pretty dumplin

https://www.tumblr.com/thaenad/817106591215140864/fatliberation-has-been-terminated-by-tumblr

@fatliberation, who I often reblog here, has been censored by staff. This blog has been a respite from fatphobic culture, and we are all worse for having lost it. Please support their other blog, @thaenad, if you’re interested in continuing to support this creator.

I haven’t spoken about this directly, but I believe the institutionalized anti-feedist sentiment on tumblr is puritanical and inherently fatphobic. This policy has been used to justify silencing and harassing fat people, both who are and aren’t feedists.

I understand that there are range of opinions and histories with the feedist community, and I respect not wanting to engage with the kink. Everyone has the right to curate their own sexual experience. There are shitty people in every community, and I’m not here to dismiss people’s pain associated with mistreatment by feedists.

However, most feedists are fat people. Or they’re the partners and friends and allies of fat people. Tumblr especially tends to attract feedists who engage in the kink with less shame, and less reason to mistreat other fat people. Demonization of them on the basis of a sexual preference people find distasteful is bullshit. Limits on self expression and alternative perspectives harm all of us.

And to people who say feedists fundamentally objectify fat bodies, the majority of people in my likes and reblogs are feedists. They’re fighting the good fight. They’re expanding the Overton window on fat liberation. I think it’s bad politics to reject allies because they give you the ick.

He’ll reach out and jiggle my tits in front of his bros, invite them to grope my titties so they can compliment him on what a good fat slut he owns.

He’ll slap my ass every time I turn away from him, no matter where we are. He also likes to twist my nipple painfully when we’re in public situations like the cinema or a quiet bus — to see if he can make me squeal loudly and humiliate myself.

Another joke he likes to pull is to wedgie my pants so I get a cameltoe, and then tickle my pussylips with a finger. “Here’s where I love you, retard,” he said on Valentine’s Day. “This is my girlfriend.” But then again, he always forces a finger in my ass whenever he gets the opportunity, so he must love that girlfriend just as much.

He’ll tell me to pull out my tits most times he sees dare to wear clothes inside our apartment; he’ll slap my face, hard, tell me cows don’t get to cover up in front of their owners. And then he’ll make me jiggle and bounce my tits for a couple minutes, put on a show for him, to make up for my insolence.

Wrong.

If you don't have a thought if your head, you can't appreciate what's happened to you. What I've done to you. And what you've become willing, eager and excited to do.

I don't want you to mindlessly nod along as I talk down to and belittle you. I want those words to sting. And I want to hear you meekly, timidly whimper out a "yes sir."

I want you to feel shame as you get excited at the things I'm calling you, doing to you, and worst of all - the things I'm "making" you do for me. I want you to know that you shouldn't. Shouldn't let me treat you like this. Shouldn't be giving into me so easily. Shouldn't be rewarding me for being like this.

650 words · 3 min read · emptyheadedhousecow.tumblr.com · March 2024

It's not enough just to win. It's not enough to only have broken you.

We both knew that I thrived on the struggle. That I loved when you resisted, but loved it even more when tomorrow you'd resist a little less. As day by day I'd snake past your defenses, overwhelm your dignity, make you give in. Little by little, bit by bit; just a tiny bit more compliant today than you were yesterday.

We both wanted it. You wanted your barriers broken and you knew you couldn't do it yourself; you wanted to renounce everything that was holding you back, but you didn't have the strength to turn away. I wanted nothing more than to corrupt you, isolate you, dedicate you to me and only me. From when we first locked eyes there was a tense balance between us and we both knew all we wanted was for the scales to tip, slowly, irreversibly, to me.

But you were worried. We both love the struggle but your real goal was what comes afterwards. You wanted to be switched off, to be putty in my hands, to follow my instruction without a thought from your own head.

You worried that I didn't want the same. You worried that I was in it only for the battle, only for the agonising push-and-pull of power, only for the slow accumulation of subservience. You worried that I only wanted the glory of winning, of proving myself superior to you. You worried that once I'd won and gotten my prize I'd have nothing to play for. You worried that I'd leave and find a new champion to play with, leaving you utterly dependent on me with only my memory to slake your unquenchable thirst; a breath held forever.

Honey, no. Hush those silly thoughts. Seeing as I'll be doing all the thinking for both of us one day, we may as well start now.

It's not enough for me to win, darling. In some ways I already have, from the moment you first resigned yourself to eventually being mine. Yes, I love the struggle, and I'll savour it as long as I can make it last — but even though the flesh of this fruit is perfectly tasty it's the sweet ichor inside that drives me wild.

I don't need to win. I will, of course; I am superior to you, in every way, but I don't need to prove it. No, I need to dominate you. I need to win day, after day, after day. I need to win when you can no longer muster any resistance at all. I need to win when you've given up all thoughts of running. I need to look into your eyes and watch the memory of life before me fade. I need to own you, inside and out, so thoroughly that you forget who you were.

When one day you realise that you got what you wanted, and you have nothing left to call your own, and you belong to me in every sense of the word, but I'm still taking more —

— when you're already addicted to me, but I keep upping your dose —

— when there's nothing left to think but thoughts I fed you, but I still fill your head with lies —

— when your world extends no further than my bedroom door, but I still keep you bound —

— when you put up one last struggle to try to tell me this isn't what you wanted, and for the first time you really earnestly try, and worry for wholly different reasons — that's the battle I need to win.

And I will.

And you'll be nothing.

And that will be my prize.

What happens when you always keep a backup supply of ice cream…

“look at me.”

“you don’t get quiet when something’s wrong. you use your words. i need to hear you.”

“does this feel good, sweetheart? tell me.”

“i won’t guess. you’ll guide me. that’s how this works.”

“may i touch you here?”

“if you hesitate, i stop. immediately.”

“i want your yes. not your silence.”

“say it clearly for me. green, yellow, or red.”

“good girl. that’s it. always tell me.”

“you trust me because i make it safe to.”

“i’m in control, but you are never powerless.”

“if it stops being good for you, it stops. no questions. no disappointment.”

“your comfort is not optional.”

“you’re mine to guide, not to harm.”

To make you obese

See, I knew your little secret: you were a fat pig dying to be free. And when you met me, you finally gave in. You wanted it all, the indulgence, the gluttony, the hedonism. You loved to gorge yourself until you were helpless, and then wait for me to fuck you silly. To slowly enter you from behind, as your soaked pussy pulses from arousal, and your belly is filled to the brim.

I slowly slide in and out, I want you to feel every inch of me. I can hear you whimpering, whispering under your breath “fuck… daddy”, as I go deeper each time.

You want me to fuck you like the pig you are

I pick up the pace as I squeeze your softened sides. Your whole body is so sensitive. You moan and almost squeak, as I continue. I make my way to bloated belly, round and making its way towards touching the bed. Just the slightest touch makes you gasp. “I’m so full, daddy” you whimper, as your full stomach only enhances how good my cock feels inside you.

“You did so good, baby. Daddy is so proud of his piggy princess” I whisper in your ear, as I continue to thrust into you, edging you closer and closer.

I gently kiss your back and your neck, as I fuck you even harder. You moan and whine, feeling yourself edging closer and closer to cumming.

“You’ve turned me into a fat pig, Daddy… oh god… you made me so fucking fat” You say as I thrust deeper and deeper into you, as I grab a handful of your softening hips.

You’re getting so close… so close… you’re practically dripping down your leg… your body starts to tremble, as your feel your belly sway beneath you. Your generous ass and thighs ripple with each thrust, as you begin to feel it coming…

“Daddy… Daddy I’m going to cum…” you whimper, almost like you’re begging me for permission to cum.

“Oink for me baby… like a good piggy” I whisper in your ear

Before you can even register it, you cum hard. It crashes through you, coming in waves. It’s almost like fireworks, one wave of pleasure after the next.

“Fuuuck… oink! Oink, Daddy… I’m your fat piggy slut. Oink, oink, oink” you moan loudly, almost hysterically as your thighs begin to shake. You pant and scream into the sheets, as you begin to squirt, making a mess all down my legs.

But I’m not done quite yet… now it’s my turn

I flip you on your back, and begin to stroke my cock. You look me in in the eye, grabbing a handful of your belly and softly moan “Oink, daddy… cum for your fat piggy”, knowing just what that does to me

I insert my cock into your greedy belly button, an finish deep inside your belly. My warm, thick seed fills your navel, dripping out, running down your soft belly.

I kiss you passionately after finishing, holding your chubby face as time stops.

“You did so good, princess. You were SUCH a good piggy for me” I say softly in your ear, as I kiss your forehead.

I lead you into the shower with me so I can give you proper princess treatment after being such a good girl. I clean you off and get you into bed, holding you close, as I do everything to make you comfortable.

You fall asleep on my chest, as I look down at your pretty sleeping face

I watched you go from chubby and plump, to fat, to a plush, obese horny pig, only concerned with eating and cumming.

It was a viscous cycle: the more you ate, the hornier you’d get, and the hornier you’d get, the more you’d eat.

I’d walk in on you almost humping the air after gorging yourself without the toy in, begging me for my cock, which I’d have to remedy by fucking you until you’d cum multiple times. Thrust into you as your body violently jiggled and shakes, the extra weight only making you hornier. I’d eventually shoot my warm seed deep inside you, which would only make you cum again.

You’re the fattest you’ve ever been, with no end in sight, all because you let me corrupt you.