Chapter 1 - in and out of control

The following is my own true story - how I gave in to my fetish, and how it spiralled out of control.

First things first - I'm 28 years old, 5 foot 7 inches, with dirty blond hair. I grew up in the north of England, but since leaving university in 2008 I've lived in London.

Secondly - the thought of gaining weight turns me on. When I first figured this out, aged about sixteen, I went on a three month junk food binge, using every bit of pocket money I had, and masturbated myself sore each night at the thought of popping buttons on my school shirts.

But I didn't gain any weight. At least, not then - my metabolism at 16 was way too high, and my food budget way too low. Plus, as much as the mere thought made me wet, I knew deep down I wasn't ready for the attention that getting fat would bring. So I stopped.

At 28, I've been on Fantasy Feeder for ten years, since shortly after I started university in 2004. During that time, I've posted no pictures or stories - simply, I was happy to stay in the shadows, too scared that someone I know might recognise me. And, more to the point, I had nothing to show - I wasn't gaining weight, and had no plans to start. I was happy - or at least content - to watch other men and women stuffing themselves, content to watch them swell like balloons, and content to see them act out the fantasies I didn't dare enact.

That was until five years ago.

It started as a small, unintentional gain. For obvious reasons, I've never been strict about what I eat and how much I exercise, but nothing ever stuck. For years I had been around 11 stone, without making any effort. I almost never weighed myself. Then, near the start of 2010, I noticed something had changed. My clothes seemed tighter, especially trousers, so I dug the scale out of retirement.

Sure enough, I had gained half a stone, taking me to a modest 161lbs.

My first act, after getting off the scale, was to go back to bed and flick myself off multiple times. Now, don't get me wrong - I wasn't fat, and I didn't feel it. But something about the unintended nature of my gain turned me on. While I had never stopped having fat fantasies online, it was as though something had reawakened in me - the possibility of gaining.

After that, I didn't do anything straight away, but neither did I make any attempt to lose the weight. I was between relationships at the time, having broken up with a long term boyfriend a few months prior. I thought hard about what I wanted to do, and though the old trepidation was there, I had an independence that I'd not had at 16.

A week after first getting on the scale, I started deliberately gaining weight.

My goal was to gain a stone, taking me to 175lbs, as a sort of tester - was this what I wanted? Was I comfortable getting bigger, and being bigger? I work in an office with my own cubicle, and would always pick up a sandwich and a few things for lunch before I got in. With the start of my new diet, these 'few things' became a bag groaning with multiple sandwiches and pasta pots, crisps, pork pies, cakes and chocolate bars. I stopped walking into work - my main exercise - and started getting the bus.

My objective was to eat throughout the day, and I started to keep a record of how many calories I was putting away. To begin with it was a struggle. I could barely eat 3000 in a day, and I would become so sluggish and sleepy that I thought I might have to stop gorging at work. I enjoyed the food, but couldn't focus. But I forced myself on, cramming in more grease and sugar than I ever had before. I felt like crap, but told myself I couldn't give in so easily. I wasn't even gaining any weight - I'd be heavy at the end of the day, then wake up exactly where I started. I was a day or two from chucking it in.

Then, one day about two weeks into my binge, I woke up feeling different. It was as though someone had flipped a switch. I remember that day I went out and got a huge fried breakfast before heading to work. At work I ate my way through all the treats in my bag, and even fitted in a chocolate bar from the vending machine on my way out. At home I still felt I had room, and ordered a pizza, which I washed down with half a tub of ice cream.

Something had changed, and now there was no stopping me.

The days now went by in a blur of eating. As time went on, my intake steadily increased to 5000, then 6000. My body hadn't just gotten used to the onslaught of calories, it craved more. By the end of summer I was going out on my lunch break to get McDonald's, or KFC, or fried noodles from the local Chinese. I worried that my colleagues might see me, stuffing myself with a second lunch, but none ever said. When I got home I would order pizza or curry, and round the day off with softened ice cream.

I was horny all the time, flicking myself off in the work toilets by day, then using toys to get me off in bed at night. I started going out more with friends, drinking way too much, and had several one night stands with guys I'd met in bars and clubs.
Every time I was in bed with one of them, I wondered if he was turned off by my added pounds, which turned me on even more.

No particular part of my body was outgrowing the rest, but it was not my imagination anymore - I looked big, and felt heavy.

By the end of the summer none of my clothes were fitting, and I knew I was addicted - to gaining, and to food. When I'd started gaining, I'd weighed myself daily, keen to see each new pound as it crept on. But halfway through the summer I'd stopped, knowing that I didn't want to turn back yet, but alarmed at how quickly I was approaching my goal. So when I finally bit the bullet, and stepped on the scale again, it was with horror and lust that I looked at the number - about 13 stone, 182lbs.

Needless to say, I was turned on - weak at the knees in fact. But when I'd finished getting myself off, I knew I had a dilemma. I was fatter than I'd ever been, and in a few months had put on a stone and a half in weight. Nobody had said much so far, but they were starting to. One of my colleagues had playfully commented on me 'pigging out again' in the office. I was dreading seeing my parents, and my doctor. I couldn't hide what I was doing much longer. Every sensible part of me said it was time to turn back, that my non-stop binge had been fun, an experience to remember, but that it was time to get real. I spent the next month or so wondering what to do.

During that time I didn't stop overeating. I didn't try to stuff myself, but I was hungry all the time, and was still eating six meals a day. By the end of the month, I'd gained another couple of pounds, and I knew what I wanted to do.

I met Chris through an online dating service for people with fetishes. Most of the people on there seemed to be into BDSM or something similar, but I thought it was worth a try. We met in a bar in central London and hit it off straight away. He had a job in marketing which had allowed him to buy a house, and he was pretty well off. On the first date we went to an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet in Soho, after which I was too turned on to say no when he asked me back to his flat.

A couple of months after our first date, I moved in with Chris. Officially - in my own mind at least - I was now a feedee. The first year of our relationship was the best year of my life. We ***ed constantly, and it would always involve food. Chris was a great cook, and also had the spare cash to get loads of takeaways. We'd agreed on a limit of 250lbs, after which I would decide what I wanted to do next. I'd tried to get my parents used to the fact that I wasn't going to lose weight, and while I was still nervous about their reaction to me gaining more, I was ready to take the plunge.

With every day that went by I seemed to be eating more. Chris would make me huge lunches to take to work, full of fatty sandwiches and pies and cakes that he'd made, and I would only add to it by going out for burgers on my break. I remember he once woke me up in the morning with two large Pizza Hut pepperonis, after which we had such hard sex that I couldn't get up for twenty minutes and was late for work. When I came home in the evening he was always waiting with a huge meal, and I would mindlessly stuff myself in front of the TV until it was time for bed. Even there he was prepared, with a bottom drawer full of chocolate bars and biscuits. My boobs were swelling, my bum felt huge, my arms became soft and pillowy. Finally, something I'd always dreamed of - my belly started to flop over my waistband when I was standing.

Chris' words echoed in my ears each day, ensuring that I stayed wet half the time.

I was a pig.

I was a fat, greedy piggy.

I was fat, fat, fat.

I was a greedy slob, always stuffing her face.

I was obese, and soon I would burst...
Needless to say, I was gaining weight fast. By the end of 2011 I had put on a whopping 60lbs, taking me to 242 lbs. When I went home for Christmas we had the first proper argument about my weight, and I ended up returning to London a day early. When I did, Chris was there for me with a giant roast and endless mince pies. As I neared my target weight, neither of us said anything. The Christmas incident, rather than slowing me down, made me stubbornly speed up. Looking back, I was out of control, but I didn't care. At the end of January 2012, when I got on the scale and saw my weight was 264lbs, I wasn't shocked, but I was a little frightened.
That was when things started to get out of hand.
For a long time I had expected to get stretch marks, but my belly had remained unblemished. One day I was on the toilet at work, looking down at my meaty thighs, and I saw a tiny red line peeking up just next to my crotch. Pulling my flab around, I saw that the line travelled right down my inner thigh, just where I couldn't usually see it. The other one had a similar, thick red stretch mark running