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“I just think you’ll be happier, that’s all. Such an unhappy little boy,” the man ran his rubber gloved hand up Paul’s chest, past his neck, and grabbed his jaw. Paul shook and whimpered, the rubber making his cock hard, the tattoos shifting and spreading across his chest a bit further, before he regained control of himself. The rubber on his skin, it was so inviting. He wondered, in a brief fit, whether the master might have a suit of rubber he could wear. Except maybe his cock could be out, his nasty piggy cock, and he could grunt and snort and sweat…
His hands were unsecured, and he reached down to touch himself, running a hand along his own shaft, shivering uncontrollably, eyes rolling back in pleasure. The tattoos spread across his pecs, swirls of jagged barbs, and halted there. The master leaned in, ran his tongue up the side of Paul’s face, his huge, heavily waxed mustache coase on his skin.
“You’ll be such a good pig. A good, old, nasty pig just like the rest of us.”
Paul couldn’t stop himself. He was so horny. Maybe if he jacked off, maybe if he came, maybe the voice would stop. The voice was getting louder, shouting at him in his head, drowning out everything else. His free hand pulled on his nipple, feeling the piercing there. So sensitive, he was leaking. He snorted through his nose, shook his head, and yanked his hands away, trying to pull back from the master, but the old man pulled the chain connected to his head harness tight, keeping him in place.
“You are a fighter though, I’ll give you that. I like fight in a pig. Gives ‘em will. Keeps everyone in line, once you realize what’s inside you. What is inside you, boy? Do you know? Have you ever explored yourself?”
Holding the chain tight, his jaw yanked up towards the ceiling, the master reached down and began probing Paul’s asshole with a thick, gloved hand. He whimpered, one hand creeping back around the shaft of his cock. Horny, so horny still. Such…such a horny pig…yeah…
The master licked his finger wet, and slid it in. It wasn’t wet enough, and it hurt, but there was…something in there. Something deep in there, something nice. Paul let out a groan of pleasure, eyes crossed and dulling, his cock growing in his hand. Such a big piggy cock, eight fuckin’ inches, yeah. But still, his hole, his fuckin’ piggy hole, two fingers, now three, but it was still deeper, the master had to go deeper, but how could he tell him? He rocked back on his heels, trying to push against the master’s hand, tell him what he wanted. The scruffy beard he had was pulling in, as a grey handlebar sprouted around his mouth, growing long. His hair turning grey, a mohawk pushing up against the strap securing his head. Gauges in his ears. Such a good pig.
It took master’s whole hand in his ass to find it, his pleasure, his joy, his pigness. Paul grunted and snorted as the master fisted his hole, jacking his cock, cumming over and over again, spraying his cum across the floor. It smelled delicious, and when the master pulled out his fist and saw Paul’s dim piggy eyes looking back at him hungrily, he knew he was ready. He yanked against the straps as the master freed him, but only so he could get to the cum on the floor. He licked it up, and then began licking the master’s boots. His pigcock was hard again already, always hard, always ready.
The master introduced him to the rest of the hogs. One was in the sling, getting pounded by another, whose fat tit was being suckled. Paul stepped up behind the fucker and drove his hard cock right in his ass, the master making him lick the slime of his own hole off his gloved hands. “Such good pigs you all are. Now play nice, Paul. I’m off to the bar. I wonder if that friend of yours we left behind is still there. What was his name, Jerry? Do you think Jerry has a pig in him, Paul?
Paul nodded, but he hadn’t actually understood what the master said. It was best to be agreeable.
“I think so too. Now, I’ll be back you old pigs. Keep on fucking, and we can all play when I get back.”