself.
Finally, he was promoted from guard to prince's personal companion. A became his pet for good.
Where had that strong, independent, blunt warrior gone? He's grown soft, pound by pound, inch by inch. Beer, silky clothes and excessive leisure time helped. He wasn't allowed to leave his chambers without the Prince. He couldn't bathe in the servants' room, only ever allowed in the royal bath, as per B's orders. And he had nobody pitying him, for everybody wished they could have a life this careless and A would be a fool rejecting the prince's advances.
First but a beer gut, softness grew atop of his slim, tough belly. Further and further, until pulling on his armor made him want to hurl. He didn't fit it anymore, not with his new role, that of his master's plumpy pet.
He lost count of how many clothes he's outgrown. The numbers were in the hundreds. And the best thing was, he only kept expanding. He still wasn't enough for the prince. Even when he started having problems dressing on his own (solution: maids) and taking the stairs (solution: never leave his floor or wait for staff), the prince kept steadily overfeeding his companion, eyes shining with glee and mischief.
The royal himself was so tiny the knight could probably crush his feeder, and yet it was the former that held all the power, towering over the other in status.
Besides… a life full of spoiling couldn't be that terrifying… Why would someone not want a life of constant calm?...
Worrying about only ever ripping his pants, or burping too loud… those seemed arbitrary, yet those were the only kinds of concerns A had ever since he converted to this lifestyle. It couldn't compare to his mission-fueled path of a knight, full of sorrow, pain and sacrifice.
It felt good to have somebody lean over him for once. It was good to let someone else fend for A. It was good to see someone care so much, to the point he could be so plump he'd barely stand - him, an average, decent warrior, in the past valued only by what he could do physically and his carefully sculpted body.
Now his physical movement was limited. Bulges and rolls rubbed against each other, his thighs always warm. He had no clue if he could still jump. His scars faded healthily and his tits grew bountiful. Even being a little pet, he mattered so much to the prince. Far more than when he was just a knight.
The dainty hands went from his underbelly to his ass and A moaned as soon as his cheeks were squeezed. He felt good. He was so wide, so big for his prince… This life could be so fulfilling. He shamefully imagined his ass expanding on sight, breaking the seams right into the prince's hands.
When the prince gently pressed his body against the other's back, the ex knight was breathless of pleasure. His body, big and warm, was claimed by someone so important and generous. And caring.
He turned his head to his master, feeling his plump nipples strain against the luxurious, white shirt.
"My lord… everything for you."
The prince playfully bit his lip.
"Good boy, A. Very good. I'll make sure you're rewarded."
A bell rang for dinner.
#i never post fics directly to tumblr so if the format is fucked lmk#feedist kinktober#queer feedism#feedism writing#lov fic
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contracted that shit that makes you write Rick Grimes/reader fic
#i have the stupidest cold and cannot focus on anything#but started writing feedist rick grimes fic in twilight sleep so i guess we do this now#descent into madness
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That Little Bit Fatter
April 2024: A realistic vignette from my old blog which I'm reposting here to centralize likes/reblogs and deactivate my defunct account. (Second person feedee POV, encouragement, SFW.)
You got that little bit fatter, and now your shirts don't fit.
You can still button them up -- barely. But they're snug on the curve of your fat belly, and they just barely leave enough slack for you to tuck them into your pants under your belly hang. (Your pants are getting tight, too.) Sit down at the right angle and you can feel the buttons strain, but even when they're not, you can feel that snugness, that tightness, like a little whisper in your ear as you go through the workday: you're getting fatter.
You've had a double chin for years. But you got that little bit fatter and now you really look fat, no matter what the angle. Sit down at the right angle and you can feel your face sink into it. It feels comfortable.
You got that little bit fatter and your moobs stuck out that little bit further. Under your arms they've even turned into side rolls that you can grab a handful of and jiggle. Good thing you got that little bit fatter and your belly grew too, just to keep them in perspective.
You've had a belly for years, too. You've always been chubby. But you got that little bit fatter and now your belly is a real slab of flab, rolling over your waistline in a proper hang. You can't keep your hands off it, can you? Without even realizing that you're doing it you sometimes find yourself idly hefting it, feeling how soft and thick it's gotten, tracing your fingertips along the warm, soft line where it folds over.
Yes, you've always been chubby. But you got that little bit fatter and now you're undeniably, unmistakably fat. You can see it in people's faces sometimes, a subtle difference in the way they react when you reach for another helping of food. They're not seeing someone who's "let themselves go a little"; they're seeing a fat person, a person who loves to eat, who eats more than they're supposed to and doesn't seem to care. You'd be lying if you said it wasn't awkward sometimes, but you like it, too. You always secretly liked being fat, secretly loved to eat, even secretly fantasized about growing bigger. But you got that little bit fatter and crossed the line into properly fat and not just chubby, and now your fatness feels somehow realer, truer. You got that little bit fatter and suddenly your identity felt more secure.
You got that little bit fatter and you started testing your limits. You used to feel embarrassed by how much you could eat in a sitting. Now it feels like a challenge, and you're hooked on the excitement. You got that little bit fatter and you started enjoying going out to eat and ordering that extra appetizer, that extra dessert, even that extra entree. You got that little bit fatter and it was like giving yourself permission to embrace the glutton you've always been.
You got that little bit fatter and you liked it.
But sometimes, standing there hefting your belly hang in the mirror or lying back in your armchair and breathing heavily as you digest another big meal, it feels like it's still not enough. You're not that big. It's not like you're so fat that you can't reach past your belly. It's not like you're so fat that you can't walk.
Maybe tomorrow you'll add another snack or two to what you've already been eating. Maybe when you're in the snack aisle you'll look at the calorie counts and go for the highest one you can find. Just for fun.
Maybe you'll get a little bit fatter.
#feedist vignettes#wg fiction#wg fic#weight gain fiction#weight gain encouragement#feedist fiction#gaining weight on purpose#fat as identity#that little bit autobiographical
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(kinda wanted to expand on the restraints/funnel/Hitachi thing, lmk if you enjoy! Turn on/turn off?)
You catch a glance at her waist - slender, fit even - she clearly has a gym routine - and she's effortlessly walking around wearing a leather pencil skirt that would be unforgiving for anyone. You try to imagine trying it on - when you were skinnier, you probably could have fit, but...now? As you breathe, you're increasingly aware of how much your full belly is straining over the waistband of your shorts - and these were the shorts you bought because you were too fat for your old ones. And she knows this. That's why she chose them.
Her eyes flash at you in a way that tells you she caught you looking and knows exactly what you're thinking and feeling, and you're suddenly aware of every bulge and jiggle, of how tight your shorts are on your thighs, of just how much your fat belly is hanging out of your shirt and sticking out over your shorts and jiggling when you move and how she has you so stuffed that you couldn't suck it in if you wanted to. You try, and the amused skepticism with which she looks at you makes you squirm. Which makes you jiggle even more. Cute. And not a little humiliating.
You become aware of the ice cream dribbling down your chin, that she could have wiped off but instead gently stroked and then reached down to give your belly a squeeze and started refilling the funnel. She was controlled, patient, methodical. You were fattened up from months of hedonism, quivering from waves of orgasm, covered in sticky sugary mess, and asking for more in between breaths as the funnel ran out and the Hitachi stopped and you needed more, just more. You know you've gained weight, but you've never felt *this* fat compared to someone else before - or to put it more directly, this humiliatingly at the mercy of your own hedonistic fattening desires.
And not just anyone else - someone who you could have maybe been skinny girl peers with, but who found out your weakness, and who was clearly into it. Her figure wasn't just because she went to the gym - it was because she didn't get off on being made to chug melted ice cream. But she did get off on making *you* chug melted ice cream. And now here you are, breathing heavily, exposed, legs spread open, and between the sopping wet waves of stimulation below and the sweet, sticky, fattening caloric excess that you've made a mess greedily ingesting, you're in the palm of this impeccably disciplined woman's hand, and she's saying something you can barely make out about what a greedy little pig you are, as she considers whether she wants to unbutton your soaked, straining shorts as she she refills the funnel...
... wow 💞💞🥵🫠
#yes anon i DID enjoy this exquisite little feedist fic delivered straight to my doorstep#safe to say that this one is a turn-on
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