Trax spent a few months honing his new, and in his mind, much improved version of Perrion. It wasn’t too long before any trace of the old version was gone–he’d replaced his whole past with new memories, scrubbed all of his old desires and left behind a muscled out, dumbfuck skinpig desperate to be as big and freakish as his master desired. Still, it was only virtual. Trax had started this just as a way to get even, to vent some of his anger out on something that, in the long run, he figured he’d eventually just delete in a fit of shame and horror. But that wasn’t happening at all–instead, he was becoming obsessed.Obsessed not only with PJ, but also with the skinmaster persona he’d created for himself in the virtual realm. He wanted more–and he wanted it to be real…but how?
He couldn’t just kidnap Perrion–that would raise too much suspicion. Instead, he haunted him for a while, looking for a weak point he might be able to use to his advantage–and then he discovered, one night while spying on him, that Perrion had made a new purchase–a dream recorder. It was perfect–it was relatively new tech, and a lot of people had been raising concerns that they could be hacked and give people access to your subconscious. No one seemed too concerned about it. After all, companies already had complete access to your conscious already, what more could they really want?
A little malicious malware with PJ implanted inside, and a quick slip into Perrion’s apartment while he was at work, and everything was set up–PJ would have complete control over Perrion’s dreams soon enough–and a good deal more than that. The more Perrion exposed himself to the infected machine, the more PJ would slide into him, replacing more and more of his subconscious mind with his own perverse ideals and desires. Still, it had to burn slow, because PJ could be…a bit much upon introduction. He set the malware to trigger slowly, and make sure things only really ramped up once PJ was firmly rooted in Perrion’s mind. The process was set to take a year.
It was a grueling time to wait, but Trax had his own projects–namely, himself. He needed to be the skinhead master that PJ would want to be with in a year, or else the fucker would just ditch him for someone else. Trax wasn’t a large guy, but some of his less legal work had landed him a substantial windfall–mostly after making a few copies of some other people on mental vacations for clients. That money was pumped right back into his body–cybernetics mostly, growing his frame and skeleton from five and a half feet tall to nearly seven feet tall, and once he got a taste for cyber…it was hard to stop. He could pass for human, at times. But he liked how people looked at him, he liked how his metal snake of a cock could wrap around his wrist–or around his thigh under his bleached jeans.
He corrupted himself gladly, ruining his intellect, getting himself addicted to tobacco, and several substances harder than that. Still, he always had an eye on the calendar, and as the day approached, he was desperate to check in on Perrion, to see how he’d progressed…but he resisted. Better to wait for the day he’d arrive on his doorstep, begging his ex to take him back, unable to explain how he’d been dreaming about him for ages, and all he wanted was for him to twist him into some sick minded pervert pig skinslave.
The day came, and he didn’t have to wait long–Perrion arrived before noon, knocking on his door, and when he saw Trax–the new Trax, a stain of precum appeared on the front of the jeans he had on, shading the massive bulge of his somewhat siliconed cock. He was bigger than he’d been, his head shaved, looking shabby. He must have lost his job along the way, and now here he was, begging this alpha brute to take him and make him his–and Trax did just that, because Perrion, or PJ as he began calling him immediately still had so much further to go.
He’d been too terrified of the piercings to get many of them, but Trax quickly caught him up–he wanted hoops in his flesh everywhere, and he used them all the time to bind his skinpig up–to himself, or to the walls, where he’d put other hooks, using them to chain the pig in excruciating positions, while Trax’s massive metal cock wormed its way into his ass, or his thick fist drove its way into his guts. More and more, he’d see the look in his eye–that glazed look of awe–that he’d come to know so well in the simulation. It was PJ, taking more and more control, and helpless, Perrion was losing more and more ground, until he was locked away, and the only person left was PJ, or more often known as Chains, from the decorations Trax liked the thread through his piercings around his body, his massive, amorphous, mounding piece of cock meat bursting through the worn jeans Trax allowed the pig to wear when they were outside.
On occasion, Trax would plug PJ into VR, and boot up the original Perrion, just to introduce them. Introduce them, and then Trax would appear, and have his way with them both, revealing to Perrion that the hulking beast was him–the future him, the only him that really existed anymore. He wouldn’t believe it, of course, until he started changing as well, PJ overwriting him in the scenario, and Trax would get to relive the corruption all over again.