Feederism Stories

Perfect Body

As you gaze into the mirror before heading out to school, your reflection fills you with a quiet satisfaction. Your body is slim, perfectly proportioned—just as you've worked so hard to maintain. A smile creeps across your lips, pride swelling inside. Nothing could ever ruin this.

At school, lunchtime arrives, and you carefully unpack your meal: a single, crisp apple. The minimal meal symbolizes your discipline, a small price to pay for keeping your figure. You bite into it slowly, savoring every bit of the sweetness, knowing that once it's gone, you'll have to wait until dinner to eat again. As you chew, an odd sensation ripples through your stomach. Frowning, you glance down, only to see your midsection gently protruding beneath your crop top. The tight fabric outlines the growing bulge.

Panic surges through you. Rushing to the nearest bathroom, you lock yourself in a stall, your hands trembling as you lift your shirt. Your belly continues to swell, rounding out, grotesquely foreign against your slender frame. You can't stop staring, horrified, as the expansion slows. You look... nine months pregnant.

Your mind races, obsessing over how to fix this—how to shrink back to your perfect self. A sudden, mocking laugh echoes through the restroom. Heart pounding, you call out, "Who's there?"

"Come on out, my dear~. I can help with that little belly of yours," a playful, unsettling voice responds from outside the stall.

Desperate, you fling the door open. Standing there is a man, his eyes glinting with strange amusement. His expression is calm, innocent, even kind.

"Please, help me! My stomach, it's—" you gesture wildly at your bloated belly, which now bears stretch marks where the skin has stretched too far too fast.

"My, my," he murmurs, stepping forward. His fingers trace the taut curve of your stomach, sending an unexpected shiver through you. The skin is tight and smooth, painfully swollen. His touch forces a moan out of you—a mix of fear and discomfort.

"Follow me," he commands softly.

With no other options, you obey, trying futilely to shield your bloated midsection as you leave the bathroom. You trail behind him, barely registering the absurdity of your situation, your mind consumed by the thought of shedding this weight, of returning to your former self.

He leads you to his home, and as you step inside the kitchen, your eyes widen in disbelief. The room is filled with food—every surface covered with cakes, burgers, fries, milkshakes—everything you'd spent your life avoiding to preserve your slim figure.

"Would you like some?" the man asks, his hands gently resting on your belly, applying the slightest pressure.

"N-no," you stammer, eyes darting from the mountains of food to the man who now looms behind you. "I can't... I need to stay thin."

Your protest is futile. He forces you down into a chair, tying your arms and legs, immobilizing you. The first bite is forced into your mouth, and despite your resistance, you swallow. Then another, and another. Cakes, fries, shakes—you feel each calorie enter your body, filling you up, stretching your already swollen belly even more.

You glance down in horror as your stomach swells even larger. Your crop top is now riding up to your ribs, the waistband of your pants straining under the pressure. Ping! Ping! Buttons fly off, clattering to the floor. Shame washes over you, but the man doesn't stop feeding you. He only smiles as your belly rests heavily on your thighs, so large now you can't even see your legs beneath it.

"My, my, look at that belly of yours," he says, rubbing his hand over your distended abdomen. Each poke, each touch, elicits a moan, and to your shock, it's not entirely from pain or fear. There's an odd sense of relief, even pleasure, as your bloated stomach tightens further under his hand.

"You're such a good piggy," he coos, leaning in close. "You'll always be perfect like this, in my arms."

Your mind is spinning. How had this happened? You were supposed to stay slim, perfect. The apple—the apple had been laced with something. Weight-gain chemicals, he says with a sly grin. Your body, once so meticulously maintained, now swells with unwanted fullness, reshaped by his twisted game.

Finally, he unties you, but you don't move. You can't. Your body is heavy, cumbersome. Your limbs are too weak to carry your now-massive belly, which spills out from your waist like a grotesque ball. You try to pull your shirt down, but it's a futile effort—the fabric only rolls back up, leaving your bloated stomach exposed. You wrap your arms around it, trying to hide it from view, but the man just laughs.

"Why hide it, piggy?" he taunts, his hand delivering a sharp slap to your swollen belly. You gasp, a strange mix of shame and pleasure coursing through you.

There's no denying it now—you've fallen into the trap. With every bite, every touch, your perfect, slim body has become something else entirely. The man watches with a smirk as you give in, your body expanding further as he shoves a feeding tube into your mouth. You don't resist anymore. You can't.

As your belly swells even larger, you realize, in some twisted way, you're still perfect—just in a way you never imagined.