the way my booty bounces when I walk is maybe the best feeling ever
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@ru4ai4
the way my booty bounces when I walk is maybe the best feeling ever

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Soooo today I broke the ladder trying to get out of the pool, last week I cracked one of the lounge chairs. Didnβt know it was possible to get this worked up just trying to go for a swim π₯΅
warmth knows what it wants
900 words Β· 5 min read Β· emptyheadedhousecow.tumblr.com Β· January 2026
The fourth meal of the day ended ten minutes ago, and the heat hasn't faded. It's the most I've ever eaten in one session, or close to it. My breathing is fast, my thoughts are slow. The fullness of my stomach radiates outwards, pressing against every part of me.
You're nestled into me, resting your head on my padded shoulder, squished between my arm and the soft slope where my side meets the mattress. I'm not really someone you cuddle anymore, but more like somewhere you settle, soft and comfortable. Your wrist rests on my belly, rising and falling with my shallow breath, as you gently trace lines of glittering fire over my stretchmarks with your fingers.
"You did so well," you murmur. (I grunt in agreement.) "All of it, every bite. I'm so proud of you. You make me so happy."
"You make me happy," I answer, drowsily, unthinking, but it's true. This is all I want - this moment, this warmth. Our closeness. Your voice and your hands and the heavy, satisfied ache that holds me.
"I know I push you a little far sometimes. But you always rise to it. Look how far you've come," you say, moving your hand a little further down my belly. "Six hundred and thirty pounds. My perfect little larder."
I smile.
And then the number lands.
Six hundred and thirty. I knew, of course I knew, I'm on the scale practically every week and again earlier today - but hearing it here, in your voice, in this moment, it's different. Six hundred and thirty. The numbers used to be hot but now they're scary. Those are TV show numbers. Hospital numbers. Numbers that make me think the honeymoon could end at any moment.
I'm still smiling, but it's just the muscles holding position. The rest of me is somewhere else.
Your fingers still trace me but the sensation is gone and I feel what you're outlining: contours of land, like earth poured into this reinforced bed. You're curled up against the expanse of me like you'd curl against a hillside.
You shift, look up at me. Your whole body weighs less than one of my legs. If I rolled I'd smother you in a landslide.
"What's wrong?" you ask.
"It's nothing," I say, trying to find the warmth again. It was right here. "I'm okay."
But the cold is in me now. It's not the first time I've heard that doubting voice. It speaks up at every milestone, at every new struggle, each time I need help with something I could do before. But it's always been silenced by that heavy fullness. It's never interrupted a moment like this before - it's never smothered the warmth. It's never stolen you from right by my side.
I need it gone.
"Sometimes I get doubts," I say. "About... this. Of losing it."
You wait.
"There's part of me that hears a number like that and panics. It tries to tell me that this can't be my life. I try to ignore it, but... one day, when I'm empty, when the warmth is gone, I'm scared it'll win me over."
You open your mouth to speak, but I continue. "So don't let me. Okay? I need to stay in this feeling. Promise me you'll keep me in it. Promise me you won't let me go."
You're silent for a moment. Perfectly still.
Then you sit up. You lean over me and take my face in your hands. Your eyes are full of love.
"Yes," you say. "I promise."
Relief floods through me. The warmth burns hot. You understand. You'll keep me here, you'll keep me safe.
"You've made a big decision," you say, gently. "I'm proud of you."
I smile, and relax, but something snags. Decision? The word feels out of place. I was only asking for reassurance.
The endorphins are fading now. The warmth is tapering off, and I find myself lying here in our bed, in this body, this growing six hundred and thirty pound body that becomes less independent day by day, and you're still holding my face in your hands, and your eyes are still full of love, but something within has changed. Something that was waiting and isn't anymore.
What have I done?
I go to speak, but you shush me with a gentle finger. You stroke my cheek.
"You're tired, honey." You reach for the tube, connect it, check the seal, place the end in my mouth. Never mind that I'm already as full as I've ever been. "Let me take care of everything."
No chance to argue. The lights dim. You leave.
There was no hesitation, I realise. No "let's talk about this when you're less full", no "this is a big step", no "are you sure?"
The warmth is gone, fully gone, and in the cold I see clearly: a body I can hardly move, a door I soon won't be able to reach, a life that revolves around you. And I... don't...
...but... those are cold thoughts. Tomorrow, when I'm full, with you beside me, I'll mean every word I said tonight. So whatever I just gave you - if it helps me get back to that warmth, you can have it. That's what I want. That's all I want. I have to believe that.
The feed runs, and I swell.
In the hallway, you stand for a moment, watching me, silhouetted against the kitchen lights.
33 pounds away from 300 π
6 donuts = 1 donut
Donβt ask me, itβs Feedee Math.
If you think that gets you out of having to eat a full dozen "donuts"...you're wrong π

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just one overfed piggy being kept awake by her insatiable belly.. all iβve done the past 12 hours is stuff myself and rub my swollen belly as i feed.. burritos, enchiladas, queso and chips, fried chicken and veggies, fried ravioli, two cheeseburgers, fries and ice cream all mixed up with a diet coke and mentos bloat from somewhere in the middle of all that food. my poor stomach feels so achy and overfilled π΅βπ«π΅βπ« now im gonna lay here and rub her until i get sleepy
squish
After I saw your last post of you eating all those donuts I realized you are a goddess of gluttony β₯
Thank you, dear π
Donuts are my weakness, I canβt stop stuffing myself with them π₯΅π©
Ohhh, those cookies on the counter? You ate one? Dang, I forgot to warn you! That's my special recipe with a little extra something in it. Yeah, it's the "in heat forever" weed butter. Yeah, it's a bit of a misnomer, it only lasts a few weeks, such a letdown right.
What do you mean, you had four? Four whole ones? Uhhhhh, well, so you should lie down immediately and, um. Well, I hope you don't mind meβ who am I kidding, you're not going to mind anything for a month minimum. Goodness, that's hitting you fast!
You can't even understand the words I'm saying anymore, can you? Oh well, I'll just have to take good care you now! Don't worry, let's just get all these silly clothes off of you, and I'll get you feeling much better very soon :3
You people see "heat", "weed", and "can't understand words anymore" and just hit reblog! What else should I incorporate? Forever-heat-weed that turns you into a puppy? A doll? A puppydoll? Wait, hold the fuck up, puppydoll is amazing, like babydoll but ouppy. Never mind, post cancelledI'm. too dizzy to keep typing π΅βπ«
It's literally so punk, so counterculture, to be fat and anti diet. People hate it. They hate it so much that you eat food for pleasure instead of weight loss. It's freeing

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still alive, still fat, still lazier than nobody's business
3 flavors of cute glutton
The one who loves food bc it's a care thing for them, it feels good to eat and they like sharing food with their loverfriends (usually working through self-acceptance/accepting care/accepting that it's okay to indulge issues)
The one who is a wild sorta hedonistic mess who loves the sensory experience of food and indulgence including fullness, usually attaches sex or sensuality to the feeding experience for maximum sensory bender
The one who is just very cute and gets excited about food and really obviously enjoys and savors it and has a big appetite by default so they're just happily eating their fill when they can
Mix and match can be done but I felt I needed to lay out my favorite archetypes bc people who like to eat are cute.
cathy redraw from 2020
happy pride month !!!
β¨here's to being fat, queer, and happy β¨
Reblog if you're not fat enough yet

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Need more evil feeders to make encouragement content.
We definitively need more please!
6 donuts = 1 donut
Donβt ask me, itβs Feedee Math.
i will never not reblog this, anything to make you all fatter π₯°