Mick’s Tattoos: Footrag

Summary

Nate has found himself acting like a whole new person over the last few months, ever since he got his first tattoos at Mick’s small tattoo shop near his apartment.

Last updated: 11/4/19 – Full story posted! Enjoy!

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Table of Contents

Part 1

Nate started off his morning like he always did–with a good wank. One hand wrapped around his cock, jerking it slow, getting it good and wet with his copious precum, the other hand rubbing or slapping his belly, or thrown up over his head so he can sniff at his ripe pit, snorting and grunting until his cock exploded all over his belly. Then he’d lie in the haze of his afterglow for a few minutes, rubbing the cum into his hairy gut, before rolling up, pulling on a pair of grungy, cumstained underwear, and stumbling into the bathroom for a piss and a good shit. Once he finished with that, he spent a couple of minutes admiring himself in the mirror–and found himself wondering if it was time for a couple more tattoos.

He had quite a few already of course–some of them quite large. Across his belly, still drying from his earlier load, were the words “CUM RAG” arching above his belly button, all of the letters dripping with cum and forming puddles underneath them on his gut. On one side of his neck, curving around to the back away from his beard, so it could be easily read, were the words “SLOB LIFE”–too high to ever be hidden by a shirt. Across the front of his chest was the word “GLUTTON”. His arms were dominated by two of their own–on one side, a fat hairy bearded fellow–a rather good portrait of him really, was sitting and holding a sign, like a panhandler, that read, “Will suck cock for food.” Around him on his arm were all manners of men with their cocks out, apparently waiting their turn. On the other, there was a picture of him–again, incredibly accurate–eating out a grubby looking guy’s armpit, with the words above and below, “Save Water! Skip a shower–let a pig handle it!”

None of them were his designs of course–he always left the work in the capable hands of Mick–the guy who owned the tattoo parlor a few blocks over. He always knew just what to add to help Nate look even more like the fat, dirty pervert he was. Fuck, just looking at himself, he wanted to jack off all over again, but before he could, there was a loud pounding on the door.

“Fuck Nate, are you still in there? Finish up already!”

It was John–Nate’s roommate in the apartment. He grunted in annoyance, and opened up the door, leering at him. “If you want a shower–why not let me do it man? I know you smell fucking amazing,” Nate said, and licked his lips. His roommate just looked disgusted at him, and Nate laughed as he left the bathroom, and John went in, cursing at the fact that his pig roommate hadn’t even bothered to flush. Nate scratched his ass and went into the kitchen, where he started scrounging up some breakfast. He threw some frozen breakfast sandwiches into the microwave, and dug out a bag of chips to snack on while he waited for them to cook, and sat down at the table. After a few minutes, he devoured the stuff from the oven, and then finished the chips as well–and chased it all down with a nice, mid-morning beer from the fridge. He’d finished it all by the time John came out, clean and shiny, dressed in normal clothes, and when he saw Nate sitting there, shirtless, all of his raunchy tattoos on display, he just shook his head at them.

“Can’t you have some fucking self-respect, and put a shirt on? What the fuck is wrong with you?” John said, and went to get his keys.

“Wrong with me, what’s wrong with you? Why are you even home?”

“Because it’s fucking Saturday, dumbass–some of us fucking work for a living–maybe you should give it a try.”

“Come on man, work is fucking lame–rather be eating and sucking cock.”

“Yeah, I fucking noticed. You gonna have rent ready next week?”

I was gonna ask ya about that…think you could cover it for me? I’ll…pay you back in other ways, you know. Cumrags like me got a few good skills up our sleeves, you know, maybe ya should find out.”

“Fuck off,” John said, flustered, “I’m getting the fuck out of here for a bit, if you’re going to be here all damn day.”

“Whatever man, think it over. Ya got this nasty fucking pig living with you, the least you could do is use him once in a while.”

John paused by the apartment door and just stared at Nate, looking at him like…he was looking at someone else, where someone else was supposed to be, then he shook his head and left, leaving Nate alone in the apartment. He leaned back and pulled out his cock, thinking about John looming over him, jacking off, ridiculing him, demeaning him, fucking Nate’s fat face until he came all over his beard, letting it dry there…

Nate came in his hand and rubbed it into his beard, imagining it was John’s massive load instead, licking a bit off his lips. Yeah–it was definitely time to get some more tattoos…he could feel it.

He could feel something else too. Something…nagging at him. One of those sensations where you know you’ve forgotten something important, that you need to remember it before you go any further, but no matter how hard to try, it refuses to surface. It was a common feeling for him–usually whenever he was around John. Like the way he’d looked at him when he was leaving–it was…pity, but also confusion. He wanted to ask him, but every time he thought about it, something else came out, something lewd and filthy and…

He scrunched his eyes up, trying to will himself out of it, trying to drag it out of the corner of his brain, but it wouldn’t come–all it did was give him a headache. Whatever–it probably wasn’t important anyway. He grabbed a second beer from the fridge, and chugged it while he went to his room, found a nasty tanktop reeking of cum to throw on, some ratty gym shorts over his underwear, slipped on his flip flops, and he left the apartment.

The city sidewalks were busy on Saturday mornings, and everyone passing him by did anything they could to avoid him. He loved it, really. He loved having everyone know exactly what kind of nasty pervert he was. It made his cock hard and made him leak–while he was waiting at crosswalks, he’d often shove his hand down into his pants, get some pre on it, and smear it on his tanktop, or into his beard. All the while though, that little voice was getting louder. It hated being out here. It was humiliating. It didn’t want anyone to see what he was, what he’d…become? That didn’t make sense though, did it. After all, hadn’t Nate always been this way? It’s all he could remember, at least. But there was that little forgotten thing, so small, and yet constantly prodding him, especially as he got closer to the shop.

A young guy passing him called him a faggot, and Nate felt his face burn a bit. Why did he do this to himself, anyway? He could have put on more clothes, he…he shouldn’t be like this, should he? Why was he like this? Why did he hate it, and yet…and yet he wanted to go chase him down, beg him for a load across his face, ask him to show him what he does to nasty faggots like him, and it took real effort to stop himself from doing that, from humiliating himself right in the street. He’d probably get arrested. He’d probably go to jail, where…fuck, maybe everyone there would fuck him, cum on him, Fuck! Yeah, fuckin’ dirty prison bitch cumrag, now wouldn’t that be something?

He hustled his way down the last block, the front of his shorts wet with precum from his walk, the rest of his clothes were soaked with sweat from hauling his 300 pound frame around town. He pushed his way into the small tattoo shop, heard the bell overhead, the door close behind him–and all of it came back to him. He remembered who he’d been. Clean, skinny, boring old Nate. Then he’d started coming here, and…well, he knew what was next, if he didn’t get out of here. He turned around, tried to haul the door back open, but it refused to budge, Nate breathing heavily, looking around for another way out, while Mick just stood there, grinning, watching him try and escape the web he’d stumbled back into yet again–but then again, Nate was back here because he wanted Nate here.

Here’s what Nate had forgotten over the last few weeks. As he had been walking home one night, he had somehow been convinced by the burly, hairy fellow that what he really needed to make his life better, was a tattoo. Nate had never once in his life wanted a tattoo of course, but Mick…had a way with words, and so, without any real struggle at all, he’d gotten into the chair, and gotten his first tattoo–”CUMRAG” across his belly. Things had been all downhill from there, with Nate forgetting that things had ever been different for him, as Mick slowly warped him into the filthy, slobby pervert he was at the moment–and now it was time for a few more additions to Nate’s growing tattoo collection.

“Please, please just let me go, please,” Nate begged him, “I…I don’t know what you want from me, why the fuck are you doing this to me!”

Mick just laughed, and walked over to where Nate was cowering by the door. He was a massive fellow, easily six foot three, and weighing over 300 pounds himself–though much of it was muscle. He had a massive beard, a shaved head, and tattoos everywhere–so many that it was hard to distinguish any of them from each other–and Nate was rather certain that they could move and change according to his whims. Mick hauled out his cock, and didn’t even have to say anything–Nate dropped to his knees and started sucking on it, horrified, but unable to control himself.

“I’ve been thinking long and hard about your situation, Nate,” Mick said, “And you know, I think you’re getting a little too confident in your piggish ways. Watching how you talked to that roommate of yours this morning, with so little respect, I just don’t think it becomes a cumdump like you to behave like that. Why don’t we help you with a little humility today? Help you remember your proper place in the order of things?” 

Mick laughed, grabbed hold of Nate’s head and fucked his throat for a few minutes, but didn’t cum–he just ordered Nate into the chair, and strapped him in. Nate still squirming and begging until Mick had had enough, unlaced his boots, stepped out of them, took his belt, and used it to secure one of them around Nate’s face, the opening pressed over his nose and mouth, so the only thing he could breathe was the stench of Mick’s feet. He gagged and coughed from how strong it was, but Mick ignored him and pulled over his work tray. “Now now, just relax Nate–just let me work my little magic on you, and I guarantee you won’t want that boot anywhere else. Then we’ll send you home–see how that straight laced roommate of yours likes you then. What do you think he’ll do? Maybe he’ll finally use you–I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Worshipping his cock, his body, degrading yourself for his amusement? Then again, maybe he’ll finally kick you out of the apartment. Wonder what you’ll do then little piggy–live a life on the streets, begging for cock in alleys? Don’t worry, you’ll always have a place here–but if you stay here with me…well, then I get to do whatever I want to you, don’t I? Then again, I get to do that anyway.”

Nate screamed and shouted through the boot, tried to pull away, as Mick started up the needle and leaned over his neck, but the same thing happened that always happened–as soon as the needle slid into his skin, something…took over his mind, something he couldn’t explain, and he went slack. All he could feel was the pain of the needle, deeper than his skin, like it was etching its way across his mind, and his soul, and reality itself. Mick just started whistling a merry little tune, watching the script take shape across Nate’s neck. He had a long list today of additions for the pig–but he could work quickly. He’d be on his way this afternoon, out into a newly twisted life–and Mick wondered what might happen to the little pig. Reality could be fickle when you toyed with it–you never quite knew what direction things would take. All Mick knew was that it would be a great show in any case–and he was excited to watch it unfold.

Part 2

John had put it off for as long as he could, he supposed. The weekends were the worst with Nate–at least during the week, John could rely on work to keep him away from the apartment for most of the day, and he’d only really have to deal with him in the evenings–if Nate wasn’t already passed out on the couch after a hard day of drinking and jacking off. Fuck, he was such a fucking loser–had he always been like this? The two of them had only been living together for about six months, and John had a hard time believing that he had met him, shown him around, and actually said yes to letting Nate live with him. It was almost like, over the last couple of months, he’d become a different person almost, but that was stupid. Nate had always been like this, hadn’t he? Who else could he have possibly been?

Thoughts like this had been nagging at John for a while now. As the person closest to Nate, and witnessing all of his changes first hand, Mick’s magic had been wrapping its way around him slowly but surely this entire time–but so far, hadn’t done anything to change him. But because he was so close, he could see the cracks here and there, the places where reality was stretched too thin by Mick’s tattoo work, and it was driving him a bit crazy, wondering what was going on with his perverted roommate, trying to sort out why he lived with him in the first place. He got to the apartment door, and braced himself, wondering what he was going to be walking in on this time–but nothing could have prepared him for what was on the other side of that door. Afterall, Nate wasn’t even the same person he’d been that morning–not really.

John stepped into the apartment, and he could hear the snorting and grunting, which meant Nate was definitely in the middle of something. He rounded the corner of the short hallway, and found Nate there on the couch on his knees…with one of John’s shoes. He had the shoe sandwiched between his face and the armrest, his nose buried inside, snorting and huffing John’s stench from inside the shoe, while his other hand was busy working a sizable dildo in and out of his hole. Under him, his cock was drooling precum all over the couch–one of the cushions was soaked with a sizable puddle. Nate was so focused on the shoe, and on the toy, he hadn’t even noticed that John had entered the apartment.

Mick had gotten a bit carried away at the shop that day, even by his own admission–or perhaps inspired was a better word. In any case, Nate’s already sizable collection of tattoos had expanded quite a bit. The tattoos on his arms now extended past his wrists, massive block letters that read “ABUSE ME” on one and “DEGRADE ME” on the other. On the side of his neck there was a picture of a pig with a sneaker shoved over its face, furious jacking off with the word “footpig” underneath it. Above his ass, there was a little curly pigtail tattooed, and across both cheeks, was “FUCK HOLE”. John couldn’t see it from his angle, but there was one final tattoo around his cock, and across his thighs. It was a massive biohazard symbol radiating out from his tiny cock done in black and red. On one thigh, there were the words “WARNING: WORTHLESS PIG COCK” and on the other “DO NOT TOUCH UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE.”

“God fucking dammit, you nasty fucking pig, what the fuck are you doing with my goddamn shoe?” John said, surprised a bit by how angry he was at Nate for what he was doing.

Nate, rose up from the shoe he was sniffing in surprise, and his face immediately reddened in shame. “I…I’m sorry Sir, I…I got home, and I was so horny, and…and I could smell then and I know I shouldn’t have but…but fuck, it smells so good Sir!”

John didn’t quite know how to reconcile the Nate from this morning, with the Nate standing in front of him. Before, Nate had been almost proud of his own messy nature, but this one…he seemed a bit smaller for one thing, or maybe that was just because he was hunched over. Fatter too–definitely quite a bit fatter–easily over 350 pounds. All of the hair on his body had disappeared too, which only made his tattoos all the more obvious. He was disgusting, and he reeked, and as John got off the couch, the dildo hanging out of his ass, and waddled over closer to him, he could smell him–he could smell the stench of his own feet clinging to the pig’s ugly, bearded face, and all…all he wanted to do was berate the fucking faggot, and…and tie that shoe around his face, and give him a good proper fuck like he deserved.

No! No, why the fuck was he thinking that? John stepped back, shaking his head, trying to will the erection he had back down as best he could. He was straight! He was straight, and he would never do something like that with a man, especially not a fucking pig like this.

“I’m sorry Sir, I…I haven’t been a good pig for you, I know that now. I was rude to you this morning, I…I should be thankful sir, to be living with someone with such…such delicious smelling feet, oh…oh can I lick them for you sir? Rub them for you? Just…just a little, please? It…I know it doesn’t matter, but it would make this pig so happy if he could worship your…your feet, and…and if I do a good job, you can fuck my hole, right?”

He was so close to him, so close he could smell his breath, and John shoved Nate away from him, sending him tottering back until he landed on his ass a few feet away, the toy popping out of his hole as it did. “You fucking piece of shit, what the fuck makes you think I would ever want to fuck a nasty, worthless piece of trash like you?” John shouted at him, and the pig recoiled…and there was a rush of power there, something he’d never quite felt before in his life, his cock throbbing, his mind racing. He shoved the pig again, so he was lying on his back, and pressed one foot to the pig’s neck, watching him struggle to breathe, eyes rolling back in pleasure, little cock throbbing and leaking precum all over him and the floor. “Fuck, you even like this, don’t you? Being my fucking doormat for my dirty feet? What the fuck is wrong with you? You broken piece of shit, you fucking disgust me,” He spat in Nate’s face, the pig’s mouth open to receive it, and he saw the lust in the pig’s eyes, and he could feel it inside his own body, thrumming with it. He…He could do it. He could fuck him, make this nasty fucking pig worship him from head to toe–especially to the toes. He could do anything he wanted to him…and it all honesty, in that moment, he wanted to. So many things, reality trying to warp him to it’s needs–but he was terrified. He pulled his foot away and stepped back, tamping down the anger and horniness that had welled up inside him. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t who he was–this wasn’t who either of them was supposed to be.

“Please sir, please, I deserve it!” Nate said, squirming on the floor, “I was such a bad little pig sir, getting into your things without permission, I need…I need you to punish me sir, please, show me what you do to bad, dirty little footpigs like me…”

“No, fuck no. What the fuck happened to you?” John said. “What the fuck are you fucking doing to me, you fucking freak?” 

Nate looked at him then, their eyes meeting for a moment, and under the horny glee, John saw something else. Pure, distilled terror and panic. Then it was gone, and the pig was there again, but that was enough for John. He was going to have no part in this–none at all. He grabbed his coat where he’d hung it when he’d come in, and fled the apartment, Nate begging him not to leave, crawling after him in desperation, but John knew he couldn’t go back there, he just couldn’t. Something was…wrong with that apartment. Something was wrong with Nate, and it…it was affecting him too, in ways he couldn’t even understand. He had to get out of there, he needed some damn air.

He hit the sidewalk, and looked both ways, unsure of where he was going to go, since he couldn’t very well go back there. A friend’s place? Who did he know that would let him spend the night, maybe? No–this was ridiculous–he had to go back up there, kick Nate out on his ass, it was high fucking time he got rid of him for good. First though, he had to calm down–a walk would help with that. He turned to the left without thinking too hard about it, and started down the street, not knowing that he was tracing the exact same path that Nate had walked that morning. At each intersection, he followed in Nate’s footsteps without much thought as to where he was going, and in a few minutes, he found himself in front of a tattoo shop he hadn’t really noticed in his neighborhood before, peering in the windows in curiosity.

“Looking to get a tattoo?”

The voice startled him, and John looked around, and saw a massive man smoking a cigarette on the other side of the door from where he was looking in the windows. He was wearing a tanktop, which did nothing to disguise the massive riot of tattoos that covered that man’s body–and John realized he was probably talking to the artist himself. “Oh, uh, sorry, I was just curious I guess.”

The man laughed, “You have any yourself?”

“No–I mean, I don’t care if people get them, but I guess I never really felt strongly enough about something to put it on me permanently. I don’t know what I would even get.”

“That’s alright–a lot of guys come into my shop not knowing what they want, but I always help them figure out the perfect thing for them,” the artist stepped closer, sticking out a hand, “The name is Mick, by the way.”

“Oh, uh, John,” he said, and took Mick’s hand, and as soon as he did, he felt…such a sense of ease with him. Like he could tell the man anything, without having to worry about it. He could trust him. He’d been planning on walking on, but suddenly, he didn’t really want to, and he looked back in the windows at the studio inside. 

“So what brings you out tonight, John? Doesn’t look like you were planning on a tattoo.”

“Roommate problems,” John said, figuring that would be enough, and Mick laughed.

“Yeah, that can be a real hassle. I live over the shop–nice and easy.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Gets a bit lonely on occasion, but I got work to keep me company.”

John nodded, and then asked a question that had been on his mind for a few minutes. “So, what tattoo would you give me, if I didn’t know what I wanted, just from seeing me right now?”

Mick just shrugged. “We could always step inside and talk about it if you want.”

“I don’t want anything tonight.”

“Just a consultation.”

John hedged for a moment…but it would keep him out of the apartment, and out of the cold for a while. What could it hurt, really? “Alright, sure–why not?”

“That’s the spirit,” Mick said, grinning wide, “Come on in–I bet we can work out something perfect for you.” He led John into the shop, and once they were inside, flipped the sign in the window from open to closed. This was fresh meat–and Mick hated being interrupted when he was defiling a virgin. He’d watched John, seen how close he was to giving in–all he needed was a little push. But Mick didn’t do little pushes–only big ones, and John was going to start on a path to becoming a brand new man–the perfect counterpart to his piggy roommate.

Part 3

There had been a dream, or something like a dream. Mick was there–not just a dream someone that looked like Mick, or symbolized Mick–it was Mick. He said something to Nate in the dream, something he couldn’t understand, and then he woke up.

He woke up, and he knew who he was. 

It was the first time in months, since that first visit to the tattoo shop, the Nate had been himself outside of the shop. It was the first time he’d ever really smelled his room, full to the brim of nasty socks and boots–some his, others traded from dirty men he’d sucked off, still others stolen when he’d had the chance. He gagged, looked down at himself, and felt a bit woozy…but he was awake. He was awake, and he had no idea why.

Had Mick tried to cast a spell on him in his sleep? Is that why he’d woken up? It made sense. Something must have backfired, or maybe the magic cancelled itself out. In any case, he had to act quickly, before Mick figured out what had happened. He had to get to the police. It wouldn’t be…easy, telling them what had happened, but all he had to do was get them to go there, or maybe John would testify on his behalf too, tell them what had happened, that something weird had been happening to him this whole time. He flung himself out of bed and threw on a stinking set of shorts and shirt–but what other choice did he have? He had to get out of here now–as quickly as possible. He left his room, headed for his flip flops by the door–but he didn’t make it that far. He wasn’t the first person up this morning–there was someone sitting on the couch, waiting for him.

“Finally up, pig? Mick said I had to let you sleep the night through, but fuck, it’s been real hard waiting, I can tell you that.”

The stranger stood up from the couch, and he was massive. Six foot, frame packed with muscle. There was a tattoo across his shoulder blades, the word “ALPHA” in massive letters, easily read across the room. Nate could see others as he came around the couch and faced him, standing between him and the door out. On one arm, was a muscle man with his arm up, stench wafting from his pits and feet, wilting a field of flowers around him. Below, the words, “Smell like a man, not like a flower!” On the other arm was a cartoon rat with a huge cock, pumping iron, the word “GYMRAT” hanging over him. And there, tattooed in an arc over his massive, eight inch cock, was the word “PIGBREAKER”. The tattoos were so jarring, that it took him a moment before he could look up at the man’s face–and he realized who it was, at last. “J-John?”

“Oh so you aren’t that fucking stupid at least. What do you think of the upgrade?” he said, and flexed one arm up, popping his bicep and leering at Nate. “Gotta say, I wasn’t too sure when Mick told me what he had in mind, but fuck, it feels fuckin’ good being this big. This fucking strong.”

He had one chance–and only one. Nate shot for the door, determined to just get out, and worry about everything else after that, but John blocked him–the next thing he knew, he was on his back, John’s bare foot once again planted across Nate’s throat, looming over him, slowly increasing the pressure, watching Nate gasp for breath, claw at his foot, but he was too weak to even budge it. “There we go–this is where we left off yesterday, isn’t it? Sorry I ran off on you like that pig–but don’t worry, we have all day to sort things out again.”

Nate could smell the funk rolling off of John’s massive feet, and that was the first time he’d felt it all morning–the sudden urge of the pig, hungry to taste it, hungry to lick it, to lick all of John, everywhere he could. Nate pushed back as hard as he could, refusing to give in, knowing that if he did, he might never have a chance like this again. John let up his foot for a moment, and then brought it back down across Nate’s mouth, his nose pressed against his arch, and that was too much–he opened up and started licking, started grunting, and Nate…he could feel himself start slipping away again, slipping away into the depths of himself where Mick kept him. He fought harder–unable to stop his tongue from licking at the filthy bottom of John’s feet, he tried to shove him off, and Nate just laughed at him.

“You stupid pig, you really think I’d let you out of here now? Hell no–we’re just getting started. I’m going to watch that pig shove you back down, and then I’m going to fuck your hole with my Pigbreaker, and then you’re going to be mine–got it? That’s what Mick promised me–fuck you, seed your fat piggy hole, and you’ll do anything for me–and fuck, I got so many fuckin’ ideas pig, just you fuckin’ wait.”

Nate was struggling less now, and licking harder. John pulled his foot away from the pig’s face, and watched him try and follow it for a moment, before Nate managed to get a bit of control back, and pull away. He rolled over, saw the door, and tried to crawl towards it, only for Nate to grab him by the foot and drag him back across the floor, like he weighed nothing at all to him.

“Leaving so soon? But we haven’t even gotten to the best part yet! The part where I fuck your little brains out. The part where my cock breaks you to pieces, and leaves you as the moaning, foot-hungry, nasty little pig you’re always going to be from now on.”

John’s cock slid in easy, even as big as it was. After all, Nate regularly fucked himself with dildo’s larger than his master’s cock, to make sure he could take him at…at a moment’s notice. No, why the fuck did he think that? John wasn’t his master, he fucking wasn’t just going to accept this! “Please John, please, you don’t have to do this, you don’t have to fucking do this! We can get help! We can stop him, please John, please…”

“Shut the fuck up, I don’t want to hear you fucking whining,” John said, grabbed one of his gym sneakers, and shoved it under Nate’s face. The pig grabbed hold of him and shoved his face into it, helpless against John’s…against his master’s musk. He started bucking back, eager to have his master plow him harder–wanting him to rape him, wanting…wanting him to let him loose again, yeah, let the nasty pig out, fuck! Nate was losing. He knew he was losing. He was fading again, falling back into the nothing where Mick kept him, and the last thing he felt was John’s cock explode inside him, and the world…shifted.

John looked down, when things settled, and saw the new tattoo across the pig’s back–no, across his pig’s back. “Property of Master John”. Yeah–it was his pig from now on, wasn’t it? Then again, hadn’t he always been? From the first fucking time he’d shown Nate the place, he’d known what the fat faggot wanted–sure enough, he’d jumped at the chance to worship John’s feet, right then and there, and he’d let Nate move in under one condition–that he be his foot worshipping pig slave.

“Fuck Sir, thank you Sir!” Nate said, feeling his master’s cock start to shrink inside him and slide out. 

“That’s enough Pig–get up and make us breakfast. I’m already late for my workout.”

Nate hustled to his feet, got into the kitchen, and started making his master his usual breakfast–high protein of course, especially before a trip to the gym. When he had a bit of downtime, he assembled his own meal–much less appetizing, but plenty effective. Nate downed three weight gain shakes a day, and snacks when he was good too of course. After all, John wanted his pig even bigger than he was now–all the better to humiliate in front of his musclehead friends when they came over…and Nate worshiped all of them. It was enough to make his worthless cock spurt out a bit of precum into his overhanging gunt–it was always sticky really, but he hadn’t cum in ages now–no one could touch his cock after all–not even his master would go near it. He got more pleasure from his ass anyway, right? That, and from his Master’s feet.

After breakfast, John gave his pig his orders–clean up the kitchen from breakfast, and then he was to fuck himself with one of his dildos while rolling around in a pile of John’s sweaty underwear, socks, and gym gear he’d been saving up for him. If this pig was going to be his property from now on, then Nate was going to have to start smelling like his Master. Nate was overjoyed of course, and cleaned up as quick as he could so he could climb into the pile, lost in the pleasure of his Master’s stench, fucking himself with a big dildo, already having forgotten that his life had ever been different.

Mick of course, hadn’t forgotten at all, as he watched the pig roll in the pile of filthy laundry. They’d made great progress together–just like he’d thought, all John had needed was a push, and he took to the role of Nate’s master eagerly and without any reluctance. He was a natural, really–but he wasn’t quite done with them yet. No–so much skin left to fill in, especially on the pig. He’d let them adjust for a couple of weeks, and then they’d come back around for one last appointment, one neither of them would forget.

Part 4

It was five ‘o clock in the evening on a Thursday, and the sidewalks were thick with people heading home from work, or heading to dinner, or heading anywhere really. Nate was sure that his master had scheduled their tattoo appointments now, just so he could enjoy dragging him out into public for everyone to see. He’d forbidden Nate from wearing a shirt today–he wanted everyone to know exactly what kind of piece of faggot filth they were passing by on the sidewalk. Nate did his best to keep his head down, but he could still feel the glares and stares of shock and horror on him as he pressed his way through the crowd, taking up so much space on the sidewalk, completely aware that he smelled like a cumrag, like his Master’s socks, like a filthy slob. Looking down couldn’t do anything against their voices though, calling him a faggot. Telling him to put a fucking shirt on, no one wants to see that. Telling him he ought to be arrested. Telling him he ought to be dead. 

On a street corner, almost to Mick’s while they were waiting for the light, John and him were standing next to a grimy looking construction worker, who had most likely just gotten off the job site. He was looking at Nate with more curiosity than horror–something John noticed. “Pig–this guy looks like he’s had a long day at work–give his boots a good lick, will you? He’s earned it.”

Nate looked at his master in shock himself, but knew better than to disobey. He got down, the other man frozen in surprise, and watched as Nate started licking his filthy, drimy boots. The light changed after a few moments, and the man pulled away and dashed across the street. John laughed, hauled Nate up by the hair, and kept him moving–he was still trying to swallow all of the dust by the time they got to Mick’s shop and stepped inside.

The door clicked shut behind them, and both of them remembered, instantly, who they were, and why they were here. Nate’s eyes just went distant–after two weeks serving as his roommate’s pigslave, after the last time he’d been awake and John had broken him, the terror was too much. He slumped down to his knees and curled up into a ball by the door, shaking a bit, desperately willing himself away. Why was he back? Why did he have to keep coming back, every single time? He hated it. He hated all of it. He’d happily be a pig forever just so he didn’t have to fell this anymore, this crushing shame and humiliation, knowing everything Mick and John had made him do…everything he’d wanted them to do to him, everything he’d deserved.

John, on the other hand, shook the door, and then started throwing himself at it with his shoulder, yelling and screaming for someone to help them, to let them out. There were so many people on the other side of the door, one of them had to hear him, right? Someone would help them, someone had to help them.

“You can stop that, you know. Do you think I would even let you speak if I thought anyone out there could hear you?” Mick said, standing by his chair.

“Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit,” John said, “What the fuck gives you the fucking right to do this to us? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Oh come now, John, I know how much you’re enjoying this. You don’t have to put on an act for me. I know all of your secrets.”

“You’re fucking sick–fucking change us back.”

“Come on now, John–have a seat. We have a busy, busy night ahead of us, you know. Why don’t you go first, while the pig over there sorts out his own shit for a while,” Mick said, motioning at where Nate was huddled on the floor.

John tried to resist him, but there was nothing he could do–as strong as he’d become over the last few weeks, he was nothing compared to whatever dark magic Mick had woven around him. He climbed into the chair, and Mick started strapping him down. Across the room, Nate just watched it happen. This was all his fault. He’d dragged John into this. He…he should have done something to protect him, he should have known this is what Mick was planning all along. All those questions he’d asked about John, wondering how he was adjusting to having a sick, nasty, perverted roommate like Nate around…it was so obvious now. He had to do something, but what? He was just a stupid pig, fucking worthless. He had to try though, he had to.

“Please, just…just let him go, please,” Nate said, uncurling himself, and pushing himself upright. “I’m the one you wanted. I don’t fucking care what you do to me anymore, I don’t…but fucking change him back, and let him go. He doesn’t deserve this.”

Mick looked over at him, smiling. “I don’t really think you’re in a position to make demands, Nate, you realize that right?”

“Please, I’m….I’m fucking begging you, just let him go.”

Mick leaned in and gave John a peck on the cheek. “You know what John? I think I’m actually going to start on the pig here–he’s convinced me. Not to let you go of course, that would be silly. But fuck, his whining is annoying. Pig, get on the table–we have a lot of work to do on you.”

Nate whimpered in terror, trying to collapse back into a little ball, but his feet shuffled him forward, shucking off his clothes as he did, and he climbed up onto the table, face up, while Mick secured his arms and legs with the straps on the side. He heard the buzz of the needle start up, and Nate screamed in terror, unable to hold back anymore, and then screamed louder as Mick loomed over him, slowly bringing the needle down towards Nate’s forehead. “Now now, stay still, little piggy–you don’t want me to mess up your new name, do you?”

Nate’s head froze, but he kept screaming until the needle slid into his flesh, and then Nate was gone–the sensation was so much more intense–he could almost feel Mick drilling the needle right through his forehead, through his skull, scrawling something across the surface of his brain, but even that faded too. So much was fading now. Nate slipped away into the darkness again, and Mick whistled away as he worked, John turned in the chair to face the table, staring right into Nate’s empty eyes, knowing he was next.


“Well go on then, take a look at yourself.”

He walked over to the mirror hanging on the wall, and stared at himself–at his forehead, mostly. There was something written there…but it looked weird. “What’s it say? Those don’t look like letters…” The words were thick in his mouth somehow, and came out slow.

“It’s backwards because of the mirror, dumbass. It says ‘Footrag’,” Mick said, watching the stupid pig try and sort it out on his own.

“Oh, hey! That’s my name,” Footrag said, and smiled dumbly at himself in the mirror. 

“It sure is–this way, everyone will know exactly who and what you are when they meet you for the first time. No one is going to think you’re a person anymore, are they?”

Footrag shook his head in agreement, and looked down at the rest of his body. Mick had worked quickly, first on the front of his body, and then on the back. He hadn’t really added much in the way of words and stuff, but all over him were tattooed footprints and bootprints–including one done across his face, above his beard. There were lots more, especially across his belly, done to look like someone had walked across him, from under his left arm to under his right arm. They were also walking up and down his legs in the same way. He stuck out his tongue–curious to see what Mick had done there too–but again, he couldn’t read it. “What’s it say?”

“Place foot here.”

“Oh yeah, I like it when Master puts his foot in my mouth, that’s a good one.”

A ways off, John was just watching this happen, hoping, begging with the world, that there would be some trace of Nate left after all of this, but he was beginning to lose hope. Mick had told him that after this many tattoos, Nate’s old self would be far too shattered and damaged to ever surface properly again–but he’d told John that there was always a chance he would. If he did…he might consider letting the two of them go. It was an empty promise–John knew there was no way they were getting out of here–but he held onto it all the same. What else could he do?

Footrag turned around, and struggled to see what was on his back. He could see that the trail of footprints that circled his body continued there as well, going across the middle of his back, under the tattoo that marked him as his master’s property. Below that, there was a beautiful tattoo of a doormat, with the words on it, “Daddy’s Doormat.” He had to have Mick tell him what those words were too, of course. His head just wasn’t…thinking very good today, not that he was ever very good at thinking. Thinking is what Master did, after all. Footrag didn’t need to think.

“Nate…come one Nate, you know he’s jsut fucking with you! You have to remember man, you have to snap out of it!”

It took Footrag a moment to realize his Master was talking to him–but he had no idea who Nate was. He looked over at Mick in confusion, and Mick just shrugged. “I just think he’s a bit confused is all, Footrag. He seems to think that he’s not your master at all, but that’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

Footrag nodded, “Of course he’s my Master!”

“I tried to tell him that, but he wasn’t having it.”

“You fucking…what the fuck did you do to him? Why the fuck are you doing this to us? Just…just please, just let me go, just let me go, I don’t want to do this anymore, please,” John said, breaking down a bit, struggling against the restraints of the chair.

“Oh Johnny boy, don’t cry,” Mick said, coming close and wiping away a tear. “Tell you what–if Footrag there says that you can go, then I’ll take all of these off, and let you go, just like I said.” He looked back at Footrag and asked him, “What do you think, Footrag? Think I should let your master here go? He says he doesn’t want to be your master anymore.”

Footrag wasn’t ready for the feelings of betrayal those words sent right to his bones. After everything he’d done for him, after serving him with all of his body and soul, after warping himself into this perfect faggot doormat…now he didn’t want him? “That’s…that’s not true, right Master? Of course you want me! I’m…I’m your Footrag, you need me.”

He got down and crawled over to the chair where John was strapped in, and started licking his boot, and John struggled, “You fucking–god fucking damn it, I don’t want to be your fucking Master! You’re fucking sick! I fucking–you fucking weak piece of shit, I am not going down like this with you, I’m not going to fucking let you do this to me!”

Footrag stood up again, and looked at his Master’s face. It was his face…but he didn’t look the same as before. He looked more like someone else, someone…he could almost remember, but it was too hard, his head was too broken. He looked over at Mick. “But…then what happens to me?”

“I’ll find you a new Master, Footrag. He won’t be as good as this one, but I’ll find you one.”

“I don’t want another Master, I want…I want Master John!”

“You fucking, I fucking hate you! You disgust me! I wish I’d never even fucking met you,” John said to him, but Footrag just turned away from him.

“He’s…not my master is he. He looks like him, but he’s…someone else.”

Mick nodded. “I can bring your Master back, if you want. This one will still be in there though, hating your guts every second of the day. Do you want that?”

“I don’t care, I want my master back!” Footrag said, and Mick grinned.

“Oh, I can do more than that for you, Footrag–I can give you the perfect Master you’ve always wanted–doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Perfect…you mean, you can make him even better?”

“I sure can.”

John was screaming in rage now, shaking the straps, the chair rocking back and forth as he fought to get free. He wasn’t going to let this happen. He wasn’t going to be that monster anymore!

“I saw you licking those dirty boots on the sidewalk, Footrag–you like how those tasted? Think you’d like your Master to be a dirty man like that? Working in construction, coming home and wiping off his dirty boots all over your body, before making you lick his big, nasty feet clean?”

Footrag wiped a bit of drool from the corner of his mouth, and nodded.

“You’d like him to be bigger, I bet. Looming over you. You’d be so small to him, just a ragdoll, really.”

Footrag nodded again.

“A real mean fucker. Older. A daddy bear. Drunk half the time, smoking big cigars. A dirty fucking, dumbass redneck. A crude piece of trailer trash. Wasted his life, and so he takes it out on you. You could even be his son, you know. Would you like that? Your daddy taking you and turning him into his nasty fucking footslave, just a fucking Footrag for him to abuse after work every day?”

Footrag was snorting now, his cock hard and leaking. It was what he wanted–exactly what he wanted! How did Mick even know?

“Don’t worry, I’ll get your daddy sorted out for you,” he said, and pulled the tattoo station over to where John was shouting and spitting and cursing in his chair, but there was nothing he could do. The needle slipped under his skin, and John was gone–he was going to be Footrag’s perfect daddy master, whether he wanted to or not.


“Aww, fuckin’ hell Mick! They all look fuckin’ great!”

“I thought you’d like then, John–they all just seemed perfect for the kinda dirty redneck you are.”

“Yer fuckin’ right about that! Been trailer trash all my fuckin’ life, and that ain’t changin’ fer nothin’,” John said, and gave a flex in the mirror as he admired the new additions Mick had made to his body while he was in the chair, trying to settle on which one was his favorite. Some of them were simple–”STUPID REDNECK ‘N PROUD OF IT” across his thick muscle gut, “TRAILER TRASH ALPHA DADDY” across his neck and upper back, “Incest is best!” on one thigh, and “Stinkin’ pervert on the other. He liked them all of course, but they weren’t his favorites. No–that had to either be the stars ‘n bars running down his back, from the middle down to his ass, or his forearms, which had been turned into his two favorite things in the world. The left one was tattooed to look like a bottle of whiskey from the elbow to his wrist, and the right one was similarly done to look like a thick ass cigar. Speaking of cigars, he lumbered over to his work pants, where he’d taken them off earlier, hauled out a cigar, clipped it, and lit it, taking a deep inhale right there in the shop.

On the inside, of course, John–the real John–was screaming. Or trying to, at least. He could see everything from his eyes, taste the smoke, smell the powerful musk wafting up from him. He was disgusted and horrified, he was doing everything he possibly could to take control back, but he was powerless. The tattoos were a prison for him, and now, he could tell he would never be let out again. 

“Aight, where’d that stupid pigson a mine get off to?” John said, “Footrag, god damn it, git out here ‘n take a look a yer daddy boy!”

Footrag had long since fallen asleep in a corner while Mick was working, after the artist had gotten tired of him worshipping his feet and cock while he worked. He startled awake at his name, rolled up at the familiar voice, and saw his daddy there–the most handsome, nasty, perverted daddy in the world, and he let out a squeal of delight, raced over, and shoved his face into his daddy’s foot, happily licking away.

“Now hold on you two, I have one last thing for you guys–I know you’re both going to love this,” Mick said, grabbed Footrag by the hair and hauled him upright, and Footrag saw something he hadn’t noticed–a massive PA in the head of his daddy’s cock, glinting in the light of the shop. His daddy’s cock was a bit different too–still massive of course, but with a thick foreskin overhanging the tip by an inch or so. “John–why don’t you put your son’s cock in that foreskin of yours? That ring will take care of the rest.”

John wasn’t quite sure what Mick had up his sleeve, but he did as he was told. His son and him were about the same height, so Footrag hiked up his gut, and let his daddy push his meaty cock up against his little pig dick, and Footrag yelped–almost like something had bit him. He tried to pull away, only to find that the ring was running through his own cock now too–and that Daddy’s new foreskin was swallowing his cock, and…and almost sucking on him. Footrag shuddered, feeling a bit weak. “D-Daddy? I don’t…feel so good…”

John on the other hand felt a rush of vitality surge through him, and he moaned. “Fuck Mick, what the fuck’d you do?”

“Don’t worry about it John–we’re just taking all of your son’s strength and vitality–whatever remains, really, and putting it back where it really belongs–with his far superior father.”

Footrag clung to his daddy’s gut, and he could feel it, feel his strength ebbing away, and when he looked up, his father seemed…bigger. Taller. He was taller, wasn’t he? In a few moments, Footrag had lost two inches, and John had gained them, and he was still shrinking. 

John laughed, “Ya fuckin’ hear that boy? Yer daddy’s suckin’ the fuckin’ life outta ya. I feel better ‘n I have in years actually! Maybe I oughta just swallow ya all up intah my fuckin’ cock, ‘n blow your brains out across the wall. Be a better fuckin’ use than the sorry doormat faggot ya turned out tah be.”

Footrag had lost nearly a full foot in height–and while his daddy’s height seemed to have slowed, putting him at about 7’2”, he was still growing thicker, and manlier, his musk even stronger. At their mismatched heights, Footrag could feel the ring pulling hard on his cock, and so his daddy pulled him into a hug, his feet leaving the ground, and he kept shrinking, wondering if his daddy really was going to just suck everything out of him, when Mick snapped his fingers, and he felt the ring come off.

Daddy dropped him to the ground, his massive hands exploring his huge frame, while Footrag forced himself up to his feet. He was just as fat as before, but now, at his shorter height, he looked like a disgusting blob. His skin was pale, the last remaining hair on his head had fallen out, with just a thin patchy beard around his face to show he was a man at all, since his cock was permanently buried in his fat. 

“God damn, how a beast like me could have ever gotten a fucking piece of shit like you for a son, I don’t even fucking know. You’re a fucking embarrassment to me, you fucking know that right?” John said, as he flexed, watching Footrag struggle to sit up, heaving for breath. “Yeah, you might be my son, but you don’t get to call me Daddy anymore, got it? I’m your fucking Master, you fucking pig, and don’t you fucking for get it.”

John stomped over, and shoved one foot into his slave’s mouth, pushing him back down onto the ground under it. Footrag was in heaven, licking at his Master’s feet, squirming around as he pressed down harder, looking up into his cruel eyes, his thick greying beard, face tanned from years working out under the sun. He really was perfect, just like Mick said he would be.

“Roll over Slave, your Master has a load for you–my way of saying thanks.”

Footrag squealed, and did as his Master had ordered, and John got down, forcing his ten inch cock into his pigboy’s hole, into his slave’s hole, feeling how nasty and sloppy in was. With one big hand he planted his slave’s face in the tile, pinning him there, and started pistoning in and out, hard enough that even his well used slave was grunting and moaning in a bit of pain, through the waves and waves of pleasure he felt from being fucked by his Daddy, by his Master. He came deep, filling Footrag’s ass with a massive load of cum, and in doing so, sealed their fates for good. Mick congratulated John on his new tattoos again, and then they got their clothes back on–Footrag giving Mick one last blowjob for the road.

They went home not long after that, climbing into John’s massive truck, and they drove a ways out of town to the trailer park where they lived. It was cramped living, and Master had needed a special build for his height, but it was home, wasn’t it? Footrag went in first and laid down in front of the door, and his daddy walked in, standing on his boy with his full weight, the air crushed out of him for a moment while his Master wiped off his feet–but he knew he’d never actually get hurt. Something…had happened to his body too. He might be weak, but he was resilient. He had to be, living with a rough brute like his Master. He could take anything his daddy wanted to give him, and come crawling back for more hours later. Still, John had taken the day off, and that gave them a long weekend to spend getting to know each other better–they started it off in front of the TV–Daddy watching his shows, getting the day started off with a bottle of whiskey and a couple of cigars, his pigson and slave curled up into a footstool for his Daddy Master’s feet–right where Footrag belonged.

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