Keeping an Eye on Miss Piggy

Chapter 1

You've had a new girlfriend for a few weeks now, Miss Piggy. Just yesterday, she went shopping with you for today's fundraising gala, which she organized and invited you to. "Help for Animals with Special Needs."
With my many small cameras, I was able to watch you getting ready and styling yourself, taking plenty of snack breaks and wearing your underwear between the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom, and now you're squeezing into the passenger seat of her sports car in your new salmon-pink jumpsuit.
Like a big candy you have tied your thick and juicy fed belly again with a belt under your round breasts and the silk fabric accentuates your softly padded pleasure zone.

What you don't yet know, Miss Piggy, is that I know your fit friend very well. For years, we've been caring for animals with special needs in our community and supporting each other in our projects. Projects like you, my squeaky-lively, thriving free-range porker.

An extra-large vanilla milkshake and six sugary donuts are waiting for you in the car. Your chubby, short fingers absentmindedly reach for the sweet treats while she sips her black tea. "Thanks for agreeing to help me a little in the background today while we oversee the catering," she says. "I know you'll be keeping a close eye on everything. And remember, we'll take all the leftovers with us afterward. I'll donate them to a friend to feed the pigs." You nod obediently and smile. Thanks to her hidden camera in her glasses, I'm melting live at the sight of your double chin and chubby cheeks. We'll feel each other again soon, Miss Piggy!

Many members of our secret community are at the gala today. Here and there, they're out and about with their new projects, but they're keeping a low profile. Some guests aren't even aware of which animals their donations are benefiting. And we let them believe it's for poor baby seals and endangered species.

Your new friend introduces you to some of our group. She lovingly wraps her arms around your broad upper arms as she pushes you from one to the other. Or inadvertently strokes your broad hips or buttocks. Submissive as you are, you smile away your insecurity and politely accept not only every morsel offered to your greedy little mouth, but also dig in without restraint at the buffet. She and I can tell that you've stuffed your pot belly pretty well by the nervous tugging at your belt, which probably cuts uncomfortably into your fat.

Just as you're satiated and slightly sleepy, scanning the room, unable to comprehend how you ended up in such an elite group, a hand lands on your upper stomach and briefly rubs it, startling you. "Hey, I almost forgot, my speech is about to begin. Can I leave you alone at the table? Are you comfortable around these people?" Blushing and embarrassed, you reassure her and wish her luck. Her touch irritated you. Was it subconscious that she touched your stomach instead of your shoulder? Oh, Miss Piggy, it's so sweet when doubt crosses your chubby face. I'm already quite excited, full of joy, to be able to feel for myself later how much you've stretched and strained your stomach.

Even after her speech, your friend remains lost in the crowd for a while. But our community cares for its animals in need, and so many handsome gentlemen dance with you, Miss Piggy. In the background, like so many others this evening, I admire your swinging love handles and quivering bacon. Of course, you're already gasping and sweating during the first dance, but the gentlemen don't allow you many breaks, and even during the short ones, caring ladies provide you with high-calorie drinks and snacks.

As the gala ends late in the evening, you're handed back into the arms of our mutual friend. Glistening with sweat and happiness, you don't even realize how many chocolates and small cakes you've indulged this evening. After you've collected the leftovers from the buffet from the kitchen and stowed them in the trunk, it's only when you painfully climb back in that you realize how cramped the space in the car is, not only for you, fat little pig, but also how the fabric of your salmon-pink jumpsuit is stretching your crotch, tightly wrapping your backside and your sated vagina. From above, the tight belt presses on your much-too-full stomach. As soon as you've squeezed into the seat, you burp uncontrollably and loudly. Bright red and ashamed, you look at your friend and stammer an apology. Again, she casually pats your round, firm bulge. "Everything out that doesn't pay rent!" she laughs, and then drives off toward your apartment. You look silently out the window, and she repeatedly glances briefly and longingly to the side at your fat thighs, the stretched fabric around your enormous belly, and your plump melons of breasts. Arriving at your place, you squeeze out of her car, panting, and thank her for the evening. "Thanks for coming with me! I'll wait until you're safely through the door." Under her eyes you waddle uncertainly to the door. The key drops at the lock, and you clumsily struggle with your rolls to bend down. Because your fat belly obscures your view, your sausage fingers search aimlessly on the floor for seconds before you can pull yourself up using the doorknob with your key in hand. I bet you're panting like a walrus. Full of shame, you turn back to the car, waving, and disappear into the elevator.

And I slide into the car next to our friend. "Too bad the fabric didn't rip!" I sigh longingly and pull out my security monitor. She looks meaningfully at the bulge in my pants and confesses, "I could hardly stand not constantly kneading and fondling that waddling mountain of flesh. Your Miss Piggy is a magnificent specimen of a willing porker. It's fascinating how she lenjoys eating. Let's not waste any more time!" I grin. Armed with the generous amount of leftovers from the buffet, we head toward your house and follow you. My monitor reveals that you're currently leaning against your apartment door, still panting. Eyes closed and lips clenched, your right hand is trying to reach your intimate area while your left is trying to lift or push that big lump of a belly to the side. It looks like you desperately need help.

We wait until you've moved further toward the bedroom before I unlock your flat with the duplicate key. I move quickly and silently towards you. Luckily for me, you're so satiated with yourself that you left the light off, allowing me to effortlessly overpower you and push you onto your bed. "Hello Miss Piggy, it's time for a new and thorough assessment of your progress." I love your submissiveness. Shocked and ashamed, you lie whimpering with your face buried in your pillow, surrendering to the situation without resistance. After we've stuffed a gag into your little mouth, we turn you and your mass onto your back and secure your arms and knees to the bedposts with bondage ropes. Then, by candlelight, my assistant prepares your bedside buffet. Meanwhile, I caress your many curves and whisper my love in your ear.

"You were a very good piggy tonight, Miss Piggy! Our mutual friend donated the leftovers from the gala to me. Just for you. As a reward for all the pounds you've gained since our last meeting." I gently pat your bulging wet area with one hand and rub the taut seam of your jumpsuit against your labia. "I can feel you're just as aroused as I am, Miss Piggy. But I can't fully reward you like this; the fabric has to come off first. Luckily, we have plenty of food for your greedy mouth, so you can let your fabric cage rip open on its own."

You whimper into your gag as you tremble under my words and touches. When we remove the gag and feed you the first tray of sandwiches, you gobble them down willingly. "You're so short of breath, my fat beauty!" With tears in your eyes, you search my gaze in the semidarkness and whimper, "Can the belt come off? It hurts so much."

Skeptically, I press my finger against your bulging upper abdomen, making you howl. "Since you love tying your belt around your fat so much, one would think you could hold out until the next treat is devoured." Our friend holds up a pudding bowl with a large spoon in it. "May I?" "You allow it, Miss Piggy? Then I can continue caressing your bloated body." We have to laugh when you actually nod, such an unsure and helpless piggy.
We raise your bedrest slightly, and while you slowly and painfully swallow the spoonfuls of pudding, I examine and assess the fat development on your arms, legs, neck, breasts, back, and hips. After swallowing the last spoonful of pudding, you are immediately rewarded with the removal of your belt. Your breathing becomes shallow. "Look at me, Miss Piggy!" You obey. "The jumpsuit is tighter than ever, but the seams are intact. Don't think you'll get off so easily. I'll untie you now, and you'll push your massive body toward the toilet. Then our friend will help you relieve yourself and get dressed again, and then the rest of the buffet awaits my greedy little pig. I advise you to obey; we'll get our way in the end anyway."

The procedure lasts over an hour. Your pain is my pleasure. I confess. As you fall back onto the edge of the bed, we actually hear the ratching of a seam. "No cheating, Miss Piggy. Lie down, then we'll watch and feed you until your greasy treasures are exposed."

With a lot of patience, we manage to stuff all the leftovers into you until after sunrise. At the same time, your fat has been thoroughly kneaded and massaged, and you've been praised beyond measure You've shredded your jumpsuit over an hour ago, but we didn't want to waste the food. When it happened, we rubbed ourselves against you and satisfied our arousal. There's nothing more arousing than sex during a fattening session. "You confirm to me once again, Miss Piggy, that my patience with you is paying off. After you've devoured everything, you too will get your full reward. Although you have to admit, all these delicacies are already more than a fat pig like you can expect," I tease you.

Now, with my fingers and surging thrusts, I'm conjuring new life into your apathetic and overwhelmed flesh. Your wet area is clogged with all the waiting, and you need to be inflamed again. Together we stimulate you until you meet our eyes, pleading like a puffing steam locomotive. "I think Miss Piggy wants to come," says our mutual friend. "I think she thinks she deserves it." I continue my movements without reaction. "I think the sow is ready to squeal." I search your face with a serious expression, Miss Piggy. "Are you ready to squeal, Miss Piggy?" You whimper, you try to nod into your tense fat, you try to whisper. Beads of sweat stand on your forehead. "I want to hear you squeal!" And then you come, squealing more sweetly and wildly than ever before.

We let you rest and leave. "Until next time, Miss Piggy!"