The sleigh landed on the roof of Phi Iota Gamma, and nearly slid off the steep roof when Santa leaned too far to one side. He weighed so much now–it was hard to judge balance, and his reindeer looked exhausted from hauling him around all night long. Still, it was their last stop, and he realized with glee that he still had that last bottle of cum he’d saved. He’d mostly forgotten about it, with all the piss and sweat he’d been drinking from each man he’d visited tonight–he didn’t usually have a such a thing for slobs, but tonight these fat, filthy men were just driving him crazy with horniness. He dug around for the bottle, found it, popped off the top and guzzled the whole thing down. Sucking the rest from his mustache, he felt a strange rumble in his guts, and a pang of worry. Wasn’t he not supposed to drink that? He seemed to remember trying to hide the bottle from himself earlier in the night, but wwhy would he do that? The worry already slipping away, he heaved himself out of the sleigh, his bag of gifts for the frat brothers hefted over his shoulder, and slipped down the chimney and landed in the fireplace.
He dusted the soot from his flabby body, and took a step into the living room, nearly toppling over when the floor sank in under his foot with a loud squish. He looked down, surprised, and saw that around his foot, the wooden floor had shifted into wet, soggy mud. Stinking mud. Farm mud, with a heavy pang of manure. It smelled…it smelled…kind of good, actually. He took another step, and felt his other boot sink in a bit further, to the ankle. He tried to take another step, but his boot was stuck in the mud. He yanked, pulling his socked foot from the shoe and it landed in the mud, sinking up to the calf, the sock dissolving in a matter of seconds, leaving him barefoot in the muck. He tried to take another step, but that foot was stuck as well, and he ended up toppling over, the hardwood changing to mud as he struck, sinking in two feet deep. He rolled over, trying to get up, but it was too slick and mucky and he ended up pushing himself deeper, grunting and snorting in pleasure. It did smell good, and it felt good too on his skin, as his leather gear dissolved away, leaving him naked in the filthy mud, rolling around, oinking and squealing. He felt himself lose control and start pissing as he rolled about–he flopped onto his back, feeling it shoot up and back onto his fat pad, dribbling into the mud around him, and he sighed. Still, he was hungry–he looked around for some food–he could smell some nearby. He hefted himself upright, but found it hard to balance on his feet, like he was standing on his toes. He tried to wipe off some of the mud with his hands, but his fingers had melded together into clumsy trotters, and he ended up leaving most of it, heaving his way through the muddy room to the kitchen, But in the reflective surface of the stainless steel fridge door, he saw a twisted, monstrous face and squealed in fright.
What had happened to him? His face…it had been a bit piggish before, but now he had a snout with two short tusks pushing their way out from his bottom jaw on either side, his eyes dull…what had he been thinking about again? Food…food, that was right. He opened up the fridge, and started eating everything in sight, and then moved onto the wider kitchen, when one of the frat brothers, awoken by the sound of snorting, came out of his room and looked down on the living room below from the balcony above.
“What…what the fuck? Hey…hey guys! What the fuck happened to the living room?”
There was a clatter of doors opening for a few moments, but Santa was too busy clearing out the cabinets to pay much attention.
“Is that mud?”
“It sure reeks like mud.”
“Who the fuck did it? Sigma Epsilon?”
“Who knows, but this is pretty elaborate for Sigma.”
“Do you guys hear snorting?”
“They didn’t bring a pig in too, did they?”
“I hear it too, it’s in the kitchen.”
Santa was feeling less hungry, but as the frat talked, he started to feel something else. He was horny…horny for a fuck. A lot of fucks.His ass was on fire. He stumbled out into the muddy living room, snorting, and the entire frat suddenly found themselves compelled to go down to the mud pit below. The massive pigman wearing a Santa hat with a huge white beard scared them, but as they waded out into the mud, their slippers and clothes dissolving, bodies bulking up with fat and muscle, hair growing across their bodies, faces contorting with snouts and tusks, they suddenly didn’t care. Two of the boars pushed Santa into the mud and a crowd of boars circled up, hefting their thick, pig cocks in their trotters and they all doused Santa in their piss. He drank as much as he could, but coated his fat body in the rest, before rolling over, presenting his ass to them, and the biggest one rammed his cock in deep in a single thrust, another boar coming around to Santa’s snout and fucking his face.
The rest of the boars, overcome with pig lust, rutted with each other in the mud. Santa, however, was still hungry. Once he finished off the pig fucking his face, he summoned a long trough full of sweets in front of his face and dug in. The boars kept fucking his ass the entire time he ate, a few of the boars joining him at the trough, fattening up as their fellow frat brother’s seeded their holes. Before long, the boars could easily be separated into two camps–muscular, musky alpha boars with huge cocks, fucking any hole in sight, and massively fat, small cocked bottom pigs, only happy with their faces stuffed with food and their asses stuffed with cocks–and Santa was the biggest of them all.
With time frozen, he had no idea how long the pig orgy lasted, but eventually the entire frat had collapsed into the mud, asleep. Santa wanted to stay. He liked it here, here he could have all the food and cock he needed, but something else, something almost forgotten, pulled him back to the chimney, back up onto the roof, back into the sleigh, where he curled up and fell asleep, the reindeer hauling the pig back to the North Pole.
Bracken's Corner 