Winston’s Stable: Titpig (Part 5)

Winston decided, when Titpig woke up after the fifth and final dose of serum, he wanted him to be alone. Well, not completely alone, of course. Titpig was lying on the bed in one of Winston’s guest rooms–the same one where they’d played a week and a half earlier. Much to Winston’s dismay, the milk and cum had stained the carpet rather badly–he was going to have to rip it up entirely, along with much of the carpet throughout the rest of his home, if he was going to have Titpig roaming anywhere beyond the basement dungeon below. He could see both Titpig, and the stained carpet, on the various cameras he’d set up around the room earlier, so he could watch his finished freak fully discover his new body on his own, before his master joined him. “Alright Titpig, it’s time to wake up.”

Through the speakers, he heard a deep groan, and a second later he saw the figure on the bed begin to roll about. For the moment, he had suppressed most of the mental shifts he’d been drilling into the slave’s mind for the last week or so–for the moment Mark was in the driver’s seat, though the serums had done some damage to his mental faculties. It wouldn’t be too big of a deal–after all, he didn’t need to be a genius to see what’s right in front of his face.

In the room, Mark was having a hard time getting up from the bed for some reason–every time he tried to sit up, his upper body would drag him back down, almost like he was pinned down by something on his chest. In the end, he was forced to roll to the side and then onto the floor–he tried to get his feet under him to balance, but he had to throw his upper body back to try and stay upright, nearly toppling over. Instead, he flung himself forward, hunching over, his hands far closer to the floor than they should be, right?

He was up, and he was stable, but why in the world was his upper body so…heavy? Looking down at himself, he could see why, clearly enough–the thick pecs he’d developed had easily doubled in size, forcing him to hunch over, knees bent, just to keep himself upright. His spine, however, felt…comfortable in this position, however, and he looked up and around the room, wondering if he might, still, have an opportunity for escape–but it was doubtful. Master–whatever he was doing to him, he must have been planning this for a very long time. He turned a bit so he could face a mirror, and what he saw…it couldn’t be, could it? It had to be a lie, or a trick. He waved a hand, and the figure waved back–it was him, it was really him.

His shoulders and neck had grown at pace with his chest, his shoulders in particular widening to accommodate the additional muscle and breast tissue forming across his pecs. They hung down in front of him, massive slabs of meat with two thick nipples jutting from each of them, both of them nearly three inches long, and as thick as a garden hose. The natural coating of hair which had been there before had disappeared entirely–the skin on his chest and belly was completely smooth, but it had grown in thicker elsewhere–his forearms, legs and ass in particular. His legs were slightly shorter than they were before, which accounted for how his arms were so close to the ground in his new posture, and they bowed out considerably to make room for the massive ball sack swinging between them. His scrotum was taut, and each testicle could be made out clearly–they were almost visibly churning as he watched them, and a bit of cum started to leak from the head of his puny, inch long nub of a cock, where it ran back along the short shaft and down the front of his balls.

Like his chest, his head was similarly devoid of hair–his scalp and face completely bald, aside from a thin eyebrow–but his facial features…he no longer resembled himself, as far as he could recall. In fact, he no longer looked entirely human. His brow was thicker, eyes set back a bit further in his skull, and his nose, mouth and ears all seemed a bit too large. The result was rather ugly, and quite beastly, if he was honest with himself. Still, with a body like this, he doubted that anyone would really find much reason to focus on his face…still, he wasn’t as terrified as he knew, in his mind, he should be. In fact, he was…excited.

Thrilled, in fact, with his new body. Something told him that they weren’t his thoughts, but looking at himself, at his huge chest and giant balls, his hunched posture and ugly maw…it was him. It was who he wanted to be–no, it was who he was supposed to be. But more important than even that, it was what Master wanted. The door opened, almost on queue, and he turned to see his Master in the doorway, wearing his customary uniform, his cock already hard in his gloved hand, cigar lit and clamped in his teeth. “Alright Titpig–get the fuck over here and put that ugly mug of yours to work.”

Titpig lumbered over, and as he did, he felt like his mind was…dulling away. No, he could feel it, actually. It was harder and harder to think, and before he could even try and fight it, most of his own will had disappeared. He gave his Master’s cock a long lick from root to head, a bit of drool escaping from his mouth as he grunted, balancing with one hand while the other reached around and probed inside his loose asshole. Winston saw Titpig’s eyes dull and glaze over–the mental programming had worked as he’d hoped. For now, at least, Mark was nothing more than an animal–his animal–but he would be so much more than that, soon enough. Yes, Titpig was the key, and now that the first stage had come to fruition, Winston could finally begin constructing the thing he’d wanted his entire life.

He could finally begin filling his stable, and he thought that the perfect place to start, would be with Mark’s old friend Joey. After all, he’d seemed so…vanilla, and such a bore–and proud of it. Well, Winston would make sure he wasn’t a bore any longer–no, Joey would be something just as special as Titpig–and just as much the property of Master Winston.