The Breed Sow

Diana trudged through the cluttered living room of her dingy apartment, her 400-pound frame brushing against the stained couch where her husband, Kevin, sat hunched over his controller. His small, wiry body was swallowed by a faded Call of Duty hoodie, his glasses reflecting the flickering glow of his latest gaming marathon. He didn't look up as she shuffled by, her flip-flops slapping the linoleum. She didn't care. Kevin was a deadbeat, a meek little man with a small penis and smaller ambitions, but he was there--barely enough to keep the Wi-Fi on and the rent paid when she nagged him into it. Beyond that, he was just noise, like the TV blaring cartoons for the kids or the hum of the fridge stocked with off-brand soda.

Her two offspring, Brayden and Kaylee, screeched from the corner, wrestling over a cracked tablet smeared with syrup. Brayden, six, had a Kool-Aid mustache streaking his face, while Kaylee, four, yanked at his shirt with sticky hands. Diana didn't flinch.

"Quit it," she muttered, her voice a dull drone, before sinking into a kitchen chair that groaned under her weight. She tugged at her stretched-out Starbucks apron--still dusted with coffee grounds from her shift--and ran a hand through her greasy blonde bob, a choppy mess she'd last hacked at with dull scissors.

Her phone buzzed, and she squinted at it. A text from Cheryl, another breed sow from the complex: "Park later? My boss is a dick again." Diana grunted, typing back: "Yeah, Kevin's useless too. Kids need air." That was her world--other sows like Cheryl, swapping gripes about men and jobs at the playground while their broods ran wild. The news? Politics? Didn't matter. If it wasn't about diaper deals or Brayden's teacher "picking on him," it didn't exist.

Diana's life hadn't always been this grind. In her 20s, she'd been "the fat slut," a 300-pound blonde storming through dive bars and trailer parks, her tight tops barely containing her rolls. She didn't care about the snickers or the stares--sex was a thrill, a distraction, and she chased it shamelessly. Kevin had been a mistake, a scrawny gamer she'd tumbled with after too many shots. When she got pregnant, her wealthy, church-obsessed parents swooped in.

"You're marrying him," her mother, Linda, had snapped, her tone dripping with judgment. Diana, too lazy to fight, shrugged.

"Fine," she'd said, sealing her fate.

Now, at 34, she was a breed sow through and through, her existence orbiting Brayden and Kaylee. She hauled herself to Starbucks five days a week, steaming lattes and dodging snide customers, all while Kevin sat at home "looking for work" between respawns. Her parents, perched in their gated McMansion, had the cash--her dad owned a chain of car dealerships--but they'd cut her off after the wedding.

"You made your bed," her father had said, washing his hands of her. Linda, though, still meddled, especially since her gastric bypass surgery three years back.

Linda had shed 150 pounds, her once-plump frame now a wiry 120, and she wielded her new thinness like a weapon. At their last Sunday dinner, she'd eyed Diana's third helping of mashed potatoes and cooed, "Oh, honey, you'd feel so much better if you just tried a little. I mean, look at me--I'm a new woman!"

Diana had stared blankly, her chins wobbling as she chewed, while Linda added, "And that hair--did you cut it with a lawnmower?" Brayden had giggled, but Diana just shoveled in another bite.

"Whatever, Mom," she muttered, her voice flat. Inside, she seethed--Linda's barbs stung, but fighting back took effort she didn't have.

Diana's submissiveness was her backbone. She took Kevin's laziness, her parents' disdain, and the world's sneers with the same dull shrug. At Starbucks, she'd lumber through the line, expecting customers to wait, but if a manager barked at her for Brayden's meltdown during a rare visit, she'd bristle.

"Don't you dare talk about my kid like that," she'd growl, her piggy eyes flashing, before waddling off with her brood in tow, oblivious to the eyerolls.

Kevin stayed glued to his screen, his meekness a limp shadow to her apathy. He'd knocked her up, sure, but he'd never had the guts to leave--or the spine to argue. She'd trash him at the park, her voice thick with scorn: "Can't even take out the trash, just sits there gaming like a loser." Yet she stayed, tied to him by inertia and the kids, a sow to her deadbeat anchor.

That afternoon, after her shift, Diana herded Brayden and Kaylee to the park, her bulk swaying in her stained leggings. She plopped onto a bench beside Cheryl, who was already griping about her boyfriend's latest screw-up. Diana nodded, her chins jiggling, and tossed out, "Kevin didn't even watch the kids while I worked. Had to drag 'em to my mom's, and she spent the whole time yapping about my weight."

Cheryl snorted, and they settled into their ritual--complaints and commiseration--while the kids tore through the dirt. Diana watched them with vacant pride. They were hers, her brood, her everything. The rest--Linda's jabs, Kevin's uselessness, the world's judgment--could rot.

It was a rare night when the apartment wasn't a warzone of kid noise. Brayden and Kaylee were sprawled asleep on a pile of blankets in the living room, the TV looping some brain-dead cartoon about singing dogs. Diana, still in her coffee-stained Starbucks apron, shuffled into the bedroom where Kevin sat cross-legged on the mattress, his controller clicking furiously. She'd had a brutal shift--some skinny bitch in yoga pants had snapped at her for forgetting oat milk--and she wanted something, anything, to numb the day. Sex wasn't love with Kevin; it was a transaction, a clumsy release. She figured he'd be up for it--he always was, the desperate little creep.

"Put that down," she grunted, peeling off her apron and tossing it onto the floor. Kevin glanced up, his sunken eyes flicking over her 400-pound bulk as she tugged her leggings down, revealing pale, dimpled thighs. He hesitated, then set the controller aside.

"Yeah, okay," he muttered, shucking his hoodie and boxers, his scrawny frame a stark contrast to her mass. She flopped onto the bed, springs creaking, and spread her legs with the enthusiasm of someone clocking into overtime.

He climbed on, his small hands fumbling, his breath shallow. She stared at the ceiling, waiting to feel something--anything--but it was like tossing a pebble into a canyon. After two kids and years of neglect, she was too loose, too stretched, and he was too pathetic to make a dent. Kevin huffed, his bony hips grinding pointlessly, and she sighed, loud and exasperated.

"You even in yet?" she snapped, her voice cutting through the dim room.

His face flushed red, sweat beading on his forehead. "Maybe if you weren't so damn big, I could--" He stopped himself, but the damage was done. She shoved him off, her meaty arm sending him tumbling to the edge of the bed.

"Get off me, you useless prick," she barked, yanking the sheet over her chest. He scrambled upright, grabbing his boxers like a shield.

"Useless?" he shot back, his voice cracking with rare venom. "I'm useless? You're the one who can't even feel me 'cause you've turned into a goddamn whale!" The words hit like a slap, and for once, Diana's dull apathy cracked. She sat up, her chins trembling, her piggy eyes narrowing.

"Oh, you wanna talk about me?" she bellowed, her volume rattling the thin walls. "You sit there all day with your stupid games, Kevin, while I'm busting my ass at Starbucks to feed your brats! You think I got fat on purpose? Who knocked me up, huh? You and your limp little dick!"

Kevin flinched, but the fight was in him now, fueled by months of quiet resentment. "Yeah, and who's the slut who spread her legs for half the county before me? You're lucky I stuck around, Diana--nobody else would touch you now, you fat pig!" He jabbed a finger at her, his gamer-pale skin glowing with rage.

She lunged forward, the bed groaning, and swung a pillow at him. It missed, thudding against the wall. "Don't you call me that, you short-ass loser! All you do is play your dumbass games--can't fix a sink, can't watch the kids, can't even fuck me right!" Her voice was a primal roar, years of breed sow frustration boiling over. "I should've let my mom set me up with that church guy instead of you!"

Kevin sneered, yanking his hoodie back on. "Yeah, 'cause your mom's such a prize now, all skinny and smug. Bet she'd love to hear you're too loose to keep a man--probably blame it on the donuts you shovel down!" He grabbed his controller and stormed toward the living room, nearly tripping over Brayden's toy truck. "I'm done with this shit. Go cry to Cheryl about it."

Diana sat there, chest heaving, the sheet clutched to her rolls. She wanted to scream more, to hurl something heavier than a pillow, but the fight drained out of her as fast as it'd flared. She flopped back, staring at the water-stained ceiling, her mind replaying his words--"fat pig," "too loose." They stung worse than Linda's dainty jabs, cutting into the soft underbelly of her apathy. Out in the living room, she heard the game boot up, the familiar gunfire and explosions filling the silence. He'd retreated to his world, and she was left in hers--alone with her brood, her weight, and her dead-end life.

The next morning, she'd drag herself to the park with Cheryl, muttering about Kevin's "tiny dick energy" and his latest cruelty, but she wouldn't leave him. She couldn't. He was still the anchor, the provider, however shitty. And she was still the breed sow--too submissive, too stuck, to do anything but complain and carry on.

The morning after her blowout with Kevin, Diana dragged herself to Starbucks, her 400-pound frame aching from a night of tossing on the lumpy mattress. She'd dumped the kids at Linda's with a grumbled "Thanks, Mom," ignoring the usual thin-lipped jab about her leggings. Her uniform polo was a wrinkled mess, riding up over her doughy belly as she shuffled behind the counter. Her greasy blonde bob clung to her scalp, and she smelled faintly of yesterday's coffee grounds, but she didn't care--until he walked in.

Ryan J. Carter, Attorney at Law, strode up in a crisp suit, dark hair slicked back, jaw sharp enough to cut glass. He was hot--way hotter than Kevin's gamer pallor--and Diana felt her chins quiver as she fumbled his doppio espresso.

"H-hi there," she stammered, nicer than her usual grunt, her piggy eyes darting up to meet his. "Um, welcome to Starbucks. I'm Diana." Her shirt crept up again, exposing her stretch-marked gut, and she yanked it down, cheeks flushing. "Sorry, it's, uh, kinda tight."

He smirked, leaning on the counter, his gaze lingering on her belly. "No need to apologize, Diana. They should make these shirts in your size--you're working it anyway." His voice was smooth, teasing, and she giggled, awkward and flustered. Hot guys didn't talk to her like this.

"Oh, gosh, thanks," she said, handing over his coffee with a shaky smile. "You want sugar or anything?"

"Nah, I'm good." He sipped, watching her. "You're cute when you blush. Call me sometime--Ryan." He slid a business card across, his number scrawled on it, and sauntered out. She stared, dumbfounded, then texted him later from the break room: "Hi Ryan its Diana from Starbucks, nice meeting you"--better grammar than usual, but still basic. His reply was instant: "O'Malley's, 9 pm. Wear something tight." Her stomach fluttered, a dumb little thrill she hadn't felt since her 20s.

That night, she lied to Kevin--"Goin' to Cheryl's"--and squeezed into a tight gray dress from the back of her closet. It hugged her rolls like a second skin, the fabric already clinging to her underarms as she waddled out. O'Malley's was a dive bar, and she didn't expect the stairs--five steep steps to the entrance. By the time she huffed to the top, sweat patched her dress under her breasts and across her back, her thighs chafing. Ryan waited in a booth, grinning as she lumbered over.

"Well, damn," he said, eyes tracing the damp gray. "You're glistening already. I love it." His tone was warm, not mocking, and she blushed again, sliding in with a nervous laugh.

"Oh, gosh, I didn't know about the stairs," she said, fanning herself. "I'm a mess." Her voice was clearer, less mumbled--she wanted him to like her--but her brain stayed blank.

He was nice all night, buying her beers and chatting about his cases. "This Ukraine thing's a mess," he said at one point, and she nodded, clueless.

"Um, yeah, totally. Where's that again?" she asked, her ignorance plain. He chuckled, unfazed, and kept talking, charmed by her dimness.

Later, at his sleek apartment, he got talkative about her body. "You're so big, Diana," he said, peeling off her sweaty dress as she stood there, nervous but pliant. "All this weight--it's hot. And you're soaked from those stairs, out of shape in the best way." His hands roamed her rolls, her damp skin, and she squirmed, embarrassed but tingling. Then he stripped, and she saw it--his dick, huge, thick, a monster next to Kevin's twig. Her breath hitched, desperation flooding her.

"Oh my God," she whispered, "I need that."

He grinned, positioning her on the bed--legs up, then flipped her over, moves only a big dick could pull off. He hit her cervix, deep and relentless, and she gasped, her loose body finally feeling something electric. Then it happened--she squirted, a gush soaking his sheets, and her face burned with shame.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry," she whimpered, curling up, but he laughed, pulling her close.

"Sorry? That was perfect, my sweaty cow--I milked you good," he said, his voice tender, possessive. She melted into it, too submissive to argue, too dumb to care.

She'd go back to Kevin, the brood, the grind. But Ryan's number stayed, a big-dicked secret she'd chase again.

Diana lay sprawled on Ryan's king-sized bed, her gray dress a crumpled heap on the floor, her 400-pound body slick with sweat and trembling from the squirting climax. His "sweaty cow I milked" comment echoed in her ears, and she didn't fight it--too submissive, too cum-hungry to care. Ryan stood over her, his massive dick still hard, and she stared at it, desperate, her piggy eyes glazed.

"More?" he asked, smirking, and she nodded, a dumb, eager whimper escaping her lips.

He flipped her onto her stomach, her rolls flattening against the mattress, and hoisted her hips up--a big-dick position Kevin's pathetic twig could never manage. "Hold on, big girl," Ryan said, sliding in deep, hitting her cervix again. She gasped, her mind sparking with Kevin can't do this--but then it blanked, washed out by the pounding rhythm. Her thoughts dissolved into static, her brood, her deadbeat husband, her Starbucks grind all fading. There was just Ryan, stretching her, filling her, her loose body finally alive.

He fucked her hard, her sweat-soaked flesh jiggling, until he pulled out and spun her around. "Open," he commanded, and she obeyed, mouth wide like a starving sow. He finished in her throat, hot and thick, and she swallowed, gagging but greedy, her chins dripping with effort. He stepped back, catching his breath, and grinned down at her.

"Damn, Diana, you're good--so soft, so fucking fat. I've never fucked anyone like you. We're doing this again," he said, his tone warm, almost sweet. She blinked up at him, dazed.

"Um, yeah, I'd like that," she started, her voice clumsy but clear, sitting up on the bed. Before she could finish, he crossed the room in two strides, his hand shoving between her thick thighs. His fingers plunged into her, rough and forceful, and she yelped, her body jerking. His tone shifted--hard, dominant, no trace of the nice lawyer from O'Malley's.

"You're a sweaty, messy cow, Diana," he growled, pumping his fingers deeper. "And you're gonna milk for me whenever I want." He grabbed her breast with his free hand, squeezing hard, and a thin stream of milk--leftover from Kaylee's nursing days--spurted out, dribbling down her rolls. She squirted again, soaking his hand, and her shame drowned in a flood of horniness.

"Yes, yes, whatever you say," she moaned, her head lolling back, agreeing to anything as her body shook. She was his--his cow, his mess, his toy. He smirked, pulling his fingers out and wiping them on her thigh.

"Good. Now get out," he said, cold and final, turning away to light a cigarette.

She stumbled off the bed, legs wobbly, and fumbled into her damp gray dress, the sweat stains darker now. "Okay, um, see you," she mumbled, too submissive to question it, and waddled out, his cum still on her breath, her mind buzzing with him.

Back home, Kevin was passed out on the couch, game menu blaring, the kids asleep in their mess. Diana locked herself in the bathroom, stripped off the dress, and sat on the edge of the tub. Her hand slid between her thighs, replaying it--Ryan's big dick, his fingers, the milk, "sweaty messy cow." She rubbed herself frantically, her blank mind looping on milked for him, until she came again, quieter this time, but just as desperate. She slumped there, panting, knowing she'd text him tomorrow. Kevin couldn't touch this, and she didn't care.

The next day, Diana lumbered into Starbucks, her 400-pound bulk straining her polo as she clocked in for her shift. Her blonde bob was a greasy tangle, her leggings sagged under her rolls, and her flip-flops slapped the floor, but there was a flicker in her piggy eyes--something smug, almost giddy. She'd barely slept, her mind replaying Ryan's fingers, his big dick, the "sweaty messy cow" growl. Her bathroom session had only stoked the fire, and she was itching to spill it.

Angela, a wiry brunette with a nose ring who worked the drive-thru, sidled up during a lull. "You look weird today, Di. What's up?" she asked, popping gum.

Diana tugged her shirt down over her belly, glancing around, then leaned in, her voice low but clearer than usual. "Okay, don't freak out," she started, blushing. "I met this guy yesterday--Ryan, a lawyer. Super hot. Like, way hotter than Kevin. He came in, flirted with me, and, um, we went out last night. And then we, uh, hooked up at his place. He's... big. Like, big. Made me, um, squirt and stuff. Called me his cow. It was wild."

Angela's eyes widened, gum forgotten. "No shit? You? With a lawyer? And Kevin's just... what, gaming?" She snorted, grinning. "Girl, you're living a double life now. Was he good?"

"So good," Diana said, nodding eagerly. "Kevin can't even--ugh, he's useless. Ryan's all confident and stuff. Said he wants to do it again." She didn't mention the milk or the "get out"--too embarrassing--but her chins wobbled with pride.

Angela cackled, shaking her head. "You're a freak, Di. Keep that man on speed dial."

Before Diana could reply, her phone buzzed in her apron. She fished it out, squinting at the screen. Ryan. Her gut flipped as she opened the texts, a rapid-fire string of messages dripping with dominance: "Morning, my sweaty cow. Thinking about that soft fat body. You're mine now, you know that." "Your beta husband's a joke. Kevin, right? You need to train him--make him know his place. I'll help you." "He's a little bitch who can't satisfy you. Time to sissify him. Start today." "Task 1: Throw out his boxers. Get him panties--pink, cheap ones. Tell him it's all he deserves." "Task 2: Make him shave his legs. Say it's hygiene. Don't take no for an answer." "Task 3: No gaming tonight. He cooks dinner--something girly, like cupcakes. You watch." "Do it, cow. Report back. I'll reward you."

Diana stared, her dumb brain spinning. Train Kevin? Sissify him? She pictured his scrawny ass in pink panties and giggled, then frowned. "He's gonna hate that," she muttered. But Ryan's tone--bossy, hot--lit her up. She typed back, slow and clumsy: "Ok I'll try. He's such a loser anyway. What's the reward?"

Angela peeked over, smirking. "Who's that? Lawyer boy?"

"Yeah," Diana said, flustered. "He's, um, telling me to mess with Kevin. Like, make him wear panties and shave his legs and stuff. Says he's a beta." She laughed, nervous but intrigued.

Angela howled, slapping the counter. "Oh my God, do it! Kevin's such a tool--turn him into your little maid. What's the guy promising you?"

"Dunno yet," Diana admitted, shrugging. "Something good, I bet." Her mind flashed to Ryan's dick, and she squirmed, already hooked. She didn't get the "beta" thing fully--world events, big words, all that flew over her head--but she trusted Ryan's lead. He was smart, hot, in charge. She was just the sow, ready to obey.

That night, she waddled home, Ryan's tasks buzzing in her head. Kevin was on the couch, controller in hand, as usual. "Hey," she barked, louder than normal, "we're changing some shit around here." He glanced up, confused, but she was already rummaging through his drawer, tossing his ratty boxers in the trash. "You're wearing these now," she said, holding up a pack of pink Dollar Store panties she'd grabbed on the way home. "And shave your legs--hygiene, duh. No arguing."

"What the fuck, Di?" Kevin sputtered, but she loomed over him, her bulk intimidating despite her submissiveness to Ryan.

"Just do it, loser," she snapped, channeling Ryan's dominance. He grumbled, too meek to fight hard, and slunk off to comply. Later, she banned his gaming--"Cook cupcakes instead, I'm watching"--and sat there, smirking as he fumbled with a mix, his hairy legs now smooth under the panties. Her phone pinged: Ryan. "Good cow. Pics?" She sent a blurry shot of Kevin in the kitchen, pink waistband peeking out, and waited, horny and dumb, for her reward.

Diana spent the rest of her shift at Starbucks buzzing with nervous energy, her 400-pound frame lumbering between the espresso machine and the register. She'd texted Ryan the blurry pic of Kevin in pink panties, legs shaved, frosting cupcakes like a sullen maid, and his reply had been instant: "Perfect, my sweaty cow. You've earned it. I'm coming to you. Break room, 8 pm." Her chins wobbled as she read it, a dumb grin spreading across her face.

Angela caught her staring at her phone and smirked. "Lawyer boy again? What's he got now?"

"He's, um, coming here," Diana whispered, tugging her polo down over her belly. "Tonight. For a reward." She didn't elaborate--too flustered--but Angela's eyebrows shot up.

"Here? Like, at work? You're insane, Di. Tell me everything tomorrow," Angela said. Diana nodded, her piggy eyes darting to the clock. 8 pm couldn't come fast enough.

When her shift ended, she lingered, pretending to wipe down counters until the last coworker clocked out. The store was quiet, just the hum of the fridge and the faint drip of a leaky faucet. At 8:02, the back door creaked open, and Ryan slipped in, suit crisp despite the hour, a black gym bag slung over his shoulder.

"Hey, cow," he said, voice low and commanding, locking the door behind him. She froze, her polo riding up again, exposing her doughy gut.

"H-hi, Ryan," she stammered, nicer than with Kevin, awkward under his hot gaze. "You really came."

"Course I did," he said, stepping close, his cologne cutting through the coffee stink. "You trained that beta bitch like I told you. Showed me the pics. You're a good girl." He grabbed her arm, steering her into the cramped break room--dingy walls, a sagging couch, a table littered with sugar packets. She waddled after him, submissive and eager, her leggings chafing her thighs.

He didn't waste time. "Bend over," he ordered, pointing to the table. She obeyed, her rolls spilling across the surface, her polo hiking up to her bra line. He yanked her leggings down, her sweaty flesh jiggling, and unzipped his pants. Kevin can't do this, she thought as Ryan slid in, his massive dick hitting deep, stretching her loose body in ways her husband's twig never could. Her mind blanked--Starbucks, Kevin, the brood--gone, just Ryan pounding her, the table creaking under her weight.

He gripped her hips, grunting, "Fuck, you're so soft--so fat," and she moaned, cum-hungry and lost. It was quick, rough, her cervix taking the brunt until he pulled out and spun her around.

"Kneel," he said, and she dropped, her knees hitting the linoleum, mouth open like a sow at the trough. He finished down her throat, hot and thick, and she swallowed, gagging but desperate, her chins dripping sweat. He stepped back, zipping up, and tossed the gym bag onto the couch.

"That's your reward, cow. Open it," he said.

She scrambled up, panting, and unzipped the bag. Inside was a vibrator--long, thick, a perfect mold of his dick, down to the veins. "Oh my gosh," she breathed, holding it like a trophy. "It's... you."

"Yeah," he smirked, adjusting his tie. "Use it when I'm not around. Keep that messy pussy ready for me. You're mine, Diana--my fat, sweaty toy."

She nodded, clutching the vibe, too submissive to argue, too dumb to question. "Thanks, Ryan. I'll, um, use it a lot."

"Good," he chuckled, heading for the door. "Keep training Kevin--more tasks soon. See you, cow." Then he was gone, leaving her alone in the break room, leggings around her ankles, the taste of him lingering.

She pulled herself together, stashing the vibrator in her purse, and waddled home. Kevin was on the couch, still in the pink panties, gaming despite her ban. She didn't care--her mind was on Ryan, the vibe, the fucking in the break room. Later, in bed, she'd pull it out, replaying his dominance, her brood asleep and her beta husband oblivious downstairs.

Diana had swapped Ryan's pink panty task for something sneakier. On her way home from Starbucks, she'd stopped at a discount bin and grabbed a pair of black lace underwear--men's cut, technically, but frilly and sheer, the kind a clueless beta like Kevin might not question. She'd tossed them at him that evening, her 400-pound frame looming as he slouched on the couch.

"Wear these," she'd said, voice flat but firm. "Your boxers are trash, and these are for guys. Hygiene, duh."

Kevin squinted at the lace, shrugged his scrawny shoulders, and muttered, "Whatever, Di," too meek and distracted by his game to argue. He'd slipped them on, the black fabric hugging his bony hips, oblivious to the sissification creeping in.

She didn't care if he bought the lie--her mind was elsewhere, locked on Ryan's reward. The break room fucking had left her sweaty and buzzing, and the vibrator in her purse--a thick, veiny mold of his dick--felt like a live wire against her thigh as she waddled home. The kids were asleep, sprawled in their mess of blankets, and Kevin was back at his controller, the black lace peeking above his sweatpants. She ignored him, lumbering to the bedroom and locking the door, her polo still damp from work.

Diana kicked off her leggings, her rolls spilling free, and flopped onto the bed, springs groaning. She fished the vibrator from her purse, its weight thrilling her dumb, horny brain. "Just like him," she mumbled, flicking it on. The buzz filled the room, and she spread her thick thighs, pressing it in--deep, deeper, mimicking Ryan's thrusts. Her mind sparked--Kevin can't do this, can't fill me--then blanked, washed out by the pulsing stretch. She rocked it harder, her sweaty flesh jiggling, her breath hitching as it hit her cervix, just like he had.

Then it happened--too fast, too wild. A gush erupted, soaking the sheets, her hand, the vibe. She squirted, a messy flood she couldn't control, and her piggy eyes widened in shock. "Oh no, oh crap," she gasped, yanking it out, the wet buzz still humming. It was only her second time--the first had been Ryan's actual dick, pounding her in the break room--and this was a mistake, a sloppy accident. Her brain fogged over, thick and heavy, like she'd drowned in it. What's happening? Why me? she thought, but the words wouldn't stick, slipping away into a confused haze.

She sat there, panting, the vibrator dripping beside her, the bed a wreck. Her chins trembled, her rolls glistened with sweat, and her mind spun--Ryan, the squirt, Kevin in lace, the brood asleep down the hall. It was too much for her breed sow brain, built for kids and complaints, not this. She wiped her hand on the sheet, too submissive to process, too dumb to care beyond the raw, physical rush. He made me do it, she decided, pinning it on Ryan, her hot lawyer god. The fog stayed, clouding her, and she curled up, the vibe still in reach, wondering if she'd text him about this mess.

Downstairs, Kevin clicked away in his black lace, clueless, while Diana drifted in her sticky, confused stupor, a sow lost in her own body.

The next day, it was a slow afternoon at Starbucks, the post-lunch lull leaving Diana alone behind the counter, her 400-pound bulk wedged between the espresso machine and the pastry case. Her polo rode up, exposing her doughy belly, and her greasy blonde bob clung to her scalp, but her mind was still foggy from the night before--Ryan's vibrator, the squirt, the sticky sheets. She wiped the counter in a daze, her piggy eyes half-focused, when the door chimed.

Kevin shuffled in, his scrawny frame dwarfed by a faded hoodie, the black lace "men's" underwear hidden under his sweatpants. He'd run out of Dew, and Diana had nagged him to pick up the kids from Linda's later, so here he was, mumbling about a Frappuccino. "Hey, Di, just, uh, make it quick," he said, fidgeting with his wallet, his glasses slipping down his nose. She grunted, barely registering him--until Ryan walked in behind him.

Ryan towered at 6'3", his sharp suit and slicked-back hair a stark contrast to Kevin's 5'6" slouch. He spotted Diana first, smirking, then clocked Kevin at the counter, his eyes narrowing with recognition--the beta in the lace pics. "Well, well," he said, voice smooth and loud enough to cut through the hum of the shop. "This must be Kevin." He stepped closer, looming over him, and Kevin flinched, nearly dropping his wallet.

"Uh, w-who're you?" Kevin stammered, his hands fumbling as he turned. Ryan's height and confidence hit him like a truck--he shrank, shoulders hunching, his gamer-pale face flushing red. Diana froze, mid-pour, her foggy brain snapping to attention. Oh crap, they're meeting.

"Friend of Diana's," Ryan said, casual but firm, clapping a hand on Kevin's shoulder. It wasn't a friendly pat--more a grip, steering him slightly to the side. "You're the guy with the cupcakes, right? Pink panties?"

Kevin's eyes widened, his clumsiness spiking as he tripped over his own feet, catching himself on the counter. "W-what? I don't--Di, what's he talking about?" he sputtered, but Ryan didn't let him finish.

"Relax, man," Ryan said, his tone sliding into control, guiding Kevin like a lost kid. "Grab your drink and sit over there--by the window. You're in the way." He pointed, his long arm directing, and Kevin obeyed, stumbling to the table with a jerky nod, too intimidated to argue.

Ryan leaned on the counter, smirking at Diana. "He's a mess, cow. Needs more training."

Diana blinked, her chins wobbling as she handed Kevin his Frappuccino, her hands shaky. She noticed it--Ryan's height, his easy dominance, the way Kevin shrank and scurried like a scolded puppy. "Yeah, um, he's kinda dumb," she mumbled, nicer to Ryan, awkward under his gaze. Her fog cleared just enough to clock the shift: Ryan wasn't just her bull--he was sizing up Kevin, nudging him into place. "You're so tall," she added, dumbly, her breed sow brain fixating on the obvious.

"Six-three," Ryan said, grinning. "Your little beta's what, five-six? No wonder he's useless." He lowered his voice, eyes glinting. "Keep him in the lace. Next, make him carry a purse--call it a 'bag' if he whines. I'll check in." He winked, ordered his doppio, and sauntered out, leaving Kevin hunched at the table, sipping nervously.

Diana watched, her mind churning but blanking again--Ryan's controlling him too?--before it slipped away into her usual haze. Kevin glanced at her, confused, but didn't ask. She didn't explain. Her brood, her vibrator, her hot lawyer--they owned her, and now Ryan was creeping into Kevin's world, tall and unstoppable.

It was a Saturday, and Diana had to pick up the kids from Linda's McMansion after dropping them off for a rare "grandma day." She waddled into the guest room to change out of her Starbucks polo, her 400-pound frame spilling out as she peeled it off. Her leggings were halfway down, her rolls exposed--sweaty, pale, stretch-marked--when Linda barged in, her thin post-bypass figure a stark contrast in a crisp blouse. She froze, then smirked, her eyes raking over Diana's body like a vulture.

"Good Lord, Diana," Linda started, voice dripping with disdain. "Look at those arms--flabby sacks of lard. And that stomach? It's hanging like a deflated balloon--disgusting." She stepped closer, circling. "Your boobs are lost under all that fat, and that double chin? You're a walking blob. How do you even stand yourself?"

Diana froze, her chins quivering, sweat beading on her brow as she tugged a stained T-shirt over her head, too submissive to snap back. "Mom, I'm just changing," she mumbled, but Linda huffed.

"Changing into what? A bigger mess? You're hopeless, honey," Linda said, her sanctimonious tone cutting deeper than Kevin's "whale" jab or Ryan's "sweaty cow."

The insults stung, and Diana grabbed the kids--Brayden and Kaylee oblivious in their sugar-high chatter--and fled, her foggy brain churning. Back home, Kevin was gaming in his black lace with his man purse nearby, so she locked herself in the bedroom and texted Ryan, her sausage fingers clumsy: "My mom saw me changing today and said my arms are lard and my stomachs gross and my chins fat. She was mean."

Ryan's reply came fast, teasing and sharp: "Oh, my sloppy cow, she's right. Those fat arms are useless--jiggling meat sacks. And your stomach rolls? Fucking pathetic, piling over your real tits like a second set. All that blubber's hot, though--makes you my pig." She blushed, sweating again, her gray dress sticking to her rolls as she read on. "Try a sit-up for me, fatass. Prove you're not just a wallow of lard."

She giggled, awkward and horny, and flopped onto the bed, her bulk sinking in. A sit-up? She hadn't tried since high school, 300 pounds ago. She bent her knees, sucked in--barely--and pushed. Her double chin wobbled, her stomach rolls bunched, and her arms flailed, but she barely lifted an inch before collapsing, panting, her ass and belly flattening against the mattress at once.

"Oh crap," she muttered, texting back: "I cant do it. Fell back."

His response was instant: "Figures. Maybe you're not a cow--more a pig with that double gut and those rolls on top. Bigger than your sad little boobs, like a second rack of floppy tits. Fucking useless, but I'd still plow you. And your belly and ass hitting the bed together? Hot as hell, but so pathetic. Send a pic." She blushed harder, her psyche bending--pig, not cow--and snapped a shaky selfie: her sprawled out, rolls stacked, belly and ass fused to the sheets, sweat glistening. She sent it, her foggy brain humming with shame and want.

He texted back: "Perfect, pigslut. Keep feeding that fat body--I'll use it soon." She squirmed, loving the insults, her breed sow core thriving on being his--fat, soft, owned. Kevin's gaming buzzed downstairs, the kids shrieked, but her world was Ryan's words, her useless rolls, her pathetic sprawl. She'd wait for his next move, too dumb and submissive to do anything else.

A day after Diana's failed sit-up and the humiliating pic, Ryan texted her: "My place, now, pigslut. Wear that gray dress." She scrambled, her foggy brain buzzing with need, lying to Kevin about "Cheryl's" again. The kids were with Linda, and Kevin was gaming in his black lace, man purse slung on the couch--clueless as ever. She waddled to Ryan's apartment, her 400-pound bulk sweating through the tight gray dress, rolls spilling out, her fat arms jiggling with every step.

Ryan opened the door, 6'3" of sharp-suited dominance, and yanked her inside. "Up, against the wall," he ordered, voice low and firm. She shuffled over, her back to the plaster, and he towered over her, unzipping his pants. He didn't bother undressing her--just hiked the dress up, her sweaty thighs parting as he gripped her hips. He slid in standing, his big dick slipping into her loose, stretched pussy with zero resistance, her rolls quaking from the thrust.

"Fuck, you're so easy," he grunted, pumping hard. "Slides right in--used-up pig cunt."

She moaned, her psyche bending--easy, used--her body swaying, belly and ass slapping the wall. The standing position, only his size could pull off, made her feel weightless yet pinned, her fat arms flailing for balance. He fucked her fast, her sweat dripping, then slowed, smirking.

"I want dinner with you and Kevin," he said, mid-thrust. "Watch him squirm while I own you under the table." Her piggy eyes widened, foggy brain spinning--Dinner? With Kevin?--but she nodded, too submissive to refuse.

He finished inside her, hot and deep, then pulled out, leaving her panting against the wall. "Over here," he said, dragging her to the couch. She flopped down, legs spread, and he knelt, shoving two fingers into her dripping hole.

"Insult yourself, pig," he commanded, pumping rough. "Tell me what you are--make it true."

Her chins trembled, sweat beading, but she obeyed, her voice shaky but clear. "I-I'm a fat, sloppy pig," she started, his fingers curling inside her. "My arms are useless sacks of lard--jiggling and gross." He nodded, smirking, pushing deeper. "My stomach's a pile of rolls--bigger than my boobs, like a second set of nasty tits," she gasped, her psyche cracking as she spoke. "I'm so loose, so sweaty--pathetic and easy. It's all true." Her words rang in her ears, heavy and real, and she squirmed, horny and ashamed, knowing every slur fit her breed sow soul.

"Good girl," Ryan said, pulling his fingers out, wiping them on her dress. "You know your place--my fat, messy slut." He stood, adjusting his tie. "Set up that dinner. I'll fuck you again after."

She nodded, dazed, her body tingling, her mind a fog of pig, true, his. She waddled home, cum trickling down her thigh, plotting how to trick Kevin into the dinner, too dumb to resist Ryan's pull.

Diana leaned against Ryan's wall, her gray dress hiked up, her 400-pound body quivering as he fucked her standing, his big dick sliding into her loose pussy like it was nothing. "So fucking easy," he'd sneered, finishing inside her, and now she was sprawled on his couch, legs wide, his fingers plunging into her dripping hole.

"Insult yourself, pig," he commanded, pumping hard. "Tell me what you are--make it true."

Her chins shook, sweat pouring, and she started, voice trembling. "I'm a fat, sloppy pig," she said, his fingers curling deep. "My arms are useless lard sacks--gross and jiggly." A rush hit her, and she squirted, a messy gush soaking his hand and the couch, her third time ever--first with his dick, second with the vibe, now this. Her piggy eyes widened, shame mixing with want, but Ryan smirked, unimpressed.

"That's it? Weak. Louder, pig--better insults, or I stop," he said, his fingers slowing, teasing her.

Her mind blanked, eyes glazing as she panicked, desperate for more. She shouted, voice cracking, "I'm a disgusting, sweaty hog! My stomach rolls are huge--floppy, nasty tits bigger than my real ones! My ass is a blob, my double chin's a pig gut--useless, pathetic, all of it!" The words poured out, raw and true, her psyche shattering as she yelled. Her body shook, another squirt hitting his wrist, and in the fog, she gasped, "Make me fatter, Ryan--please, make me more!"

He laughed, dark and thrilled, pulling his fingers out to grip her sweaty face. "Oh, I'll fatten you up, pigslut," he said, voice low and commanding. "Gonna pack more rolls on that soft, useless body--500 pounds, maybe more. But you'll work for it. More tasks, more training. And Kevin? I'm gonna make him okay with me fucking you--little beta's gonna nod and smile while I plow his fat wife." Her blank eyes flickered, her foggy brain latching onto fatter, Kevin okay--too dumb to resist, too submissive to care.

He stood, wiping his hand on her dress, and grabbed a bag. "For the dinner," he said, tossing her a tight Skims long-sleeve top--black, stretchy, barely big enough for her rolls. "Wear this. Show off that pig body when I meet him. Set it up--Friday, 7 pm, some shitty diner. Go."

She nodded, clutching the top, her cum-soaked thighs sticking as she waddled out, his plan echoing in her haze. At home, Kevin was in his lace and man purse, gaming, the kids asleep. She stumbled to the bedroom, the Skims top in hand, her mind a mess of fatter, pig, dinner. She'd wear it--her rolls would bulge, her fat arms strain the sleeves--and Kevin would sit there, clueless, while Ryan took over. She texted him: "Dinner friday 7 at diner ok? Ill wear it."

His reply: "Good, pig. Be my fat slut." She blushed, sweating, already craving the work to grow fatter for him.

Friday night rolled around, and Diana waddled into the greasy diner at 7 pm, the tight Skims long-sleeve top stretched obscenely over her 400-pound frame. The black fabric clung to her fat arms and stomach rolls, but it didn't cover her belly--her pale, stretch-marked gut hung out, jiggling with every step, a disgusting, confusing sight. Kevin trailed behind in his black lace and man purse, frowning at her exposed slab.

"Di, what the hell? Your shirt's too small," he muttered, adjusting his glasses.

Angela, tagging along for the gossip, snorted. "Yeah, girl, that's... a choice. You okay?"

Diana blushed, sweating already, but before she could mumble a reply, Ryan strode in--6'3", suit sharp, smirking at her. "Fuck, that's hot," he said loud enough for the table, his eyes locked on her dangling belly. "Look at that fat pig body--disgusting to you two, maybe, but it's mine."

Kevin blinked, confused, and Angela's jaw dropped, but Diana's chins wobbled with a shy giggle, her foggy brain purring at his approval.

They sat--Ryan next to Diana, Kevin and Angela across--ordering beers and burgers. Ryan dominated, leaning into Kevin with casual jabs. "How's the purse, beta?" he teased, sipping his drink.

Kevin fidgeted, nervous, while Angela smirked, sipping hers. Halfway through, Ryan stood. "Bathroom, Kev. Come on."

Kevin hesitated, then followed, his 5'6" slouch dwarfed by Ryan's height. In the cramped bathroom, Ryan unzipped at the urinal, deliberately exposing his thick, heavy dick--twice Kevin's size. Kevin, fumbling with his own tiny cock, froze, hands shaking, eyes darting away.

"Jesus," he muttered, intimidated, clumsy as he zipped up too fast and caught his lace.

Ryan smirked. "Don't worry, little guy--yours fits the panties."

Kevin flushed, silent, and scurried back to the table, Ryan swaggering behind. Back at the diner, Ryan ordered shots, picking up Kevin's glass and handing it to him like a kid, then lifting him--literally--by the armpits to set him back down, grinning.

"Light as a feather," he said, impressing Diana, whose piggy eyes sparkled.

Angela laughed, half-drunk, egging it on. "Let's take this party back," Ryan said, tossing cash down. "My car."

At Diana and Kevin's apartment, the kids were at Linda's, and Ryan magically produced a new game system from his trunk--a shiny PS5. "Thought we'd have some fun," he said, hooking it up as Kevin's jaw dropped, beta excitement overriding his unease. Beers flowed, music blared, and they danced--Angela swaying, Kevin awkward, Diana lumbering.

Ryan grabbed Diana mid-song, his hands possessive on her rolls, spinning her like he owned her. Kevin watched, silent, his lace peeking out, too meek to protest. Then Ryan stepped in front of Kevin, smirking.

"Deal time, beta," he said. "I've got a vibe in my bag. If you don't cum from it, I won't fuck Diana. If you do, I get her whenever--and you get this PS5. Fair?"

Kevin, buzzed and cocky, nodded, thinking of the small ass vibrator Diana had used. "Yeah, fine. I can handle that."

Ryan pulled out the dick-mold vibe--his exact size, thick and veiny--and Kevin's face fell. "Wait, that's--"

Too late. Ryan lubed it, yanked Kevin's sweatpants down, and slid it in, flicking it on. Kevin gasped, squirming in his lace, and came almost instantly--a weak spurt, his beta body buckling. Diana stared, her foggy brain clicking: Sissy. He's a sissy.

Ryan laughed. "Pathetic. Guess I'm fucking her now."

He turned to Diana, ripping the Skims top off, her rolls spilling free. "Bedroom," he barked, and she waddled after, Kevin trailing, dazed. Ryan fucked her on the bed--first missionary, her belly slapping, then flipped her ass-up, his big dick slamming her cervix.

"Fat, sloppy pig," he growled, smacking her rolls. "Useless fucking hog--look at you, jiggling like a whore." She moaned, trying not to cum, but his insults broke her--her mind blanked, her psyche snapped, and she gave in fully, a sow to his bull. She squirted uncontrollably, gushing on his dick, soaking the sheets, her eyes rolling back as he laughed.

"Disgusting slut--can't even hold it," he said.

Kevin watched, hard but helpless, as Ryan pulled out. "C'mere, beta," he ordered, grabbing Kevin's hair. He came in his mouth, hot and thick, and Kevin gagged, swallowing reflexively.

"Now kiss her," Ryan commanded. "Share it--both my pigs."

Kevin leaned in, trembling, and kissed Diana, their tongues swapping Ryan's cum, her foggy mind too broken to resist, too slutty to care. Ryan smirked, zipping up.

"I own you both now. Enjoy the game, Kev," he said, tossing the PS5 box on the floor and leaving.

Diana slumped, dripping, Kevin panting beside her, the taste of Ryan binding them in his wake.

The next morning, Diana woke to the kids banging on the bedroom door--Linda had dropped them off early, her usual smug "You're welcome" still ringing in Diana's ears. Her 400-pound body ached, the bed still damp from her uncontrollable squirt, Ryan's insults--"disgusting slut"--echoing in her broken mind. Kevin stirred beside her, his scrawny frame tangled in the sheets, black lace peeking out, the man purse and PS5 box on the floor a reminder of their new owner. She nudged him, her chins wobbling.

"Hey, get up. We gotta talk," she said.

Kevin groaned, rubbing his eyes, his glasses crooked. "Yeah, uh, about last night..." He sat up, fidgeting with the lace, his voice low so Brayden and Kaylee wouldn't hear through the door. "That vibe thing... it was, uh, my hardest orgasm ever. Like, crazy hard. Didn't wanna admit it, but..." He trailed off, cheeks red. "And after, I kept thinking about his dick--Ryan's. I'm not gay, Di, I swear, but I don't get why it's stuck in my head."

Diana blinked, her foggy brain churning, still tasting Ryan's cum from their forced kiss. She nodded, slow and understanding, her breed sow submissiveness bridging the gap. "I get it, Kev," she said, voice softer than usual. "He's... big. Different. It messes with you. Me too--when he fucked me, I couldn't stop. Broke me." She blushed, sweating, her rolls shifting as she leaned closer. "We're both kinda his now, huh?"

Kevin swallowed, nodding, his beta confusion softening into relief. "Yeah, I guess. Weird, but... yeah." He glanced at the dresser, where the Ryan dick-mold vibrator sat, thick and veiny. "You still got that?"

Her piggy eyes lit up, a cum-hungry grin spreading. "Oh, yeah. Wanna try it? Like, together?"

Kevin hesitated, then shrugged, a flicker of excitement breaking through. "Sure. Kids are busy--let's lock the door."

She waddled over, clicking the lock, while Kevin shucked his sweatpants, the lace framing his tiny dick. Diana peeled off her stained nightshirt, her rolls spilling free, and grabbed the vibe, flicking it on. "Me first," she said, lying back, spreading her thick thighs. Kevin slid it in--easy, loose, hitting her cervix like Ryan--and she moaned, her stomach rolls jiggling.

"God, it's him," she gasped, her mind blanking to pigslut, owned. Kevin worked it, awkward but eager, and she came fast, a small squirt wetting his hand, her body trembling.

"My turn," he mumbled, pulling it out, still slick. He bent over, ass up, and Diana pressed it against his hole, the lace stretching as she pushed it in slow.

"Fuck," he grunted, his beta body tensing, then relaxing as it buzzed deep. She pumped it, mimicking Ryan's rhythm, and his tiny dick twitched, leaking.

"It's... him again," he panted, his mind flashing to that bathroom glimpse--huge, thick--not gay, just Ryan. He came hard, a weak spurt on the sheets, his hardest yet, matching last night.

They collapsed, panting, cum-happy and dazed, the vibe buzzing beside them. Diana giggled, wiping sweat from her chins. "We're so messed up, Kev. But it's good, right?"

He nodded, grinning, his confusion settling into acceptance. "Yeah, Di. Really good."

They lay there, sticky and content, Ryan's dick binding them in their shared, slutty haze--his pigs, his toys, cum-drunk and owned.