futurefattest

[futurefattest]

Cow Care Guide

Caring for a cow is simple. They require little maintenance and are extremely rewarding. Cows are kind in temperament and easily pleased. Almost appearing dumb and docile, this facade is only temporary, as they are often just so completely filled with food they cannot think for themselves. They are usually smart thinkers and fast learners. Easy to train. 

Not all cows moo, but you will know when it’s happy. They are vocal creatures. Listen for their sighs of contentment after you’ve provided the daily buffet, and they’ve finished it.

Cows must be supplied a constant stream of food and drink to remain satiated, as their gigantic, hanging guts require a near continuous motion of turning things into more fat. They’re heavy creatures, often weighing 3x (at the lower end) of the average person. They can easily grow to 100s of pounds heavier than their starting weights if properly cared for. A good starting weight is 300lbs.

Your cow may become sluggish, groggy, or downright exhausted after feeding. This is normal. Simply help them to the nearest resting area and get them off their feet. You may have to massage their overstuffed belly. It is a pleasurable experience for both parties, as the belly is often layered in solid blubber from dutiful feedings creating a very enjoyable, and sensory fulfilling touching experience. If your cow needs a nap, let it! Napping and grazing are the natural roles they were built for!

You may need to help your cow relieve some pent up stress, as eating and sitting and looking cute all day can be tiring. Simply lean your massive, heavy leaden cow back, push apart its strong, squishy, beanbag like thighs, and service it. You may need to flop, push, or lift its sagging sack of belly fat to reach your target. Mouth is preferred, as the taste is sweet, and the sensation is extremely pleasurable and relaxing for the cow. 

Cows can be easily lead around by a leash, respond well to food motivation, and are almost entirely pleasure and praise motivated. Controlling a cow is easy if you hold the food and “tools”.

Lastly, a cow needs praise and pampering to remain at peak eating efficiency. Worshipping their globular, blobby, overfed, rounded out bellies is a good start. Their udders, whether small or large, hanging or round, perky or resting…must also be worshipped. A properly fitted bra for these breasts, as well as a girdle for the enormous gut, may be required for some cows’ care. 

Cows are known to have truly monumental, overweight, and shapely backsides. Their asscheeks are often larger than many people’s entire torsos. The thighs will follow, and we can’t forgot about their often completely inflated and flabby arms. These parts too must be pampered and worshipped. Comfortable seating, large shirts possibly with no sleeves, and pants that stretch are almost requirements for any cow. 

At the least, your cow should be happily grazing to its heart content all day long, with a comfortable temperature, a soft and inviting environment, regular walks, and plenty of training, praise, and relieving sessions.

[futurefattest]

“But daddy I can’t eat anymore! I’m too full!”

“Don’t worry. This is the last thing. I made you a special milkshake. It has all your favorite things. It’s your favorite flavor. You’ll drink this for me…please? Be a good girl for me. A good princess. Please drink it all? Then you can go to bed.”

[futurefattest]

i wanna be lazy to the point i get weak… how cute would it be if i can’t even lift my own belly? if my arms shake n wobble after holding my own tits up for a little bit?

[futurefattest]

Concept: a feeder who gets you so inhumanly fat that they do almost everything for you. You can still waddle to the couch or fridge in a pinch, but they usually bring you your meals, do all the chores, and take care of you sexually (since you’re obviously too obese to reach yourself). Except for one day a month. Once a month, they don’t do anything for you. They just watch as you struggle to live your life. They watch and see what they’ve done to you, how it takes its toll on you, and they smile as you get out of breath trying to accomplish simple tasks. When the day is done, they tuck you into bed and whisper to you. “See, piggy? You need me. You can’t get along without me. Don’t ever forget that. And don’t ever stop eating for me”

Yeah, the manipulation kink is hitting me hard today, why do you ask?

[futurefattest]

Honestly, being called a fatty isn’t what gets me off anymore. I need you to be harsher with your words. Remind me that I am a tub of lard and I will never see my waistline again. That my blubber is the first thing people notice about me. They see me as nothing else. Just an oversized whale with a gut that spills out of everything she wears.

[futurefattest]

look at my falins

[futurefattest]

CNC but feedism, like I’m sitting there playfully telling you to stop feeding me but I’m immobile so it’s not like I can make you stop anyway 😏

[futurefattest]

Would you believe this is the same person?

[futurefattest]

Same shirt one year apart...

It all started because of wine. 🥵

[futurefattest]

Should I post the video to OF? 😈 @monolith-ad

[futurefattest]

[futurefattest]

hi tumblr- question for you- do I look morbidly obese from this angle? would you help fatten me up more? All this fat just makes me so 💦🐷

I think it’s almost time for a weigh in 🤤🐷🐷🐷🩷

[futurefattest]

You're pinned to the bed by your mass. The space your sweaty, heavy body takes up makes the mattress sag, the sheer volume of you too much for clothes to cover. Every inch is swollen with fluid logged flesh, unable to bend your elbows or knees lest you disturb the heavy nodes of fat hanging off of them. Standing as a concept is obsolete to you, knowing your bulbous knees would give way the moment they're subjected to any pressure

Maybe a few months (or years. days blend together when you're bed-bound) ago, you could manage to roll over on your side, relieve your lard swaddled chest of your weighty breasts for a moment to breathe some air. Raise your arms above your head for a few precious minutes, allowing air to flood your sweat love handles. Maybe even stand and waddle the handful of steps to the kitchen for an evening snack. Now you have to remain still, completely, propped up against the headboard, arms splayed against your mountainous sides, lest you disturb the oxygen cannula stretched across your massive gut and past your widened hips.

As it turns out, grease sugar and salt make for very poor, very weak blood circulation. There's hardly any sensation in your hands, if your master had your feet cut off at some point then you would have no idea, unable to feel the meaty stumps anyway. And you're always sweating, waves of heat rocking your rolls and pudgy, swollen face constantly. Your fat makes for a good insulator when its cold out and the only thing protecting you from the elements is a thin bed-sheet, but the constant burning and perspiration makes can be overwhelming.

None of these sensations bother you, however, more than the constant throbbing ache in your apron gut. You require almost 3 times the amount of water than an average size person does to stay hydrated and alert (to which you are neither) but sugary sodas and frosted milkshakes are just so much more enticing (and dehydrating, leaving you both parched and sugar brain-ed). They trigger that vastness. That need in your stomach for more, a constant onslaught of calories.

I wonder if I'm like a ghost to you, sometimes. Wandering in, flipping you over and fucking you, feeding you, blessing you with food and drink like an angel every few hours. After the stroke, your speech was impaired and I'm sure your brain struggles to comprehend that I don't leave you alone for days to starve, often no more than an hour or two at a time. Still, your sleep comressed eyes light up at the sight of me with two greasy fast food bags, a funnel and a pitcher, or your hot pink vibrator.

I cuddle close to you, pushing myself into your fleshy space. I feel your heart thumping beneath the folds, palpatations rising as I kiss your second chin softly. "Good morning, pretty girl," I stroke your sagging, lumpy breast and you attempt to wheeze out a greeting. "I made some zeppoles...you want me to bring you a nice, big plate?"

I see hesitation. A brief, flicker of self awareness. I almost expect a response you would've given when we first met. "I don't need it, baby, I'm trying to shed a few." "What, you trying to blow me up?" You know you don't need sweets. But the time for exercise and nutrition came and went. And you know that. As soon as it came, it's gone, and you're nodding at me, flushed and lustfully hungry. I rub your rough, bumpy stomach, skin taught and red. Stretchmarks disappear into your lower apron, trickling to the sides of your love handles. Your sausage fingers weakly grasp at a donut and I stop you, grabbing it from your weak palm and pushing it past your lips. You chew, weakly, peace briefly washing over you as fried dough and sugar trickle down your chins.

"Good girl," I hum as you moan, softly, circling your hard, chilled nipple. "This is good. This is what you want."

And as much as you try to deny it, deep down, you know that I'm right.

[futurefattest]

It's my birthday and all I want to do is force a man onto his hands and knees and have him eat my entire birthday cake until his belly drags on the floor.

I'll still get a taste of my cake from his lips, don't worry. 🫦❤️‍🔥

[futurefattest]

I'll feed you til you cry and you'll thank me after.

You'll thank me because I'm giving you what you've always wanted- that little push to grow.

It's actually a big push, if we're being honest. A big push right down that slippery slope towards irreversible hyper-obesity. I'll abuse your gut then use your body any way I'd like. I'll use you as my personal garbage disposal and sex toy all-in-one.

[futurefattest]

[futurefattest]

After Care 😘 after OVERfilling my Dumpling 🐖