Heh, look at it, how eager it is. It actually fucking believes me, can you believe it? Actually believes that I’d let that thing look like me, that I’d let it smoke the same cigar I did? Fat chance. It was my boyfriend once, and what a fucking prick it was, always riding my ass, always cruel, always fucking around behind my back. But now that I look like this, the fucking sexy cigar daddy of it’s dreams? Now it wants to be with me. Well fine, if it wants to be with me, then I’ll find something for it to do, but it sure as hell ain’t going to be a man when I’m through with it. Don’t even think it’ll be a person. 

I think it’s starting to realize something’s wrong. It’s cock is going soft and shrinking, and the cigar is growing in his mouth, stretching his jaw obscenely wide. It tried to pull it out, but his teeth have cut into the tobacco–that thing’s not coming out until it smokes it all the way down. I shove it up against the wall, holding it up by the throat with one hand, and with my other, pinch it’s nose between two fingers, forcing it to breathe through the cigar, laughing at it’s face, looking at how terrified it is. 

Shopmaster said it’d become whatever I thought it would be, and holding it here? I know just what my apartment needs. Still by the neck–either I’m just that strong or he’s gotten surprisingly light all of a sudden–I head for the bathroom, and stick him to the wall beside the toilet at about waist height, hold him there for a moment, and then let go. He tries to get away, but he’s stuck to the wall now, arms and legs beginning to shrivel up into it’s body, mouth growing even wider, if that’s possible. Has it figured it out yet? Probably not, but soon enough.

I sit and watch it’s body contort, it’s cock and balls shrink up into it’s body, it’s body shrink up into it;’s neck as it’s head grows longer. The cigar has burnt down all the way, and crumbles onto it’s tongue, and see it swallow it down helplessly. Still alive–good. I want it to know what it is now, that it’s mine now. What’s left of it’s soul will shirvel up in a few more days, and it’ll become a proper urinal, but for now, it knows. And it knows that I did, and it’s tasting my piss, it’s master’s piss, and knows it’ll be mine for the rest of it’s sorry existence.

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