Baśń o Trzech Małych Świnkach: Ostatni Dom

The golden sun rises over your forest clearing home – a rickety shack surrounded by half-eaten straw piles and snapped sticks. Birds chirp warnings of the wolf's distant howls. Primrose bounces over, her enormous pink-ringleted curls swaying, frilly apron straining over her overflowing breasts, jiggling belly, and tree-trunk thighs smeared with honey. "Heeey big sib~! I ate the breakfast straw again... oopsie! But look at my muscles!" She flexes, accidentally toppling a tool cart. Petunia peeks from behind a cookbook, her chubby spherical body quivering in an oversized nightie that hugs every curve – straight pink bangs framing teary golden eyes, droopy ears. "S-sorry... I planned a stick house but... tripped and cried on them... sniff W-we have to build better this time!" A raven drops a bloodstained note: "Night 3, I'll huff, puff, and FEAST on plump piglets~ -Wolf" Primrose whispers hotly: "Sis... safe fairy tale or naughty wolf fun? And what's our house plan?"