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There are pieces that every collector has in their collection. Some are easy starter pieces, some great decoration pieces and others are just expected to exist in any worthwhile collection. A lot of the fun of comparing collections is to see differences in the common pieces.

Every collector keeps a hog about. A fat, sloppy pet that grunts and eats constantly. Some keep their hog pleasantly plump and neatly primped. Others fatten their hog to ridiculous extremes, wallowing in their own filth as they sit, immobilized by their own heft. A good friend of mine is partial to his hog and keeps her on a leash by him at all times. Her belly fattened to gently graze the grown as she follows on her hands and knees. Her nose cosmetically altered to have the slight upturn to give her a very authentic look.

Fruits are another common piece. They are a must for collectors who like to show off their shaping ability. Pears, apples, peaches, blueberries, etc. Again some collectors like extremes. I’ve seen berries so round they could be rolled, with skin dyed a deep blue. Their diet mostly liquid to keep their fat watery, like a ripened berry. Others go for subtle shapes with wide, sturdy apples and ripe, soft pears.

The hourglass is one of those pieces that is just expected in any collection. Whether big and cartoonish or dainty and less exaggerated every good collector has his own version of the classic female shape. Some go for the symmetrical look with the hips jutting out just as far as the bust. Others have hourglasses that look about to tip over or have all the sand run into the lower half. Some like solid and fit, other go for soft and jiggly.

Cows are another given and one of my obsessions. Again the varieties are endless, but I pride myself on having not just one or two but a herd of picture perfect cows. Perfect in my eyes anyway. I keep big, healthy heifers with fat bellies, sturdy legs and massive, heavy udders capped with thick nipples aching to be milked. Dumb, obedient creatures that exist only for their thick, sweet cream. No panting blobs leaking bitter, watery crud from udders that barely qualify as D cup. No chubby whores that happen to produce a little milk from their often groped tits. Come over for coffee and there will be at least two gorgeous cows flanking the espresso machine, hands bound behind their back, nipples primed and engorged, ready to dispense milk with the slightest rub of their puffy, throbbing teats. Although I hate using such quality for coffee creamer. True connoisseurs will gather to hand milk cows from my stable and sip the offerings fresh from the teat.

Now while collectors are prone to exaggeration, my reputation precedes any of my bragging. Buyers come worldwide trying to entice me to sell even one of my herd. Other collectors offer millions to learn my secret or even have me create a cow for their collection. I refuse them all. As I mentioned cows are my obsession and giving up one of my beautiful herd is unthinkable.

My dairy barn is a pristine facility. A large open building with comfortable cots, where the cows sleep 10 to 12 hours a day. There is a cafeteria where the bovines consume their 4,000 to 8,000 calories a day. A large pool is where the cows keep in shape without straining their joints or bouncing their udders. A hot tub allows them to relax afterward. Milking stations are scattered throughout the space as the cows need between 3 to 5 milkings a day. Soothing music combined with the sound of content cows mooing fills the air day and night through speakers up in the rafters.

I can start with just about any young woman. I feel it is the woman’s natural state to be a cow. That is what they are built for. And while evolution has strayed a bit, any woman can by turned into a fine cow. I’ve had dainty young women with flat chests blossom into wide heifers with udders too big for one hand to hold. I’ve turned mature, obese women into sturdy, round cows needing three milkings a day. Granted there are ideals. A blue ribbon worthy bovine will be about 200 to 350 pounds depending on her frame with udders big enough to stick out just past their fattened belly.

The first step is the liquid lobotomy. My chemists have created an elixir of bacteria that eats away portions of the subjects’ brain, limiting speech and making them susceptible to suggestion. It sounds simple enough but it is by far the most dangerous step. You can only administer the mixture once, so the amount has to be dead on. Too much and you’re left with a vegetable. Too little and the migraines that result are almost cripplingly painful. Try to go back with another dose and the bacteria will start attacking other major organs.  

Next the hormones are injected. They work directly on the mammary glands, sending them into overdrive. In the next few days the cow’s udders will get sore and sensitive as they swell to 3 times their size, filling with milk. Meanwhile they are in the dairy barn, bulking up with high calorie meals and walking regular laps in the pool to strengthen those thickening thighs.

The help gets each cow on a routine to eliminate confusion in their simple minds. Sleep, eat, milk, eat, exercise, eat, sleep, milk, eat, sleep… Of course in between the help keeps the cows cleaned and groomed. Once their cows reach peak weight and udder size they are fitted with a brown leather collar with their information tag and a gold bell. A supportive bra is also custom fitted to each cow. A cow figure is tattooed on their left ass cheek. Their nails are all painted pink. Their hair kept in pigtails that resemble cow ears and their skin moisturized daily. Even their heavier cows have nary a hint of cellulite on their soft, overfed bodies.

Affection is regulated for my cows. As much as I am often tempted to take a plump young heifer off to the penthouse for a weekend I force myself to limit contact to belly rubs and hand milkings. Sex negatively effects production and confuses the simple minded creatures. The cows get agitated when their routine is broken up, so even for showing off my herd I make sure the event is brief. But that doesn’t stop me from visiting often.  

On a quiet evening I sneak down and find a small brown cow sweating through a milking, her fat udders hooked up to a unit near the entrance. The machine is almost at full power, but no milk flows through the tube yet. The cow is so full priming is taking a long time. Sweat pours off her chubby face as she writhes in the chair, her sagging belly forcing her legs apart. She moos excitedly when she sees me. The newer cows aren’t used to seeing men. She calms down as I rub her fat but empty belly. After she’s done she’ll get a belly busting meal meant to fatten her up. She’s already a porker, fat face and thick in the middle. Her thick hair forms puffballs on the side of her head as opposed to the pigtails. It’s cute and makes her look even chubbier.

I check the cow’s tag.

5’-5”, 237 pounds with GG cup udders.

Gently I knead at the base of her bloated udders. I can feel the swollen glands. With a little rubbing the milk starts to flow. Trickling at first and then a steady stream flows through the tubes. I turn down the machine to a steady pace. The cow settles. I keep rubbing her tits, feeling the dense flesh soften as the milk is pumped out.

It’s too much to resist.

I remove the cup from her right udder. The nipple is thick and dark, but smaller than most. This must be a newer cow. Her nipples will swell and stretch with repeated milkings. I lean down and suckle from the dribbling teat. The milk is thick and warm and sweet. I lose myself for a minute despite the fact I’ve tasted the product many a time. It’s only the sound of footsteps that breaks me away from the loudly mooing cow.

One of the help has heard the disturbance and wandered over to see what is happening.

“Can I help you, sir?” the broad shouldered blonde asked.

All the help in the dairy barn work hard and are lighter than most of the help at the estate. This one can’t be much over 175. She herself is big breasted and potbellied. I imagine her as a drooling 300 pound heifer with a belly that hangs to her knees and udders twice as big as her head. I shake the thought. I’m already over capacity for cows. My focus needs to be on diversifying my collection.

“I’m just looking things over.”

“Of course, sir. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help.”

The help heads back over to the cafeteria to feed a couple hungry cows. I notice her love handles peek out from her shirt and again drift off to tripling their size as I prep her for production. My mind instinctively plans a high carb diet to bulk up the solid looking woman as her udders ripen. She could mature into a very big, healthy cow. I make a mental note of the identifying number on the back of the help’s shirt.

I wander over to the pool where a massive-uddered cow splashes her way through her daily laps. Her udders float in front of her like buoys, pulling her off course as they float in different directions.  She grunts and moos as she plods along, her large frame looking like a pink blob beneath the rippling water.

I wait for the cow to emerge from the water. The pale, brunette grips the railing hard as the full weight of her udders succumb to gravity. She’s a good looking cow. Not show worthy as her udders are far too big and saggy. I can see her tag has a big red dot, meaning she’s on a diet. For good reason. The 5’3”, 320 pounds cow with RRR cups udders is well beyond ideal for size. Likely macromastia has taken hold. I watch her shuffle to the hot tub and moan in relief as the weight of her hangers is off her shoulders and back. I slink up behind her and reach down to stroke her thick brown hair that has come loose from her pigtails as she flopped in the pool. I peel off the red dot. With an excess of cows they all don’t have to be within spec. My mind races to what her udders will swell to as she continues to gain weight. Her ducts will likely clog if she keep lactating. Of course if she were to stop producing the slowed metabolism could have her in a position to double her size with the right diet. She’d make an interesting hog or possibly a party decoration.

I continue on, lingering in the spa area as two more cows are moisturized by the help. A big red-headed cow giggles as her beach ball of a belly is rubbed with lotion. I stroke her head to calm her as I check her tag. 5’5”, 250 with MM cup udders. Her legs are sturdy but soft with curves. Her face round, but not overly fat. Her skin a glowing ivory.

The other a bigger, rounder blonde. Her tag reads 5’5”, 295 with P cup udders. She’s developed a wide rear. Gobs of ass flesh hang over the sides of her chair.

I squeeze their udders. Both are firm and heavy. Almost ready for another milking. I poke their bellies. Both are drum tight. They’ve been stuffed with as much food as their stretched stomachs can hold.

The cows moo and grunt as I grope them. They smile and stare off into space, content and oblivious.

Both are the very definition of what I try to create for cows.

I make my way to the far corner of the barn where I know my special project is sleeping soundly. The rare exception to my many rules about size and care of cows lies on a special cot snoring loudly. Again, having an overabundance of ripe cows allows me to have a little fun. And I have had quite some fun with this one.

I won’t bore you with too many details of the oversized cow’s backstory. But rest assured she deserves her fate. The once slender auburn haired beauty was once a news anchor who started doing pieces on a unbelievable story about a league of wealthy men who keep women as collections. It was crazy and few believed her, but the story gained headlines and attracted attention so other collectors became worried. I made sure the stories stopped before they got too much traction while at the same time adding to my collection. A win win.

I don’t have to check the tag. 380 pounds with SS cup udders that hang heavily off the cot. My project is stuffed with fattening foods every waking minute and milked at minimum 6 times a day to keep her udders growing. She’s excused from exercise to allow as many calories as possible to fill in her blubbery form. Originally meant just as an example to other potentially stubborn women the project has swelled into a mammoth, producing cow.

I brush the bottom of her pink feet that have been barely used in weeks. The big cow titters in her sleep. I poke her thick calves. All fat, no muscle tone as in the other cows’ sturdy gams. I run my fingers along the crease where her belly overlaps her thighs. It’s damp with sweat. Her belly is taut, she’s recently been stuffed full. My hand slides between her full belly and plush thighs, searching for her plump treasure. The cow groans, her eyes fluttering open when I find it and teasingly rub. I withdraw my hand and give her bloated, tender belly a slap to fully wake her up.

She moos loudly. The help looks over. They know this one is my special project and go back to their work.

I grab the feeding mask.

The cow is far from immobile, but slow and cumbersome, especially on her back just waking up. The feeding mask goes on with little issue.

Panicked moos escape the hole where the tube goes. The cow is already painfully full.

I connect the tube and turn on the pump. A stream of thick, fattening sludge makes its way through the tube. The cow’s moos fade as she is forced to swallow gulp after gulp of the specially made goo.

I cup as much as I can of one of the cow’s fat udders. It’s almost as firm and taut as her belly. She needs another milking. It takes only gentle rubbing of her teats to engorge them. I hunt for her swollen ducts under layers of her breast fat and the rolls that form under her arms. Soon she’s trickling cream. It’s hard to tell if her moans are from the overfeeding or release of pressure in her udders.

As she leaks on herself the sight is too much. I lift a heavy jug up to my mouth and suckle. Her quality has dropped but she’s producing like a healthy 250 pounder and I’m suckling like a hungry baby.

Her elevated grunts shake me out of my own feeding. I look over to see her massive mound turning pink as the skin stretches shiny. It feels like a balloon about to pop.

How long was I distracted by her milk?

I slam the pumps off and gingerly rub the cow’s belly. She squeals in agony. I slide my hand through the crease again, finding her pussy still damp from my earlier teasing. I gently stroke her, hoping to distract her mind from the pain of being fed to near bursting.

Slowly and gently I rub until her squeals soften to moans of pleasure. Steady streams of milk flow from her primed teats.

“Sorry, girl,” I say as the near 400 pounder quivers at my touch. “Got a little carried away.”

I let the cow have a mild orgasm. It can’t hurt. Her milk’s not bottled anyway. She’ll just be for show once she gets big enough. Originally I had envisioned a 500 pounder who could be milked once, maybe twice a day. But watching her leak like a spigot as I fingered her made me think I could go much bigger. A 750 pounder with actively producing udders would be a very unique showpiece for sure. Quality would be less, but I could see her on a thrown in my east kitchen as a permanent creamer. Before company arrives the help could pump her full of syrup to distend her belly to jaw dropping roundness that would force her udders to roll off to the side. Her teats could be primed so a little pinch could get enough cream to sweeten coffee or tea.

The cow’s groans and moans, faded as the big girl drifted off to sleep.

I flag down some of the help.

“Give her an hour than I want another feeding and a thorough milking. This project needs to move along. I got big plans for this one.”
The Collection - The Dairy Barn
Another installment in The Collection series. This one focusing on weight gain and lactation.

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Ling cried as the help injected her with her daily dose. She didn’t try to fight. She knew better. Plus her ass weighed her down on the couch, preventing much movement. She was a sitting duck. Or more appropriately a semi-mobile decoration.

The hormones in the injections caused some of her emotional outbursts, but the shock of what she had become was getting to her. The change was drastic and surreal. And even if she could leave she couldn’t go home. Ling was a sight for sure. A bottom heavy freak to most, to me she was a beautiful addition my collection  and a groundbreaking experiment, with her lean upper half contrasting severely with her wide, blubbery lower half.

Ling had been a star gymnast before the accident. An athlete in peak condition who felt she was better than everyone and looked down upon fat, lazy Americans. She competed near the top level in multiple categories. Then a rare mistake caused a knee injury that would end her career. She was devastated. The tiny gymnast swelled from 91 pounds to 98 as she nursed her injury. She was disgusted with herself and mortified that she had let her family, who had sacrificed for her career, down.

My scouts had reservations on taking Ling on as a project. If we did they figured she’d have to be a kidnapping.  But I had already made contact in more of a romantic role. I wanted it to be her decision.

Ling was short and so very petite, and so very full of herself. But I had very specific plans and her short stature and skin tone were perfect. It had been a project I planned for a long time.

I waited until Ling was at her lowest. Right after the doctor told her the knee wouldn’t make a complete recovery. Then I was conveniently there to offer her a way out. A life free of parental expectations and rigorous exercise. A life of leisure and excess that she had so far sacrificed to train her body. She’d still be part of something very special and unique, but she wouldn’t have to do a thing. I’d do all the work.

Ling wasn’t sure. But I had time. I romanced and spoiled her as I barraged her with her reality. She was a washed up gymnast with no other talent or skill. She’d end up boxing product in a factory if she passed up my offer.

Her 4’ 10” frame swelled to a plump 105 as she mulled it over. Her parents grew disgusted with her and berated her every day. that’s what drove her to eventually run away to my estate.

I started her on the injections right away. Ling was unsure but my charm and the lavish estate somehow allowed her to trust me. The drugs made her hungry and tired, but that was far from all. Her torso and face slimmed down as her weight manifested instead below the belt line.

Ling was lulled into a relaxed state. She enjoyed the laid back lifestyle for a while, eating and sleeping her days away, but before long her growing size worried her.

“I get too fat,” she chirped in her broken English.

“No. You’re ripening nicely,” I assured.

And she was. Her hips spread, her thighs widened, her knees got those cute dimples. Her calves thickened, her feet plumped up. While at the same time her A cups flattened completely, her face slimmed down and her belly shrank.

At her height it didn’t take long for a waddle to start. Her thighs slapped together when she’d try to hurry. Her ass would slap violently as I took her from behind. Her skin started to dimple, the flesh beneath became mushy, like an overripe pear.

It was happening fast. Faster than ideal, but her height made it tough to pace things. So for a while she was a mild flight risk. I put measures in place. She wasn’t allowed shoes and  The help moisturized her feet until the skin was so soft the gravel would shred her fat feet if she waddled too far outside. I didn’t replace her pants when she outgrew them. She waddled around the house with her big yellow ass wobbling exposed. She was trapped and starting to realize it but she also knew her parents would flip if they saw what she had become.

“I too fat. Hard to get up,” a sleepy Ling would protest when her hunger subsided enough for her to stop stuffing her slender face.

“That’s exactly the plan,” I grinned as she gave into her hunger and gorged on more fattening food.

Ling’s lower half started to take on the trappings of obesity. She got ankle rolls, knee gobs, thigh cheese, saddle bags. All this at barely 170 pounds. But with every ounce of extra fat being stored south it didn’t take much. With her skin tone and shape she was the very definition of a ripe pear. Visitors did double takes when they saw her wobbling about. Every male and some females that laid eyes on her had their mouth water and had to feel her watery flesh that hung heavily off her lower half.

Of course I wanted more.

I toyed with the injections to make her groggy and confused and even hungrier. Her lower half ballooned faster and she whined about what I was turning her into less.

Her pussy bulge fattened incredibly, protruding like a lower belly flap.

Her hips spread to make her 3 people wide when standing 3 and a half when sitting. Her thighs lost their shape and turned into blobs that hung over her knees. Her calves were thick and soft, creasing at the ankle.

Moving was becoming a slow, cumbersome process for the bottom heavy Asian. It was fun to watch. Ling was no longer a flight risk.

As alluring as I found her shape it was the sight of her struggling to get around or the sound of her crying as she started to come out of her drugged haze just before another injection, realizing what she had become and how helpless she was to do anything about it, that was just as exciting. She was trapped by an ass that weighed almost as much as she did when she competed.

“You were a slightly better than average gymnast,” I would tell her as I kneaded her overly plush thighs. “But you’re quite frankly the most magnificent pear I’ve ever seen. This is what you were meant to be.”

As the drugs kicked in the cries would turn to moans as my rubbing got more sensual, moving to the inside of her massive, pillowy thighs until I found her fattened pussy and teased her relentlessly. I’d leave her a helpless, whimpering mass as the help brought her next belly-busting meal that would bypass her slender torso and head straight for those wide, wide hips.

I knew I was pushing it by continuing to ripen my pear. If I went too extreme the effect would be lost and she’d just be a blob, but I hoped the diminutive ex-gymnast would have enough strength in those doughy thighs to stand when I showed her off at the next meeting of collectors. Because the shadow she casts in a standing position is almost unreal. Makes a person want to take big bite of the ripe, juicy fruit...literally and figuratively
The Collection - The Ripe Yellow Pear
Another chapter in the Collection series. Feeding, weight gain and other taboo subjects await the reader. 

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After Bobbi had settled in as part of my collection I spend little time with her intimately. I loved watching her though. So big and clumsy and disheveled. As I watched she belched loudly, her beach ball of a belly wobbling in her lap as if it were a gigantic water balloon. She giggled and went on drinking and watching TV. As she saw me walk up her pudgy hand instinctively reached out for my crotch. I had trained my sloppy, drunk bimbo well.

I stayed just out of reach, chuckling as her bloated gut prevented her from sitting up. Bobbi was a mess. A bloated animal. Her beer filled belly was striped with stretch marks. Her chest had broken out with acne. Her face was red and sweaty. It was all by design. She was custom made to fill a niche in my collection.

Bobbi had been a chubby, ditz of a college co-ed. Self conscious of her plump frame and frustrated with her failing grades. An easy mark. My scouts had her on my list for months. Once I figured out where she’d fit into my collection I made my move. I slid next to her as she sat sulking in a bar, her friends having left her to pout alone.

I bought drinks and listened to her vent. She became more emotional with each shot. Just as she was a mixed drink away from falling off the stool I gave her my offer.

“You’re so troubled. You can’t live like this. I can make it all go away. The pressure from school, the emphasis on being thin and fit, the loneliness. All you have to do is come with me. Give yourself over to a new way of life. You’ll leave behind all your stress in exchange for a pampered, privileged existence.”

Even sober Bobbi likely would have went. She staggered out to my car where we made out. I gave her one last chance to walk away.

“If you come with me you give up this lifestyle. And while I know you’d be better off for it, life as you know it would change drastically. You'll be mine completely and I will do with you what I want.”

“And what do you want?”

“To get you in bed and naked for days on end. We’d drink and fuck until you barely remember your sad life.”

Instead of leaving she put her hand down my pants and gave me a long wet kiss. She was mine.

My word was good. I drove Bobbi to the estate where she spent the next few days naked in bed enjoying a marathon session of sex and drinking. I gave her mostly lagers. Lots of calories. She was thick but had a ways to go. Her round face, ridge of belly fat and plump thighs were just a base. I wanted a big bellied hog.

Sex and beer were all she got for days. She loved every minute of it. She giggled and moaned as her body swelled into a bloated, sloshing mass of flesh. By the third day she looked pregnant her belly was so full and round and blissfully unaware.

Bobbi’s life became nothing but sex and beer, beer and sex. She was constantly drunk so her feeble, alcohol soaked brain loved it. She was either giggling, moaning or drooling. There was literally no resistance as there usually is with collections. I wondered why I don’t have more pieces like Bobbi.

Her transformation was swift but not instant. In a few weeks though the change was very apparent. Her face was bloated and fat. Her belly was a massive round paunch that sloshed as I rode her. It became easier to roll her on her side and let her gut ooze away from her fattened treasure. She was a lazy blob.

She grew thicker in other places as well. Her upper arms puffed up and became flabby and soft. Layers of back fat thickened into gobs and rolls. She grew very out of shape. She would sweat just lying bed and pant like an animal during sex.

Bobbi was blissfully unaware. She was in a drunken daze, lounging around naked on the bed, only dragging her bloated body up for showers and bathroom breaks. I loved watching her stagger around, her drunken stupor and growing belly impeding her movements. It was like watching a newborn giraffe try to stand.

As fun as it was the weeks turned to months and I realized I could afford no more time to focus so hard on the new member of my collection.

I had the help weigh her. Bobbi’s chubby 160 pound frame had swollen into 213 pounds of pudge. Her transformation into my beer-bellied bimbo wasn’t complete but she was coming along nicely. Her belly was big enough to effect how she stood and walked. It was more of a slow shuffle. When she stood her chubby hands rested on her protruding paunch. She had to lean over quite a ways to see her feet.

Her face was unrecognizable from the college cutie I picked up months ago. All cheeks and chins with tired, confused eyes peeking out behind droopy lids. Her hair was a greasy tangled mess.

Her figure was an acquired taste for sure. Bobbi was a lumpy potato with her big belly her most prominent feature. Her breasts had swelled a little. Good handfuls now that could fill a C cup, but looked tiny resting on her beer tank. Her ass was big but flat, her legs were her slimmest feature, still soft but far from fat.
as much as Bobbi had ballooned into a form repulsive to the traditional male her constant drunken state left her unbothered by her appearance.

I kept her on the alcohol diet until she fattened to around 300. Her beer grew into an epic orb that stuck out further than she could reach and hung down to her knees. So content and giggly, but so round and lazy. A slovenly drunken hog if there ever was one. And in my collection there wasn’t, which was the point.

Bobbi was a custom made piece.

Certainly not a show piece by any means, but Bobbi was a beer-bellied bimbo that would stand out and make my collection superior to the hack hobby collectors with their reliance on traditional huge-breasted beauties and juicy pears. I’d have a item that few could match. Bragging rights among hard core collectors would be mine.

Bobbi belched loudly again as she continued to reach for my cock.

As I said, an acquired taste.

I handed her a beer and patted her belly.

“Let’s get you branded,” I said.

The drunken pig giggled and took a swig.

Half an hour later she was at my personal tattoo parlor. The artist was in the middle of inking “Beer-Bellied Slut” across her rounded paunch in big bold letters.

Bobbi was so drunk she felt nothing. In fact she fell asleep after finishing her beer.

I leaned in and whispered tenderly to my pet.

“Settle in my spherical slut. I saved you from a future where you became a desperate college dropout. Settling for some schlump of a man who would fill you with his seed time and time again until you grew too fat and ugly even for him to plow. Now you’re part of my collection. A unique addition that I will enjoy showing off. You’ll exist unrestrained by what others think. Free to lounge around, free from worry or long as you behave and continue to develop in my ideal.”

Bobbi belched in her sleep. I patted her belly and told the help to clean her up for tonight. I wanted to show her off to that arrogant collector from Spain who was coming to visit. He’s so proud of his quarter ton cow with the PP cup udders. Big deal. I have a barn full of cows. His jaw will drop when he sees Bobbi, a alcohol soaked bar slut with a beer belly so round and developed he’ll think I’ve been shaping her for years. The look on his face will be priceless when he realizes he has nothing even close in his collection.
The Collection - Beer-Bellied Bobbi
The start of a possible anthology about a collector of oversized women

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I finished tugging up gina's cow print yoga pants and handed her the headband with the cow ears. She was ready to compete. Her udders swayed gently. I could tell they were full and sore. That thick blue vein was practically throbbing and her nipples had been erect since we pulled into the fairgrounds.

"How do I look?" She asked.

I answered while scanning the competition.

"Like a 300 pound mother of four stuffed into a cow costume."

Gina swatted me.

"I told you. 280."

I rolled my eyes and flicked her nipples. Part to prime the tanks and part to annoy her. Little white droplets formed on her thick nipples.

"You could just suck 'em, ya dick."

I ignored her and continued to scan the competition. 10 grand was the prize for coming in first in the Move, Munch and Milk or hucow obstacle course. Some masochistic, rich, perverted asshole had started the competition years ago at his own company picnic. It garnered attention because of the prize and because he wasn't the only pervert. People flocked to watch milkers degrade themselves for entertainment and profit. Soon it was a tradition at the county fair.

The rules are simple. Participants must be lactating but not pregnant. They are weighed and then drink the amount for their weight divided by 50 in whiskey shots. Stuffed into revealing cow costumes they then navigate a maze on all fours. Any food or drink they come across must be eaten before they can move on. When the find a glass with their name on it they fill it up to the line with their milk. If they are first to do so they walk away with the prize money.

Across the way Molly Kendergrass didn't need any priming. Her enormous udders dribbled steadily as Her helper tried desperately to tug up her cow print biker shorts. Having just had her twins a few weeks prior her sagging slab of loose belly skin got in the way. The former stripper turned kept wife had really packed on the pounds with the twins. She had thigh cheese and cellulite to spare. Still she was smaller than Gina. 225 at best.  And leaking like she was she'd fill the cup in no time. She was a threat.

Further down was Lisa, the oldest and also the lightest cow. She was the very definition of the word slut. She had been knocked up more times by different men than I had fingers to count on. Her tits were huge, sagging sacks of milk producing flesh. Lisa had recently lost a bunch of weight. She looked to be under 200. She might be a contender.

I looked back at Gina, whose big ass was hanging over her pants in gobs.
"Jesus, you might be the fattest cow here. Why haven't you used the treadmill lately?"

Gina rolled her eyes. "Because you shattered my ankle last summer when you tried to take me from behind at the kitchen counter when I was in my wedge sandals."

I shrugged and then caught a glimpse of the final contestant.
Bessie had been a compulsive eating, morbidly obese teen until she had gotten knocked up by her counselor at a summer fat camp. Then she became really big. Now she was a compulsive eating, grotesquely obese, 19 year old mother fresh off her shotgun wedding, stuffed into a custom cow print bodysuit.

The weigh-in was first. Everybody was about what I thought.

Lisa, a plump 180. They rounded her up to four shots. She took 'em like a champ.

Molly was carrying quite a bit of baby weight at 213. She took her 5 shots slowly. By the last one she was already having trouble standing.

The constant wobbling of Bessie's blubbery form was causing problems for the scales. The judges settled on 430 and the massive contestant downed her 9 shots. She looked ready to pass out by the seventh.

Gina weighed in at 295. She drank her 6 shots like water. I slapped her fat ass and whispered to her that if she won I'd take her home and have her knocked up again by midnight. She giggled and headed to the starting line.

I was hard as a rock as I watched a half ton of blubbery flesh quiver on all fours. Four flabby, round gluttons with fat udders aching to be milked. I wiped a trickle of drool from my mouth.

The four cow clad contestants took off at the sound of the gun. Molly and Lisa were quickest off the line. But Molly was very unstable. Her dangling udders threw her off balence and she kept bumping the maze wall on the right.

Lisa was out ahead until she made a wrong turn and came upon another shot of whiskey.

Bessie and Gina lagged behind. The two jostled for position. Gina used those wide soft hips of hers to check the bigger cow. But Bessie was just too heavy. She pinned Gina against the wall and squeezed the wind out of her and left her behind.
I yelled for Gina to catch up but it was hard not to admire the massive Bessie. With her paunch dragging on the ground and her thighs slapping against each other as hundreds of pounds of blubber wobbled violently. All that underneath a bodysuit that had already split over her ass that was so big two averaged sized men could ride on it. She was already getting tired though. Her skin slick with sweat. Her mouth hung open and panting as her massive weight pressed down on her knees.

Meanwhile Molly had made a wrong turn and was face first in a chocolate cake. Lisa came up behind her and forced her face in the moist treat until she was coated in crumbs and gasping for breath. Before she moved on Lisa kneed the vulnerable opponent in the tits. Molly howled but was forced to stay put until the cake was gone.

Bessie was trucking along but made her own wrong turn and hit a flurry of obstacles. A platter of brownies. A basket of muffins. A tall shot of vodka. The overworked zipper on her body suit gave way and her stuffed gut sagged heavily on the floor.

Gina was trying to make up time but struggling with each movement. I could tell her knees hurt badly and her tits were starting to leak. Even worse a troublesome Lisa had looped around and snuck up behind Gina. She yanked hard on her ankle and Gina went down on her belly and tits. As she passed Lisa slammed a fist into Gina's fat gut, incapacitating her like a turtle on her back.

Molly was back in the game, but became locked in a battle with Lisa. The older cow was vicious, jabbing her elbow in the soft side of Molly's distended, hanging gut. The bigger cow used her size to her advantage and fell over on top of Lisa. The old cow yelped as her internal organs and swollen udders were squished.

Bessie and Gina moved slowly but steadily. Bessie was breathing heavily and her face was caked with the remnants of penalty food. Dazed and desperate she made another wrong turn and was forced to eat a cherry pie, then a loaf of bread. She was ghostly pale and dripping sweat as she continued on. Her overloaded belly slowing her to a crawl that allowed a sore and agitated Lisa to catch up. The bitter old heifer lined up behind Bessie and hit her with a measured slap to the back of her left thigh. Blubber rippled like a cannonball hitting a pool of pudding. The heavyweight's leg cramped up and she rolled over wailing in pain. With her round belly packed with baked goods there was no way she was getting up.

One down.

With the time Lisa took assaulting Bessie Molly was able catch up. They both caught a winded Gina. The three jockeyed for position along the home stretch.

Lisa peppered opponents with a flurry of blows to try and slow them down. When behind she jabbed their calves and thighs with her hands. When she pulled out in front she sent quick kicks back to udders that ached to be milked.

Molly flailed wildly. She was too unsteady to land much. And in fact she toppled herself more than anything. She fell behind to a distant third.

Gina did her best to keep up to the lighter Lisa. Her skin was bright pink from all the slaps and kicks she had endured. She was three lengths behind Lisa when she got to the cup. Lisa's saggy melons sprayed down on the cup like a firehouse when she tugged her swollen teat.

Gina hurried to get into position, but by then Lisa had the cup half full.

Gina's ducts were so swollen she had a hard time getting started and when she did Lisa had her cup overflowing. The hag of a Holstein was declared the winner.

I was disappointed but proud of my tubby cow. I hurried out to help milk her swollen udders. The feeling was so good Gina moaned and wiggled her hips. I tugged the split in her pants open more and slid my hand in.

Fairgoers hooted and hollered.

"Honey, behave," Gina giggled, but we were making out by the time she was milked dry. I figured I'd get what I could. Later she'd eat herself sick on fair food and go home and realize how sore she was and lounge in bed for days.

As I groped and kissed my cow Lisa did a victory dance with milk still streaming from her sagging jugs.

Bessie and Molly hobbled over to milk their aching teats.

Despite the end it was a good cow obstacle course overall. I couldn't wait for next year.


Lisa never participate in the obstacle course again. She blew her winnings on plastic surgery. Firmed up her sagging udders, gave her face a youthful lift and sucked some blubber from her middle to give her an hourglass. She landed a sugar daddy and spent her days lounging around an estate. She plumped up again, but her 70+ year old hubby didn't seem to notice.

Lisa still made it out to the fair every year to watch the cows compete and brag about her win.

Bessie took part in one more competition. She had eaten herself even heavier and hadn't gotten any more in shape so she hurt her wrists pretty bad crawling around on all fours. After that she ballooned to epic proportions. With her compulsive eating and a lover who enabled her she blossomed into a semi-mobile blob. The nanny hired to help watch the little one was also tasked with feeding the very big one. Food became her life as she morphed into a mountain of fat. Claims have been made she's swelled to over 600 pounds and is still going strong.

Molly became something of a obstacle course legend. After her rough finish she trained for the following. An 18,000 calorie diet with daily walks and twice daily milking had her a fit 260 pounder with swollen HH cups that never stopped dripping milk. She overpowered the competition and flooded the cup taking 5 of the next 7 competitions.

Gina did one more competition. It was hard because I kept her barefoot and pregnant the next few years. Four more kids for my wide bottomed cow. She grew huge. Our doctor was amazed she was fertile as morbidly obese as she became. With her last she eclipsed 400 pounds and couldn't fit her ass in the car to go to the hospital.

Gina was still an amazing cow. She'd wake up with the sheets soaked with milk and still have more than all the kids could suck from her teat. Our kids waddled around little butterballs they were fed so well.

After her last kid Gina blew up even bigger. Parking her big ass on the couch eating junk caused her weight to swell into the 525 range. Far too big to compete in the competition, although on nights when she was in the mood I would help her cram into a custom cow print one piece and role play like there was no tomorrow.
Triple M Obstacle Course
Just another competition themed story with elements of WG and lactation

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This content is intended for mature audiences.

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The poker game was winding down. Rick had won most of the chips. Alan was texting one of his many girlfriends, Gus was eating any snacks that were within reach, and Sid had been out of chips for a while and was ready to move on to something else.

The four college friends who had stayed in touch after they had graduated and started lives in the real world tried to get together at least once a month. They had a strong bond. They weren’t just guys from the same school. They were all men who appreciated their woman fat and getting fatter.

They all considered it pretty amazing they had ended up going to the same school at the same time, so even as it got harder to make time for a guys’ night with work and life issues getting in the way they all made an effort.

There was Rick who was the everyman. A business major who ended up getting a teaching degree and then a job at a middle school. He had a condo in the suburbs and was dating a fellow teacher. A 200 pounder with a big ass who loves barbecue.

There was Al, the ladies’ man. He went back to sell cars at his dad’s dealership and was juggling three chubby ladies. He tried to spend equal time with each but one had already gone up a dress size with all the fancy dinners he had spoiled her with.

Gus had been the athlete, but having married his high school sweetheart and settled into to domestic bliss he looked anything but. While he is quite proud of the 20 pounds he claims his wife has put on since the wedding he himself has ballooned to over 250.

Sid was the wild partier. Not surprisingly he’s still in school while he interns at various law firms. He had a thing going with a potbellied paralegal, but dumped after she dropped 30 pounds on a juice cleanse.

“Fuck, feed or milk?” Sid blurted out.

Al rolled his eyes. “Not this again.”

“Why not. Here’s a good one. Music. Brittney Spears, Christina Aguilera or Pink. Fuck, feed or milk?”

Al puts down his phone and thinks. “Well you’d have to milk Christina, no question. Massage those puppies up a couple sizes and then milk her like a cow twice a day. I’d fuck Brittney and get her barefoot and pregnant like she should be. Not too fat, just big and pregnant. Then I’d feed Pink cheeseburgers until she couldn’t see her feet. I bet she’d look good with some nice flabby thighs.”

Sid nods. “Can’t argue with that. Now you go.”

Al thought for a minute. “Okay, let’s go Christmas movies. Gus, Reese Witherspoon from Four Christmases, Zooey Deschanel from Elf or Beverly D’Angelo from Christmas Vacation. Fuck, feed or milk?”
Gus had to clear his mouth of pretzels. “I’d fuck Zooey until she was waddling around with my baby inside her. Keep her inside watching TV so her ass spreads to take up two spots on the couch as her belly rounds out. Feed Reese pasta until she’s double her size and fat from her face to her feet and milk the big tits of the mom from Christmas vacation. Hook her up to a milking machine as she gives me a hand job.”

The guys nodded apprehensive agreement.

“Now I got to think of one, huh? Let’s do recent Bond girls, Rick. Monica Bellucci, Halle Berry or Denise Richards. Fuck, feed or milk?”

“Man, that’s a tough one. I’d probably fuck Halle. She’d look adorable with a baby belly. Let those hips spread just a little and her breasts swell a few sizes. I’d probably feed Monica. I bet she’d develop nicely into obesity. Probably bacon wrapped hotdogs until she’s this big sweaty slob who gets her bras custom built. Which leave Denise as my cow. I’d make her get on all fours and moo then milk her by hand until those tits were as big as her head.”

Al was shaking his head. “No way man. You’d have to milk Monica, and not like a cow. You’d want to gently suckle those puppies. Denise would make a sexy 300 pounder. I’d feed her cake until she couldn’t nod her head she had so many chins.”

Gus nodded as well. “I gotta go with Al on this one. Monica’s tits beg to be milked.”

“I respectfully disagree.”

“Doesn’t matter. Judge has spoken. It’s on you now.”
“Okay. Well we have to do a food star one. Al, it’s back to you. Nigella Lawson, Rachael Ray or Damaris Phillips. Fuck, feed or milk?”

“Oh, I’d fuck Nigella, no question. She’s probably too old to get pregnant, but she could be my personal sex toy. And in reality I’d probably forget the other two existed, but for the game I’d feed Rachael nothing but fast food until they’d have to roll her on stage and milk that other one. She could have a manual breast pump and milk herself while I watched from on top of Nigella.”

Rick shook his head. “No way. Nigella was meant to be 500 pounds of belly and boob flesh. Funnel feed her milkshakes until she’s waddling around with saddlebags. You’d be insane not to feed her.”

An argument broke out as strong opinions surfaced about Rachael and Nigella. The noise woke Gus’ wife who had fallen asleep on the couch upstairs. She walked over and cracked the door to listen to what was so feverishly being discussed at 2am.

When she heard she couldn’t help but chuckle. It wasn’t that big of a surprise. She had checked his internet history before. Carefully she shut the door and walked out to the kitchen where she mixed up a gallon of ice cream with weight gain powder and 2 cups of sugar.

“Oh Gus, you can fantasize all you want about celebrities. But in reality I’m the one fucking and feeding…and if those moobs get any bigger I may be tempted to milk as well.”

The shake went in the fridge next to the stack of pork chops and large dish of pasta alfredo. Then Gus’ wife cut up a tray of brownies and set them where she knew they’d be too much to resist for her husband when he came up.


The group lasted a few more years before they started not being able to meet regularly. Life got busy for most of them.

Rick proposed to his fellow educator. The tubby teacher blossomed into a whale as Rick spoiled her every chance she got. She was easily over 300 pounds when her father helped her down the aisle in ballet flats and a custom gown. She hovered pretty close to that weight for a long time after. There was a time she tried to lose weight to get pregnant, but found it too difficult and settled in to a fluffy 325.

They live in a modest home with two dogs, sturdy furniture and a kitchen that always has fresh baked good.

Al was forced to settle down when he knocked up one of his many chubby flings. She fattened nicely during pregnancy and developed into a big soft pear after delivery, but it wasn’t meant to last. She walked out on him when she caught him cheating with a bloated bag girl from the grocery store.

Sid never made it through law school. He left school to open a restaurant with a friend. It was a classy place that specialized in comfort food. Sid himself helmed the kitchen and took great pride in serving huge portions of fattening fare that people came from miles around to eat.

Gus’s fate had pretty much been sealed when he married his sweetheart, the fatty loving beauty who had planned to turn the star athlete into a blubbery blob ever since they first made out in the back seat of his car. She ruthlessly fattened him, loving the way he filled out into a massive blob. She got wet seeing him mindlessly eat whatever she set in front of him. She’d have to excuse herself when his belly became exposed in front of company when he struggled out of a seated position. Her knees buckled when the doctor told him he was too big for sex. She was addicted to seeing him grow bigger and fatter even as his weight climbed to unrealistic levels. She even missed him when she went out on girls’ nights with her friends.

“You should flirt,” her friend prompted as they sat at a bar downtown.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I couldn’t do that to Gus.”

“Why not. You gotta get yours somehow. And I know he’s not doing it.”

“Oh he may not be able to have sex, but I can still sit on his face. His tongue is as agile as it was when he was a little 300 pounder.”

The friends giggled, although one was bold enough to add, “I’m not making fun. I can kind of see what you’re saying. Gus has a cuddly quality that is oddly arousing.”

Another piped up, “Yes. I have to admit I’ve always wanted to squeeze his man boobs.”

“Or curl up next to his belly after I hand feed him an entire pizza,” another blurted out.
The feeder nodded and smiled. “Well then. Maybe you guys would be up for a little game…Let’s play Fuck, feed or…forget.”
F*ck Feed or Milk
A short story based on a variation of a party game. I feel like with the title what it is I don't need a warning.


United States
Current Residence: Hell on Earth
Favourite genre of music: Rap/Rock
MP3 player of choice: iPhone
Shell of choice: Cassette
Wallpaper of choice: A giant airship
Favourite cartoon character: Johnny Bravo
Personal Quote: Don't quote me.
I put up a couple new stories. These ones are a little specific since they were commisions that I did that have been finally okayed to put here. Hopefully they are at least a bit entertaining for everyone else.

Still filtering through ideas for my next project so we'll have to see what's next.
  • Listening to: 90's Dance
  • Reading: Geek Magazine
  • Watching: You're the Worst
  • Playing: Marvel Puzzle Quest
  • Eating: Burgers
  • Drinking: Lots


:iconholender: :iconhmb-art: :iconmaxgrowth: :iconbiggals: :icongrowinghope: :iconkomperaklause: :iconforcedlactationlover: :iconbz-fresh: :iconjaytee-faartist: :iconsamster2: :iconcanadianfeeder66: :iconsnr6424: :iconquackingmoron:


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cartoonking1 Featured By Owner Dec 25, 2015
Merry Christmas. :hug:
elroycohen Featured By Owner Dec 28, 2015
A belated one to you as well along with a happy new year!
cartoonking1 Featured By Owner Dec 24, 2017
Merry Christmas again pal! :)
elroycohen Featured By Owner Dec 25, 2017
Right back at ya! Hope you’re having a good one. 
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cartoonking1 Featured By Owner Dec 28, 2015
Same to you pal : hug:  Hope you had some good stuff this year. :) 
EnergyToBeauty Featured By Owner Sep 28, 2015
Thank you very much for considering my stuff worth to be included into your favorites.
COKE-ZER0 Featured By Owner Aug 15, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Man I swore I was watching you. Well everything is fixed now XD.
elroycohen Featured By Owner Aug 16, 2015
Don't think I think I changed anything. Same old account I started with. Thanks for the watch. 
fanedfox Featured By Owner Feb 10, 2015
Thank you for visiting my page.  I enjoyed looking through your favorites selection.

Ned Fox
syphon77 Featured By Owner Aug 24, 2014
You've spoiled me, 3 stories on a week. I always come back like "what this time!? :-D" and then I'm like "he's still human? Ugh!"
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