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To have an overpacked cauldron of a belly that is completely controlled by your feeder.
Master hasn’t allowed for an emptying In 3 days but has still fed his prized hog to the brim. Rancid constipated farts are a small relief when your bowels are stretched to the max to compensate. He uses your cunt, needing to push a bit harder than usual to get in, feeling how everything clogging your pipes has piled into and swollen your rectum.
He finishes inside you and then goes to get your next meal. He proceeds to stuff you with a mountain of food until you can no longer breath.
He presses your fat bloated gut and you groan in discomfort, your hole inadvertently puckering.
“No, no,” he says. “No shitting yet. Just gas.”
“But if I try to fart again, it’ll be impossible to hold the rest in. “
“That’s your fault for being such a greedy piggy. Your stomach is this way because of YOUR gluttony. And You have another day to go piggy.”
The next day comes and your guts are done processing the food. Your feeder instructs you that it’s emptying day. He instructs you to take a stance on all fours , and goes to feel how hard and bloated your abdomen is.
“Ah, looks like you’ve done a great job of getting filled and having your bowels stretched to capacity,” he says grabbing a box and what looks like tin foil. He puts on a rubber glove.
“Alright you know the drill. Face down and spread em,” he instructs. You follow his instructions and place your head on the floor, ass still up and use both hands behind you to spread your deep cheeks. You sigh , knowing that finally you’ll get some relief from the unbearably fullness in your guts.
Suddenly, you feel a cold glycerine suppository press against your hole. It’s forced in along with the finger behind it. He retracts his finger to have it covered In your chocolate. He repeats this with three more slippery inserts.
“Now you have to hold it until the glycerine melts. I’m doing you a favour so your hole doesn’t rip this time. Let me know when you’re busting to empty and I’ll bring the bucket”
Last time the constipated plug of shit practically tore your ass in two while being birthed.
You hold it, clenching against everything In your body telling you to push. You’re still on your hands and knees half an hour later as you feel the pressure behind your hole is mountain and you feel the weight of days worth of sweet creamy shit pressing against your hole. Despite your best efforts, a fart sputters out along with a bit of shit and melted glycerine.
“I’m ready to empty,” you groan loudly in defeat. Your feeder walks in on a pathetic scene. Fat pig on their hands and knees, swollen gut gurgling and hanging on the floor, drenched in sweat, hole quivering with the anticipation of finally getting some reprieve. He lays an industrial bucket behind your cellulite-ridden ass.
“All right pig, let’s see the aftermath of that gluttony,” the words are barely out his mouth before the gates part and shit starts pummelling onto the bottom of the bucket. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, as log after log of constipated shit leaves its incubator. Rumbling farts and stomach gurgles are all that can be heard as the shit gets sloppier and bursts out of your poor tender hole. You moan half in pain half in pleasure.
Your feeder smirks, knowing you’ll be laying cable trying to empty all that waste for at least the next couple of hours.
#constipated #slob