Use It or Lose It (Part 11)

I thought your videos were getting a little one note–this should broaden your horizons. What do you think pig? Think you can manage to lose those last three inches? You don’t really deserve them, do you?

The other notes had all faded from his focus within a few hours; Randal could never quite recall what they’d said, and on the occasion, once or twice, that he’d scrounged around to find one again, he’d never been able to figure out where he’d abandoned them. But as the weekend roared by, from his marathon fisting session on Friday, when Master Max had forced five loads out of him, to his tour of the filthy clubs, bathhouses, bookstores and theaters all over the city until Sunday afternoon, he found the words haunting him. Did he deserve his dick? What did he really deserve? What did he want, and who was he–both before this, and becoming? He could barely grip the shaft anymore–it was a challenge to just wrap three fingers around the head as he was fucked or fisted–but the sensation was so strong that he’d shoot with just five or six firm tugs. He found himself in the bathroom, still in his stinking leathers, smelling of smoke, booze and grease, ass and piss on his tongue, staring at himself. It wasn’t pride that he felt, but it was an acquaintance of pride. A satisfaction.

That afternoon and evening, he abstained. He told himself, at first, that he was doing it to try and save himself, yet again, but most of him knew it was a lie. That if he’d been honest with himself about his true intent, he’d…well, he didn’t know what he’d do. The desire built up–quicker this time, in only a couple of hours–but the wait was…excruciating. He wanted to jack off, but he had to be patient. The reward, or the punishment, would be worth it, he assured himself. What the result would be, however, was a question he was terrified to have answered, but he had to know, all the same.

Once he was certain that the curse was prepared to trigger, he shoved his rubber fist deep into his ass, made sure the camera was on (if he could capture the event, would he post it? Of course he would post it, of course he would, but what would they all think? And would it be easier to believe it all himself?) reached under his gut and stroked. It was hard going, his cock was resisting. Perhaps it didn’t want to shrink more, or perhaps he was losing the will he’d thought would come easily. In the end, it took close to half an hour, and a severe pounding, before he finally emptied a sizable load into his hand. He slurped it, up, feeling the curse’s heat suffusing his body, and again, he grew. He looked at the camera, and waited until he was certain it was finished, and then went into the bathroom.

He was at least 400 pounds now, or perhaps closer to 500. The weight gain was only one change however, even if it was the most obvious. His body hair, which had been steadily decreasing, was now completely gone–his body was smooth, and even the beard he’d grown looked thinner and more wispy than before. The stink wafted around him, like someone who only showered rarely–more rarely than he had been, apparently. He…he felt good, though. It was good, wasn’t it? He certainly felt sexy, looking at the pig he’d become. But then, with some panic, he reached under and discovered he’d grown so large, and his cock so small, that he could no longer reach. He looked around for a note, and found one on the counter:

Becoming a proper pig now, you faggot. Good thing those fatty rolls of yours can get you off better than your hands.

He started swinging back and forth a bit, testing it out, and groaned. The note was right–the feel of the fat rubbing along the shaft and head of his cock was…divine.Just walking back into his room, he found himself close to cumming, and he ended up thrusting into his fat a bit more, and filling his gunt with a load of cum. The camera was still rolling–good. His fan’s loved seeing his hand’s free sessions–of course, most of them were at this point, unless he was using his wand or a vibrator on himself. He checked the camera, but there was no evidence of his change–he was the same obese slob at the beginning of the video as at the end. It was a bit disappointing, but not too much of a loss–he uploaded the whole video, jerked off to the comments for the rest of the evening, and then went to bed.

Work was challenging in new ways, he discovered. Just walking around the school in his jumpsuit was enough to make him cum, and he found he loved the idea of pumping load after load of cum into his pants, right in the hallways of the school, stifling his moans. He felt like a pervert, and yet he couldn’t remember ever being happier in his whole life, than at this moment. He felt…like he was finally becoming the person he’d always been meant to be, a kind of person he’d never considered possible before. He didn’t deserve his dick, he realized. He wasn’t even sure that he wanted one, even as much as he loved masturbating. In this body, the constancy of it was growing tiresome–it was no longer an act he indulged in, it was just a fact of his body in motion–pleasurable, sure, but now somewhat…of a hindrance. He was already planning on losing his next inch that evening. He’d show that witch–of course he didn’t deserve to have a cock, but losing another inch proved harder than he expected.

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