Chapter 1 - 1

You wriggle your hips to get comfortable and crane your neck slurping more sweet cream-slop from the dispenser near your mouth. You moan with delight as it fills your heavy, sagging belly. You grunt and oink and shift your position and greedily pull at the dispenser nipple. It's harder now to get comfortable, you're so fat, so overfed, your fat rolls squeeze through the cage bars, perfect, bulging piggy fat interlaced with bars of iron.
Keys jangle in the lock of the barn door, then voices, the click-clack of high heels, the scuff of old, work-worn boots.
"We want the FATTEST hog you've got, that first one you showed me was barely plump." A woman's voice says.
"One more sec, we're almost there.Trust me, she's a biggun."
A few seconds later the footsteps stop at the back of your cage, before your breeder can speak, the woman gasps.
"My god, she's...she's...she doesn't even fit in that cage!"
"I told you," he says with a laugh, "look at the ass on her," he prods your thick , spongy cheeks with his walking stick. "We were about to fit this ***ing blimp for a new cage. Now of course, if you buy her we won't have to trouble ourselves. Most of these girls we've had to force feed, but this girl took to it natural like. Greediest one I've seen. A year ago, there wasn't an ounce of fat on her; now she can't even hardly move due to all that excess lard. Why she'll suck down ten buckets of slop and then get mad if we don't feed her even more. That's why we don't show her to much, most afficionados can't afford to feed her."
"My god, she's almost pure lard." The woman says and walks around your cage, inspecting you, she slides her hand between the bars and gropes your drooping belly. "Dear lord, she's nothing but ***ing jelly, my husband is going to go crazy when he sees her." She waggles another handful of fat and then slaps one of your tits and playfully tugs the swollen nipple. You grunt excitedly.
"He's going to use you like a pin cushion, fatso. Look at all this meat, you f*cking obese blob, there isn't a single place on your body he won't enjoy sticking his fat dick."
You oink and snuffle with pleasure, aching to be groped, desperate to be f*cked. You glug more slop and oink and wriggle in your cage, hoping she'll see what a bloated fatty hog you truly are. She stands and walks again to the back of the cage. She squeezes your wide, fleshy buttocks, testing their weight and then slides a finger between your labia.
"Oh, she's so wet, such a filthy, greedy pig-slut." She pats your hip lovingly.
You grunt excitedly and guzzle more slop.
"I think she's perfect."
"We'll do the paperwork right now, she'll be at your place in a few hours."
As the woman leaves, your breeder frees you from the cage. Hog slop dribbles down your chins. "My god, sweetie, you're as big as a mobile home. Look at this gut on you." He pats your soft, sagging tummy, kneads a few ripe handfuls of blubber and then wipes you with down a cool rag. He's smiling big, a cat/canary grin; he's sold you for such a price. You are washed and scrubbed and powdered. Your thoughs turn to your new master and mistress ...
The stable boy dresses you in snug , grey cotton pants with plenty of stretch, and a tight, ribbed tank top. Every roll, every pound, every wobbling inch can be seen as you move. You lovingly fondle your belly button, its obvious depression seen easily through the thin, tight fabric. He smooths the back of the tank top and folds in the errant tag. "There you go, jiggle pig, all set. Off you go to your new home."
Your breeder prods you forcefully into a black van. Inside are comfortable wide chairs and trays full of pastries. "Get to stuffing that belly, fatty girl, we've got an hour's drive up north and I want you nice and full when I drop you off."
You oink and snort and scowl at him - you don't need any encouragement to stuff yourself, there mere mention of food makes your greedy hog belly rumble. You reach for a tray of pastries and set it on what little remains of your lap. The engine roars to life; your cheeks are already packed with calories. The van rolls along smoothly, you eat, eat, eat. You spread your fat thighs to make room as your belly swells. When the van finally bounces into the driveway of your new home, all but a few crumbs remain; you're breathing is shallow, you are sweating lightly.
Your mistress comes quickly down the entry stairs as she sees your breeder helping you from the van. She grabs two generous fistfuls of your belly fat and kisses you on each cheek.
"We're soooo excited," she stands back for a moment and looks you over. She giggles, "Oh piggy, you look even fatter than you did this morning, look at how that belly sticks out! Mmmmm, we are going to have so much fun with you." She wobbles your jelly tummy and beckons you inside.
The house is an old english Tudor with a beautiful oiled-timber interior. The furniture is of that same period and the house is immaculately kept. Your mistress leads you to the far side of the living room past a large fireplace made of stacked grey slate. She calls out to your master as the two of you make the turn into the hallway, then the Study. A well dressed man of about fifty is lounging in a high-backed leather chair reading. He sets down the book on a small table. His eyes widen as you waddle into view.
"Angela, you perfect, perfect angel, she's HUGE." He comes quickly to you as you stand for his inspection. "Look at all this lard," he grabs your fat upper arms, pokes your belly and squeezes your wide hips and wobbles them roughly, delighting inyour belly jiggle.He seems childlike in his awe,speechless for just a moment, then he composes himself. "Darling she's perfect − hoggish, piggish, greed personified − just look at her. Take her to Greta, see that she's fed every hour for the next twenty-four. She'll be our little after- breakfast treat tomorrow morning."
Your mistress beams with pride. Your master kisses his wife lightly on the cheek and returns to his book. She escorts you out past the fireplace again and on to the kitchen.

A lovely plump woman with a pile of black curls stylishly pinned up is bustling about the kitchen giving orders to her two assitants. She has an enormous, wide bottom and you giggle at the sight of her heavy cheeks bouncing as she trundles back and forth.
"Goodness Greta, I swear that ass of yours gets fatter every ten minutes." Your mistress says.
Greta giggles with delight, "I can't stop feeding it, it's like a hungry child, and you always keep such good food here." Her eyes then turn to you,"My goodness, mistress, look at the size of this ***ing whale." She comes close and begins poking and prodding your belly. "She's a big, tubby, fat one, isn't she?"
Your mistress laughs, "Yes, she's our new greedy girl. The master wants her fed every hour until tomorrow morning at ten. He wants her packed so tight she can barely breathe." Greta nods and your mistress turns to leave. A few feet from the door, she turns back, "Greta darling, I want her stretched out like a balloon, let's get a funnel in her about seven just to be sure she's completely packed."
Greta squeals with delight as your mistress pushes out through the swinging door. "Oh piggy, I'm going to make you so FAT!" she pats your belly and guides you to the edge of her prep table. "Andre, grab two stools. This fat pig needs a place to sit, her ass is bigger than mine, jesus, I can only imagine what that breeder has been feeding her."
Within minutes Greta drops three heaping plates of food in front of you: barbecued pork, roast beef, sauteed vegetables, fresh bread. You struggle to bend forward, your belly presses into the prep table and spills forward over the edge. You begin stuffing yourself with both hands. Your tight shirt rides up as juice drips onto your distending gut. You belch and grunt and reach for more food. Greta smiles and continues to drop platefuls of delicious fattening food in front of you. You ache with lust, with hunger, and the sight of Greta's huge, rippling rump is only making things worse. Greta stretches your gut like its never been stretched before. She stuffs you with roasted meats, sweet creams, vegetables, rice, warm breads with perfect crust. She pushes all kinds of desserts past your lips: vanilla cakes, candied peaches, homemade truffles. Andre rubs your belly when you get full and Greta teases your clit playfuly to keep you in a state a pure piggish gluttony. Before you know it, morning light is coming through the kitchen window and Greta is forcing a large plastic funnel past your greasy lips. You moan exictedly. Your belly is so full - oh yes, oh Greta, stretch me out, make me big and fat, yes, please. . Andre pours a thick ,malty cream into the funnel and Greta slaps the side of your taut gut.
"That's it, pig. Guzzle it down. Guzzle, guzzle, guzzle, get nice a FAT for your masters."
You glug and slurp and oink and grunt. A bloated fat hog. A mountain of gelatinous quivering flesh. Some of the mixture spills out the sides of your mouth and onto your fat tits and belly. Greta slaps your wet gut, the cream splatters everywhere, "More, hog, more you fat pig-blimp, fill that gut!"