A Pig's Flesh Prison

Chapter 1

I open the door and peer inside taking a moment to take in your view, you truly were a sight to behold. You have awoken from your sleep, your eyes lazily open. Your mouth is agape and I revel in listening to the sound of you wheezing, sucking in air through your open mouth. Snorting and panting with each labored breathe. Your neck is swallowed up with wrinkling layers of chin folds, the last one droops above your your bloated engorged breasts, your breathing making the hanging lose skin quiver and flop around. Your cheeks are swollen and puffy, soft and smooth and your over enlarged shoulders are so piled up to the point where they meet the fat of your neck, making your head appear as if it were sinking into you.

I've trained you to be so large now that you've lost your ability to even move your head to turn or look around. I decide to tease you, I squeeze your thick tear that droops at the end of your deflated breast like an icicle and start to pinch and squeeze. You squirm your head and fuss and whine, trying to turn your head to the left to face me, but you are unable to turn so far until your cheeks moosh into the fat of your neck, creating even more creases. You shake your head and whine more. Hopelessly stuck. Your chins flop around, your hills slosh around.
"There there girl, shhh. It's okay." The ripples and waves sent from the hips builds momentum. You can tell, she's bucking her hip, causing her body to ripple forward and crash back. "You want to be free so bad, but you can't. "Ahhh, ahhh,--snort--ah"

Breathless once again. A load rumble erupts, and now her cries of pain are sound of panic. she's ravenous, the hunger hurts, sending her into a desperate frenzy.

You had gained so much weight it had gotten to the point of which if you were to lay in bed on your back your weight would crush your bones, fitting you into a sling was the only option of providing you with relief. The mass of your twin sagging guts out grew the length of your own limbs. If you were laying down that the edge of your flab would stretch past your toes, but with the help of your sling it now flaps around above the ground merely inches away. Your arms, how uselessly they sat there suffocating and stuffed, they appeared deformed and sectioned into stacks of flab taking away it's length that you couldn't move them, they were held down in place of its shape stuck in a winged position that is propped up against the very top of your side rolls, unable to even hang limply at vertical, and are instead stuck in place by the lard entrapping it. They sag and spill into the rest of yourself. They're so stubby and short compared to the rest of your blob of a body, it makes me reminisce. on the times when they were long enough to rest on your upper stomach when you were bed ridden. Then the rest of your body blimped up and entrapped it into it's helpless imprisonment. I missed being able to watch you struggle to move around, to being bed ridden, to know being you were able to succumb growing for ever onward. Your squeeling now, begging to be fed. You're too far gone to stop. It's too late for you. You know that, but I still see a fire in you to fight against your flesh prison.

"No no, you know the rules. No feedings until you complete your exercise. You've gotten lazy. You know you can still reach if you try." I prove my point by holding a fresh hot baked cookie in front of her face. I wave it under her nose, and the smell of the treat puts her into over drive. She grunts even more, her arms spur to life instinctively pushing against gravity to reach outwards to her prize. she extends her piles of hanging flesh as far as she can, but they're still too short to reach past herself. her puffy swollen fingers strain and her arms tremble until finally atrophying and going limp. She cries out a painful moan flailing.

I pity the attempt and only when I stuff the cookie into her awaiting mouth and salivating tongue do her cries quiet down into slow grazing, she takes her time to savor the flavor of her treat, jowls jostling with each bite. I feed another and another and her chewing picks up a pace, from steady bites and gulps to frenzied munching, moaning in shameless pleasure with each bite. It's so good. You want more. You need more, you're still starving. "Please--" you manage to choke out in a sob. I stop, knowing what you want. You want the teasing and slow stroking your feeding session to stop, the pain in your aching gnawing gut to stop already. I know. I gather your feeding tube and strap it into you, transferring your breathe from mouth to nose. You can't stop squirming and thrashing your weight around and billowing waves until I turn the pump on.

You're sucking on your tube like a thirsty new born with the tip of a nipple until you feel the cream pump into you and you match it's pace, nursing it. I see you relax and go limp one again, all the pain and panic fading away and your concentration and energy focuses on sucking it all down in relief. Your eyes go back into staring ahead past me. I caress your globular cheek and rub you soothingly, like rocking a baby. I allow you to rest, and let your mind go blank and focus on the your meal momentarily. It's enough to settle you down and take your mind off of how horny you are, which I know you are suffering in that aspect too by hearing your aroused gentle moans. The hunger may fade, but your sexual appetite never goes away. I have to pigeon feed you your orgasms at this point to pace yourself carefully. I fondle the ends of your dangling flab, teasing you once more. It makes you gulp harder. Your swallowing in perfect tune with your breathing now. When you're worked up you guzzle everything with no stops, then you stop sucking and the flow stops to it's slow churn again.