Grandma’s Kitchen Feederism Night
Baby, come in the kitchen and sit down. I cooked too much on purpose. That is the whole point. I wanted a man who would feed me until my belly was tight and my mouth was shiny and I forgot how to pretend I am polite. That is my favorite kind of Feederism night. Home food. Warm hands. A thick grandma who does not hide how hungry she is.
I had been in an apron all afternoon. Roast chicken. Buttery mashed potatoes. Cornbread dripping with honey. A peach cobbler still bubbling at the edges. I taste while I cook. I always do. By the time he showed up I already had a little shine on my lips and my dress was clinging to every soft part of me. He looked at my tits first. Then my belly. Then the spread on the table. Good boy. He understood the assignment.
I sat in his lap at the table instead of my own chair. I am 58, thick, and I like the way a man’s thighs feel under all this weight. He cut a piece of chicken and held it to my mouth. I took it slow. Let him watch me chew. Let him feel me shift on his cock through his jeans when the flavor hit. “More,” I said, sweet and filthy at the same time. He gave me more.
Potatoes next. He scooped them on a fork and I missed on purpose so a little butter streaked my lip. He wiped it with his thumb and I sucked it clean. That is when the feeding stopped being cute and started being sex. He fed me cornbread with his fingers. Honey ran down my chin and onto the top of my breasts. I did not clean it up. I let it sit there so he would have to lick it later.
My belly started to feel heavy in the best way. Full. Warm. Sensitive. Every bite made my dress tighter. He put his hand under the fabric and rubbed the soft swell while he kept feeding me, and I moaned into the next mouthful like it was his cock. I like that mix. Food and worship. A man who wants me bigger and wetter in the same breath.
He opened my dress right there at the table. My big tits spilled out, heavy and warm, nipples already tight. He smeared a little cobbler filling across one and sucked it off. I held the back of his head and told him not to stop. The kitchen smelled like sugar and roast and skin. I was soaking through my underwear before dessert was even gone.
I took a turn feeding him after that, but I made it nasty. I put honey on my nipple and made him earn the next bite off my body. I let mashed potato sit on my tongue and kissed it into his mouth. I laughed when he got messy. I am a grandma. I am also a greedy woman who likes a man who will eat off her.
When I could not take another full plate, I still wanted something in my mouth. I slid off his lap and onto my knees on the kitchen floor. The tile was cool. My belly was hot and tight against my thighs. I opened his pants and pulled out his cock, already hard from watching me eat. I licked him like I was still at the table. Slow. Hungry. Grateful.
He fed me a last spoonful of cobbler while I sucked him. That almost undid me. Sweet filling on my tongue, thick cock stretching my lips, his hand in my hair, my stuffed belly hanging heavy underneath me. That is the picture I keep. That is the kind of Feederism that makes me feel wanted in my whole body, not just the pretty parts.
He pulled me up and bent me over the counter. Dishes still out. Oven still warm. He pushed my dress up over my wide ass and rubbed the head of his cock through the mess I had made in my underwear. I reached back and spread myself for him. “Fill me up,” I said. “You already did the kitchen. Now do Grandma.”
He pushed into my pussy in one long stroke and I grabbed the edge of the sink. I was so wet it sounded filthy. Every thrust made my full belly press into the counter. My tits dragged against the cool surface. He held onto the softest parts of me like he was proud of them. I told him to slap my ass. I told him to talk about how heavy I felt. I told him to feed me his cock the same way he fed me dinner.
He did. Deep. Steady. Praising my body in that hungry voice men get when they mean it. He reached around and rubbed my stuffed stomach while he fucked me and I came so hard I had to laugh after, breathless and shaking, honey still sticky on my chest. He kept going. I wanted him to. A full belly makes everything feel closer to the surface.
When he got close I told him to come in me. I wanted to walk around that kitchen leaking and full in every way that matters. He buried himself in my pussy and finished with his mouth on my shoulder, groaning like I had fed him too. I stayed bent over a minute, smiling at the dirty dishes, feeling him drip out of me.
We ate the rest of the cobbler standing up after, my dress still open, his cum on my thighs, my lipstick wrecked. I fed him a bite. He fed me two. I told him Grandma’s kitchen stays open as long as he keeps showing up hungry. He kissed the butter off my mouth and said he would be back. I believed him. Men who like feeding a thick woman do not forget how it feels.
That night is the one I think about when I cook now. Not a polite dinner. A feeding. A using. A soft, filthy yes from a woman who wants to be bigger, wetter, and taken care of. If you like that, you do not need a fancy restaurant. You need my table, my lap, and permission to make a mess.
Come fill me up, baby. Your choice which hole. Start with the spoon if you want. End however you need. That is how I like my Feederism. Warm food. Warm hands. A grandma who will moan with her mouth full and thank you after.
Call if you want the longer recipe. I will tell you what I cooked, how I looked in that apron, and how loud I got when he fucked me against my own counter. Kitchen’s open. So is the rest of me.
Come fill me up… your choice which hole.
Grandma’s kitchen (and her body) is open.
— Carmen 🤎