sweatyrave

azureangelic: because colossally enormous ladies properly hitting the dance floors takes a certain kind of fashion sense to be both appropriately striking and comfortably cooling; a top dark enough to bring out the blacklight effects on her quaking body and juxtapose against her endless ocean of damp, creamy skin, cut dangerously low so her cleavage has all the space it needs to air out, but firm enough that it can snugly hold in her wildly swinging and swaying mammaries by clinging to the wet undersides of each round tit swollen with countless pounds of fat, and making sure not to cover up her over- and underarms so the glowstick rings sinking into her plush slabs of forearm meat and encircling her sausage-like brightly-pained fingers can illuminate the chaotically-wobbling pillowy limbs and any tattoos that might be stretched or smudged across the slippery, sweaty surface of her limbs and sidefat

azureangelic: obviously it would have to be a belly shirt as well because she very well cant dance while squished into a creaking garment, and while titanically meaty blobby guts sloshing and shaking and shimmering with moisture under the strobelights might technically be a hinderance to movement her corpulent figure and habitual patterns of dance-breather-dance wouldnt be complete without a massively bloated mountain of dough to fill with refreshments and lift up to try and cool off when the heat built up too high even for her, assuming she doesnt simply splash the drinks over her heaving, uneven dome of gut to cool down and hope some of it gets in her cavernously deep, delicately piercing-studded navel for possible future belly shots

azureangelic: and while actually moving with two thick jelly pillars of fat making up her legs might not be easy in any fashion, shes at least smart enough to wear accomodating bottoms, only really decent in the front as most of the fabric simply rests atop her incredible hips and highlights the divide between her doughy backfat and almost greased-up underbelly; the actual "pants" part of the clothing essentially a thin, brightly-colored thong that vanishes into the impossibly warm and humid depths of her hanging, swaying shelf of ass and barely managed to resurface in front to keep her decent when she almost barely manages to spread her olympian thunder thighs and let the built-up warmth between her inner thighs cascade down her dimpled knees, fatty calves, and miraculously-vibrant painted toes as her bare feet plop on the floor and she swings her past-plump wreckling ball of a body back around for another round of the least physically exerting dancing imaginable

azureangelic: even though it puts another torrent of sweat dribbling down her round cheeks and triple chin and sends her back to the bar for another round of hopefully-frigid drinks, half to chug and half to dump down her top for cooling

azureangelic: possibly add in the sensation of being bowled over by the haphazard swinging and swaying of the enormously overfed, utterly sopping wet, skimpily-clad not-so-innocently raving vixen when she becomes too engrossed in her sweat-raising motions to realize her titanic gelatinously-quaking slightly odious mass of moist gut just knocked over an innocent bystander caught off-guard by the sight of her sheer size and mass struggling to keep a rhythm against its own jiggling shape (assuming her barely-concealed double-decker ass doesnt hit him first)

azureangelic: at least shes polite enough to buy him a drink to make up for it, although seeing her exhausted and lazing against the creaking counter, appropriately-sized bottle in one hand and massive pale thighs spread out to let her colossally gravid gut bulge and sag out as far as it could to overflow her equally-blobby frame, would probably be just as good a making-up gift, especially when her sloppy drinking led to a bosom full of fluid and she had to heft her enormous chest in both hands to squeeze and knead the offending liquids out through her snug, low-cut top