Phat Hills Ranch
A farm set up by a sadistic feeder. All present sign away their freedom and get fattened into blobs!
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You don’t know why you signed the contract.
Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was your lack of money, but for whatever reason, you’re here.
The new arrivals, including you, stood in a large, barn like waiting room. Phat Hills Ranch was a project set up by a fabulously wealthy feeder, only known as
Howdy, Hon! I’m gonna need your name and the grade you were signed up as.
The Farm Head. They wanted a place for feeders and feedees to engage in what they enjoyed freely and openly, while searching themselves for their own perfect piggy. They often called the pig they kept for themselves as a
Grade 5. The receptionist works through the group of women, all of differing sizes and ages. The young woman in front of you seems eager, bounding up to the counter to state her name. When she proudly states she’s signed up as a grade 4, she’s stripped rather roughly before the whole group, forced to her hands and knees, collared, then taken away on a leash. You step up to the table, and the receptionist, likely a first grade pig by her size and skimpy attire, kindly asks for your name and grade with a smile.
Howdy, Hon! I’m gonna need your name and the grade you were signed up as.