hedonisticfeedee

[hedonisticfeedee]

Food to help you guys gain weight

Have fun gaining!!

[hedonisticfeedee]

TW: Immobility, Daddy/Son, Heath Issues, Abuse

It started innocently at first. How did I let this happen? I let you convince me that it was okay to overeat when I already had a severe weight issue. You woke me up with desserts and I didn’t have to lift a finger. I had everything I wanted and then you made me start calling you daddy. Things got dark. Very dark.

Eventually you started feeding me yourself. You started molesting me and associating your touch with chocolate-covered treats. I didn’t know if I liked it. Maybe I did and that’s why I ate for you. Maybe eating myself even bigger was a trauma response. Surely you would quit when I gained too much weight for you. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t know that you didn’t have a limit. Now I’m too helpless to do anything. I can’t leave you. Hell, I can’t even leave my bed.

“Don't worry, sweetie, just one more bite, you know you love my cooking. C'mon, eat up.”


“Dad no, I'm already so big, I'm scared! I just want to be healthy again!”


“What's a little more weight going to hurt?“

“But... Daddy... I can't breathe... the doctor said I have to lose weight if I want to live.”

“Aww, sweetheart, don't worry. All those issues are just side effects. You'll be fine. You shouldn't let a little thing like health issues hold you back from eating all this amazing food. Besides those health nuts just don't understand how much we love each other. Now, come on, open wiiiiiiiiiide...”

“No, I feel sick… from all the cake you've been feeding me. It hurts Please stop feeding me... I'm dying over here... can’t breathe…”

“You're talking nonsense, sweetheart! It's for your own good, really, it is.”

“I'm scared, daddy... please...”

“Here, have some more sugar. That'll put you in a better mood. I’ll even give you your oxygen back when you’ve finished all of this.”

The situation is impossible. I know I’m not getting out of here alive, but I’m also not ready to die yet. If I let you keep feeding me maybe you’ll try to give me oxygen and insulin. Maybe I’ll last a little longer. But also maybe this is a fate worse than death. Something within me gives in. My stomach growls. I’m too weak. I need instant gratification. I eat for you. You give me my oxygen cannula back and a box of donuts to eat while you go deep under my belly to try to find whatever nub is left swallowed in my fupa.

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My breathing is shallow and raspy. “Da-daddy…” I manage to wheeze. That’s what you expect from the young man you raised into a 1000 lb bedridden blob. My heart is racing. It could be from the cholesterol caking my arteries or the anxiety. It’s not every day that 12 men have to cut you out of your home because daddy fed you within an inch of your life. “I… I’m sc-scared.”

The whole day was terrifying from the firemen almost dropping me to the doctor giving us the brochures for bariatric surgery. “When they get this big, they don’t come back from it. Surgery is his last chance. It’s so or die, but he doesn’t have long.” You smiled politely at the doctor while tears ran down my face. I don’t want to die.

As soon as he leaves you look at me with the most sadistic grin I’ve ever seen creep on your face. “Don’t listen to him, son. You’re still a healthy young buck.” You pull out a bag of donuts, knowing very well I’m diabetic. You hand it to me as I eat for comfort. Then, you tell me “Who’s such a good boy and ready for round two?” as you reach under my belly and start searching around in my fupa.

[hedonisticfeedee]

🍔🚑🍔🚑🍔🚑🍔🚑🍔🚑🍔

Reblog this post if you are interested in morbid / death feedism and are okay getting flirty DMs / asks about it!

🍔🚑🍔🚑🍔🚑🍔🚑🍔🚑🍔

[hedonisticfeedee]

In search of:

A fat for artists taking commissions and willing to do health play art.

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I’m going to outlive my son. It’s the saddest realization for any parent, but it’s one I can’t deny anymore. See, my son is fat. No really, faaaaaat. Take whatever you’re thinking in your head and double it, heck triple it even and you’re probably still thinking too small.

His mother and I tried for years to get him active, to get him interested in the outdoors, sports, heck any physical activity, but the only physical activity he cared about were ones that ended in food.

We tried at first to guide him into making better decisions. Surely as he matured he’d realize that all the food and all the weight wasn’t worth it, but the gentle treatment didn’t work. We never wanted to be strict parents, but we decided that drastic measures had to be taken when he reached his teens with his weight still climbing. We rid the house of anything unhealthy and kept an eye on his eating like a hawk and he finally started dropping weight to our slight comfort.

Looking back now I see how short-sighted we were. It’s one thing to control your kid, but he won’t be a kid forever. At some point he’s going to need independence, a job, a car, all the facets of a normal adult life and hopefully someone to share it with. Out on his own he could eat as much as he wanted, when he wanted, especially once we found out his first job was not what he originally told us, but a job at one of the local fast food joints.

Slowly at first, but surely his weight started creeping up again. He’d bounce around between jobs depending on what cuisine he was especially feeling and how long they’d keep him on before realizing how much he was literally eating into their profits. We’d failed. Just like his youth anything he did was motivated by food. We were all out of ideas. Time passed by in this stalemate, the only needle moving faster being the one on our bathroom scale.

We had thought about kicking him out, but at this point I don’t think he could even live on his own. He had every weight-related medical condition in the book, every one a missed wake up call to turn back. Things that people in their 50s would start worrying about, not someone less than half their age.

Getting on disability took away the last reason for him to ever get off his copious ass, so it’s no surprise that his mobility vaporized shortly thereafter. Some days I wonder if he’ll see 30. It’ll surely be a miracle of medical science if he does.

I couldn’t tell if it was a blessing or a curse the day I found his online persona, through the further I looked, the more I gravitated towards the latter. It finally made everything make quasi-sense, a reason for the way he lived his life, if you can even call it that, but it did so in such a disgusting, heartbreaking way. He catalogues his gains to a sadistic audience hungry to watch him blow up. He talks about how much he loves his weight, shockingly especially its side-effects, reveling in being out of breath simply from rolling over in bed. The post where he declared himself immobile is proudly pinned to the top of his page, racking up comments of support and congratulations from the people feeding into his addiction, both figuratively and literally with constant food deliveries I had long-assumed he had ordered for himself. It’s all so fucking disgusting, and it’s something I will never tell my wife, something I will take to my grave long after his.

As far as I’m concerned, he’s already gone. He was lost 100s of pounds ago. There’s no son in that void of a room, just a mound of flesh, endlessly growing until the day it doesn’t. Goodbye, son. I hope you really love all your flab like you say you do, because it’s all you got, and there’s a ton of it.

[hedonisticfeedee]

JERRY WAYNE LONGMIRE

[hedonisticfeedee]

I need a feeder to make me bigger. Humiliate me about my size. Dont mind my noises its hard to move all this fat 🙈

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