Farmer’s Favorite

Chapter 1 - It’s not an epidemic, it’s a revolution.

Hedonism? Gluttony? Indulgence? Too big words for your too small mind.

You were a smart, independent, fit young lady. Look at you now. A cow bell collar around your neck. Cow print tights gripping on your expanding thighs for dear life, hoping they don’t tear.

Your mind has been erased by giving into your most basest desires to feed and cum every hour, on the hour. Delayed gratification is a sin. Over abundance is the norm.

Who needs to think when you have a feeder? Your feeder makes all the decisions for you. What to eat, what to wear, where to go.

He loves to shows off his blue ribbon sow. County Fairs, beaches, public parks. All places to feast in front of others, dressed in outfits already tighter and tighter by the minute, showing them their potential too if they give in. You can’t go home until you’ve been a good cow and finished your plate.

“Good Girl” is your reward, as you always aim to please. Good girls get seconds and thirds. Some spectators go home and can’t get you, the prize fat cow out of their head.

Public stuffing until my feedee is uncomfortably full. The only thoughts in her pretty plump head is “I’m so full, I’m so full, I’m so full”.

Heavy breathing. Full gut pushing out against the tight outfit I told her to wear. She needs my help to get up, waddle across the park, and loaded in the car like cattle to a cattle car.

At home, she needs belly rubs to make room for desserts. A milkshake a day means good times are here to stay. I’m not done with her feeding. No just yet.

Upcoming birthdays, wedding, graduations, and holiday season. Lots of reasons to celebrate and food is your feedee’s favorite part of that celebration. Like pavlov’s dogs, she quickly associates food with celebration. Soon enough, every single little small victory is celebrated with a big helping of food.

Oh, it’s Friday? Time for a large milkshake. She found $5 in the laundry? Spend it on family sized bag of snacks. It was sunny today? Perfect time to eat some ice cream. And by some ice cream, I mean she eats a full quart of ice cream in one sitting.

It’s summertime. It’s sunny almost every day. She eats and eats but it’s self care and she feels great. She doesn’t even notice the pounds piling on. No one will say anything but they notice her body jiggling more.

They politely ask if she REALLY wants seconds and thirds at Sunday brunch. Friends suggest they work out together to get beach bodies. She brushes it all off.

Sure, her clothes fit tighter. She’s out of breath for going up a flight of stairs more than before. All her sitting furniture has dents from wherever she plops down. Still, if you told her that she put on a few pounds, she will only say “it’s water weight, it will melt right off.”

Friends stopped asking. They accepted it as truth. They even indulged in their desires when eating with your feeder. She has gained 60 pounds and still denies she has gone full hog wild.

The seed has been planted. You didn’t mean to inspire crowds to eat. You simply unlocked what what already there, just what your feeder did for you. They feed too and join you in the feast.

Numbers of feeder and feedees grow by the month, literally and figuratively. It’s not an epidemic, it’s a revolution. It was always there, they just needed the golden calf to worship. That’s you, blue ribbon cow.

Farmer’s favorite.