All for me

All for me

You’re being so good for me, my pet.

I just want you to know how much I adore you and admire your dedication to me. For me.

All that you do. You’ve been growing for me and taking on the burden of adding more weight to your body, all for me.

How I long to feel you while I’m away. How soft you are and that smile you give me when I bring more decadent treats to your lips. I want you happy and I want you full.

I know you enjoy every last moment when we meet. I make sure you’re satisfied in every way. My fingers tracing every stretch mark that’s been added since the last two years. How my hands press into your soft plump belly while you eat for me. I can only imagine you getting bigger from here on out.

Your hips have gotten wider and take up so much more space now. They fill my recliner and I can hear the frame groaning when your mass is pressed into it, bowing the arms out a little. I know you get embarrassed but it can’t be helped. In fact…it makes me crack a little grin every time. I can’t wait for the day it completely crumbles underneath you. You might be humiliated but I’ll be satisfied, as that will be an accomplishment on your part.

I’ve noticed how heavy your legs are growing too. Your toes and feet have plumped along with the rest of you. You’ve lost your once trim ankles as they’ve turned into fatty little cankles almost as wide as your calves.

Your lack of daily exercise has made you soft and lazy. Just how I want you.

With every time we meet you just seem to be bigger and bigger. I take you out to new restaurants just to try different foods. Italian, Indian, Japanese. I’m grateful you’re adventurous and not very picky. Although, sometimes the seating arrangements are getting a bit tricky. Not every restaurant can immediately accommodate your size, but I make sure to handle all of that so you don’t get too uncomfortable. I do it for you, since you give me so much.

You’re such a wonderful pet. A feedee. A toy.

You lovingly follow every command and rarely put up a fuss. Although…when you do, I never mind it one bit; you’re far too easy to control since you’ve let yourself go for me. I love it when you tell me ‘no’ teasingly, for then it becomes a game. A game I yearn to play. Your lust to become my submissive puts me in a greater headspace and I feel the need to take control…overcome me.

Pressing you into my bed and pinning you down with my legs over yours with my hands sinking into your chubby wrists. Looking down at you with a grin while you wriggle under me. Your weak struggle for playful dominance always amuses me…as I win every single time. You know I’m strong and can effortlessly handle you any way I like. But that’s how you want the game to go. You don’t want control; you want someone to do it for you. Make the decisions, handle the situation, and let you simply drift into a mindless submission. I will do everything it takes to make that happen comfortably each time we are together.

The size difference between us gets me so heated. My slender physique against your soft ample form shows just how big you’ve grown. My toned body pressing up against you, into you… My craving to watch you blow up clouds my head and my need to feed you gets stronger with each passing day. I can’t get the images of you feasting out of my mind. There are days I feel so filthy for having such thoughts.

When your round cheeks are filled with thick rich cake I can’t help but wrap my hands around your hefty stomach and feel you up as you eat. I ache to see your belly round and taut with food. I need to fill you up. Plus, you love when I bake and cook for you. How you whine about being so hungry and when you finally do get to enjoy your meal…meals… You then whine about your stomach being so tight, full, and ready to pop. It gets me excited. Maybe too excited.

Then comes my favorite part. Walking you to the scale.

The nervousness. The thrill. The lust for you to look down and see the actual numbers showing your growth. The simple data that proves you are in fact, getting fatter. The numbers that always climb and never fall. And how your stomach is ballooning further out, making it harder for you to even see the scale when you check it each week; and as the months go by, I keep hoping I will need to upgrade it to an industrial sized scale. But that has yet to happen.

And sometimes, just for fun, I like to see just how many pounds of food I can fit inside of you in a day. The constant stuffing for twenty four hours. The insane amount of calories you can consume, just for me. My desire to see the numbers go up drives me to feed you. Pushing carbs, grease, and sugar past your lips to seal the deal. Watching your empty stomach blow up by noon then let you graze until dinner, and what a feast I make. I want you so full that you can barely get up from the couch. I want your gut so stuffed that it practically sits on your lap for me. And my favorite part? The funnel.

The last meal of the night, a liquid dessert. Heavy whipping cream mixed with chocolate ice cream, peanut butter, and melted butter. Like a fat bomb being sent straight down your greedy throat. However…the pleasure doesn’t go without pain…I always want to weigh you.

So I do. I help you to your fat encased feet and watch you waddle over to the scale just to check how many pounds of food you can hold in a day. Lately it’s been around twenty seven pounds of food and my new goal for you is thirty five. I know with enough training, stretching, and glutting, you’ll get there in no time.

After each stuffing I love to take care of you, while selfishly lusting over your post gluttoned body.

I lay you down in my bed surrounded by soft plush blankets and fluffy pillows. A fat body deserves a bed that hugs every curve to ensure maximum comfort of course. And once I get you nice and stuck, my hands begin to wander…

I spread your heavy legs apart to get my hand up your thighs. Your thick, lardy, bulging thigh rolls that cushion what’s between them. Squeezing and jiggling them, I know that excites you. My touch is almost teasing; humiliating perhaps. All a part of your collection of kinks I aim to explore.

I dig both of my hands into your thighs and imagine them bigger. So filled with fat that they engulf each other even when your legs are fully parted. I work my way up past where I really want to touch, and go straight for your tightly filled round belly. Rolling it in circles very slowly to aid in your digestion. I love feeling the bottom of your stomach and how soft it always is; probably from how quickly you gain weight. All the new calories go straight to your lower half and I adore you for it. Like an over ripened pear ready to be eaten.

You’re too soft for me to resist. I must have my hands all over you and I melt at the thought that you’re only going to get bigger for me. You always guide my hands where you want me to touch at the time. Up your belly, around your chubby breasts, across your fat encased neck to your double chin. I enjoy squeezing it and rubbing your plump cheeks. Your arms are heavy too. It seems your weight doesn’t just go all the your lower half but it stores into your upper arms forcing them to resemble fatty Thanksgiving hams. They’re getting too swollen for you to hold them up for very long. I’m sure you couldn’t even hang them above your head for twenty seconds without becoming winded and tired. That’s just how out of shape you are.

As I climb on top of you to remind you that I’m the one you feed for, I can’t help but notice the little rolls you’ve accumulated along your sides. I pinch and jiggle them watching the rest of your body ripple like waves with your belly being the center, where most of your fat is stored. But then again I can’t forget how big your ass has gotten. I always need to see just how inflated it has grown; and with all my strength I gently help roll you over leaving you breathless from the exertion. That too leaves me aching to see you grow.

As you lay there panting and groaning I grab your puffy hips and wobble your huge ass cheeks around. Your lightly chafed thighs red, I grab the bottle of powder on the nightstand, sprinkle some between your thick thighs, and slip my hands between them in attempts to soothe the inflammation. I do understand the consequences of eating yourself to an immense size, and try to accommodate your every need.

After playing between the blubbery folds you’ve accumulated I sink my hands into your ass cheeks and hips to work the muscles that have been tense from you simply being on your feet. I can hear sighs of relief slip from your lips as I press my hands in deeper. It’s getting harder to reach actual muscle tissue buried underneath the layers of fat, and my only goal is to make it impossible one day as I want you to be completely stuck in bed. Stuck on the couch. Pinned down from the weight of your bad food choices and my enabling feedist ways. As I work my hands around your ass, I can only dream of just how wide it could possibly get. Your fat hips and ass spread around you like a soft corpulent paperweight and your overfed belly being the center. Legs spread out as wide as they can go with me forcing more delicious irresistible sweets into your eager mouth.

I want to ruin you. And my desire to do so outweighs the guilt. You give in to cravings every time. You’re the perfect feedee. Easily persuaded to eat more even when you’re stuffed to the max. Always willing to do the small yet humiliating things, such as getting on all fours so I can make sure your belly is sinking further towards the floor to fill the space between your arms and legs. How sad it would be to the average person to watch you attempt to lift yourself from the floor after we’re done. You always need help up now that you’ve gotten so fat. Then you waddle your way to the bed to find comfort yet again.

My plan is already working. Two years ago you were so much smaller. More able-bodied. Now I’ve watched you balloon so much and grow heavier every month. Dumping countless calories into your pre-fattened body worked so well and now you’re on your way to being so obese that you’re stuck in a bariatric sized bed. You’re ruining yourself and I’m just enabling it with endless pleasure and fun.

And yet, you do it

All for me.