chapter 1

“Come over Pig, Master is home”
You drag yourself on your four legs whit your fat belly brushing the floor and your tiny pathetic cock already trying to peek from beneath your fat pad. As you approach your master, he takes off his trainers and places one foot on your face. Knowing the procedure, you carefully remove one of the socks with your mouth. The scent is so strong you almost faint with pleasure as you savor the foot sweat and your master presents you the other musky paw.
Your dumb piggy brain sends waves of ecstasy down your fat spine to your crotch area, where your poor dick is already starting to cry some clear fluid. It’s been almost 3 weeks since your last release. 3 weeks of continuous overeating, forced stuffing from both sides and utter humiliation. The padded mittens you’ve been wearing 24/7 for the past 2 years render impossible any attempt of self pleasuring, especially now that you’ve become so fat your penis is almost completely buried even when full erect.
“Turn around Pig”, the master orders as he starts to take off his clothes revealing his thick, strong body. His full beer belly is covered with a wild forest of salt-and pepper-hair, which travels up his chest until reaching his full beard.
You start to jiggle in the attempt of facing the other direction as ordered, but you struggle to do so as your sagging belly gets in the way. With a final strain you show Master all the glory of your fat hams. He kneels down and starts to squish your hairless pink butt, pondering on all the progress you made since he first bought you in a dark web auction. The feel of his big ,powerful hands exploring every inch of your butt, violating your own flesh and treating you like a piece of meat makes your little wiener throb with excitement and release another clear trail of precum. It wasn’t easy at first getting used to all this, but after months of harsh training and constant conditioning you fully embraced your new identity as livestock, which only exist to get fat and pleasure your master and owner. Now the mere idea of getting even fatter, softer and dumber is more than enough to trigger a sudden response from your groin area.
Master notices the small, reddish button emerging from the fat pad and slowly starts to play the tip with his fingers. After all those days without cumming, the simple touch from his hands almost sends you over the edge, but a sudden pain from your balls accompanied with a “Smack” sound stops you before getting the so much needed release. You jump forward a couple inches and shed a single tear; you hear his footsteps and see his hand appearing right in front of you; his strong, manly, muscular arms constantly remind you his status as your owner and the pathetic inferiority of your weak, fat, piggish body.
You see a small pool of liquid reflecting the light of the entrance corridor resting on his palm: you are well trained and lick his hand clean of your pathetic precum.
“Good piggy, I taught you well I see. Now follow me in the kitchen, I’ll get your dinner ready”
Following him is easier said than done, since you’ve not been allowed to stand up for the past 6 months and the kitchen is up a short series of steps. As you attempt to climb the stair, your overfed gut drags against every step, making impossible to just moving up one limb at a time. When the problem started emerging about 40 kgs ago you figured out that hopping up was a viable option to overcome the problem. However, to body of a 110 pig is much more agile than the same body with a full year of fattening added on top. In the past few weeks, getting to the feeding area has begun to become a problem, and you always ended up covered in sweat as you fought your belly’s attempts to tumble you over. Not that Master cares so much about body odor (or hygiene in general to be honest).
This time, though, you are particularly worried since last night feeding session was especially intense and your stomach seems overinflated. You begin to crawl up the first two steps with you front body and hop on the first hurdle with your knees. You feel your tights barely managing to not slip while pressing against your lard tank and you sigh with relief. However, the second hop is much less lucky as you are not able to lift your torso properly: before you know it, you end belly up at the stairs feet, defeated, exposed and winded. Looking up you can see your enormous belly and moobs shaking with ripples of fat. You instinctively try to stop it with one of your padded mittens but to avail. Since your total hair removal you’ve been under the impression that your body has become even softer and less defined, with every single movement sending your fat into a perpetual motion.
You can’t even finish that thought that Master approaches laughing his ass off. From the ground you can clearly see his left sole emerging from the first step, while sensing its strong manly musk. From the leg opening of his filthy construction worker jeans you can see his hairy leg with well defined calves. Upwards, his big engulfed crotch and underbelly blocks the upper body from your sight. His dominant position and the humiliating situation arouses you beyond belief.
“Oh, poor piggy. You’ve become such a lardass that you can’t even climb up 5 steps to reach for your meal. You are such a pathetic slob!” he remarks while pressing his right foot on your belly. You can feel his pressure reaching alarming levels while you exhale a pitiful oink.
“Guess I’ll have to bring the food bowl downstairs so you can fill your tank. Don’t move, piggy”
You obey while you can hear Master preparing the usual fattening slop you’ve been fed lately. Back in the early days of conditioning, he fed you typical human food, albeit not very sophisticated. Hamburgers, fried Chicken, mashed potatoes, maybe lasagna were your usual meal. After a while, though, he got tired of feeding you with fork and knife and started using spoons: in order to make life easier, food was smashed into pieces beforehand and sometimes mixed together into a large plate. However, as time went on, the food within the plate contained more and more of pure lard and oats until, when you were finally forced to walk on your hands and knees, you’ve become acquainted to just eat pig slop from a big bowl on the floor at your Master’s feet. The slop doesn’t taste very good, but by now you’ve forgotten how human food feels like: if Master feels fancy, sometimes, he also dribbles a bit of his own pee in the bowl to make the slop “more digestible”, as he says.
Before long he comes back from the kitchen with your food. He places the bowl next to you and asks you to roll on your fours. You find difficult to lean on one of your sides in order to change your balance and tip up, but Master helps you with a gentle push of his foot. As you end facing the ass side up, you lift your torso with your arms and place your piggish face inside the bowl, starting to eat. The slop is salty and greasy, and there’s quite a lot of it. You can clearly savor that some kind of fattening powder was added, since there’s some very distinct chemical taste that pervades the texture.
With your first gulp, you can feel your stomach distending to accommodate for the upcoming nourishment, and that eases a bit of the tension you built while trying to climb the stairs. You keep eating, stretching your belly even further; as you make a mess of yourself, drooling rivers of slop down your cheeks, your mind start becoming foggy and the months of conditioning start to put again some pressure on your leaky cock. You know he’s been putting some drugs in the mixture in order to keep you always obedient and tranquil, but at this point you don’t even mind anymore.
Master walks behind you again and starts massaging your underbelly with his feet while teasing you: “Eat, my filthy pork, eat. You are nothing but a tub of lard, a mindless animal to fatten up until you are ready for the market”. His voice is so deep, his words so sensual and convincing. You eat faster, in a rush of pure bliss. “I am a pig”, you think, “I exist only to get fatter. My disgusting blubber must become the sole focus of my desires. I want to become bigger, softer, filthier and more helpless”.
Without even realizing, you finish the whole bowl in a desperate frenzy. You are short of breath, panting and loudly burping; you just now understand how much pressure you put in your stomach all of a sudden, feeling a clear sense of discomfort while your belly now fully rests on the floor.
“Well, I think that’s quite enough food for now. If you get any more bloated your weenie might very well explode”, he smirks as he slowly teases your tip with a single toe.
You are so desperate to cum now. The muscles on the base of your cock are so tense they almost hurt and you can feel the tip of the dick brushing against your belly. You try to hump yourself to reach a full orgasm, but Master quickly gets on the floor and squeezes your balls. The pain is unbearable: you squeal in agony but he doesn’t stop. “Piggy, I already told you once: a castrated hog gets fatter quicker, so I’m just doing you a favor by leaving these pathetic peanuts attached to your fat pad. Now I’ll repeat what I’ve already told you: you will cum when you reach 160 kgs, so you are more motivated and I’ll shortly be able to show our online friends how good of a feeder I am. Cum before the time, and your next meal will include your own testicles. Understand piggy?”. You squeal again louder and you feel his hands relieving the pressure. You know Master doesn’t joke around, since you remember the time your nails were removed from your hands and feet, in fact, that was the last time ever you’ve seen either of those body parts before they were permanently locked inside those mittens.