Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays.
I’ve had a couple requests for commissions set in the universe of The Pigtown Chronicles, including this one! They are, unless otherwise noted, canon, so as the series develops, we could very well see these characters coming back into play, for a cameo, if nothing else. No need to read the whole series for this one, it stands on its own.
Miles probably should have been paying more attention to where he was going, but he was more than used to people stepping out of his way, not the other way around. He’d been going down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, trying to find this new restaurant that he was supposed to have a lunch meeting at in fifteen minutes. He’d made a wrong turn a few blocks back, and wandered into the outskirts of Pigtown instead–or perhaps, that was where Pigtown had wanted him, all along. He hit what felt like a wall, and spun off, a little stunned, looked back and saw that he had collided with a very large, very intimidating looking skinhead, surrounded by a small gang of three or so others.
The man he’d run into was clearly the leader of the pack. A few inches taller than six feet, heavily muscled with a sizable gut, covered in tattoos and piercings, even onto his shaved head. He turned around, took a long draw off the thick cigar he was smoking, and pushed two jets out of his nose, scowling at Miles, standing there in his suit, not quite sure what to do. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Miles managed to break eye contact, turn around, and hustle away for a few steps, before a hand reached out, grabbed his arm, and shoved him up against the brick wall of a shopfront.
“Well? Not even an apology?” the skinhead said, leaning in close enough that Miles could feel the heat of the cigar against his cheek. “Not even a, ‘Sorry I was staring at my phone, couldn’t be bothered to look where I was fuckin’ goin’?’ Too fuckin’ important for the likes of us, right?”
“Look, I’m late for a meeting, I’m sorry–” was all Miles could get out, before the skinhead took a mouthful of cigar smoke and pushed it into his face. The scent of the tobacco was strong, and unlike any cigar he’d ever smelled in his life. He suddenly couldn’t focus on anything else, other than that flavor, that scent, and before he could snap out of it, the skinhead leaned in, kissed him, and something strange happened. He felt a sharp pain in his nose, and in his tongue. When he tried to pull away, he found that he physically couldn’t–somehow, the ring in the skinhead’s nose and pierced through his own, along with the stud in his tongue. The skinhead kissed him for a moment, pressing their faces together. He could feel other sharp stings all over his face and then pulled away with the sound of metal snapping, and Miles’ hands went to his face, where he found not only a new, thick septum ring in his nose, but studs in his tongue, in his eyebrows, gauges and rings and studs in his ears. He looked in the window beside him, horrified at the face looking back at him–at least until the skinhead grabbed him by the hair, and fed him another load of smoke from his cigar.
When he pulled away, satisfied that Miles was dazed by his smoke again, he said, “Come on boy, you’re late for your appointment, aren’t you?”
“What…what did you do? I…help me get these off, I don’t…”
“Why would you want them to come out? You love the way they look, don’t you? Come on, let’s get you to your appointment.”
Miles took one last look at his now freakishly pierced face, and then was dragged away by the skinhead, falling into step with the gang, trying to push his way out of the smoke that was still clouding his mind. Along the way, he learned that the rest of the gang simply referred to their leader as Boss–if he had a name, he wasn’t inclined to give one, when Miles asked him. Boss led them deeper into Pigtown, and came to a heavily graffitied building and into a shop front called, “The Bodyshop.”
Inside was a little bit of everything. The front was a barber shop, and further back, he could see a tattoo and piercing equipment, all of it being manned by various flavors of skinheads, all of them in various leather, rubber or denim gear.
“Who’s the new guy, Boss?” the young skin at the reception desk asked him.
“Don’t have a name yet. I’ll be working on him personally today.”
“Of course Boss.”
“Shut up, boy–now come on.”
Boss took him alone into the back of the shop, and through a door, into a small, private studio, where as soon as the door was closed behind them, Boss started tearing his clothes off, Miles trying to push him off and failing, the enclosed space filling up with the smoke faster than he could fight it off. Soon, he was totally naked, his clothes trashed and torn. Before he could even grab them up, another skinhead came in, grabbed them, and bundled them off. “Why are you doing this? I didn’t mean to run into you,” Miles said.
“Well, you shouldn’t have done that, but I’m always looking for new boys to add to the gang, so I’m glad we ran into each other. You will be too, soon enough,” Boss said, coming close and pressing his heavily pierced cock up against Miles own. Like before, he felt the sharp pain as Boss’s piercings joined with his own skin–his PA now running through the heads of both their cocks, a jacob’s ladder locking their shafts together, and he could feel rings and studs erupting all through his sack as Boss pulled him closer, pressing their chests together, his thick nipple rings sliding into Miles’s own. They were locked together, no matter how hard Miles tried to pull away, he couldn’t tear his flesh off the rings and studs threaded through their bodies. Boss’s arms wrapped around him, pulled him close, and he kissed him again pushing smoke into him, making him go weak at the knees–not that he could fall far, and there was a new sensation now, almost like something was crawling onto him. He pulled away, looked down, and saw that the ink covering Boss’s body was swirling around, and running down and onto Miles’s own body. He tried to brush it off, but it was already under his skin, spreading up his arms, across his chest, over his cock and down his legs, coating him with a riot of tattoos, and as they did, he felt something new. A voice in his head, a whisper at first, but then, growing stronger. He found himself looking up at Boss with something other than fear, with a growing lust, and he started grinding their cocks together, almost enjoying the pain of the piercings tugging between them.
“Fuck…fuck Boss, what the fuck are you doing to me?”
“Just giving you what you want boy. Don’t you want to be one of my rough fuckin’ skinhead pigs? Don’t you want all those hot men out there to abuse that hole of yours? Don’t you want to be walking down the street, some tough, scarred up looking fucker, watching men get the hell out of your way–like they ought to?” Boss planted his hands on Miles’s shoulders, and shoved them apart, making him scream in pain. Like before, when he came away, he was left with piercings where they had been connected–two thick rings in his much larger looking tits, a big PA in the head of his cock, weighing it down, a jacob’s ladder down the shaft, and countless studs and rings all through his sack. The ink, however, was still flowing under the surface of his skin. He could feel it, and it made him feel a bit nauseous. He looked at himself in the mirror, horrified at how quickly he had changed–and he found himself wanting…more. But something was missing, wasn’t it?
“Get in the chair, boy. It’s time for your shave, isn’t it?”
“Y-Yes Boss,” Miles said, realizing that’s what he needed. He didn’t look like a true skinhead, not yet. He got in the chair, heard the buzz of the clippers, and Boss started shearing away his styled hair, and with each swipe, he felt that new voice getting louder, that old one getting quieter. He wanted this, of course he did.
“Take care of this for me, won’t you boy?” Boss said, and shoved the cigar in his mouth, which Miles’ happily sucked on, drawing in the smoke deeper and deeper, feeling it sanding away at the edges of his mind. He gripped his pierced cock and started stroking it, staring at his new head in the mirror, shuddering with each pass of the razor over his head, removing more and more of his worries and cares, until Boss lathered up his skull, and razored even the stubble off. When he was finally finished, toweled him off and showed him his new look in the mirror, it only took a couple of pumps before Miles exploded all over himself, shuddering as Boss ran his hands over his smooth scalp, humiliated, yet more turned on than he’d ever been in his life.
“I’ll forgive you for that one, I know haircuts get you boys all excited, but don’t think you can cum without permission again. Now, up against the wall boy, time for you to thank your Boss properly.”
He dragged Miles out of the chair by the rings in his tits, pushed him up against the mirror, and ran his cock up and down his crack, the metal rings and studs bumping up against his hole making Miles shudder. “Fuck Boss, fuckin’ get inside me…” he moaned, and only realized after he’d said it, what had just come out of his mouth.
“Heh, you fuckin’ pig. I think I know a good name for you, actually. Why don’t we go ahead and call you Piggo from now on, eh?”
“Fuck Boss, ya can call me anything you want, just fuck me!”
Boss drooled some spit down Miles’s crack, and then pushed in, his new boy’s hole already open and eager to be fucked, just like they always were after a good shearing. He shoved the boy’s face against the wall, the other hand gripping his hip, and rammed in deep, making sure it was good and rough, just the way his boys liked it. Miles had never been fucked like this in his life, and he could feel something happening, the ink across his shoulder blades shifting and reforming, becoming his new title, “Piggo” in big letters across his back, with the “O” in the shape of a pig’s snout. He gave a grunt, and his old name went fuzzy. He had to actively try and hold onto it, as something like a drain opened up in the bottom of his mind, and bits of his mind started tumbling into it, lost to the depths. He was so focused on that, that he didn’t notice his body swelling larger, Boss’s precum already beginning to have an effect on his new boy’s body.
After all, he wasn’t quite big enough to be a pig yet. He needed a bigger gut and broader, more muscular shoulders. A little shorter maybe, with a wide stance. No one would be able to push this pig around, unless the pig wanted them to, of course, and this slutty pig was going to want as many rough fuckin’ skinheads pushing him around as possible. “When I cum in this hole, pig, that means it’s mine. I can have it whenever I fuckin’ want it. Any man I take a liking to, can take it. I own your hole, I own your body, I own your fuckin’ soul from now on, do you fuckin’ understand me? You’re one of my boys now, and you’re never gonna be anything else!”
With a roar, Boss came deep in Piggo’s hole, the newly made skinpig grunting and snorting, bucking back, hungry to get as much of his boss’s seed inside him as he could, packing on mass, even as he shrank a bit, turning into a stocky fireplug, the only hair on his body now a short, chinstrap beard. Boss flipped him around and the kissed for a bit, swapping spit while they came down from their fuck, and then Boss stepped back, looking him up and down.
Piggo–no, not Piggo, that wasn’t his name! Miles shook his head, trying to sort out what was going on in his head. He knew this was wrong, knew that something had happened to him, changed him, but he couldn’t sort everything out. He stumbled over to the mirror and stared at himself in a mix of horror and horniness, his pierced face, his stocky frame, his freakish cock and balls, the riot of tattoos still swarming and settling around his body. “What the fuck did you do to me?” he said, and turned on Boss, “What the fuck did you just do to me, Boss?”
“Still got some fight in you, eh?” Boss said, and came closer, “I do like a fighter, but we’ll have you good and broken soon. Let’s get you dressed, and then it’s time to show Pigtown my new boy.”
“No, fuck–fuck you! Fix whatever the fuck you did to me!” Miles said, doing his best to sound brave, but his voice was wavering, and Boss just laughed, wrapped a hand around the back of his head, and forced him into a kiss, pushing a lungful of cigar smoke down his throat, making his mind spin again, the drain opening up, sucking down more and more of his old self into it. He tried to pull away, but Boss just shoved him back up against the wall and fed him more smoke until he stopped fighting, until he was kissing him back, drooling a bit in smoky stupor.
“Hmmm,” Boss said, “Thought you would be smarter than that, but I can’t tolerate insolence like that, boy,” he said, giving a tug on one of the rings in Miles’s nipples, making him groan. “Gonna be a fun night boy, let’s see how long you can keep that fight up at the Hideaway.”
Miles only had a foggy memory of what happened next. A boy came in with a pile of clothes for him. Some tattered and grungy bleached jeans, calf high rangers with bright red socks he knew to roll over the top, no underwear, and a thick leather biker jacket, leaving most of his upper body exposed. Last, Boss put a choke collar on him attached to a short collar, and tugged him out of the room and out of the shop, Miles struggling to keep up as they headed down the sidewalk. It was only out in the cool evening air that he realized the ass of the jeans was mostly gone–anyone walking down the street could look back and see him hanging out, and the crew around Boss all took turns groping and fingering him, while he tried to keep up with the lead in Boss’s hand.
They arrived at a bar after a twenty minute walk, a place called the Hideaway, and the bouncer out front let them all in without so much as a glance. Despite the relatively early hour, the bar was already quite packed, and as soon as they were inside, Boss used the lead to force Miles onto his hands and knees and made him crawl through the bar while he chatted with a few regulars, ordering Miles to lick their boots clean while they talked. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t tell if it was the smoke, or the bar, or just the power of Boss himself, he couldn’t seem stop himself from licking any boot put in front of him, no matter the condition. After an hour of that humiliation, enough to soften him up, he was led deeper into the bar, into a maze like series of hallways, where any number of men were already fucking away in the red lit corners. They arrived at a bank of slings, and with a little help, from the rest of the gang, they had Miles in one of them, wrists and booted ankles secured to the chains, and it was clear he wasn’t getting out of this.
“Alright Piggo, time to take your punishment,” Boss said, standing over him, the end of his cigar the brightest thing in the room. “I was gonna let you be a tough little bouncer back at the shop, but after your little outburst, I think that’s aiming a bit high for a pig like you. You’re gonna be a housepig for a while. Cleaning boots, taking fists, serving all of us as our personal ashtray, until you can show me that you can behave, how does that sound?”
He could see it, when Boss’s eyes suddenly glowed a bit in the dark, rested on his exposed gut, and the ink that had still been swirling over his body began to solidify. All over him were inked boot prints, and he found the taste of leather and bootblack lingering on his tongue incredibly erotic. Across his forehead, more ink formed the word ASHTRAY”, and when Boss took one hand away to tap the ash from his cigar into his mouth, he gulped it down, horrified at how eager he was to chew at the hot ash and swallow it. Boss laughed at his excitement, teased his body with the heat of his cigar, eventually pressing it into his skin at the base of his cock, making him howl in pain and delight, the rest of the crew all lighting up cigars and cigarettes of their own, sucking them down so they could feed him the ash and tease him with the heat, while Boss went to work on his hole.
He skipped his cock, and started working his fingers into Miles’s hole, and Miles groaned from the stretch. He was clinging to anything he could now, so desperate to fight any of this, but he could feel the ink and spreading through him, deeper into him, into his veins, into his heart, as Boss worked two fingers in, and then three, roughly digging into his ass, demanding he be allowed inside, demanding that Miles submit. He could feel it slipping away again, that name, and all he could find again was Piggo as he began snorting and grunting in delight, begging the men around him for more ash and more burns, pushing down, aching to feel all of Boss’s hand inside him, and finally, it slid in, and when it did, he could feel something inside him snap. Piggo’s short, thick cock erupted with cum all over his tattooed gut, taking what remained of his resistance with it, taking the name Miles with it, and Boss drove his hand deeper and deeper into his hole until he was satisfied, and then let the rest of the gang around them took their turns.
Some fisted him too, others opted to ram their cocks into his sloppy hole. Piggo didn’t care as long as he was being used, and every fuck only made him hornier for his gang, for Boss, for boots and ash and cock and pain. He didn’t quite know when the night ended, but everything seemed to fade away into darkness, and Piggo awoke with a snort on a filthy mattress, tongue pressed to the bottom of some other skin’s boot.
He sat up, confused for a moment, crawled over to a mirror and looked at himself, at his tattooed body, his tattooed face, at his smooth head, forever smooth now that he was one of Boss’s pigs. He knew, somehow, that something had changed, but he couldn’t remember what. Instead, he crawled back over and finished what he must have been doing when he fell asleep–cleaning the boots of the gang, and when they woke up, he was more than happy to take their morning loads and their morning ash, a skinpig forever more.