🦴Call me Cain, 21, just a little (big) pup in a big world
🌿🍂🌲🍄🌱🍁🌳
🐺Nonbinary chubby Butch🐶
🍖5'6, 270lbs
Fat liberationist. Fat people are PEOPLE, and deserve respect just like anyone else. E/d blogs fuck off. Th/nspo get away from me and get help. Fat is not a bad word.
FUCK ICE. FUCK MAGA. FUCK TRUMP. I STAND WITH PALESTINE. I STAND WITH UKRAINE.
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Good lord. I put my cowkini on since when I took those last/older pictures I had just emptied my tits and now uh- a week no milking is on the bottom pics and there is certainly a touch of a difference
God it would be fun to play games with a bunch of people who have no shame about how loudly they're belching into the mic, myself included
Burping semi-quietly and saying "excuse me!" To be polite when someone chimes in with "that was nothing!" Only to *buuuuuUUUUURP!* even louder, with a laugh and "THAT was a burp."
Interrupting a tense moment in a match where we're all trying to survive with a huuuuge belch (which of course would throw me off/fluster me and I'd probably die)
Casually burping mid conversation ("So are we *buuuurp* gonna start another game or what? Hey, I just *uuurp* started playing something new we should try!) and not even acknowledging it 😍 Or if they DO acknowledge it, it's because they're cocky and smug about the fact they keep burping ("what? I drink a lot of soda!") and maybe they even love belching to annoy their friends or make them laugh (or tease in my case)
I looove love love keeping a bottle of soda next to me while I game, it's so incredibly enjoyable to just let em fly without a care
God that's so true, a burpy discord call while gaming could kill me...
One-upping each other about their belches until the whole call turns into an incoherent mess of people burping and laughing about it? Bring it to me now.
Or someone being especially gassy mid-game, so much that they let out a whole rumbling monster of a belch and make someone else stroke their ego with a surprised reaction - "Oh my god, what the hell was that?"
I love the term food-drunk. Not just because I love to see it--a boy whose brain has gone foggy with excesses--but because I love how it acknowledges the compulsive way some very good boys chase the pleasures of the table.
They order extra helpings and additional desserts, they go back for thirds or fourths, they get as many scoops of ice cream that'll balance on the cone just to try every single flavour; and they do it because everything tastes so good and feels so good that they conveniently forget the limits of their own physiology. They can't resist a food-bender, gorging themselves until they literally can't because they love how it makes them feel so very, very much.
I love the self-deception. Of course I have room for one more. Of course I am still up for milkshakes after. Of course I will finish that for you. Even while they are already so full that they can no longer sit forward with their elbows on the table, belly too tight and hard to squish in their lap like usual. They're too food-drunk to notice they've been reclined, knees splayed wide, flesh showing where their shirt won't meet their waistband, for a while now.
I love the lack of inhibition. Burping, rubbing the protruding shelf of their stomach, slapping their bulging gut and giving it a confident shake, aware of how bloated and swollen they are, but proud of their excesses. Who can be embarassed when they've been so impressive? They've moved past quietly overindulging into arrogantly grandstanding, showing off. Food-drunk and reckless, they unbutton at the table and lay a hand on either side of a swollen gut to show off their appetites. Slow down? Why? This tank can hold so much more.
I love the moment of regret. They didn't see it coming, but after they polish off the latest burger and snatch up the last scraps of fries, it hits them like a truck: oh god, they are stuffed. It was all so damn good, the courses just kept coming, and the drinks were flowing, and they'd lost count of how many burgers that really was, but suddenly they can feel it. They slump back in their chair and palm their belly, surprised in their food-drunk state at how fucking huge it is, and growing rapidly. It just hit them now, but they'd been eating so quickly and enthusiastically, it hasn't even caught up with them yet. They scramble to loosen their belt and slide down in their seat to relieve the growing pressure everywhere--all that food is packed in and making room. Their gut bulges straight out, round as a basketball and feeling distinctly like it is gonna pop if anyone were to jostle them too hard. Why did they do that? That third appetizer? The rest of the pie? The last two burgers crammed on one bun so it wouldn't go to waste? What were they thinking?
I love when they've finally really succumbed. Head lolling back, struggling to stay awake, desperately massaging their aching belly and too food-drunk to know or care what they are saying. Oooh, god, look at me. I have never been this huge. How could you--*hic*--let me eat all that? No, I can't stand up, I'm too fat. Nnngh, look at this. One more--*burp*--pint and I'll have housed a whole cask. UuUugh, let me just die here. Nnhm, actually, that feels good. Mmmhm, yes please. Keep rubbing. Yah, yah, I'll finish your cake. Uuuogh, kiss me, you monster. I didn't eat myself this fat for nothing.
A belly worshipper who keeps me stuffed and burping. It's their belly, after all. It's just on my body. They stuff me in public. They love it when people ask if I'm pregnant. I'm to wear tight clothes to show what they're doing to their belly on my body. They've conditioned me to love the feeling of being uncomfortably full. Anything less than stuffed is hungry. They love watching their belly jiggle as I walk and they want to see it happen more often. They love seeing the problems their belly causes me as they make it grow on my body. They keep it growing because they love the jiggle though
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hey no offense but if i feed you a drink. Nd then another drink. and another drink and then some food. and tell you how cute you are when you’re tipsy and stuffing yourself and then i keep doing that till you’re sloppy drunk and so full you cant stand up woukd that be cool
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I don't like Valentine's Day. Never have. Usually I just go home from work, sit down in front of the TV, enjoy an easy dinner, and pass out on the couch after drinking a whole bottle of wine.
Today I took off my shoes and coat at the door and am about to start my yearly ritual when there was a soft knock. I turn back to my front door and frown. I wasn't expecting anyone.
The hallway of my apartment building is empty. Except, of course, for a pretty large heart-shaped box of chocolates placed perfectly on my welcome mat. Over the swirling cursive that declared "Happy Valentine's Day" on is a sticky note that reads "Eat me ;)".
I look left and right down the hall. Nobody's there. And I had been so close to the door they couldn't have run away that fast. Maybe one of my neighbors left it. I shrug and pick up the box.
I turn on the TV to some random channel and a romcom I don't recognize starts playing. I just need some background noise so I let it go while I make dinner, pouring myself a large glass of wine to drink while I cook.
I had planned chicken alfredo, so I set the water to boil and get out the ingredients for the sauce. I take a couple gulps of wine (wanting it to work as quickly as possible) and after setting the sauce pan on the stove I notice the chocolates where I had left them on the counter.
Both pans were playing a waiting game now, so I flip open the box. There is a large assortment of all different kinds of chocolate and fillings. A few with nuts and a few with dusted freeze dried fruits, and a few with hearts drawn in pink chocolate. The artistry is excellent and this is not a small box. It must have cost a fortune, especially on Valentine’s Day.
I have never been skinny by any means, but I have gained a couple pounds since I started my new office job and I'm watching my weight. Who am I to say no to free chocolate, though? One or two won't hurt.
I pop one in my mouth and go back to cooking. There is an almost unnoticeable twinge in my gut, like something changed but I couldn't pin down what. I guess the wine is starting to make me bloated. I drain the glass and pour another one, grabbing another couple chocolates.
There's that feeling again, deep in my stomach. My brain starts to be a little fuzzy, too. I finish my second glass of wine, so again, probably just the alcohol making me bloated. My pants do feel a little tight. I probably should have changed into sweats before I started cooking.
The water starts boiling, so I add the pasta and stir the sauce. Then leave those to cook while I go to my bedroom to get out of my work clothes. Something feels different while I walk. It's such an odd thing, like my body is wobbling more. I'm already shaky because I'm definitely tipsy, so I just blame the alcohol.
I unbutton my jeans, which I admit are starting to get really uncomfortable and sigh with relief. It's a little bit of a struggle since I'm off balance, but I manage to get them off and pull up a pair of sweatpants. I get rid of my bra, which is also feeling tight and uncomfortable, and switch out my work shirt for one that was much looser fitting.
I frown down at myself. My belly is brushing the fabric of my shirt. It isn't pushing against it at all, but that's definitely not how it fit the night before when I wore it to bed. I guess that wine is making me really bloated. I'll have to check the label and make sure I don't buy that brand again.
I go back to the kitchen to finish cooking and eat four more chocolates. The weird feeling in my gut is louder this time and I almost let out an involuntary moan. Something feels off.
I eat another chocolate and as I'm drinking a little more wine I notice that my sweatpants feel like they fit awkwardly. Like I can't get comfortable in them. I pull them up a little more, having to shimmy to get them higher over my hips and my belly. I guess I put on a little more weight than I thought. My shirt is also laying different, my belly poking out noticeably under the fabric.
There are only seven more chocolates in the box, so I might as well finish it. I eat six in quick succession and my stomach twists, growling loudly. My belly feels heavier and my whole body feels warm. I drain my third glass of wine and finish plating my food. Pouring myself another glass, I eat the last chocolate, then I grab my food and wine and go to the couch to sit down. One movie is ending on the TV and another one is starting.
I put my food and drink on the coffee table and as I sit the waistband of my sweatpants disappears under my belly. I don't lean so much as fall backwards, my gut demanding space. I rock side to side to push myself up and my belly spreads my legs apart. I notice how tight my shirt is. It's hugging my boobs so hard it's squishing them. My belly, hanging over my sweatpants, is peeking out under this shirt that I'm pretty sure fit me last night. Maybe it didn't.
I place my hands on my gut and shake it a little. It jiggles pleasantly. My whole body feels so much heavier. My hips, my belly, my boobs. I shift on the couch, not used to this new weight and trying to find a comfortable position. It ends up being more of a roll, though. I must look about nine months pregnant with triplets with how big my middle is. I feel almost pinned down under the weight.
My stomach whines, reminding me that I haven't eaten dinner yet. I lean forward, groaning with the effort of reaching over fat I'm almost positive wasn't there when I got home, and grab my dinner and my wine.
car stuffings are sooo good. the privacy mixed with the thrill of being in public. especially in like the parking lot of a fast food place you ordered everything from through the drive-through.
first having to orally tell whoever is taking your massive order. then pulling up to take all of your food. and then not even going that far to cram all of that in your greedy, hungry belly. Bloating up in the drivers seat with greasy addictive food that's wiring your brain to want more and more. then having to go home with that stuffed gut, turned on, maybe even playing with yourself to keep the high going. waddling out of your car with your huge, heavy gut. walking through your door while you rub and pat your well-fed, taut belly.
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