#barnyard names

[botanical-feedress]

I know you’ve been stuck on the couch barely able to move for days, but you just look so round and cute when you’re stuffed to the brim, leaning back with a hand on your belly and crumbs on your face, heaving to catch your breath, blasted out your mind with hazy, half-lidded eyes. I just can’t help but keep you that way.

And can you really blame me, darling? I mean, you’re the one who keeps opening that hungry mouth of yours for me and letting me feed you whatever I want. You obviously like this treatment. Otherwise you would’ve gathered enough will power by now to tell me to stop. So is there really a problem here, sweetheart? Hehe, as if you could even answer me coherently in this state. Let me keep you like this, darling. Make me happy. Be my good, docile, obedient, growing pet. My precious, prized cow that I get to smoke out and feed whenever I want, as much as I want, for however long I want. Please darling?

Just say yes.

[botanical-feedress]

I bet they don’t know what a pig you are behind closed doors.

I bet they don’t know that you let your petite, sweet-as-pie girlfriend tie you up and pack you full of rich, greasy food and beer until you’re belching and moaning pathetically, throbbing for my touch.

I bet they don’t know that you go straight to the drive thru and order enough food for a family to messily stuff your face with as soon as you’re out of their sights.

I bet they don’t know that you’ll get on all fours for me and devour a cake face first while making all kinds of slovenly piggish noises, all at the snap of my fingers.

I bet they don’t know that you were touching yourself while you purposely stuffed your gut full right before you met them for dinner, already planning to order the biggest thing on the menu and abuse that gut some more.

I bet they don’t know that during every second of your conversations, the only constant thoughts running through the back of your mind are food, when you can eat again, what you’re gonna eat, getting fatter, getting too stuffed to move, and making your feedress proud.

I bet they don’t know that you like how tight your clothes fit you now, or how you had to desperately hide your arousal when you burst your button at dinner and then excused yourself to go feverishly masturbate in the bathroom, feeling the blood rush between your thighs as you fantasize about me feeding you even fatter.

I bet they don’t know that the cute, sweet, delicate girl on your arm at your office party is on a deliberate mission to intoxicate you, watch you slur and burp and stumble and embarrass yourself in front of all your coworkers, then drive you home, tease you, force you to drink more, and force feed you mercilessly later on until your poor overfed belly destroys all those fancy clothes you have on.

And I bet it all makes you so unreasonably excited. Imagine what they’d think if they knew what a desperate, horny, messy, obedient, greedy hog you are for me. How you want nothing more than to be my ever-growing, overfed, massive, dumb, full-time, personal hog.

[botanical-feedress]

Good piggies don’t argue, they do what feedress says.

Good piggies don’t say no, they ask for more.

Good piggies eat until they feel like they’re gonna pop. And then they eat some more.

Good piggies don’t decide that they’re full, they let feedress decide for them.

Good piggies don’t think, they just eat.

And you’re a very good piggy… aren’t you?