You are at the movie theater when you meet him. You brought a date, but didn’t share enough of that large soda you guzzled during the first act, and now you have to go piss. You excuse yourself, hoping your date doesn’t hate you for being “that guy who has to piss during the movie,” and rush to the bathroom, where he’s waiting for you.
Maybe not for you, maybe for any man. Maybe if you hadn’t hogged that soda, he would have found someone else. But you turn the corner and see him standing on the tile, naked aside from his boots, covered in tattoos that swirl and dance before your eyes. Your mind goes blank, aside from those beautiful colors and his deep voice, telling you to come closer, strip and come closer, little pig.
You can smell him now, smell his musk, and he tells you how much a pig like you would love to smell the pits of a man like him. He tells you what a fat little pig you are, what a dirty, dumb, obese, nasty hog. Are you really growing shorter, plumping up and putting on a huge gut as he speaks to you, or is it just a fantasy, a fantasy you suddenly long for?
He puts a boot up on a urinal, showing off his hairy, dirty crack, and with a grunt you dig your face in deep, licking and chewing all the filth you can find. Unable to control yourself, your cock releases your full bladder, and with both hands you are rubbing it on yourself. He pushes you down onto all fours, wets his cock with some spit and forces it into your ass. You snort and squeal, cum shooting from your cock and mixing with the piss on the floor, and when he finishes, you crawl after your master on all fours, gut dragging on the floor, head empty aside from the filthiest fantasies your mind had never dreamed of.
You never return to the theater, you never finish the movie. All your date finds of you is a puddle of piss on the men’s room floor, a wad of cum shot in the middle of it, and a pile of clothes from a past life.