Commissioned for @pugsleypig – Hope the big day goes well!
When Pugsley told me that he wanted a bachelor party–I knew what he really wanted. After all, he wouldn’t have asked me if he hadn’t had something in mind. I told him I’d organize the perfect party for a pig like him–that he just needed to show up at my apartment on Saturday, at two pm sharp. He arrived a bit early, he’s conscientious like that.
He was wearing his usual clothes: camo tank, shorts, boots and hat–I told him to strip out of those, he wouldn’t be needing them. Then I gave him his uniform for the party–a black leather waistcoat, crotchless and assless rubber shorts, a black bowtie, white cuffs on his wrists, knee high socks and black dress shoes. He was, I told him, going to be the waiter and service at his own bachelor party–thankfully, I had the good instinct to lock up his cock before telling him this, so I could watch his cock strain in it’s tight cage. Then I sent him into the kitchen to start cooking–guests would be arriving at seven, and he needed the appetizers ready to serve on the dot.
He worked hard–he always does. I watched him a bit, and then went to prepare another room for the poker game I had planned with a few acquaintances of mine–Pugsley might have thought it would be his friends coming by later, but I had something a bit better in mind. Seven rolled around, and as the men arrived, I made Pugsley answer the door and greet them all, and when he saw them, I could see him struggling with disgust and arousal at the same time. They weren’t, after all, his type. All four were older, in their forties to sixties, hairy, chubby, several of them smelling of smoke–not the fit, military men he usually fantasized about serving. He served well all the same though. After I got everyone seated at the table for the game, he brought out appetizers, and the men started berating him, groping him, ordering him around, and I saw he was properly enjoying himself.
For the first few hours, while we played the game, he focused on keeping everyone’s beers full and cigars lit, their feet massaged under the table, their plates supplied with food. Once everyone was a bit drunk and enjoying themselves, I moved onto the next part of the party–paused the game, and told Pugsley that it was time for his bachelor gifts. I went over to a bookcase and took down a small jewelry box, opened it, and handed the small stone inside to the first man in the group, one of the younger and fitter fellows by the name of John. Pugsley had noticed, when he’d entered, he’d smelled more strongly of smoke and booze than the others, and he was quite a bit more drunk already.
“Alright, Pugsley–my four friends are going to give you some very special gifts now, and you’re going to be a good pig and accept they all gladly, right?”
He nodded, but he still didn’t quite understand what I was talking about. John cleared his smoky throat, and said, “Alright pig–I’m gonna be giving you my two pack a day cigarette habit, and my alcoholism. I usually drink a six pack every night–so you’d better get used to it.”
The stone in the man’s hand glowed, and a ray shot out at Pugsley, striking him in the chest, and he felt new needs rise up in his chest. He’d been ambivalent about the smoking before–but he had a new need in his eyes–taking a bit of pity on him, I tapped the ash off mine into his mouth, making him thank me for it, and then took a longish butt from the table and worked it into his ass–he’d be feeling better soon, as the nicotine seeped into his system.
John passed the stone to the next man, Craig, who was by far the most heavyset of the men in the group, with a large apron of hat hanging down between his thighs. “Alright pig, I’m going to give you 300 pounds of fat, but in exchange, you’re going to give me a six inches off your height.”
Pugsley looked at me, wondering if that was allowed, but the stone glowed, another ray shot him, and in a matter of moments, the rubber shorts hand split apart on him, the buttons on the waistcoat popping off, the bowtie cutting into his flabby neck. He clawed at it until he got it undone, and heaved for breath, looking down at his five and a half foot frame, now packed with over 500 pounds of fat, hanging off him in massive rolls. A much slimmer, and taller, Craig passed the stone on to the next fellow, Rex. “Well, I’ve always had real bad B.O., you see, and a problem with belchin’ and fartin’–so why don’t you take those pig? I think they’ll suit you.”
The stone glowed again, shot out and struck Puglsey, and he belched immediately, his flabby frame shaking, making all the men laugh. He could feel the sweat rolling off him now, in all the cracks of his body–he reeked, but there was nothing he could do about it. Lastly, Peter took the stone, who was the oldest fellow, with a thick white beard. “Alright Puglsey–I’m going to give you…say, thirty years of my life, and also this impotence I’ve been struggling with a lot lately. A pig like you doesn’t need to use your dick though, right?”
I think he wanted to cry, as the years piled on his new body, his fat sagging further, hair receding and turning white, and we all heard to clink of the metal cock cage falling to the floor–his already meager cock had shrunk back so far into his flab, that it had simply fallen off. We all laughed, and turned back to the game, Pugsley trying to recover and keep serving, but he kept choking back tears. I heard him whispering, “It’s just…for tonight, just for a bit.” He’d seen me take the stone and put it back in the box–he probably thought he would get to give back his gifts–instead, I ushered all the men out into the night, making the new Pugsley thank all of them for their nice gifts for his wedding the next day–and then we were alone, and he finally let it out, sobbing in fear.
“I can’t–I can’t show up like this, I can’t–you…you can fix this, right?”
I shook my head, “I thought you wanted to serve, pig? This is service–you should be thanking me for giving you this opportunity. Besides–you’re still in there, the real you. If he loves you, he should be able to love this you as well, right?”
He didn’t know what to say to that.
“You’re going to stand at that alter tomorrow–in that ill-fitting tux, and in front of all of your friends and family, you’re going to have to ask him to love you. To prove that he’ll love you, no matter what. If he means it? Then he will. And if not…well, you can always come back here, and serve me instead. I’ll always have room for a dirty, fat, worthless pig around here, you know.”
He sucked me off, and I sent him on his way in the same short, tank and boots he’d arrived in–though he could barely fit any of the ensemble now. I knew he’d go through with it, because he knew I was right–if he loved him, truly loved him, he’d love him no matter how he looked. Besides–in 24 hours, after the ceremony, I’d fix him right up, good as he was before–and send those gifts into the void for good. But he’d know if he’d found a man–a man who could truly love a pig like him, no matter what.