/elite/ - Erotic Literature

Stories and text

Mode: Thread
Name
Subject
Message

Rules | Max length: 9999 | Spoiler

Files
Captcha
E-mail
Password

(used to delete files and postings)

Drawing x Start Oekaki

Anonymous 05/29/2018 (Tue) 00:18:20 No. 2664 [Reply]
I'd like some critic of this. I'm bad at being able to write a long story, so I've decided to try my hand at writing short stories instead, this is my first attempt


Oh my God what am I going to do. Soccer has been my whole life up to now, but this is my second ACL tear. It was my 6th game back from the first one. I can tell I haven't been as fast as I was, and it's been scaring me for so long. Now I have another one? All my athleticism is gone, and I just don't have the willpower anymore. Other girls do, but I just can't go through another year of rehabbing just to realize I will never be that budding soccer star I was meant to be. I had a scholarship and everything, I was going to get through life with this, and now it's all gone. I just want to lay down and cry and never wake up again. How am I going to fill this void in my life?

I need to go on a diet. Ever since I gave up on soccer I have been constantly gaining weight. I had been so dedicated to soccer I did everything I could to be the best, and that included my diet. After quitting I discovered I had been denying myself all the sweet junk food the world had to offer and it honestly began to feel comforting to eat. With my new found love for food I gained 30 pounds by the end of summer. The college I had been planning to go to had rescinded my scholarship offer, but still let me attend the school which was nice. With no parents around to badger me about my eating habits, no soccer to keep me occupied, and plenty of weed and alcohol to fuel munchies that felt more like a primal desire, I started to get really fat. Now I'm looking at myself in the mirror, and long gone is the athletic blonde with abs who the boys lusted after, and instead a big fat gluttonous pig. My face is covered in a ring of fat, my arms jiggle when I walk, and my thighs are cellulite ridden tree-trunks. My ass is huge and chunky and my breasts are heavy with fat. But my belly is the biggest of them all, flopping over the waistband of my yoga pants and spills onto my thighs when I sit down. I just couldn't stop myself, it all tasted so good, and now I'm really paying for it. Well that's gonna end today, I'm going to begin my weight loss journey right now!

I am so scared. My knee has been hurting so bad lately, I'm worried I mightve torn it again or done something, but that's not what I'm terrified of right now. I'm at my old doctors office, a place I haven't been to since I tore my ACL for the final time 5 years ago. My senior year of college is over and there is a huge difference between it and my high school senior year. "Ashley?" Inquired a portly nurse standing in the doorway. I stood up and she smiled at me, "Come right this way." I begun to waddle my way over, and she lead me down the hallway that I don't remember being quite so taxing before. "Alright I'm gonna need you to step on the scale." My heart sunk in my throat. I haven't weighed myself since that ill fated diet attempt after my freshman year, the one that ended after I weighed myself and found out I was 245 pounds, 3 pounds more than when I started. "So the last time you were here 5 years ago you weighed…" the nurse trailed off as she looked at the number. I looked at her, her eyes wide in shock, "135 pounds." I could tell she was trying to keep the extreme surprise out of her voice as she tried to fathom that the whale in front of her used to be thin just a few years ago. "And now you weigh 458 pounds. That is the biggest weight gain I've ever seen, have you seen any other doctor about this?" Her voice had genuine concern in it, but inwardly I wanted to cry. Partially from the fact that I sweating so much  from standing so long, and from the fact that I had no clue I was this fucking fat. "N-no," I stammered. "I'm gonna tell Dr. Arbuckle to run some blood tests, you must have something to cause a weight gain this substantial, wait in the room on the third door on the right." I then struggled my way over to the room and then tried almost in vain to get on the bed. I finally did it though and my aching legs cried out in relief to have so much weight taken off, as the metal the bed laid on creaked in agony. I knew I didn't have any disease that caused this. It was my own gluttony. After Giving up on my diet, I just ate whatever I wanted and that turned out to be a lot. Food tasted so good, and it felt so nice to eat. After losing soccer, it was something I could take solace in, a friend that was always there. No matter what, I had a mouth and a belly, and that belly was never satisfied. Now I'm worried I'm not gonna be able to fit elephantine ass through doorways soon. My belly is absolutely enormous, a two-tiered behemoth that is slowly making its way towards my knees. My arms are fatter than my thighs were when I was playing and my thighs are probably fatter than a normal girls waist. Honestly though? Thinking over it, I'm not sure I regret anything. I might be the fattest girl I know (by a long shot), I might get stared at whenever I order a big meal at a restaurant and stuff my fat face silly, but it feels so nice. If something makes me happy why not indulge in it? That's what I did with soccer and now that's what I do with food. Boys have never interested me that much, so who cares that all of them look at me in disgust? Thinking back to college, when I would smoke weed or drink and then just let that insatiable desire to eat and eat and eat take over, everything just felt right. So even though I might be enormous, even though I might be a quarter ton in the next year, I'm gonna do what makes me happy, and honestly, being really fucking fat does that. I don't care what the doctor says, when I get home, I'm going to go the freezer, break out that gallon of chocolate ice cream, and eat the whole fucking thing, because it's what makes me feel good. I never thought that tearing my ACL would've allowed me to realize what I really am. A fat girl
Felt rushed at the end but overall great job.
Open file (71.05 KB 736x635 hot.jpg)
>>2668
Thanks, I've written other stuff before, but I've never posted it
I just wrote another one too
https://anonisaspy.deviantart.com/art/Elena-747336798
>>2664
>>2669
Nice, though both are pretty trope-heavy, to the point where at times they can feel like an assemblage of cliché weight-gain sentences put end to end. The 'sporty girl is injured, gains weight while recovering' storyline is done to death at this point, as is the 'I think my clothes shrunk in the wash' line, eating a gallon of chocolate ice cream, the 'I was really a fat girl all along, I just never knew it' thing, et cetera, et cetera. A little originality would go a long way to improving your stories, especially as the actual prose, as well as some of the description, is rather good.

Open file (600.52 KB 1280x732 1517946194143-0.png)
Anonymous 03/27/2018 (Tue) 01:29:28 No. 2455 [Reply]
Someone has stories of homeless girls, who is adopted and very fed?
bumpie
wow, that's a very specfic fetish.
I first met Nicole on the patio - more specifically underneath it. It was the middle of November, one of the worst cold snaps we had on record and I had stepped out into the blizzard for a smoke - I had just managed to coax a bit of flame onto the cigarette and took a drag when I thought I heard something shuffling beneath my footing. Squinting through the darkness, I could make out the form of a woman, crouched below the patio, shivering.
I put out the cigarette and decided to investigate, keeping my distance at first until I could get a closer look - as I approached, my eyes met hers as she turned, her teeth absolutely chattering.
"Um, are you… uh… okay?"
"I-I'm s-sorry, I'll l-leave, please don't c-call the-"
I put my hands up defensively.
"I'm not kicking out out or anthing, but do you have a place you can stay tonight, relatives or…"
She glanced down at the ground and then back towards me, her face said it all.
"Well, in that case you should come inside, it's too cold to be out here tonight."
She started to get up, a little uneasily given her position underneath the staircase.
"T-thank you…" she chattered, "I'm Nicole."

~~

The howlings winds raged outside, but inside we were warm; I had started a small fire in the woodstove, I made us some coffee and she opened up immediately. She was 21, originally from Russia as I guessed correctly from her accent. She had spent the past three years living with an abusive ex-boyfriend who had steadily pushed away all of Nicole's closest friends and family - she had made her escape in the middle of the night taking with her a small allowance that had long been spent and a few credit cards that had since expired. She had been panhandling during the day and sleeping in shelters when she could. Her voice grew emotional and shaky as she recounted it all, and as the flames danced about the room, it was obvious how shallow her cheekbones were - she looked like she hadn't tasted food in a week.

"Are you hungry at all?" I asked, trying to pose it in a way that seemed casual enough.
She bit her lip and nodded.
"Come with me." I extended a hand and she found it with her own, she seemed to light and fragile.
I led Nicole into the kitchen where I started to raid the pantry. There was plenty of pasta sauce and noodles, which I started cooking at the stove - while I waited for the water to boil I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for her to get started on.
She tore through the bread ravenously, taking huge bites and chewing like it was about to disappear. I immediately got started on another one for her and she went through it equally as fast. The spaghetti was served next, with left-over lasagna, another peanut butter and jelly sandwich and lastly the final piece of strawberry shortcake that I had been saving.
When she had finished off the last of shortcake, gingerly licking the plate to get the final crumbs, I noticed how the color seemed to return to her face, her cheekbones seemed less sallow and shallow then they previously had been and I'll admit - I felt really pleased with myself looking after her like this.

I gave her a tour next, showing her where she could take a shower and retire for the night in the guest bedroom when she was ready - she was extremely grateful for this, swallowing me up in a hug that ended with her crying softly. I told her everything was going to be alright and that seemed to ease things a bit.
For the rest of the night I tried to push out all of the negative thoughts (What if you wake up and all of your things are gone? What if she's a junkie and you'll find all sorts of drug paraphenalia around the house tomorrow?). It was uneasy sleep, but it was still sleep.

~~

Fortunately when I awoke the next day I found nothing stolen, and deciding to extend a bit of generosity, I decided I would give her the whole bed and breakfast treatment - I whipped up a plate of pancakes, bacon, eggs and hashbrowns, intending on giving her breakfast in bed when I heard her make her way down the stairs.
"Mornin'" I called up.
"Mornink", she responded, a hint of Russian slipping through. "That smells really good."
As she came into view I could see that a shower had done wonders for her hair - it looked much fuller and less stringy than it had the previous night.
"Take a seat, I'm just finishing your eggs here."
She obliged, thanking me profusely as she got started on her toast.
When everything was served up, I sat and watched as that familiar hunger had returned from last night - it was if she was possessed, chewing with purpose, swallowing with gusto, the next bite never too far away.
I had made a stack of pancakes, 4 pieces of toast, 10 strips of bacon, 4 eggs and 2 hashbrowns and she ate the entire meal without ever slowing down.

I felt guilty watching her, knowing that she ate this way because she didn't know where the next meal was coming from, if she even got one at all.
"Hey so… I was thinking…" her eyes snapped to me as I started, "The weather man said this blizzard is going to last a while, and I really don't want to send you out in the cold so…"
Her eyes immediately started welling up.
"Maybe you should… stay here until…"
I didn't get any further before she leapt from the table and embraced me again, shaking softly as she cried into my shoulder, whispering her thanks between breaths.
As we hugged, I noticed she had a slight pot belly from her breakfast that pressed heavily into me - the poor girl had packed herself to bursting in retibution of every meal she had missed in recent memory

~~

The blizzard had not let up at all that week, we managed to get 14 inches of snow and even a bit of freezing rain - I couldn't force Nicole back out into that, so she had become my temporary live-in guest. We spent the nights indoors, casting our eyes into the impenetrable fury of white just outside the window. I had gone through my culinary gammut in just a few days, so the past nights we decided to order take-out; pizza, buffet-style, mexican, indian, whatever. In just a week Nicole was already looking better - she had managed to tame her hair and her complexion was looking healthier, perhaps most indicative was her weight - I guessed that when I met her she was probably hovering around 85 - 90 pounds, her stomach cast inwards, malnourished. Now, she was likely around 125 - 130 - her features were filling out, she no longer looked like a starved skeleton. Her belly was starting to get a little chubby, when she bent over it formed in several distinct rolls. I don't think Nicole minded, just having somewhere to sleep, food to eat and a barricade against the relentless blizzard was enough for her.

~~

It's been nearly a month since I met Nicole and I can't even imagine telling her to leave, call it the Florence Nightingale effect or genuine hospitality, but I can no longer entertain the idea. She's slept over every single night, we have regular meals and her personality that had dulled in the streets was now vibrant. I feel like I need her as much as she needs me.
I took her out clothes shopping yesterday - her street clothes weren't exactly up to scruff (or very scruffy in that regard), and I had noticed that she was starting to outgrow them anyways; during the second week whenever she finished a meal it was required that she undo her pants, and now she just kept them undone when she walked about. If I had to guess, I'd say she was around 145 - 150 at this point.
She's mentioned paying me back when she gets everything sorted, or panhandling for a few days as a sort of rent, but I've told her that it's not necessary.
"I'm just feelink guilty about your money, I feel so unworthy of it sometimes."
"Nicole - you're worth every penny, seriously. You have nothing to feel guilty about."
We embraced and I thought back to the first night, her frail frame practically supported by mine - now she had substance for shadow, to an outsider, Nicole would be seen as pretty chubby, you wouldn't know she was homeless from her looks. The ferociousness that she dug into her meals with had subsided, but her capacity had improved over time instead. I had taken her out to an All-You-Can Eat Buffet on Monday and Nicole had certainly got her moneys worth; she lay defeated in the booth as I cracked open our fortune cookies.

~~

It's been a year and I still live with Nicole - she's enrolled in a local community college and is on her way to a culinary degree.
"I have to thank your cookink," she told me, "I never knew food tasted so good until you started makink it for me."
You would never guess that Nicole had been homeless if you saw her today, her infectious laughter, her vibrant personality and a much fuller figure create a massive contrast. She's never revealed her weight to me, and I'm not about to ask, but I would say that she's probably sitting comfortably at 175-180 pounds; her face is now framed with a double chin and overall she's gotten very curvy over the past year. She doesn't seem bothered with her weight in the slightest really, I imagine that once you spend so long worrying about your survival, calorie counting takes a backseat.
Now that she's encouraged to taste every dish she makes, and I still ply her with my own cooking, I think it's safe to say that Nicole will never have a day that she goes hungry again.

~~
>>2630
Aww, thats so sweet! Yes, for real. You've brighten up my day!
when i saw this thread i thought of this:

https://literotica.com/s/the-royal-line-pt-05

Feederism-Cuckolding Anonymous 05/19/2018 (Sat) 18:51:55 No. 2632 [Reply]
Anyone know any good stories where someone's significant other gets fed by someone else?

Pic unrelated.
Called real life
That's (sort of) a theme of Kastemel's "Eclipse" comic.
https://kastemel.deviantart.com/gallery/44774585/Eclipse
Which vid did that Plump Princess picture come from?

Fatties forced to do sports they're unable to perform Anonymous 05/12/2018 (Sat) 20:14:04 No. 2615 [Reply]
Is there any stories, in which girls got fattened up and then forced to do sports/exercises just to be shown how fat and weak they got? I found some story
https://logitechk1.deviantart.com/art/Weight-down-by-debt-part-14-608595256
and i suppose there are other stories, but i was so unlucky to not being able to find them.
These might not all be 100% on point, but I think they're at least in the ballpark.

My Athletic Friend (A high school volleyball player carelessly eats herself fat and out of shape. Translated from original German.)
https://web.archive.org/web/20170619211352/http://www.dimensionsmagazine.com/dimtext/stories/athletic_friend.html

The Final Mission (After being magically compelled to overeat and laze about for a long time, a chubby and out of shape Wonder Woman struggles through various exercises and is humiliated through physical domination.)
https://web.archive.org/web/20170506134604/http://www.dimensionsmagazine.com:80/dimtext/stories/mission.html

The Slowest Champion -Revisited- (A champion high school swimmer gradually loses her figure and talents when faced with the temptations of college, to her mounting humiliation. In particular, compare the swimming races in Part 1 and Part 9.)
https://riptoryx.deviantart.com/art/The-Slowest-Champion-Revisited-COVER-649231801

The Slowest Champion (The original version of the same story as above, shorter and with some plot variations.)
https://thechangingmirror.com/phpbb/viewtopic.php?f=34&t=721

The Comfort Zone (A gaggle of girls get fat in college, with relationship drama and some feeder/feedee reversals. Caroline and April play on the volleyball team and at various times struggle due to having gained weight. See, in particular, chapters 1, 3, and 9(pt.1).
https://polarisdreamer.deviantart.com/art/The-Comfort-Zone-Chapter-1-688016246

Consequences (An office worker blackmailed into gaining weight endures various humiliations, including being forced to struggle through a combination race-and-eating-contest at a company picnic.)
https://snr6424.deviantart.com/art/Consequences-Part-1-BWG-166109827
>>2616
Thank you, friend. Let's wait, if there would be more anons to make a collection of storues.

Depraved/Unhappy WG story Anonymous 05/07/2018 (Mon) 18:55:18 No. 2588 [Reply]
I wrote this off a prompt several years ago and it kind of grew… uh, not gonna try to milk that for a pun– from there. I've seen a couple threads nudging into this subject and found this deep in the annals of my HD, thought I'd share some. I know I've lost parts of it that I added, but the story never really finished and I kinda toyed with branching paths on it. I'll see what you folks think before adding more. I apologize especially for the first few paragraphs as far as writing goes.

She lays reclined on a bed in a dark room. The shades are always drawn, the windows painted shut. There is no real color in the room, just shades of grey and navy in the bedding, a beige carpet and white walls. The only color comes from the dozens of food wrappers carefully piled in a basket beside the bed, where The Keeper can collect them at the end of every day and count them, adding up the amount of food she’s consumed. She’s over 600 pounds, her hair uncut for years and her face slack and dull as a rotting potato skin, and far less poignant.
She wears the tatters of a long-outgrown XXXL cotton nightgown, light pink patterned with daisies and food stains; she has no jewelry or makeup, and on her massive, cellulite-infested legs are several scrapes and cuts where The Keeper shaved her legs too hastily the week before, since her excessive fat prevents her from maneuvering enough to shave them herself. The television blares in the living room, loud enough to hear but she cannot see the picture—The Keeper says that the women on television are all whores who would corrupt her if she saw them, but it’s okay just to listen.
She was massive, taking up the better part of the king sized bed she had spent nearly all of her time in. Her one responsibility was to eat; but it was no easy feat like The Keeper liked to tell her it was. Only the fattiest, richest food was left for her by The Keeper, and she was required to eat everything he put out for her at the beginning of the day by the time he returned home. This of course included the only thing she was left to drink, too. Five tall and thick cups filled to the brim with a sloppy, chunky weight gain shakes. Five times the same sort of formula used to help body builders support their immense caloric needs from full days of rigorous exercise was fortified with chocolate syrup, heavy cream, icecream, and sometimes it even tasted as if there was lard in the mix; all for her regimen of doing nothing but laying there and eating. It was all she could use to wash down the rich food she had to eat all day, but sometimes it actually left her feeling the need to wash that down.
Then, he would count out the parcels of food and add up the fat and calories she had consumed, recounting it to her with each discarded wrapper, box, or bag. Only then did the next and even more humiliating part come: measurement. From the softness of her cheeks, to the circumference of the fat roll that her neck had become, to how far the flab on her upper arms hung down when forced to hold her arms up and out to the side; an increasingly hard feat as of late. He'd hot-glued together two measuring tapes for the purpose of accurately measuring her waist at its thickest point, but the real shock came as, each day, he measured the ever shrinking distance between her sagging, globular belly's bottom and the knees that were slowly sinking into a depression in her fatty legs. Hips, calves, thighs, forearms, all of that would follow, but she would be numb to those by comparison.
By this point, she was growing daily; even if only by a barely perceptible amount. It was enough to keep The Keeper excited, but never enough to leave him satisfied. By habit, The Blob reached out and took hold of a fruit pie in her soft, thick fingers. It was but one in a large pile that had been laid out, resting against a flank roll. She had about five more of them to go after this one; she tried not to think about the fifteen similar desserts she had devoured before this one as she mechanically unwrapped it. With her body acting almost by its own accord, she found herself sighing at the elating, comforting taste of tangy lemon filling and thick, crusty sugar glazing over the sweet dough. Before she knew it, another victual had been eaten whole, shoved into her mouth, briefly chewed, and swallowed down. She cringed as she felt its weight settle in her stomach. It was no dainty treat on its own, but it took up a lot of space, even in her cavernous gut. Knowing that there was more to come, and that every weighty lump that landed in her stomach would, within a few days, be weighing her down from elsewhere on her gelatinous frame, made her shudder. She tried to force such thoughts from her head, and simply reached for a shake. She had forgotten what real hunger felt like, but The Keeper had trained her body to crave food almost perpetually. It had been habit forming, doing nothing but eating for so long. When she wasn't sleeping off a massive day's feasting, it felt strange, wrong, even, to not be at least grazing on candy or chips.

The Blob had lost track of time when she noticed through the haze of her constant eating that the front door was being unlocked. She heard it swing open at last, and The Keeper's voice calling, “I'm home! How's my little piggy doing?” Little was hardly a word that she could use to describe herself anymore, she lamented to herself. And her heart sank in her potato-sack bosom as she realized that he was about to remind her just how far gone from ever being called “little” she was today. The Keeper came in; a weak and weedy man that some might have considered to be on the lower end of “average” looks. He walked over to the low-to-the-ground bed, reinforced to hold her immense weight, and pinched the celluite-ridden, stretchmark-covered flab near the base of her shoulder and, to her embarrassment, ran a finger up her jowly cheek to collect a dribble of the last weight gain shake she had chugged down, simply trying to get it out of the way.
“Someone's been a messy little eater,” he teased as he stuck his finger in her mouth. She sucked it clean, averting her eyes as he purred in delight, wriggling the digit in her mouth before sliding it free with a wet pop. “You know what time it is, piggy.” Like every day since, he nestled his back against the slab of rolling fat that now covered her back, leading to the saddle-bags that shelfed off into her buttocks, and counted out the food wrappers in the basket. “And one more burrito. Seven hundred calories, thirty grams of fat. Makes for… five thousand, eight hundred and thirty calories, and about six hundred grams of fat. Your first shake.” He tapped his chin and murmured, “I think that batch came out to about… two thousand two hundred calories, and another fifty grams of fat.” He gave her rump an appreciative pat and squeeze, the jiggle that persisted after leaving her feeling even more vulnerable and ashamed– disgusted, even– than before. It was as if every calorie or gram of fat he listed off made her feel more and more ensconced in the flabby excess that covered her body from such meals. “Look at you, Just two of these shakes puts you over ten k for the day, and we're only about half way through your quota for the day.”
Eh, I'll toss on the bulk of what I salvaged from the next bit. I don't have much else but I'd really like some feedback if you fine folks have any to offer. Even just "This is kinda boring" etc. That said, this was a branch involving her failing to meet expectations.

The Blob's breath hitched in her throat, biting her lip, eyes widening, heart skipping a labored beat. She hadn't met her quota! She had one shake she hadn't managed to drink but half of, still sitting on the end table within reach of her doughy arms. Maybe if she finished as much of it as she could while he kept counting, he'd be less hard on her? It was the best she could hope for. Out of desperation, and partly out of stress alone, she picked up a burrito and discreetly unwrapped it, shoving it past her lips in big, greasy bites. Her gorge rose at the thought of forcing down more, and her overtaxed, groaning stomach protested, shooting pangs of painful resistance up her spine. But she knew that the agony of forcing down a few more bites would be made infinitely worse if she didn't do something to please The Keeper.
“Uh oh…” The Keeper glowered as he placed the last jumbo potato chip bag back in the basket. “Somebody didn't meet their quota today.” Tears filled The Blob's eyes as she struggled to force down the last of the shake she'd failed to finish, finally gasping and whimpering out desperate apologies as the cup fell from her grasp, rolling off of her folds of flab and onto the bed, falling forgotten on the floor.
“I know you're sorry.” The Keeper replied evenly, stroking her squishy cheek with a gentleness she didn't hear in his voice. “But you know I have to punish you. It's for your own good. Good girls eat all their food. If your little tummy isn't strong enough to take in enough for a growing girl like you, or you just couldn't do this ONE little task I give you all day, then I'm gonna have to show you how easy you have it.”
She was almost hysterical, by this point. The last time The Keeper had punished her for not meeting her quota, she had been force-fed an extra day's worth of food, all ground up into a paste and pumped into her unwilling belly by a tube. And all the while, The Keeper would paw and grope at her overtaxed stomach, making her whimper and moan with each ounce of unwanted pressure and pain his clumsy hands brought on the taunt organ. She could barely breathe once it was finished; let alone move. And sleep, her only escape after such cruel feedings, tended to come slowly for all the discomfort, not to mention the sugar rush that buzzed in her head with no outlet from her inactive lifestyle. The Keeper took the food she had failed to finish, and added it to the machine's already terrifying mix, and brought the tube to her lips. “Time to eat up, you bad little piggy. And no sex for you this time. You're being punished, remember?” It was a relief to hear that; or it would have been, if he wasn't just going to satisfy himself on her rolls, forcing her to recoil from the feeling of parts of her that hadn't even existed a mere year ago being used as The Keeper's personal sex toy.
Reluctantly, The Blob parted her quivering lips and let The Keeper press the tube past them, buckling a harness around the back of her head so that she couldn't spit it out when the feeding inevitably became too much to bear. The straps sank into her jowly cheeks and the roll that had formed at the base of her skull, wrapping about her neck and merging in front with her chins. Her jaw trembled as the sound of the pumps activating filled her ears, and she could feel The Keeper lathering lubricant all over her doughy rolls. “Let's see if I can fuck an arm fold,” he growled, but she was distracted from his lasciviousness by the sudden and overwhelming onrush of an obscene torrent of liquefied food gushing down her gullet, only the faintest measures of taste perceptible to her because of how far back the tube was. It ensured that she didn't try to hold the goop in her mouth, and forced her to swallow.
Within moments, she was painfully full with food that, by now, had brought her up to her daily quota. In seconds, though, she was rocketing past, as the unrelenting pump continued its task as mechanically as she tended to fulfill her own; but far, far more efficiently. Though it struck here more frequently than she liked, The Blob never did grow acclimated to the alien and uncomfortable sensation that, as best she could describe, felt like becoming a human balloon. After a certain point of ghastly fullness, she could feel her stomach being stretched out even further than usual, though, to her terror, nowhere near her limit yet. Her very world centered around her belly in moments like these, where the pain and discomfort, along with the constant feeling of swelling and expanding, demanded all of her attention. She could feel it as if it was struggling to dominate her form, threatening to push aside the collective mass of her rump, hips, and lovehandles that looked like an overstuffed loveseat to a bystander. She could feel herself distending, her stomach struggling ahead as if it was being urged to overtake her knees and race for her feet, like The Keeper so often fantasized to her about. The Blob let out a feeble, muffled groan for mercy that went unheeded as The Keeper's thrusts into the fat that billowed from her arms picked up tempo. Her head sank back, and her eyes rolled back in her head as she tried and failed to surrender to oblivion. The Keeper only told her to stop whining, so she could eat more.
Hours later, near midnight, The Blob finally became vaguely aware of the lack of any new pressure in her stomach. “Finally,” she thought, “My stomach must have popped. Now I can–” but then she realized through the gluttonous haze that the pump had merely cut off. She groaned, her vision swimming as she realized that she had doubled the obscene amount of food she normally had to eat in a day; though that amount always increased significantly each day. That, of course, was why her stomach had become so resiliently stretchy. Even the normal amount of food for her in a day left her gaining at least a couple of pounds every day, The Keeper had reckoned. The idea of doubling that would terrify her, with the threat of permanent immobility already dangerously close, if not for her being in too much pain to think properly.
“Theeere we go. That's a good piggy.” The Keeper cooed, patting her belly and evoking another agonized moan as he unclasped her feeding mask. “I really hate to make you do this,” he lied, she knew it full well, “But it's for your own good. Do you understand how important it is to meet your quota every day?” The Blob sniffled, failing to fight down tears from the pain and humiliation, and nodded.
“Yes.”
“Are you gonna be a good girl and always eat what I give you?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.” He smiled with approval and gave her right breast a lascivious grope, where it rested in a pooled heap atop her overstrained gut, spilling off the side a bit just like the opposite one. “I'll let you go on to sleep, then. You've earned it, my good little piggy.” Eager to sink into oblivion, though it came with no small amount of difficulty, The Blob shut her eyes, sniffling and whimpering as The Keeper padded away, leaving her alone in her misery and the darkness of her bedroom.

The next thing The Blob knew, she could taste the comforting, sinfully delicious sweetness of chocolate cake, and feel the rich moistness and sickeningly-sweet– normal, for her– layer of copious icing along with it. She rolled it over her tongue, then opened her eyes to find that it was morning– or so she assumed from the sunlight spilling in through her bedroom door, from elsewhere in the house– and the fact that, to her sudden shock and horror, The Keeper had an even bigger feast laid out for her than yesterday. And even though she was still definitely full from last night's cruel punishment, she was eagerly chomping her way through a sizeable cake that The Keeper was keeping held up to her jowls, her body once again betraying her. “Good morning, piggy.” The Keeper greeted her with a broad, sickening grin, though that soon vanished as she recoiled and gasped for air, trying to pull away from the alluring cake.
“N-no, no! Please, I'm still full!” she panted, and sure enough her overfilled stomach gurgled with the sheer volume of food it was still processing. Processing into more blubber that would weigh her blimp-like body down more and more with each passing moment.
A dark scowl came to The Keeper's face, as he took away the cake, and then proceeded to remove the rest of the immense feast from her bed. She blinked in confusion until The Keeper finally growled, “Maybe more food isn't the punishment my greedy little piggy deserves.” Her laboring heart sank in her chest, and her eyes widened. The idea of giving her more food being a bad thing for him was unheard of. That wasn't good. “You don't even remember what it's like to be hungry, do you?!” Painfully full, yes, but hungry? That was something she hadn't been in years. The closest thing was the habitual, instinctual need to continue chewing and swallowing that he'd trained into her. “I gave you a life where you'd never have to worry about being hungry, or working, or exerting yourself ever again!” The Keeper hadn't given her any choice, she wanted to protest! But she knew that was wrong. She did have a choice. And he reminded her of it, back when he used to leave her tied down with a feeding tube for days on end, back when he made clear his intentions to leave her helplessly fat, and started going to every possible length to ensure it. She wouldn't dare argue with him, anyway. He was in control. He could put her back on a life of constant tube feeding, leaving her to experience nothing but ever-growing fullness and the feeling of her bonds sinking into her slowly expanding fat.
“You wanted a life of decadence, pleasure, of endless indulgence, and I gave you just that! And this is how you repay me?” He rounded on her, and she forced her eyes shut and flinched, fearing a slap to her doughy cheek, but he made no move to strike her. The pain didn't come. “Fine. I'll give you a chance to see just how good you have it. Piggy doesn't want to eat, after giving her word she would? Fine. Piggy can see how she likes a nice starvation diet. Four days, no food.”
The idea, at first, was relieving. She might actually lose some weight this way! If he was too angry to feed her, she could potentially lose enough weight to fend for herself; to get up and leave. But after The Keeper left in a huff, The Blob found herself a few hours later, growing agitated and anxious. She was bored, and horribly so. Constant eating had helped to stimulate her and stave it off, but this was a new and mind-cracking level of absolute boredom. What's worse, the urge to keep eating was growing unbearable. And by the time The Keeper had returned from work, The Blob felt the alien, agonizing pangs of hunger that had eluded her for all her years with The Keeper. Her heart fluttered at his approach– also for the first time in years– but soon sank as she found he brought only a pitcher of water to satisfy her.
“Please… please, I'm sorry!” she whimpered pathetically, clasping her soft, pudgy hands after having to reach up over her heaving breasts and belly. “Please feed me? Please? I'm– I'm so hungry!” The Keeper callously turned away. “Three more days. Then the ungrateful piggy gets food, if she's lucky.” he snorted before slamming the door shut and vanishing for the night.

The Blob was mortified. She had begged to be fed! To be fattened up like a hog for the carnival, just as she had always hated. She felt weak. Not just in her muscles, long atrophied from forced disuse, but in her will, for succumbing so easily to exactly what she was sure The Keeper had wanted from her. Her body, once again, had betrayed her. And now she didn't know what would become of her, or how she could possibly survive with her sanity intact, after her last day of starvation. She couldn't sleep that night, with constant thoughts of food and desire for some kind of stimulation. After all, she had enjoyed no company but food, and the tiresome chore of being wrestled into a good position for The Keeper to have sex with her; usually involving nearly being smothered by the cascading, flabby blobs of her breasts and belly as they sank back towards her head; usually while trying not to vomit up her last excessive feast as her whole body quaked and rocked with each thrust. What few fitful moments of sleep she had were filled with visions of gorging herself on sinful, glorious desserts and deep-fried, over-doctored junk food. Not caring how much the little voice screamed for her to stop; not caring how much fatter she was growing before her own eyes, her rolls and folds growing ever closer to the edge of her massive bed, which she already took up most of. So much so that when she tasted the dearly missed sensation of a meat lover's pizza soaked, drenched, in ranch dressing filling her mouth, she woke to the dreadful fear that it was only another dream.
“Wakey wakey, piggy.” The Keeper admonished. “It's one in the morning, and I've decided to have mercy. Does piggy want more food?” She couldn't hear or answer over her own frenzied chomping; the sort of gusto with which she hadn't eaten since her third or forth binge ever. It felt like a lifetime ago, with how common and begrudging they had become for her. “Good.” he grinned. “I've got a pump loaded up with a day's worth of food. I'll feed it to you tonight, and then you can get back on your regular schedule tomorrow. I know it'll be a little tough on your poor tummy, but you know better than to miss a day again, right?”
The Blob looked up, dumbfounded, her mouth hanging open in confusion as ranch dressing dribbled onto her chins. Taking it as a sign of compliance, The Keeper shoved her feeding mask back on, and the pumps were running before she knew what hit her. Realizing that it was only one day, and she had already cracked; and hadn't actually missed out on a day's worth of food, now, and thus wouldn't be losing any weight– or even failing to gain– she burst into tears, sobbing with what the Keeper mistook for joy as she felt her belly strain and expand again. Dread for the future and delight at finally being able to eat again; and shame from both; intermingled, calling forth more and more tears as she was pumped full.
“Don't worry, piggy.” The Keeper cooed. “I'm upping your food intake, and your appetite stimulants, so much that you'll have outgrown these sad little things in a few more weeks.” She was confused, but a slap to her doughy, quivering cankles made his point abundantly clear. She could feel his hand sinking into the fat of her lower leg, and she sniffled once again as she realized he wasn't hitting muscle at all. “I'm pretty sure you'd already fail miserably at walking if you tried now. But just to be sure, I'm gonna try and put another fifty pounds on you in the next month or so.”
The Blob couldn't stop chugging and swallowing as the pump worked past her terrified misgivings. “Remember the last time you walked, piggy?” It had been at least a month ago. The pumps and tubes kept her from needing a bathroom, and he sponge bathed her every few days while regularly rubbing lotions into her stretchmark-riddled skin to keep it from growing too fragile from so much stretching, or getting bedsores from laying on her expansive sofa of a rump for too long. “I hope you got to cherish it. You won't ever be doing it again!” he gleefully whispered to her. She hadn't gotten to cherish it. It lasted all of a few steps before he chuckled at her already sweating form, and just shoved her back onto the bed to satisfy his newly-formed erection. If she couldn't walk then, then The Keeper was right. She'd never walk again.
“Just imagine. The next milestone we have, once this sexy tummy of yours covers your knees, is getting these fatlogs too big to lift.” The Blob mewled and shook her head no, the protests muffled by her feeding mask. But they were already agonizing to lift, even for the minute or two it took The Keeper to hurriedly shave her armpits. “An eternity of doing nothing but eating and having sex. Doesn't that sound wonderful?” he purred. “Absolutely nothing else.” She had no choice. And she doubted she'd last an eternity at this rate. Her vision swam in a gluttonous haze, and she rocked her head back to retreat into the bliss of gorging, her only sanctuary. And now, it seemed, the only thing that would ever be her sanctuary. Her world. Her life. She was lower, fatter, even than swine. She was just a blob, that lived only to become more of a blob.
>>2601
I liked it, normally stories end the with chapter in which the feede hits the 'blob' stage. It might to see a story start from that point.
>>2603
>might be nice to see a story from that point

Is there anything like this? Thread Anonymous 09/05/2017 (Tue) 17:08:23 No. 1833 [Reply]
In this post, we help each other by recommending or indicating stories that fit what someone asks for.

In my case, I'm looking for a story where a person (Don't care if it's a bbw or a bhm) wakes up or suddenly finds out he's fat, and acts reasonable and not inmediately horny and tries to get a good use of this weird new situation they're now in. Of course, if it has some sexy moments or anything like that, I won't complain. Is there anything like this?
28 posts and 1 image omitted.
I can't believe they deleted the library. I had been accessing it after they just got rid of the link, but now it's no longer accessible. The SJW's there have been anti feeder and have hated on the library visitors & creators. They can go fuck themselves. This was a piece of FA/feeder history going back to 1996 with some awesome stories. Did I mention they can go fuck themselves?
>>2592

Luckily, the old Internet Archive Wayback Machine seems to have the contents of the library pretty well backed up for the moment. https://web.archive.org/web/20170503083041/http://www.dimensionsmagazine.com:80/Weight_Room/stories.html
>>2593
good catch. thank you
>>2593
I'm not really sure how the wayback machine works. You said for the moment. Will it not be archived for ever? if not is there a way we save a copy of the library without copy and pasting every story?
Impressively realistic and quintessential frustrating weight gain. Female character struggles with her weight for years, in and out of relationships, food addiction and binge eating just worsening over the years. To her dismay, weight climbs and climbs deep into SSBBW territory.

This is the real life story for literally thousands of SSBBW’s. Any fiction about it? Save me the FA messiah figure who converts her to like it or similar trope.

Ethnic BBW/WG stories Anonymous 05/08/2018 (Tue) 02:22:28 No. 2591 [Reply]
I have a bit of an odd request for you all. I know this has come up here before but I don't think we've ever had a thread about it, so if this is taboo please forgive me.

I'm looking for good BBW/WG stories where the main character is an ethnic woman. I especially like stories with Middle Eastern or South Asian protagonists but would be interested in other ethnicities too, and I know many people here would be too.

I'll kick things off:
https://elroycohen.deviantart.com/art/The-Collection-The-Ripe-Yellow-Pear-713883793
https://adipose-rex.deviantart.com/art/Comm-The-Fat-Lady-702547510
https://y2qwert.deviantart.com/art/Once-You-Go-Fat-Part-I-728358802

>>1776
Hey! That's my story! I wrote that shit way too long ago for people to remember, I might still have the unfinished part 3 on my laptop.

anyone know what happend to biggirlshere? Anonymous 03/09/2018 (Fri) 16:51:56 No. 2375 [Reply]
His account is deactivated on deviantart. anyone knows if he has made a new one?
I too, would like to know.
I'm just assuming he's in jail or was crushed to death by an ssbbw he was feeding.

More than likely probably his wife or someone close to him found his stories and he closed up shop to kill the evidence.
Anyone got any of his stuff saved?

Open file (1.24 MB 3750x700 1521799397624.jpg)
The perfect story for /elite/ Hessian 05/03/2018 (Thu) 20:03:01 No. 2565 [Reply]
I'm curious as to what a story written to appeal to as many people as practicably possible would look like. To that end, I'm going to run some polls - and maybe at the end we can write the scientifically perfect story for /elite/.
Here, then, is the first question - in your ideal weight gain story, how much weight would the character put on?
Go to https://www.strawpoll.me/15628715 to vote.
2 posts omitted.
Personally I'd love to see forced weight gain, or weight gain trickery. Someone who dislikes their weight or is ignorant.
>>2570
Naturally, naturally. For these polls, however, you can assume it's an 'all other things being equal' situation.
>>2571
I'm also a fan of that sort of thing - don't worry, there'll be a question to that end soon.

>>2566
It seems that nearly half of us prefer over four-hundred pounds of gain in their stories, with another third appreciating between two-hundred and four-hundred pounds. That's interesting - I didn't think so many would be keen on such high numbers.
The next question is; in your ideal weight gain story, how quickly would the main character gain?
I suppose this question is what separates those who prefer the more expansion side of things from those who enjoy more realistic weight gain.
https://www.strawpoll.me/15631914/r
>>2573
does this count for time skips? if a character gains weight over many months, but the story time skips between every six months it's still a pretty fast gain to the reader.
>>2574
It's how fast it is for the character.
>>2575
Does that sentence make sense? I was trying to say that the question is regarding how fast the gain is from the perspective of the character, not the reader.

Delete
Report

no cookies?