#thicctempo thoughts

blindfolded:for the last 24 hours I’ve been utterly obsessed with the idea of being blindfolded by your feeder.
Getting home from work in the evening having not eaten since lunch. Noticing that no one else is home so plopping down on the couch and dozing off. Waking to the feel of a silk handkerchief around your eyes. Groggily sitting up and murmluring about what’s going on, and your feeder putting a finger to your lips, telling you to get comfy. You adjust on the nearly too small furniture, eyebrows raised. They gently take your trembling hands from your lap and wrap another handkerchief in an immovable knot around your plump wrists. Your feeder’s voice gets closer to you in the darkness. They lay out the plans for the night softly: you’ll be blindfolded for several hours and hand-fed as much food as the feeder wants, of all varieties. Whenever their arms grow tired from bringing a seemingly endless amount of food to your wanting mouth, they’ll push your head down to a plateful. They reiterate, whatever food they want. At the end, when your belly is distended beyond belief, your feeder is satisfied with the tightness of your round gut, and you finally give word that you can’t handle anymore, you’ll be freed from the dark and unbound to rest and see pictures of all the food you’ve eaten. You smile with the excitement of not knowing how much you’re eating until you’re done, getting serving after serving pushed into you until you’ve eaten enough for a family of four. At least. Your feeder heads to the kitchen. you stare into the void and feel your bElly growl violently as you recognize the unmistakable smell of burgers sizzling in the other room. You worry about the button down you’re wearing. Your feeder turns on music so you aren’t lost to the abyss of what’s about to happen. You hear footsteps and you shift your chubby arms at your sides.
What happens next is a chaotic and hazy couple of hours.
Cuisines from various cultures are brought to Your waiting mouth. Pad thai, baked ziti, chicken enchiladas. And that’s just what youre able to recognize. Your belly grows heavier and heavier, pushing out further and lower onto doughy thighs. Several bites of varying pastries go down. You moan. You’re feeling it, truly, and you worry you might lose it all if you have much more. Finally, after a smaller bite of pumpkin pie is downed, your feeder sighs contently. You gulp and wriggle to get comfy as best as possible on the couch (normally you use both hands to heave yourself up to comfy spots, so it’s a real struggle to rely on nothing here). Your breathing gets somehow deeper and fat from your chest moves uncomfortably upward, making breathing even more difficult.
Your feeder allows you to lay back. And prepares you to survey the damage you’ve made together. THey untie the blindfold and you squint, and are met with around six different dishes. Your feeder has clearly capitalized on your ability to eat more food if there’s variety, getting you lost in flavors and sensations. If you both had been at a restaurant for an hour, you’re nearly positive seeing all that would’ve overwhelmed you. But the fact that you got ALL that down, within a feast of several hours? Your belly gurgles to desperately make more room and your meaty jaw drops. Your feeder looks smug and thrilled.
You have quite a feeling this won’t be the last time this happens.