Another long day on the convention floor, and he was itching to be out of his damn suit. Literally itching. Ever since…since that wild night in pigtown, anything that wasn’t rubber or leather was just so difficult to keep on after a few hours. Part of him just wanted to rip the clothes apart, but he restrained that desire. He’d been working on this, he’d been working on controlling this. As much…as much as he wanted to just give in (and god did he want to just give in, fuck, he’d been fighting it for what felt like an eternity and it hadn’t gotten any easier) he made himself slowly take off his coat, undo his buttons one at a time, his hands shaking, drop his pants, and breathe a sigh of relief. At least he could wear the rubber underneath–that helped more than anything else. He laid back on the bed, groping his hard, leaking cock through the jock, moaning softly, feeling so much better now that he was free again, now that he was…himself.
No–No, that was a lie. This wasn’t him, this was just…just a need. Once he released it, he’d feel better again, he knew he would. He always did feel better for a time. He’d just spent the day cruising the convention floor, and he’d arranged a few…dates with several men, at hour intervals, all night long. He looked over at the play pen he’d brought along in a massive trunk. It seemed…too elaborate, but he couldn’t very well play without his dungeon, right? He couldn’t be…be a proper pig without it. Couldn’t help more men see…see how good it would be if they were pigs too.
He was so close now, to cumming, to losing himself. He tried to contain it, to at least…focus it. He looked at the clock–ten minutes until the first one would be here, but he didn’t know if he could wait that long. He stared at the clock, watching the numbers, staring at them, and thankfully the man was early. He flung open the door and dragged the man inside–the stranger barely recognized the man clothed head to toe in rubber as the sweet, seductive man in the tailored suit from earlier, but after a few minutes, he didn’t care. After thirty minutes, he didn’t care about anything, with the man’s fist burrowed deep in his ass to the elbow, grunting and squealing and…and changing.
Sure, they may not deserve it. But it was better them than him. Somehow, he knew that if…if he could just keep making other men into pigs, then he would be spared. He could keep his life, the life he’d fought so hard for. The second date arrived, and he dragged him in as well, making him eat out the first pig’s sloppy hole. Was he just lying to himself? Maybe, but he didn’t have to care right now, his mouth turned into a vicious grin, listening to the man gasp for breath, smothered in the pig’s ass. He loved this too much to question it now, and he’d keep bringing home more pigs as long as he was able.