Fat Curves are Best Curves

Super stuffed ^_^

A year ago vs now…. I cannot believe how TIGHT these are 😅

Im new to this app and my fyp has been filled with fat peeps since i started being online(i did that)

So i will contraste alot with the rest of my fyp😭

Plus i dont thinn anyone wanna see a small skinny twin on their fyp

Idk mzybr the fatties who likes contraste ?

Ill think about it

Anyways if you're a fatty and you're interested in contrast n wanna see how small i am next to you

You can dm me!

Super stuffed ^_^

They can no longer cum unless it's at the tail end of a multiple thousand calorie binge, being held in a threatening manner by their feeder, and being commanded to squeal like the dumb, pig-brained slut that they are gradually turning into over the past several months.

The same person will tell you they don't want to be immobile. They'll go on about how 500lbs is going to happen. It has to. It must feel amazing to be so big. They'll even see My 600lb Life and envy some of those setups. Oh to be that big...

But no, they don't want to be immobile. Right?

Their tumblr likes betray them. A spotless record on their blog posts. Just an obese girl who loves getting fatter! But the likes are a certain level deeper. Dark, aggressive feeders. Kidnapping fantasies. Locked in a room. Forced enabling. Conditioning someone to eat more. Vignettes of someone coming to grips with the fact they cannot walk. Every movement is a desperate shuffle to a nearby place to collapse onto.

Of course, just fantasies. As if that's something to be proud of. You'll gain to 600lbs but won't become immobile? How noble. The picture of self restraint.

This all coming from the same person who panics at the mention of going on a walk. You can't prove to me that you'd be able to reign it in for one day? One measly day? We'll park in front of your favorite restaurant and walk around the block. Will you cry because I don't let you have dinner here? Can you resist wanting to stuff yourself in public? Aren't you proud that you can walk? I thought these things mattered.

Or are you a pig. A cow. A weak-minded food addict.

I see through these lies. You hope and pray that telling yourself and others about not wanting to be immobile will make it feel true. A terrible fate that you aren't stumbling towards. As if eating 5,000+ calories a day and taking fewer than 20 steps at a time isn't going to catch up to you in a few years.

Yet you'll dance as close to the line as you can go. The mental gymnastics of suggesting that 600lbs isn't bad! It's those last 50lbs+ that would suddenly become less pleasurable.

You hope they become less pleasurable. Or is it the fear that they'll hit even harder? Knowing you're trapped. Unemployable. Months and years of restriction away from being able to live independently.

Gasping for breath from laying motionless. Whimpering from another mindless binge session. Having a feeder warning you that you are NOWHERE close to being big enough for their perverted desires. Terrified at the occasional realization that your body and increasing weight is entirely decided upon by someone else.

Unable to resist the way your feeder makes you cum. Will it look especially pathetic to orgasm at that size? Your body twitching and jiggling in pleasure, too overloaded with fat and weight to properly shake and cum like you did hundreds of pounds ago.

If you don't like it, don't come on my page. Simple as that 😘

I have gotten an influx in "concern trolling" asks lately and I just have to say that I don't really care what strangers think of me.

It's not enough to be fat, I want to see the addict brain. It needs to be an ugly decline. I should know that leaving any food within arm's reach will be eaten, even if the craving isn't there, even if the desire isn't there.

That first adjustment to living with a feeder is rough. Yes it's heaven to be treated well, to not be bothered by any responsibility. The food though. You never ate so much than you did in the first week. Discomfort. Forceful. Laboring on those final bites of a portion multiple times a day.

It fucks you up. You could go well into the next day without even thinking of food. But it's brought early and often. The first sweet and savory morsels trigger you. If you don't have food, you can be fine. If you have food... you can't stop until it runs out, or until you shut down.

How bad does one year of gaining like this hit?

Pleas of needing to slow down, admitting that unless I play along... you'll never find the part of you that can slow down. Anxious, panicked eating. Knowing it's getting BAD. Realizing the reality of being bedridden isn't a fantasy... it happens to people like you. The ones who get accustomed to 3000 calories a day, then 4000, 5000. Never finding a routine where you aren't adjusting to more snacks and meals.

Days become routine. Addicts crave it. Funnels and shakes on Monday. Entire cakes on Tuesday. An entire batch of cookies for Wednesday. Then you start craving the funnel on Thursday again.

The second year puts you in way too deep.

It never became enough. It's embarrassing to have become so trapped in the cycle, but the thought of giving it up is horrifying. Eating quiets the voices. You don't move enough to notice the added weight. You're a shut in. Anything challenging is removed.

It's insanity to process how much food you eat. How much is forced into you when you are already at the point of exhaustion. Becoming accustomed to waking at 4am with something soft and sweet being pushed past your lips. It fucks with your sleep, but food helps you feel drowsy again anyway.

Crying when you break the couch. Unable to get up. Pleading for a break when I situate you in bed next to a plate of desserts. Watching as your eyes glaze over once I prod you to eat. You shut off. Grunting, wheezing as you start plucking food off the tray one piece at a time. Your bed is the only place in the home that can hold your weight. Your own home has become inaccessible.

Your body a playground of soft fat. You try to move but you’re weighed down by your immense girth. Any clothes you’ve had are long since too small. Just a mindless blob of your former self, completely helpless. Deep down though, you love it.

Every extra inch is a turn on, every bite makes you need more. Not want, a need. A primal urge to grow larger.

Picture your body fill out as it makes room for all the fattening food you’ll consume. Your arms; like custard pillows, barely able to lift, unable to feed yourself. Your boobs; so swollen and sagging no bra could ever hold them, at least, not for long. Your legs; completely encased in lard and blown up to the size of holiday hams. Not that you do much walking anymore. Your butt; massive. Round and dimpled from all the excess cellulite packed in it. Your vagina; inaccessible. You try to reach but there’s too much in the way. Encased in a thick padding, your fupa takes up handfuls. Your belly; a cascading waterfall of beautiful fat. Always slightly taught from the amount of food you shovel in. Stretch marks throughout, always growing larger.

Any movement you make now sends a wave of jiggles through your entire body. You know there is no going back, not that you would. A body truly made for pleasure.

I desperately want to help you reach this. Becoming the beautiful pampered cow you’re meant to be.

This is what came to mind when i read that 🥴

Think about that. You don't have the will power to stop yourself from becoming too fat to care for yourself. You are closer to those horror stories you see on TV, or read online, than you realize. "They were too big to leave their home. Stuck in bed all day long."

It doesn't feel so sinister at the start. Being 200, 300, even 400lbs. Sure, you have food brought to you. Chores are being handled. Bills are paid. The occasional day happens where you feel like a bottomless pit. Eating close to 10,000 calories during an all day binge, on a whim.

Those are not the habits of someone who envisions being able to walk in a few years. In fact, that's a type of day that might even exceed what many folks who are bedbound typically do.

But it's innocent, because you aren't bedbound, right? It's a fun game. How far do you let this go before you come to grip with reality.

Too food motivated to turn down anything brought to you. A meal that starts feeling laborious doesn't matter. You are hooked on the sensation of eating. Conditioned to finish everything in front of you.

You don't bother thinking about how much activity was taken from you by being enabled. Steps dropping from the thousands into the hundreds. You can't remember the last time you consciously stood for any period of time. You're only upright when taking those precious few steps.

Changes, accommodations, they are in the name of comfort. There's no worry. You have food. Your partner kisses you. You feel safe.

You go from bathing standing up, to sitting in a shower chair, to needing extra hands to keep yourself from tiring. It feels like a relief when the offer comes to wash you down in bed. Instead of getting out of bed, shuffling to the shower, shuffling back to bed, and being repositioned again (each action bringing you to exhaustion), you can basically lay still. Bond with your partner.

Sleeping evolves in its own way. You need to be elevated. A CPAP is prescribed. Food comas during the day make you restless at night. You lazily tap your partner in those odd hours. You're awake. You need food to doze off again. Never mind that your bed was upgraded to a automatic, reclining bed. A warning sign of being so weak is brushed over.

Your final moments of independence slip away just as easily. At some point, you're pushed into a routine to keep yourself from developing bed sores. Every few hours, you need to be told to turn. You need help. Your legs are too heavy to move on their own. Your waist is too wide for you to build momentum to turn. Your chest keeps you pinned against your pillows. You need help turning, rolling in bed.

beauty requires openness. it asks you to let things reach you, to soften enough to be moved. it’s not naive to see beauty everywhere—it’s a skill, a form of intelligence, a kind of quiet bravery. because it is so much easier to critique than to create, to detach than to engage, to dismiss than to love.