clownshower

big squish thighs

are you a good girl or have you been very bad?

reminds me in the original disney‘s dumbo when the pink elephants are on parade 🐘

from girlish body to womanly figure, WOW.

most definitely shrunk is the wash. you jiggle with every step but that’s just cause your clothes are too tight, that’s all. it’s all because of laundry.

damn washing machine shrunk your jeans again.

moo moo 🐮

jiggle that second chin of yours to remind you how much plumper you are than you were a year ago.

how do you get your skin to be so smooth??? you’re gorgeous. Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

PART 2 - “THE DRIVE THROUGH” Public stuffing at the restaurant accomplished. What a lovely dinner for a skinny feeder and a pretty feedee over twice his size. Your feedee sits in the passenger seat like a mindless bovine. A well behaved pampered submissive feedee who does as she is told. You take good care of her after all so why should she worry about a thing? She rubs her beyond round belly pushing against her “little black dress”. Her recent weight gains from these buffets has made this dress littler and littler with every session. She kept saying she is so full but now finally she admits the dress is tight on her. With your strong capable hands, you rip a hole in the dress in the midsection to free the bulging belly bursting out of the seams. You can always buy another dress. Buy a new dress to grow into or a smaller one to tease her in? Why not both? You say, “and they say black is a slimming color”. You poke into the fleshy rolls of fat being contained by this blob of a woman. Seems like she can put away more. She may not believe it but you believe in her. Cows have four stomachs after all. You drive your heifer through the drive through of McDonald’s. You order for her and only her. You’re skinny and watching your figure. You hike, do yoga, and weight lift. This order can’t be for you. It’s all for the obedient farm animal in the passenger you’re cultivating. 2 Large McDonald’s chocolate shakes will be her dessert. As you pay at the first window, the skinny black haired young McDonald’s clerk notices your whole lot of woman in the passenger seat. You proudly smile and they politely smile at the sight. At the second window, a clone of the first window employee with brown hair hands you the two milkshakes. She says “Enjoy!”. You reply, “Oh it’s not for me. It’s for the lucky lady. Don’t want her starving to death now!”. The brown hair McDonald’s employee looks over at the lucky lady in the passenger. The belly exposed, tight “little” black dress wearing, double chin chinning, mind addled feedee lets out an accidental burp. How lady like. The burp reverberates through the McDonald’s kitchen. The abrupt noise forces all the employees to stop and check that an earthquake didn’t just happen. Nope, no earthquake. Just a fat ass making room for dessert. Good feedee.

PART 1 - “EMERGENCY COOKIES” I’m a skinny man. I watch what I eat. Seems like I’m watching what you eat too. Silly me, I over order for myself when we go out for dates. Sitting at a nice restaurant I picked out. You in a dress I picked out and me in a fine fitted suit. Your dress must have shrunk in the wash? What? The tag was still one when i picked it out? Surely, you must be mistaken. Figments of your imagination. You were this size last month. I order for you and myself. Large portions for you and same portions for myself. I have no intention finishing my food. I eat like a bird, How else am I to stay this skinny? You, my dear, are responsible for finishing your plate...and mine. You haven’t noticed that when i make our meals at home, your portions have slowly increased in size. My eyes are always bigger than my stomach. Your stomach, however, is ever growing. You hardly notice the changes creep up on you. Happy to not get up again for more food, you greedily finish my food off for me. But tonight at this fancy restaurant, you’re gonna pig out because I said so. Two appetizers. Two large plates. Two desserts. All with wine to help wash it all down. Your dress tears as I lead you, a waddling blob, across the restaurant towards the door. The seams gave up on life as you stuffed your ever large face with more nourishment. The remaining fragments of your dress fall to the floor. Your face blushes. My pants tighten. Most restaurant patrons look away in embarrassment. But not all the patrons... Few stare in amazement. Like a reflex, i pull emergency cookies out of my pockets and feed it to your face. You eat with from my hand obediently. We leave the dress behind. Valet pulls the car up. As they exit the car, their jaws hit the floor. guess they never seen a feedee as lovely as you. I pull out more snacks from the glove compartment. There is never a minute where your mouth doesn’t have a snack in it. Still, you believe you’re still your original smaller size. Surely this was just bloating. Sure, dear. think that as i take you home for your second dinner. Silly me, I didn’t finish plate. Guess I wasn’t hungry after all. I don’t have much of an appetite for food but i do have an appetite for you. You’ll be my dessert after I stuff you to the brim. Open Wide. Delicious.

Hedonism? Gluttony? Indulgence? Too big words for your too small mind. You were a smart, independent, fit young lady. Look at you now. A cow bell collar around your neck. Cow print tights gripping on your expanding thighs for dear life, hoping they don’t tear. Your mind has been erased by giving into your most basest desires to feed and cum every hour, on the hour. Delayed gratification is a sin. Over abundance is the norm. Who needs to think when you have a feeder? Your feeder makes all the decisions for you. What to eat, what to wear, where to go. He loves to shows off his blue ribbon sow. County Fairs, beaches, public parks. All places to feast in front of others, dressed in outfits already tighter and tighter by the minute, showing them their potential too if they give in. You can’t go home until you’ve been a good cow and finished your plate. “Good Girl” is your reward, as you always aim to please. Good girls get seconds and thirds. Some spectators go home and can’t get you, the prize fat cow out of their head. Public stuffing until my feedee is uncomfortably full. The only thoughts in her pretty plump head is “I’m so full, I’m so full, I’m so full”. Heavy breathing. Full gut pushing out against the tight outfit I told her to wear. She needs my help to get up, waddle across the park, and loaded in the car like cattle to a cattle car. At home, she needs belly rubs to make room for desserts. A milkshake a day means good times are here to stay. I’m not done with her feeding. No just yet. Upcoming birthdays, wedding, graduations, and holiday season. Lots of reasons to celebrate and food is your feedee’s favorite part of that celebration. Like pavlov’s dogs, she quickly associates food with celebration. Soon enough, every single little small victory is celebrated with a big helping of food. Oh, it’s Friday? Time for a large milkshake. She found $5 in the laundry? Spend it on family sized bag of snacks. It was sunny today? Perfect time to eat some ice cream. And by some ice cream, I mean she eats a full quart of ice cream in one sitting. It’s summertime. It’s sunny almost every day. She eats and eats but it’s self care and she feels great. She doesn’t even notice the pounds piling on. No one will say anything but they notice her body jiggling more. They politely ask if she REALLY wants seconds and thirds at Sunday brunch. Friends suggest they work out together to get beach bodies. She brushes it all off. Sure, her clothes fit tighter. She’s out of breath for going up a flight of stairs more than before. All her sitting furniture has dents from wherever she plops down. Still, if you told her that she put on a few pounds, she will only say “it’s water weight, it will melt right off.” Friends stopped asking. They accepted it as truth. They even indulged in their desires when eating with your feeder. She has gained 60 pounds and still denies she has gone full hog wild. The seed has been planted. You didn’t mean to inspire crowds to eat. You simply unlocked what what already there, just what your feeder did for you. They feed too and join you in the feast. Numbers of feeder and feedees grow by the month, literally and figuratively. It’s not an epidemic, it’s a revolution. It was always there, they just needed the golden calf to worship. That’s you, blue ribbon cow. Farmer’s favorite.

You met this girl on one of the many dating apps. Her profile is a bubbly, athletic short girl. She likes to have fun with her friends. Traveled to cool places. It’s a party everywhere she goes. You swiped right, matched and instantly hit it off together. Over the following weeks during COVID lockdown, you Facetime with this cute, bubbly girl. The conversations are great. Lots in common. Never running out of conversation topics. One of the topics you guys always return back to is food, though. She loves food and you love that she loves food. The enthusiasm is infectious. The screen captured only her face and never went lower than her neckline. You agree to meet up once you both are fully vaxxed. Wonderful. You suggest sushi and she suggests this all you can eat sushi restaurant. You meet at the restaurant and seems like that athletic girl from the pictures is a very plump and round girl. During Covid-19 quarantine, she gained 50 pounds and she hid it from you to shield herself from judgement. The restaurant is reservation only so you make the reservation in your name. You arrive first. The hostess, a skinny 19 year old conventionally attractive blonde girl, asks if you’ll be dining alone. You say no, table for two. You’ll be joined by a date soon enough. The hostess walks you to a free table at the very back of the restaurant. In idle chit chat walking across the room, you show her a picture of your date, short 5’2” athletic woman, asking the hostess to point your date in the direction of your table. She assures you that she will do just that. The Lunch Rush is on and the restaurant is getting busy. Your phone buzzes. SOMETHING IS WRONG. The hostess wont let your date through unless she has a reservation or is meeting someone already seated. She gives your name but the hostess doesn’t believe her. You walk up to the hostess station and confront the situation. Your date doesn’t look like quite like she does her dating profile pictures. She was MUCH smaller in her pictures. Your date looks the same except she has gained weight from her pre quarantine pictures. A LOT OF WEIGHT. The hostess is totally embarrassed. She thought your date was someone else, someone thinner. You are shocked by this transformation. Mesmerized. Taken in by the hypnotic quality of your date’s new curves. You understand now why you like it. You always brought back the conversations to food. You don’t judge her. Quite the opposite. You bashfully admit her appetite is a turn on. In past conversations about food, it turned you on that she had a big appetite. 

You can’t look away from her. she wears black leggings and a black top that makes her like a chubby Sandy from Grease. She jiggles with every step towards the buffet. Still unsure to take you at your word, she fills up her plate that is simply just a sad excuse of proportions. She is trying to eat like a bird. You tease her about this followed with encouragement to get more, it’s all you can eat after all. You barely sit down and she is already chowing down furiously. “You must have been starving!’’, you say. She bashfully admits that she already had two meals that day. First and second breakfast. Hot. This girl can put it away alright. This puts a question in your mind. How much can she eat? Can that limit be pushed if she really wants to go there? Can you give her that permission to give into her latent desires? After finishing her plate, she pretends to be full. You don’t buy it. You walk with her to the buffet. After asking her what looks good, she picks out the food that look the tastiest. You place the food on her plate, look her in the eyes, and tell her we’re not leaving until you finish this plate. She can’t help but blush. The wine flows. Food devoured. You have no problem showering her in compliments. You get turned on more and more she stuffs her plump pretty face. Her plate is finished. She can’t believe she ate that much. Her leggings grow tight around the midsection. You ask her if she is feeling full. She pauses and says “kinda”. Bingo. You pick up her plate. Walk over to the buffet. Hand her her final plate with the same proportions as before. You push the plate filled with yummy and delicious food on it towards her. Smile. Say, “you’re pretty when you eat.” She looks at the food. A voice in her tells her no but she is feeling rebellious. Fuck it. She gives in. Desire wins that round. There is no going back.