sow fucker

Information

Name: Sir, Dad

Orientation: Pig owner

Property: @6000lbsandover

the man who always gets what he wants. my property is whatever i want her to be. i break trannies, faggots and sexless freaks. sometimes that means making them wobbling masses of fat.

“God, you’re a fucking mess.”

You look up, startled out of your wheezing on a vape pen. Your curly hair is plastered to your forehead and fat neck with sweat, your uniform is stained and your top three shirt buttons had come undone, making your tits bulge out of the bra I’m sure your dad made you wear.

You start stammering an apology for what a colossal fuck up you are, but I hold out a hand, stopping you. “We’ve got an initiation ritual here, even though this is your last night working here.” You whimper. You don’t know this is your last night as a free girl.

I point to the trough we’d been dumping leftovers in all night. Did you even notice that? You instantly know what I want you to do, even though you’re whining all the way, begging me not to make you eat the food all my guests couldn’t finish.

You’re such a whore, moaning, squirming in your sleep. Moans so loud even through the bit gag I force you to sleep with in your mouth. The morphine I forced into you meant you couldn’t stop me from ruining your bloated hole, your body just trembling and spasming under me. All night.

It’s hard to tell if she’s crying or moaning. Either way she’s orgasming from her knelt position on the floor. Her belly covers her knees and lolls onto the tiles like a whore, so you can’t see where she kneels in a puddle of her piss and cum, transluscent and sticky. The room would smell of her sex if it wasn’t for her purpose.

“Are you actually looking at this thing or what?” My friend Nate keeps groping the thing’s tits, like the Personal Entertainment Technology is his birthday present and not mine. “Look, you can customise it to fuck, if big tits and a wet cunt aren’t you thing…”

I’m just nervous he’ll ask who got me the PET again. It’s from my dissertation supervisor. He’s been punching my paragraphs up in exchange for sex. Don’t need any of the lads knowing I’m not the straight masculine alpha man I pretend to be.

Nate fiddles with the app for the PET some more while it kneels idly, looking passive and unconcerned while it’s groped and molested. “I mean, you can change its personality, make it rapebait, make it a tranny…”

That gets my attention. I grab my phone back off Nate, scrolling through the options. Obviously I knew I could give it tits and a thick cock, or a flat chest and a wet pussy, but, making this feminine fuck object think it’s, somehow, a man…

The thing suddenly blushes, hurriedly trying to cover up its F-cup tits. “W-what the fuck? I-I’m not… where’s my hoodie?” It whimpers. My cock’s hard already.

She’s going to die for treason anyway. We don’t need women in the sand. I take some pleasure in beating her breasts with a crop, wondering how the hell she managed to hide those things under bandages. Now that they’re red, raw and bleeding, she won’t be able to anymore.

The men could use a comfort woman, and fortunately this degenerate has volunteered. I take her first, forcing my grimy fingers inside of her dry with dehydration cunt. I explore every inch inside of her, feeling her shudder against my broad form.

Her hole’s wet with blood by the time I pull out, enough to guide my cock into her. Her legs try to squeeze me out, but I shove them apart so hard I hear a joint snap in your hip.

I tilt my head curiously as I watch you come back to humanity. I lick my sharp teeth, fascinated. Your have six tits now, heavy and full, even in humanity. You whimper and cry and cradle your new body. Wolfhood gave you more hair, more curves. Your flesh bulging with the need to be bred. I don’t have any interest in women but the need to fill your abundant body with pups is overwhelming.

“I think 330lbs is generous, birdie, don’t you?” I groan after I came in you for the third time. Your missing person’s report is on the screen behind me, the massive TV mounted across from the bed that’s going to be your new home.

You’re not sure if the stares are for my hairy musclegut or your fat rippling with every step. You insisted on coming with your masculine bear dad to the gym, squeaking that you wanted to up your stamina but with the way your thighs keep squirming and your flabby cheeks are reddening, I know you’re just collecting material to abuse your pussy to later.

You’re watching lads with lithe bodies working the machines, probably imagining them fucking each other while you stare. Then, as I’m setting my own rack up, I hear you let out a whimper as a huge jacked man lets out a pornographic groan. You’re probably imagining him ramming his thick coke can dick into your wet cavernous hole.

I grab you by your curly thick pussy hair and you let go and scream. “Stupid cunt! Fuck!” I roar in your face. Dad said the sedatives would last longer. I was in the middle of pulling your teeth out when you bit down on my hand, hard. You always had sharp canines, Imogen. They used to scare me.

I’m standing like I’ve got something to prove. It makes me feel better looking at the fat bitch taking up two seats. She reminds me of a cunt who used to bully me at school. Who gave me the rope burn on my neck and the scar on my cheek. She’s got the same shitty black on red hair dye job.

When the light goes out I saunter over. I tell her I can see her Hello Kitty knickers. She squeaks, tries shutting her legs so quick I can see the fat of her thighs wobble. I ruffle her hair, then grab it. She whimpers that the cameras will see, the cops will see. I tell her the cameras are off. Then I punch her in the face.

It’s pink, obviously, with milking machines filling one wall. There used to be barriers between each pen but the cows were quickly overfilling them. Now the cows lazily lay against eachother’s fat, their big veiny tits rippling as their puffy nipples are milked. They moo softly, thick thighs drenched in cum.

The other side of the barn is filled with sows, connected to various feeding machines. Some of them have feeding machines shoved deep inside their asses, others have their shit fed to unruly piggies crying around their feeding tubes. Good immobile hogs have a hole in every orifice and a big litter inside making their bellies ripple.

I can’t help but yell out in surprise. The fat sow lies screaming on the floor, and kicking her where her back’s been flayed open doesn’t help but I need to vent somewhere. Fucking meat’s ruined. Too bruised to make anything worthwhile. Maybe jerky.

“You’ve moved your expiration date up, swine, you know that? Means I gotta kill you now.” I raise up the cleaver over her shivering screaming body. Then I stop. She’s pissed me off this much, she needs to pay.

I’m supposed to be the stalker. Me. I put all the hard work in to not get followed, only talked about, and this stupid wobbling cunt thinks she gets to breathe the same air as me.

I don’t even bother putting on the cowl before I see her. She doesn’t deserve to be a Ghostface kill. This is just tying up loose ends.

Speaking of which. The ropes are burning her wrists badly as she struggles, soon blood will start seeping into the ropes. I pin her gut with my hunting knife, stabbing it down into the hilt. She screams so loud I can hear her vocal chords stretch. Knew it. Knew the slut hadn’t even started T.