I tried the door, but my body wouldn’t even open it. I tried climbing out a window, but even if I could have fit through, my body refused to pass an invisible threshold. Anger gave way to doubt, into terror. He really had done something to me, and I had no idea what it was. We’d been dating for months; was all of it a lie? Or was it just this? Who even was I? I didn’t dare go near the computer–I was certain that had something to do with all of this. Instead, I ate. I ate like a nervous wreck. I couldn’t stop myself. Around three in the afternoon, I realized I still hadn’t had a shower all weekend, and I reeked of cum and piss, but my body wouldn’t even touch the water when I tried to get in. I ransacked his room, his office, looking for anything, a clue, something. All the while, the horniness just kept building. Plugs helped, but they kept falling out until I found one the size of a toddler’s arm.
I wanted to watch the videos again. What would those pigs have done, in my position? I knew this was a terrible question to ask, a terrible idea to even be having, but it comforted me. It comforts me, I mean. I…really do want to be one of them, you know. That’s impossible to deny. Maybe not always, but now? This thing I am now? I do, I really do. But I resisted. I resist. I don’t know why. Austin came home that night at around seven, and I’d emptied to house of food. Sure enough, the man was with him–who I’d seen both at work and at the club–smoking, even older than he’d been, now at least in his fifties. As soon as I see the terror in his eyes, I know he’s in the same position as I am. Aware, but unable to articulate anything, unable to disobey. We both followed Austin down into the basement of his house, and he locked us into two sturdy wooden chairs he has rooted in the concrete floor, and he told us the story, from the beginning.
He’d only been intending it to be mind control, he told us. It had worked like a charm, the first version of the program, when he’d made me gay. Made me attracted to him, and we’d started dating. But something strange had happened when he’d tried to make me a bottom–he’d included in the programming a video clip of an older chub getting fucked…and when he’d used the conditioning on me, I’d become older, and fatter–just like the man in the video. This last week–this had all been version 2.0. He talked a lot about brain waves, about sensitivity. He’d gotten access to company medical records, and discovered that the two of us were the only ones the program would have that effect on, and sure enough…here we were.
He hadn’t expected me to catch on of course. He also hadn’t expected either of our minds to hold together as well as they had. Of course, neither of us could remember anything about our old selves, but we could remember that we’d been different. I don’t know if it was cruel or kind to show us old pictures he’d lifted from social media–I’d been thin and young. Muscular even. I’d had a girlfriend. We’d been engaged, and talking about having kids together. Now, I couldn’t even remember her name. I realized he could have shown the pictures of literally anyone else, and I’d have the same relationship with that person as this one. What made that old me realer than this? How could I mourn something I could barely believe? I think I took it a bit better–the daddy, Daddy Mark, he was screaming and crying by the end, screaming and shouting and cursing…I just listened. Maybe it was the pig in me, that made it easier to resign myself to what was coming next. After all, pigs were meant to be used. At least…I’m being useful still.
Now, we’re both at the forefront of Austin’s testing, blazing a path towards a version 3.0. It’s features will include remote brainwave recalibration, and mental pathway revision to go with memory repression. He’s going to kill what remains of us both, he’s already getting closer. Mark is losing it already, I can hear him over there, becoming who he’s meant to be now. Rough older daddy, smoking like a chimney, desperate to dominate anyone in his path. I’ll be next, when Austin figures out how to break me open, finally. I’m…looking forward to it. To being a real pig, finally. I’m tired of being caught in the middle here, and it isn’t like I can go back. Austin’s promised me that he’ll make me a good master. A hard, rough, muscled skinhead master to brutalize me right. I’ll be in films of my own, I hope, one day, crawling around on the concrete, head finally empty. I want to forget. I’ll forget anything if it means I can forget this. This tape will remember me, but thankfully…thankfully, I won’t.
Bracken's Corner 