All I want is a lazy piggy to call my own. Have him just loaf around eating and sleeping. Nothing much else. He’d just grow fatter every passing moment for me and him to enjoy. I’d sink into him more and play with his rolls. I’d tease him and fat shame him, of course all lovingly. His thick plush hands going up and down my much smaller body as he knows how much I crave him.
His face would be round and plush. Pouty fat lips with chubby rosy cheeks. All the while he’d be a messy pig. His face would not only be covered in a thick layer of fat, but also all of the crumbs and sauces from every fattening meal I make for him.
His belly would be my bed. Period. His moons would be my lovely pillows for me to lay my head on. They’d all be so huge and soft and I’d melt inside of him and just always be turned on.
I don’t want him walking anymore. Just stay put, pig. I can do everything for you. I promise to take good care of you.
I want it to take hours to have me kiss every bit of you. Every stretch mark deserves love. Every dimple, every roll. Everything need attention.
But aside from a dependent pig, I want him to be a whiny demanding pig. He would manipulate me to bring him food because he knows how much I want to feed him. He’d be massive but would tell me how he’s starving and wasting away every second he doesn’t have food in reach.
I need a greedy pig. One who just can’t be satisfied. He always needs more, if not then just too much. I want him to always push. I want to hear moans and groans of slight pain as he shoves another morsel down his throat knowing he can’t take it. Maybe to impress me; maybe to satisfy his own needs. Regardless, I’d love it.
Just always grow fatter my forever skinny pig.
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