Chatting With Masterfeeder - Part 3

Chapter 1 - The Sadist’s Playground

This story is the Part 3 of:
Chatting With Masterfeeder

You can find the Part 1 and 2 of this story on my profile.

Good Reading to all!

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The BMW Z4’s engine roared like a beast as Alex sped down Route 33, just outside Lancaster, Ohio. The faded “Welcome to Fairfield County” sign flashed in his rearview mirror, a reminder of the dull town he called home. The wind tousled his neatly trimmed brown hair, while the setting sun painted the sky a sickly orange, reflecting off the glossy hood of his car. He’d just finished a shift at a logistics warehouse, a mind-numbing job that left him too many hours to think about his “fat little sluts.” He took his phone off silent, and the messaging app exploded with a frenzy of notifications: ping, ping, ping. Messages, photos, audios, his girls, scattered across Ohio’s desolation, sent proof of their submission, their degradation, their perverse pleasure in obeying his commands.

Alex pulled up in front of the gym, a squat building with a neon sign reading “Iron Pulse Gym.” He parked the Z4 next to a rusty pickup, got out, and grabbed a Red Bull from a nearby convenience store, the cold liquid burning his throat as he leaned against the hood, waiting for his body to prep for the workout. He had about twenty minutes to kill, and he’d spend them with his guinea pigs. He opened the messaging app, and the screen filled with notifications: thirty-two open chats, each with a girl or woman he’d turned into a grotesque version of herself, physically and often mentally. He didn’t reply to all, only the most desperate, the ones who texted nonstop, the latest at the top. Seven names stood out, seven “PIGGIES” he’d ruined with care, each with a compulsive disorder he’d nurtured like a sadistic gardener. Then there was the new girl, texting for just a few days but already showing promise to become one of his favorites.

Sipping the energy drink, Alex scrolled through the chats, his sadistic smile widening with each message. Every name conjured a memory, an image, a moment when he’d broken a will, turning a woman into an obsessed fatty. His mind danced between their faces, their bodies, their vices.

Becky, 19, Tomas’s little slut. Her chat was a barrage: photos of her gorging on ice cream, audios of moans as she pinched her bloated belly, messages begging to meet him. “Master, I want to see you… I’m so fat for you, I want you to fuck me like your fatty…” Alex laughed, recalling how he’d hooked her six months ago on a failed fitness forum. Becky was now obsessed with the contrast between his chiseled body and her softening flesh, turned on by the humiliation of fattening up for him. He replied with curt orders: Alex: “Eat more, PIGGY. You’re not fat enough for me yet.” He knew the idea of being fucked by him drove her to stuff herself, and the thought of her begging her stepbrother for ice cream cracked him up. He’d sparked in her an arousal for acting like a slut with her stepbrother to get food, a habit that would surely spiral in the coming weeks.

Melissa, 34, the divorced mom. Melissa sent photos of Krispy Kreme donut trays, her fingers sticky with glaze as she snapped shots of her belly spilling over her leggings. “Master, I ate six donuts today, still eating for you…” Alex remembered finding her, an insecure woman post-divorce, desperate for attention. He’d convinced her that her worth lay in becoming a “fattening cow,” and now Melissa was hooked on donuts, unable to stop even when her stomach begged for mercy. Alex: “Good job, cow. Finish the tray and send me a video.” She always obeyed, sobbing with shame but aroused by his control. She was still stuffing her leggings, once used for fitness, now for sending him pics. Alex had convinced her to turn her kids’ child support checks entirely into donuts, softening her drastically. She didn’t need the money since she worked, finding immense release in filling her ex-husband’s void with donuts and Alex’s attention.

Kayla, 25, the anorexic-turned-bulimic student. Kayla was a trophy for Alex. He’d found her in an online support group, fragile and obsessed with weight control. He’d pushed her to “let go,” offering to cure her bulimia, and now Kayla sent audios of burps and moans while gorging on frozen pizza, her body going from skeletal to flabby and fat in months. “Master, I feel so full… I can’t stop stuffing myself…” Alex replied with a patronizing tone: Alex: “Good girl, little one. Eat until you burst. You’re so much prettier like this. I love your balloon belly.” He knew Kayla was now hooked on the feeling of fullness, an obsession that replaced her old need for control. It was so easy to make her gain now that she was fixated on staying stuffed and heavy while studying for exams in her dorm.

Tina, 40, the stressed-out manager. Tina was a challenge: a career woman, rigid and controlled, whom Alex broke with promises of “freedom.” Now she sent photos of chocolate cakes, her hands trembling as she cut huge slices during short breaks in her top-floor office. “Master, I’m eating for you… I can’t think of anything else…” Tina had become compulsive with sweets, unable to pass a bakery without buying everything. Alex replied coldly: Alex: “Another cake, Tina. Don’t disappoint me. All the treats in the bakery below your office are yours. You’re the building’s manager! They’re yours!” He recalled how he’d convinced her that food was her only escape from stress, not so much with words but by getting her to taste sweets until she convinced herself. Now Tina was a wreck, more relaxed, sure, but with a hundred extra pounds and an obsession that consumed her daily. She had her secretary buy a lineup of pastries as long as her daily schedule. Everyone in the office knew about her binges, but no one dared say a word to the manager. It truly relaxed her, and she’d likely never kick the habit while staying at the company.

Jasmine, 22, the goth girl. Jasmine sent videos of her devouring fried chips, her black makeup smearing as she stuffed herself. “Master, I’m your fatty… look how big I’m getting for you… The chips are so greasy and fattening, you were right, I love them.” Alex had found her in an alt-aesthetic group and pushed her to turn her passion for a rebellious look into a junk food rebellion. She needed to feel alternative and get attention, so she dressed dark, and when she insisted it fulfilled her, Alex challenged that anything could replace her goth obsession if it was just about standing out. He saw her goth theme as an escape from reality. Now Jasmine was hooked on chips, unable to stop even when her cheeks puffed with salt and grease, because it got her tons of attention from Alex, filling the void she felt before. Alex: “Good job, piglet. I want to see you with another bag. I love seeing your greasy chin.” She loved it, aroused by degrading herself for him, a contrast to her old rebel image. She’d gotten chubby, her goth clothes straining everywhere; she looked more like a puppy, a chubby goth girl who didn’t scare anyone anymore, a sub goth who loved feeling dirty and greasy, getting off talking to Alex, her online boyfriend.

Erica, 30, the bored housewife with feedee tendencies. Erica sent photos of empty Nutella jars, spoon in hand as she rubbed her flabby, stretch-marked belly while sitting on her wrinkled ass. “Master, I finished two jars today, I’m so bored… I’m your fat slut, right…” Alex found her in a moms’ group, bored with her monotonous life. Now Erica was hooked on Nutella, unable to resist its sweet, creamy taste. Alex: “Good job, fat slut. Three jars tomorrow.” She obeyed, lost in a cycle of shame and pleasure. Being a full-time housewife, eating Nutella for Alex was her escape.

Samantha, 20, the new girl. Samantha was fresh, met just a week ago on a mainstream dating app, like Becky. She sent shy photos, a plate of nachos in front of her, her belly just starting to poke out. “Master, I’m eating for you… it’s the first time I’ve felt like this…” Alex smiled, seeing the potential. Samantha was young, insecure, perfect for his game. She was already hooked on salty foods, and Alex replied with a sweet but menacing tone: Alex: “Good girl, little one. Eat more, don’t hold back, indulge your passion for salty foods. Try them all, I love seeing you happy with a full, satisfied belly, pup!” He knew Samantha would fall fast, like the others, ready to become a desperate fatty for his pleasure.

The chats scrolled on his screen, a chaos of bloated belly photos, empty plates, faces flushed with shame and arousal. Alex smiled, his ego swollen with every message. Each was a guinea pig, an experiment he’d ruined with care, turning their weaknesses into obsessions and their obsessions into uncontrollable madness that was slipping beyond their grasp. Becky, hooked on his jacked physique. Melissa, wrecked by donuts. Kayla, lost in fullness. Tina, enslaved by sweets. Jasmine, consumed by chips. Erica, drowning in Nutella. And Samantha, the new promise, ready to fall with snacks. Their lives were a mess, their bodies grotesque, their minds broken by his manipulation. And him? He was their god, their MasterFeeder, watching them crumble while sculpting his body at the gym, a perfect contrast to their bulky, flabby flesh.

Alex finished his Monster Ultra Zero Sugar from the white can (his favorite among all Monster flavors), crushed it, and tossed it in a bin. He closed the phone. Notifications kept buzzing, but he was ready for his true passion: iron, weights, discipline. He pushed open the gym door, the smell of sweat and metal greeting him like an old friend. The game with his PIGGIES could wait. For now, it was time to forge his body, the weapon that kept them all in his grip. He had to lift the weight of them all without issue, training with weights as if they were the heavy bodies of his fattened guinea pigs, pushing to lift more because his goal was to drive all his Ohio girls to uncontrolled obesity, where they could only turn to him to be managed.