Stuffies

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stevita:

how intense is feedism though like think about it 

I mean yeah, just like anything else it can be done casually but it can also incorporate a level of devotion so deep that one person is literally willing and eager to carry around a testament to their devotion to the other person in the form of an actual, physical alteration to their body 

and in a way it’s like always having that other person with them

even though realistically in the long term it’s not the same ten pounds they intentionally gained for that person because weight fluctuates and energy is spent and cells die and I’m the kind of scientific asshole who feels a deep-seeded need to systematically rip the whimsy out of everything but 

it’s symbolic, or something. 

jfc I don’t even know where this came from ignore me

So one of the few times I got to stuff a dude several times in a row I was ecstatic, like “HE GAINED THREE POUNDS THOSE ARE MY POUNDS LOOK EVERYBODY LOOK WHAT I DID.”

And then it turns out he was one of those people who just allows themselves to gain weight right before the season for their specific sport starts. So he literally lost it all a month later because he was cycling for hours every day. And I was so disappointed. I was like How dare you lose weight, I thought we had something special! XD

People talk about lust a lot like it’s this separate, shallow thing that sneaks around pretending to be love and it’s just like…

I’ve been in a relationship where the lust just died and that is the loneliest feeling in the world. That you can be kissing a person and there simply won’t be any response. When they used to go out of their way to bruise you because you loved getting marks, and then for months on end they don’t even touch you when they see you.

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Between me and Deep End, about 60% of our communication is digital. Most of it’s text, and since we don’t have any hangups about text being too impersonal, I often end up texting him when anything particularly good or sad happens or when I just want advice.

Deep End can be plenty sarcastic over text, but I feel like he saves the special stuff for when we’re talking at happy hour. I apparently have a big, soft, neurotic underbelly that he enjoys poking by using words the wrong way or teasing me about my gender.

Sometimes I will think about stuff he’s said to me and get annoyed. And then, out of habit, I’ll think, “I should text Deep End.” Not to tell him that I’m annoyed, but for sympathy. Like the one I’m texting is a separate version of Deep End, and I expect him to be like “Yeah, Mol, that other guy sounds like a jerk!”

"I’ve lost twenty pounds since I started dieting," Deep End told me.

"Awwww… I mean, congrats, Deep End! Good job!" 

Guest Post! Peanut Butter Cup

(Another guest post from Poetic Desires. -MR)

He sat on the edge of his bed, spooning ice cream out of a just opened pint, savoring each bite slowly. I looked on wantonly.

“Would you like some?”
“Yes, please.”
“Not in those clothes.”

Obdiently, I stripped. He instructed me to grab his towel and I knealt on it in front of him, my hands tucked behind my back. Staring at his treat, my lips watered. He ate one more bite before offering me my first.

Delicately scrapping the cold dessert from the carton, he waved the spoon just off the edge of my lips. Slowly he glided the ice cream into my mouth and my tongue lapped it up gratefully. Tipping the spoon upward as he removed it, my lips pressed together to capture every last drop.

After taking another taste for himself, he again brought the spoon to my wanting mouth. I instinctively moved forward for my bite, but he moved away, teasing me. I slightly snipped at my treat before settling back on my knees. He again glided the ice cream over my lips and I again enjoyed the sweet rich morsel.

For his next bite, he decided he wanted to eat it another way. Scooping up another spoonful, he spread the ice cream onto my breast and licked it off sensuously. It was all I could do to not buckle under the sheer intensity of this moment. Skipping my next turn, he spread the dessert over my other breast and again enjoyed his treat.

As he ate, I could feel a few melted drops slide down the center of my clevage. Instinctively, I brought a hand forward to catch the liquid before it made a mess.

“Put your hands behind your back!”  He smacked my breasts and nipples hard, reprimanding me.

“If the ice cream falls, it’s because I want it to.” I bit back an apology, knowing he did not want to hear it. Seeing I was upset, he again fed me another bite.

“You’re a slut; why are your legs closed?”

I opened my legs wide on his towel. He reached down and began fingering my already wet pussy. I moaned and writhed against his hand, but he commanded me to not cum. The sensations ripping through my body were so intense, I had no choice but to start begging.

“Please, please let me cum. God, please let me cum.”

And when he finally said yes, I ground my hips hard against his fingers, fucking his hand and screaming out his name. 

(Want more? Read part two on her awesome blog, That’s Messed Up.)