Twelve Months ‘til Christmas (Part 5)

~~April 26th~~

He’d fucked up–he knew that. But the simple fact was, John hadn’t been able to take it anymore. He…wasn’t even sure who he was anymore. It was the middle of March, when his father had picked up a renewed interest in John, after close of a month of paying him almost no attention at all–and from that first day, when he’d taken on a new form…John had known something was different with Stanta. He had never been particularly jolly, of course, but when he’d laid eyes on John that next time, he’d become an old painpig–obese, coated in metal, hair and tattoos, begging for pain and abuse. But inside–unlike the last times–John had still been inside there, and Stanta had known it, had taunted him with the knowledge that he knew John was in there and he didn’t care. That he wanted him to suffer.

John couldn’t think of anything he’d done to deserve such treatment, and in fact, he hadn’t been guilty of anything at all–but punishing him had been convenient. After his discussions with Santapig, Stanta had been furious. Furious with Timmy. Furious with that little pig who had been Marty. So furious in fact that, with Santapig watching gleefully, he’d destroyed every remnant of Marty’s old self still residing in that pig body, as Santapig had requested. After all, Timmy didn’t have to know what he’d done to use the pig as leverage, if he needed it, and having any chunk of Marty still hanging around was much too large a risk for him. So furious at himself, for being sucked into this entire mess, for bringing his son here, the son he’d always hated. It wasn’t surprising that, after a few weeks of that treatment, John had snapped.

Pushing through the persona, he’d gone for the love gun Timmy had left him, and threatened his father with it. He hadn’t pulled the trigger, however, and Stanta had, after disarming him, beaten him even harder, and made John tell him everything that had happened, leading up to him getting the gun, and he had–everything about his strange encounter with Timmy on the porch, and the gift left the next day for him. After Stanta was satisfied, he’d locked John in this room again, where he was still sitting, weeks later. He’d returned to himself at this point, close to a week ago, now, but his father hadn’t returned to check up on him. So here he was, naked on his small bed, wondering what, exactly, his daddy would do to punish him–because that was the one thing he was certain would happen.

But today was different than the other days–today, he heard the lock on the door falling away–apparently his isolation was over, and his punishment was about to commence. He braced himself for whatever he might become when Stanta laid eyes on him after opening the door–he was certain it wouldn’t be anything good. But it wasn’t Stanta who opened the door. Instead, John found himself looking at a massive pigman, standing upright on two trotter-like feet, staring at him with tiny dark, greedy eyes, and with a lurch, he felt his body shifting around him.

A pig? Who in the world was this? He remembered seeing Stanta bringing those two pigs back with him from the workshop months ago, but…what in the world had he done to them? Was he going to become a pig too, thanks to the amulet? He looked down at himself, expecting the worst, but was somewhat surprised to see that he wasn’t losing his human features. He was shrinking slightly, and growing a sizable gut coated with white hair, with a thick white beard as well. He himself looked a bit Santa-esque, but he wasn’t Santa–his name…his name was Claude?

It was similar to what had happened when Timmy had seen him on the porch–he wasn’t simply assuming a form, he was assuming an identity along with it–one which was…slightly warped, it seemed, as his cock engorged itself, growing over a foot long and as thick as a two liter bottle, the pigman (Santa, his new mind told him, but this pig couldn’t be Santa, could it?) started drooling at the sight. “I’ve…*grunt* missed you more than I even realized,” the pig said, walking into the room and embracing John, “Claude…fuck, I thought I’d lost you forever.”

“Shut up you pig–I’ve missed you too, and that hole of yours,” John heard himself say, and then shove the pig over the side of the bed, lined his huge cock up with his hole, and slid into him with a long shudder of pleasure, and…and love. Not true love, some strange, warped desire that was close enough to fill in the void, but one which felt…so dirty, to him. John fucked the pig’s filthy hole, disgusted by the sensation, but the pig was pushing back, eager to be filled to the brim. John looked over and saw Stanta in the doorway, watching the scene with a stony face, waiting for them to finish–which took about half an hour. John slid out after he’d shot a massive load of cum deep into Santapig’s bowels, and then the pig whirled around, got down and started cleaning off the massive cock, grunting and snorting while he did, and John looked to his father. “Dad, I–”

“John, you made a mistake, but not an unforgivable one. But my friend here…has been very helpful to me, over the last month or so, and he deserves a reward. That’s going to be you, for the next several months.”

“But–”

Stanta walked over, and put a finger to his son’s lips. “You’re still mine–don’t forget that. He’s merely…borrowing you, right pig?”

There was a disgruntled sound made around John’s big cock, and he felt it bob, as Santapig nodded, reluctantly.

“I have business to settle, and I can’t have you getting in the middle of it. Once it’s settled…” he paused, “I’ll try harder too. I promise. To be the father for you I never was. But for now, I need you to do this, for me, understand?”

John nodded. All in all, it wasn’t that bad, right? He got a cute piggy ass to plow whenever he wanted, right? He was less enthused, when Stanta made them move into Santapig’s room with that…creepy urinal attached to the wall, but he knew, without a doubt, it could have been much, much worse.

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