Naturally, I have tons of fantasies.
Some could be made into feeding games, while many of them are
impossible, or impractical enough to be impossible, but
they're fun to think about nonetheless. So I thought
I would
share some on the off-chance that they amused whoever might be reading
this,
as well as give an idea of the sort of things I think about.
I've never done
force-feeding but it
sounds awesome. I guess being physical out of control of what I'm
eating just goes naturally with being psychologically out of control
over my weight. I imagine being crammed full of fatty things
whether I liked it
or not, digesting it against my will, knowing all the while that every
coerced bite was
going to add a little more to the amount of fat that was becoming a
permanent part of me.
I've tried to think up feeding devices, things like machine that would
pump liquified food or gaining shakes
through a tube that my lips were sealed around. Of course,
forcefeeding doesn't have to be complicated.. one of my favorite
fantasies is to simply be tied to a chair and getting fed with a big
spoon from a large bowl of an easily chewed food- like pudding,
pasta, cake- I'd be slowly and patiently kept stuffed for hours,
getting gently encouraged to keep eating and getting slapped or pinched
if I didn't open my mouth wide to accept the next spoonful. Or
having my head immovably strapped and secured into place so that I
couldn't even turn my head away. Or perhaps a device that somehow
stimulated me while I ate, training my mind to associate physical
pleasure with food over time.
I
like the thought of being tricked into gaining, like being
slipped extra calories or appetite stimulants without my knowledge..
getting fatter without realizing it was being done on purpose.
Unfortunately, I don't foresee being in a situation like that, since
being actively fed would require no subterfuge... unless my feeder
agreed to let me diet a little and gave me spiked 'low fat' food.
I can't help but love the idea of having my diet sabotaged. I
also like the idea of being with someone around whom I just couldn't
lose weight or stop gaining, even if I wasn't being actively fed.
Someone who would constantly tempt me with my favorite fattening
things, though not so much encouraging, just making them available and
leave it up to my weakened willpower to fail me.
I have lots of fetishes, I've always seemed to
acquire them easily,
and one of them is for plus-sized clothes. For some
reason, plus-sized clothing has an allure all of it's own to me.
There's just so much room to fill! Like, show me a
pair
of size 5 jeans and it would mean nothing, but show me a pair of 4x
stretchpants and I'll start imagining how much fat would be required to
fill them, how long it would take, wondering
what life would be like if I were their size. Empty, yet full of
the promise of fatter things. I always prefer to
see bbw's clothed rather than naked. It leaves so much to the
imagination, how they're shaped underneath, the hidden rolls, how it
feels to squeeze the
fat through different materials. I often look through plus-size
clothing catalogs and wonder how my own body would
look in various outfits once I was fat, too. Would this or that
fit me well? Would it be flattering or not? Would the seat
of a pair of pants be snug around a plump bubble butt, or maybe be a
little baggy over a broad, flatter ass, the material pulled taut down
between the legs due to the weight of the belly pulling heavily from
the front. I sometimes wear clothes way too large
and
imagine filling up the empty space with my fat. I even own some
maternity clothes, with the stretchy belly panel, and imagine making
them get tight. I know it could happen
for real, but find it hard to believe at the same time. You don't
have to enjoy the clothing aspect like I do, but if you'd
indulge
me, it'd make me much happier.
I think it might be cool for you
to
select a certain plus-size outfit and not let me stop growing until it
fit
me
perfectly. It would be such an arbitrary, trivial goal, having to
put on that much weight, face the risks, and alter my life just to fit
into
a certain dress size, but maybe that's why it's exciting. It'd be
nice to wear lots of too-large clothes as a
constant
reminder
of how I was continuing to grow and realize that eventually those large
clothes would be too small for me. I'd be easy to shop for- just
buy something larger than I am and eventually it'll fit. You
could
have me wear tight things, like lycra (which I love), at least in
private.
Spandex-clad fat women tend to draw an awful lot of attention in
public. And my favorite
clothes of all are
big nylon briefs.. granny panties covering a vast expanse of butt and
sheathing a large, round belly in smooth nylon. That's like
the sexiest thing to me. I love the look and feel of a broad ass
and full apron beneath snug, huge panties. Funny how that if I
acquired such
an
ass, it's possible I might be too fat to be able feel it covered in
panties with my
own hands, parts of it forever just out of reach. I could only
wear them and find satisfaction in the knowledge that I'm actually
filling up the same size underwear I once admired with envy on other
supersized women. And sometimes I fantasize of having to invest
in a complete wardrobe in my goal size: many sets of underwear,
pants, tops,
dresses, shorts, swimsuit, hose.. my closet and drawers full of 6X
clothes that
are currently far too big for me, just waiting for me to be fat enough
to fit into
them properly. The problem would lie in being able to stop
gaining at that size so that they wouldn't all go to waste. Just
for fun, I wrote a sort of outline for a weight gain play via panty-filling.
Along with
the unattractive/humiliation theme, I sometimes like to imagine being
dressed in
unprovacative styles
that didn't flatter my shape, preferably cheap second-hand
clothes.
After all, there's no point in a fat sow trying to wear new or nice
clothes,
since they'll soon be covered with foodstains, and all she really needs
is something to cover her pasty, stretchmarked rolls. You
could design my wardrobe to be nothing but gaudy
muumuus or stained housedresses, plain nylon nightgowns, stretchpants
and
worn out sweatclothes, etc. You could make me look as plain,
ordinary, and
frumpy as possible, like someone who is too lazy and too concerned with
eating to
take time or make the effort to try to look nice. Anything lacy
or skimpy, any
kind of lingerie could be strictly forbidden, except as the occasional
excuse to laugh at
me. No garter belts or stockings or pretty patterns. I
shouldn't
wear anything designed to make a person look or feel sexy, just fat old
matron clothes. Sensible clothes. It's
silly,
but if I were to have a specific sow dress code, I'd want it to be big
old briefs
(white or beige, no fancy colors), a sturdy utilitarian bra, and
knee-high nylons day and night. It would be so mundane and so
sexy at the same time, at least to me. A large bib might be a
fatslave equivalent of
a collar. Strange, I know, but I
am strange. Of course, I like nice clothes, too, and I can
appreciate the irony of fancy clothes over top of a sloppy, shapeless
figure. I also have kind of a premature aging fetish, and love
the idea of wearing the styles of a woman twice my age.
I've thought of having
to wear a leather hood
for a few days or even weeks at a time that had only a mouth
opening. Visually,
it would erase all my features except for my mouth- a fatslave's most
important
feature. It would make me look more like that flabby eating
machine that I was- an open and hungry mouth on top of a faceless, fat
and growing body. From my end, my only sensory input would be
from eating and make me focus totally on food and the feel of
my flesh. Perhaps a pink, spandex piggy costume would be
cute. A funny idea I've had is to have a pig snout glued to
my face.. it would come off in a few days or weeks, but during that
time I'd have to endure the humiliation and be unable to show my face
outside. Perhaps nose 'jewelry' that would keep my nostrils
stretched out snoutlike when I wore it, maybe to match elegant,
two-fingered 'trotter gloves'. Or maybe have my hands glued
around eating utensils so
that I couldn't let go of them. You could possibly
work on stretching my nose to make it more piggish, or stretch my lips
and cheeks over time so that I could take larger and more mouth-filling
bites (after all, as an eating machine, my mouth would be the most
important part of my body and could be altered to be more prominent and
to better suit its main function- taking in food).
A silly fantasy I've had is to have a
table
that splits down the middle, like for an extension, but with a hole cut
in the center. The table halves
could be locked together at the level of my upper chest with me in the
middle, leaving only me with only my head and arms above the table, and
sitting in a hammock or chair with a bedpan. A tablecloth with
arm holes would
serve as clothing. I'd become like a part of the table, a
centerpiece, surrounded by food on all sides and nothing to do but
eat, my whole day being nothing but a nonstop feast (and how could I
remove myself from the temptation if I was part of the table the food
was sitting on?) and be stuck there until I was freed.
I've fantasized of being put into an outfit and not
allowed to take it off until I outgrew it and it burst. Perhaps
something fancy like a prom dress or just a blouse and pants. I'd
have to live in it, sleep in it, wear it in the shower, and have it
basically become a second skin until my fat
ripped the seams. Not very realistic of course since I wouldn't
be able to go outside while this was taking place, and going to the
bathroom without being able to take off my pants would present a
problem. Still, it's a cool thought.
I've had thoughts of things that would exacerbate
and increase the severity of sagginess and stretchmarks. Like,
having to frequently jump on a trampoline once I was supersized (if my
knees or the trampoline itself could endure it), my fatty rolls
flopping wildly. Gravity and all the bouncing could perhaps force
the
skin to stretch and gradually pull everything farther south. I've
even thought of having my belly placed on a table and pressed with a
rolling pin, kneaded like dough in hopes of making it spread out and
hang lower. Anything possible to make my apron hang lower.
I've toyed with the possibility of being kept in the
dark about how much I'm gaining. Like my feeder not letting me
see the scale or measurements and removing the tags on all my clothes,
frequently replacing my outfits so I wouldn't feel them getting smaller
on me. Or replacing them with exactly the same style except in a
larger size. My feeder would want my weight so beyond my
control that I didn't even need to know how much I was gaining.
It'd be hard to accomplish in real life without my total cooperation,
though. Even if there were no scales or tape measurers around the
house, if I really wanted to know, there are places that have public
scales.
I like the idea of having fattened parts of my body
made into erogenous zones. The belly, of course, but also unusual
areas: the flabby area of my upper arms, the rolls of back fat
that form above where my bra digs in, my sagging double chin, the deep
crevaces that might form between my thigh rolls. I could have
special attention paid to these areas until I associated them with
sexual pleasure. If, for example, my upper arm fat was made
erogenous, then lifting my arms over my head--offering the fat to be
touched, kissed, and played with--would be the equivalent of a skinny
girl spreading her legs for sex. Wearing a sleeveless top and
exposing the tender flab would be like wearing a miniskirt.
Someone could embrace me from the front to stroke and squeeze my rolls
of back fat, as if they were breasts, until I was incredibly
aroused. I wonder if it would be possible to get so excited by
having my belly rubbed that it would be enough to make me orgasm all by
itself?
I have a
fascination with being sort of a garbage disposal, too. I
fantasize of have a feeding tube put down my throat and then have food
blended up
and poured into my tummy. Leftovers scraped off the plate, odds
and ends around the kitchen, banana peels, eggshells, fresh garbage...
all blended
into a slurry and filling up my stomach whether I liked it or
not. It would be especially humiliating to have to sit and watch
as particularly mismatched, unpleasant combinations were
liquified--like for example an unappetizing mixture of spongecake, a
bottle of ranch dressing,
sticks of
butter, and sardines. Even though I wouldn't have to taste any of
it, knowing it was going into me and that I would digest it all would
be gross. I would just be a human garbage disposal, unable to
prevent my belly being stuffed with anything.
I've had
an outlandish, stalkerish fantasy of a feeder, if
having left once I reached my ideal weight, checking in on me from time
to time. Like showing up out of the blue a year or so later to
make sure I still weighed, dressed, ate the right foods in the right
amounts. I'd be weighed
and measured and punished if I had lost any weight in that time and
have to submit to being fattened back up, possibly having my absolute
minimum weight limit raised by ten or twenty pounds as a form of
punishment. Of course, they wouldn't need to use the excuse of
punishment to raise
my minimum weight limit- they could come back at any time and decide I
needed to be heavier. If they wanted me to be very lazy and I'd
tried to get in better shape, I'd be confined to bed and trained to be
sluggish and unfit again. If they wanted me to always wear plain
and unflattering clothes, they'd go through my wardrobe and throw out
anything I'd gotten that they didn't think suited me. If they
wanted me to remain a single, celibate fat woman, they could make sure
I hadn't formed any intimate relationships. I'd never know when
they'd show up, so I'd learn to stay exactly the way they wanted to
avoid punishment and humiliation. I might resent the intrusions
into my private life, but in the end I'd accept that I had given up
control of my weight for life and would never be getting it back. If I
was
punished by having my minimum weight limit raised, I'd learn pretty
fast to never lose weight (on purpose or by inattentiveness), knowing
that after each visit and punishment, immobility would be a little bit
closer. I'd never be free of the threat of immobility, since my
former feeder could always return if they really wanted, whether it's 6
months or 5 years later, and seduce with me food and the helpless
pleasures of feeding, or just tie me down and force-feed me, until my
fat trapped me completely. Anyway, it's just a weird fantasy, but
it's
nice to fantasize never truly being able to escape being exactly the
way
my feeder wanted me to stay.
I have of course had fantasies of being locked up
and truly being forced to gain. Like being locked in a bedroom
with nothing but a bed, a comfy chair, a tv, and a bathroom.
Sometimes I think of the room being luxurious (a gilded cage) and other
times
a drab cell... like a basement. Perhaps with an ankle chain to
keep me from
wandering too far. Or the windows blacked out so that I have no
outside contact. I would have nowhere to go and nothing to do but
eat, and I'd have to gain if I ever wanted to be set free.
Although one of my fears is the chance of my fat
keeping me single
and alone, I sometimes fantasize of getting involved with a feeder who
might want me to remain
alone after my feeding was complete, enjoying
knowing that they were not only changing my body for
life, but my social life as well. They might jealously view the
fat they gave me as belonging to them and not want any one else but me
playing with it, or worse, someone coming in and changing my lifestyle
and perhaps getting me to lose weight. They might want to know
that years after they left and were involved with someone new, I would
remain by myself, staying true to their fatslave vision for me.
I can imagine my feeder convincing me to ask to be made so fat that no
one
else
would ever want me after they were done with me, or have me
pathetically beg to be left
with no choice but to remain alone with my fat as an act of submission
if they intended to abandon
me. I can
imagine having
to promise that I would always stay single and that I would never
advertise or go looking for a partner; being manipulated to
eagerly plead to experience all
aspects of being overweight, including enduring being single like so
many other
fat women. Alternately, I sometimes think of someone lying to me
by telling they weren't going to leave me after I became supersize and
reached their goals. I might be more willing to get that large if
I didn't believe I was going to end up alone, only to learn it was just
a lie to get me to that point and they intended to abandon me
afterwards all along. In real life such a thing would be
devastating, but I'd have to admit that I had consented to the use of
any means to get me that fat, which I suppose would include lies and
manipulation.
A feeder might even keep tabs
on me to make sure I kept my promises and our feeding relationship
would continue online. They could assume false online identities
and
pretend to be interested
in me, just to make sure I always replied that I was happily single and
not looking for a relationship or even for a brief fling, even if it
was a lie. In time, it might become the truth. Perhaps I
would only have to agree to not look for a date for a certain number of
years, on the pretense of giving me ample time to settle into my new
lifestyle and adjust to my recently fattened body without
distractions. While in truth, it would just be making sure that
by the time the restriction was lifted, I would likely be too old to
interest anyone. By that time, they'd no longer have to keep
tabs on me, since my age, my size, and familiarity with being alone
would keep me
that way. I can picture, if I was 35 when my fattening was
complete, having to vow not to date for five years-- so that I could
experience fully what it was like to be a single, fat woman.
Though it seems unrealistic that someone would agree to such a thing,
it's possible that I might, depending on the depth of submission I felt
and the level of my self-esteem. Years would pass as I aged and
sagged and maybe began to get wrinkles.
Then, once I was
40, my former feeder telling me they decided that I needed
another year or two alone with my fat. Same thing the next year,
and the
year after that. I might come to expect it and give up hope that
the prohibition would ever be lifted.. and I might continue to obey
because the pleasure of making my feeder happy outweighed the pain of
being alone. I might just be waiting for the day
they decided I should never date again after all. Or once my
photographs proved that I was too
old, fat, and unappealing to ever attract a mate, the restrictions
might be lifted. They might have me take pills to reduce my sex
drive, to make the celibacy easier on me, or so that I'd cease to care
that I was single at all. I could try to date at that time, if I
wanted
to, but
probably wouldn't be able to find anyone. The several year,
post-feeding
'experience' of being fat and single would have gradually become a
permanent lifestyle. To do something like that wouldn't be done
out of
cruelty on my feeder's part; since if I had begged for them to
make me
too fat to be desirable or to always remain single, they would simply
be fulfilling their part of
the
bargain. If it took a stick and carrot approach like that--wait
just one more year--to keep
me single until my combined fat and age secured me in spinsterhood like
a collar locked around my neck, then that's what would be
done. Or, they could allow me to have intimate
relationships, but only if that person was as fat as me.
While
you're changing my body to suit you, I've thought you could also change
my behavior
until I act the way you want me to. I think about having to adopt
a different lifestyle than what I'm used to, beyond just the feedee
lifestyle. I could be trained to behave differently until it
became natural to me, and the habits became my own. You could
force both my
body and mind into the mold of a stereotypical, sloppy, trailer sow,
stuffing her face, smelling of beer, and dangling a cigarette while
glued
in front of
the tv, always wearing spandex pants digging into her
indulgence-bloated belly,
if you wish. Or, if you prefer, make me fill the roll of
a dowdy, over-the-hill housewife, wearing food-spattered housedresses
and her hair always in curlers. Or
perhaps a grandmotherly, wearing big, ruffled clothes, doused in
perfume
and my face constantly caked in makeup, heavy girdles compressing my
rolls, and my arms covered in bracelets and
gaudy rings buried in my fat fingers. Or a spoiled, bitchy, piggy
princess, extradordinarily lazy and pampered, seldom leaving the
bedroom, but unable to stop eating and stretching her expensive silk
nightgowns tighter over her rolls. Or
maybe have me play a pig and spend time sitting in mud, or have me
wear a pig nose and a giant, pink spandex bodysuit with a curly
tail. Maybe
mixing different roles together, or switching between them. These
are just a few ideas; there's
many possibilities.
Speech control is something I think of from time to
time. It might be cool to have no choice but to say fat-positive
things. Instead of "I'm full," I would still have to say that I
was still hungry. Or instead of "I'm too fat!" I'd have to say
that I wasn't fat enough, all under the threat of punishment.
Those are just examples for a whole change of speech to sound more
positive about my transformation than I actually was.
Most people, when thinking of being transformed,
fantasize of becoming sluts or sex toys. It's funny, but many of
my fantasies involve the opposite. I sometimes think of becoming
like those fat old women who long ago lost their sex drive or find sex
disgusting, and taking on that role because I was left few other
options. My own fat body might prevent me from being intimate
with others or myself, and I would live in celibacy, remaining virginal
for life. My genitals,
having remained untouched and unseen for long, might be virtually
forgotten, buried deep and inaccessable under layers of fatty
flesh. I wonder if my sex drive would go away in time, being
unable to satisfy it. Sometimes I think of being forced to
temporarily lose my sex drive (through hormones) once I was fat, in
order to become like
those sexless, older women who certainly aren't remotely aroused by the
fatty
bodies they inhabit.
Might be interesting to experience.
One transformation interest of mine is premature
aging. I sometimes think about accelerating through middle age as
I gained, through changes in clothing and appearance, behavior, even
actual, physical aging. It's hard to pin down why this appeals..
perhaps it's a loss of attractiveness thing, or an association of being
supersized and matronly with age, or maybe it's just the clothes.
I do know that I often become more envious upon seeing an older,
supersized woman than I would from a woman of the same size but is my
own age. Could be that I want to become like they are as soon as
possible. Maybe it's because when I try to imagine my 'true
self,' I see myself as a fat woman who is ten to twenty years older
than my real age. So maybe the fascination is a desire to skip
over the remainder of my youth and 'catch up' to that image in apparent
age. Though I wonder if my feeder had some treatment to make that
happen, would I be so eager to submit to it? After a certain
point, I think so.
Although I know eating disorders are serious and a
matter of life or death for many, I still can't help imagining someone
intentionally having me develop an eating disorder.. intentionally
turning me into a true food addict who is a compulsive over-eater or
binger. I imagine being so out of control and needing food so
much that I would keep eating even if I knew I shouldn't, even in the
absence of a feeder. Or that even if I was desperate to lose
weight for any reason, I'd simply be utterly unable to resist the lure
of food. It's
very difficult to be cured of, but that's part of the appeal, since it
would render me unable to diet and lose weight. I'm not sure if
someone can actually induce such a thing in
someone else, but I love the thought of someone putting me on a diet
that was designed to give me a true eating disorder. And I'd know
my feeder would surely use it against
me and become an enabler if it did happen. I
would still have to willingly stuff my
mouth even if I knew the sole purpose of my feeder's diet was to give
me
a
life-long food addiction. I would simply have no say in what I
ate or in my eating habits, even if a true and incurable eating
disorder resulted from
it.
I've said I don't want to be immobile, and I really
don't,
but I do fantasize of being in a physical and psychological situation
that if my feeder really wanted to, I wouldn't
really be able to prevent it. If I was kept at around 100 pounds
away from complete immobility, for instance, I'd know it wouldn't take
much effort on my feeder's part to make me gain those 100 pounds and
push me over that edge. At
that point I'd be so used to eating whatever was in front of me that I
wouldn't be able to resist it, even though I'd know the whole
time that every bite was pushing me a little bit closer to
immobility. All
I'd have to do was refuse and stop eating to prevent it, but I'd
no longer even be able to do that. Even if I was able to scrounge
up some self-discipline and resist
the lure of food, I wouldn't be able to resist my feeder's
wishes. By then force or punishment probably wouldn't even be
necessary to make me eat since I'd have so little willpower to deny my
feeder's wishes that they could easily coax me into opening a wide,
eager
mouth and accepting another fattening meal. It's an example of
how
little
control over my own eating and weight gain I want to
achieve- so powerless that I wouldn't be able to stop my fattification
even if it meant
getting so heavy that I'd no longer be able to walk.
I think it would both a
totally helpless and strangely
comforting feeling knowing that the only thing that ultimately kept me
from
immobility was me feeder's word. You could even use it as a
threat,
telling me that if I tried to diet, you'd punish me by making me
gain those last, immobilizing
hundred pounds.
I've wondered about being fattened to immobility
only temporarily, if my feeder was willing to put in the
effort. Like, being fed to 600 pounds or so, whatever weight
would be sufficient to bury me under fat, perhaps still able to walk a
little with assistance. I'd have to experience what being
immobile and absolutely dependence was truly like. Then, after I
had lived that way for a while, my feeder would 'rehabilitate' me and
have me lose a couple hundred pounds of fat until I was merely
supersize again. With all that weight loss, my skin would be
stretched out and I would have perfectly shapeless and saggy
figure. This
fantasy is probably not realistic though.. it would require an
incredible amount of trust in my feeder not to abandon me or change
their mind and keep me that size. Also, I'm sure that helping me
lose that much weight and sticking to it would be a herculean effort
all by itself. It's hard enough for someone to lose weight
normally, but
especially hard when the person can't move and can't stop eating.
So it's probably best if that remains firmly in the fantasy realm.
I've
thought simulated
immobility might be interesting, like being
confined to bed for a weekend or longer. A simple collar locked
to the
headboard would make sure I stayed put and I could have brief samples
of the total
dependence of being bed-ridden. I wouldn't be allowed to leave
the bed for anything until my time was up. I've thought of things
like, if
I was supersized, being tied to the bed from time to time and
being told that I would be restrained there and fed until I was finally
immobile and unable to stand again under my own power. It would
just be a game, of course, but knowing how powerless I was, I'd never
be completely sure that you weren't serious. I might begin to
believe you meant it if I started to gain in that situation, even if it
wasn't very much. Would I panic and beg you to stop, or submit to
it, or both? It might even be possible to make me
temporarily immobile by having me
be bound to a bed or wheelchair long enough for my muscles to weaken,
making me unable to walk even at a normally non-immobilizing
weight.
When it got old, I could have my muscles strengthened again until I was
able to move around as easily as before.
It's hard to pin down and explain fully,
but I
do have interest in the whole idea of allowing someone to make me
partly disabled from making me fat, and that person enjoying that
aspect. At least in fantasy, anyway. It's like a part of
the bondage,
the submission, the
willing sacrifice to being fat. For instance, if my knees would
stop
aching as much if I could only lose thirty pounds, then I'd
just have to keep coping with aching knees, because such a feeder
definately would
not
let me lose thirty precious pounds of fat. The idea of having to
keep
gaining even after such
infirmities start setting in, knowing that it can only get
worse, and having so little control over my gain that I can't prevent
it, is kinda cool. I definately don't want to be sick or
unhealthy,
but in my
darker fantasies I imagine a merciless and uncompromising feeder who is
so determined to make me
hugely obese that health concerns are secondary, that I wouldn't be
allowed to
stop gaining or lose weight for any reason.
To the feeder, seeing me growing huge amounts of fat would be more
important than anything
else, even my own health. I'd have to keep getting fatter, no
matter what it did to me. It's the idea of being
forced to
overindulge in physical
pleasures like
eating until I could no longer stop overindulging, in spite of all
consequences. Of course, I realize dark fantasies don't
necessarily make for happy realities.
Even though it's not PC, it's kind of a thrill to
imagine somewhat sadistic, controlling feeders who like their women to
be
pathetically out-of-shape, seeing them becoming housebound, taking
great pleasure out of the burden their fat is,
and would actively work to make me like that. Exciting to
think of being made aware of their plans, but either unable to say no,
or going along with it but unwilling to believe that I could actually
end up like that.. until it happened. Maybe not so good in
real life. In reality, I would probably be happiest with someone
who cared about me, but I can't deny that it excites me as a
fantasy. If
my
feeder's ideal fatty had only enough energy to get up and go to the
kitchen and back, I'd find that I had inevitably ended up that
way. If, for
example, my feeder had a fetish for fat women who needed canes, then
they would make sure that I came to need one myself (perhaps by making
me do activities that would put strain on my knees, or wear a brace on
one leg until the muscles on that side were weaker). They could
train me to use a walker long before I ever actually needed one,
shackling me to a walker so that I'd have to use it whenever I moved,
slowly becoming dependent upon it. If they loved it when women
had dentures, well, they would have total control over mouth. Or
if they
loved to see a fat woman indulge in bad habits like heavy smoking or
drinking, being terribly lazy and out of breath, then I would have to
do
that, too. I'd have
consented to having no control over what I eat or my physical activity
in relation to exercise or lack thereof, even if my feeder's particular
methods of weight gain were detrimental to my health. Not that I
really want to be that way, I think, just that I want to know that I
wouldn't be
able to go against my feeder's fattening transformation no matter the
end
result. I like the thought of being perniciously brainwashed by
an aggressive feeder until I was in love with the idea, and that their
interest in my debilitation would be forced onto me until I too looked
forward to it eagerly and agreed to it just to make them happy.
It might be interesting to
occasionally be encouraged to be as lazy as possible by being punished
for moving around any more than the bare minimum needed to eat, getting
cropped or caned for fidgeting and burning off calories. I might
be chained in such a way that I could only reach the fridge, the
bathroom, and the sofa. Or I could be locked into painfully small
shoes that discouraged walking or standing any more than absolutely
necessary. I could
be restrained to a
wheelchair
for a few days, to be moved from the bed to the kitchen table and back
again, allowed to stand only for the few seconds it would take to get
out of bed and into the chair. You could use the excuse that you
were being considerate by sparing me the trouble of actually walking on
my own and burning off my precious calories. It could call it
'limited mobility training' while I was still at smaller sizes, having
me move around as little as possible for long periods, to simulate and
prepare me for how life would be once I huge and would be spending much
of my day sitting in one spot. It's very exciting to think of
being bound to a
comfortable armchair for weeks at a time. At first, I'd surely
get bored and restless from sitting in
an armchair with nothing to do but eat and watch tv, but it's
something I'd have to learn to get used to.. gradually fidgeting less
and less until I found myself complaining about having to leave my
chair to do something. It's how I would be
spending most of the rest of my life once I was too fat to be
interested in doing
much of anything else.
I love the idea of having a sort of personal trainer
in reverse-- an indulgence therapist--
and
being on a sort of anti-fitness regimen and gaining diet. The
purpose would be, in
the interest of psychological health, to satisfy my curiosity
about what living fat is like and how unrestrained indulgence
feels. It would be a program
tailored towards over-eating and getting out of shape instead of
toning and weight loss. I would have to adhere to a strict,
proper
diet plan, in which any kind of low fat, lite, or 'heath' food would be
forbidden; instead, fast food and junk food would be
required. A sugary, high
carb/high fat diet instead of low carb and lean. To train the
body towards
overindulgence, meal portions would be gradually increased instead of
decreased, and snacking would be mandatory. Calories would only
be
counted in regards to meeting a minimum daily allowance (such as having
to eat at least 3500 calories a day). Laziness would be enforced
through frequent bedrest and naps after meals. Perhaps having to
spend
half of every day in bed, and the other half at the table or on the
sofa,
eating.
Not allowed any frivolous activity that would burn off too many
calories-- exercise would be explicitly forbidden.
Unnecessary activities like taking long walks or bike-riding would
be
replaced by acceptable, sedentary ones, like napping and sitting to
watch
tv.
Good anti-fitness habits might be reinforced, like drinking and
smoking. Instead of wearing workout clothes and going out to the
gym,
I
would have to stay in a nightgown, comfy lounging clothes, or my
underwear all day and stay
inside to sit around (or, ironically, wear plus-size workout clothes
while overeating at the table).
Progress
would be measured by an expanding waistline and by decreased physical
endurance. The duration of the training could be for a short
while (for
resistance-lowering purposes) or for long enough to make enough of the
changes stick. The result would be to develop a flabby body, a
lazy
lifestyle, and bad habits
that
would insure gradual and unavoidable weight gain for years to come.
Even though it's not exactly fantasy material, I do
spend a lot of time fantasizing about daily life as a supersize
woman.
Not just the feeding or sexy scenarios, but the plain old, mundane,
every day living. The little things, like getting dressed, taking
a shower, working, driving, shopping. Heck, I've even tried to
picture seeing a fat woman in the mirror as I brush my hair instead of
the reflection I'm familiar with. Or when bending over to pick
something up, sometimes wondering how awkward it might be if my belly
got in the way of bending. Would I feel even hotter on warm days
due to my insulating blubber? I often wonder, as I go about
my daily activities, how they would be different if I was fat.
Would this or that be difficult or impossible? Would it feel
different or take longer? Or would it not be different at all,
just the same as before? Would certain normal things become
exciting in their own way? Like, would I notice the feel of my
arm fat hanging and jiggling when I brushed my teeth, and would it be a
tiny thrill? Or the feel of my much wider body rubbing the edges
of narrow doorways as I passed through? Would things like that
soon fade into familiar normalcy until I no longer noticed them at
all? Would I prefer to use a motorized cart to shop in, or if not
right away, would I need one when I got older? When standing in a
long line or cooking at the stove I wonder if my feet and back would
start to
hurt if I was obese, and would I need to sit down? Would my
normal sitting or sleeping positions change; would I even be able
to sit cross-legged in this chair as I am right now? Likely, most
things in my life would remain mostly unchanged, but other things would
change significantly. I know that whatever I did, wherever I
went, whatever relationships I might or might not have, and whatever I
experienced.. it would all be done with me being fat instead of skinny.
Is far as fantasy feeders go, sometimes I think of
it being an athletic, very fit girl who is fascinated by gaining and
wants to feed someone up as her personal fattening
project/pig/plaything, to make someone into the polar opposite of
her.
She would make me eat all the food she
denied to herself and more. Making me fat would keep me from
cheating, keep me under her thumb. Or not even using me for sex,
but simply fattening me to be her easily controlled, fat girlfriend to
snuggle with plutonically, like a comforting teddy bear. She
could even make sure I stayed fat and single so that I would always be
available and always devoted to her. I've also thought of having
a
fat feeder, who wants to fatten me as sort a revenge feeding, forcing
me to experience the humiliation that she did growing up overweight, as
well as everything else she had to endure..
making me gain until I outweighed her and she can look small next to me
by
comparison. I've also thought of a controlling-yet-motherly,
older
woman who fattens me so that she
can have a soft, nonthreatening, nonsexual companion to keep her
company. And even though I
don't want to feed long distance, I sometimes have thoughts of being
fed online by a fat woman who wasn't interested in meeting me, but only
wanted to watch me feed myself to be like
her, a copy of her, and living in such pure fat celibacy that I remain
untouched even by my own feeder.