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Farts? Not scat, just lots of farts. A sound trigger? A smell trigger? A silent trigger? Would the hypnotist be the gassy one and indoctrinate some poor bear, or would it some toxic idol brainwash a poor sap to love the gas? Farts as the product of the brainwashing or cause? Or a simple reversal of fortunes from some average joe into a gassy pig? Or a student who’s sick of his smart-ass college professor and decides everyone would be happier if the professor was a brainwashed fart pig? idk.

Well that’s certainly a lot of ideas, and I like a few of them quite a bit.

*Knock* *Knock*

Yes Daddy, it’s me.

Oh, I know you weren’t expecting me today, but isn’t that what makes it fun? No, you don’t really want to leave me out here on the doorstep where just anyone might see us, do you? That’s what I thought. Strip once the door’s closed–we should make this one quick, before your son gets home, don’t you think? He does get home in another half an hour, right? If you’re a good daddy, I should be gone by then.

Damn Daddy, I swear you’re getting sexier by the day. Those hours at the gym sure are paying off, and that PA sure has healed well. How does it feel daddy? Felling your boy run his finger along there? You’re so hard, and dribbling already, but what’s Daddy rule number one?

That’s right, “No cumming without my son’s permission,” very good.

You know, I think we’ll do your daddy tits next. Doesn’t feel good, me tugging on them? Get this things pierced and start pumping them–everyone will be able to see them through those tight shirts you’ve started wearing. Has your son noticed yet? No? Too bad–he doesn’t know what he’s missing. Still, we’d better hurry daddy–bend over. You don’t want him to catch us together, do you? Wouldn’t want him to learn about the brother you’ve been keeping on the side.

Well, half brother–fuck, you’re so damn tight Daddy!–we don’t look much like each other, do we? Here I am, lithe and muscular, just the kind of son you want plowing your daddy hole, right? Here daddy, move over here, like this–yeah, that’s good, I love looking at you when I’m fucking you. 

What was I saying? Oh, but him. He’s so fat, and short, and just kind of ugly. Ugly like you were, before you learned about me, right? Before I started helping you be a better daddy? Think about him, walking through that door, seeing you like this. Has he noticed anything yet? I’m sure he’s noticed his dad turning into one hot hunk of fuckmeat, but beyond that?

Still no idea about me though? Fuck, I bet he’d be jealous of us–I mean, I’m such a better son than he is, don’t you think? Wouldn’t you like to make him jealous?

Protest all you want, but I see how hard you are, saw that daddy dick throb at the thought. How about I make him want to watch us? Imagine that fatass over there, stroking his tiny piece of meat, wishing he was as good a son as I was, wishing he could treat you like a daddy should be treated. Heh, he wouldn’t be your favorite son for long though, soon he’ll be more like a slave for me to enjoy–I might even let you fuck him, if you beg me for permission, after being an extra good daddy.

You can see right through me–yeah, that’s what I had planned all along, you got me! I think that’s the garage door daddy–I’ll sit here, you sit on my dick, and when he comes through that door, I want you to explode–and then I’ll get to work on my step-brother, and the three of us can start having some real family fun together.

***WARNING: SCAT***

Marco hadn’t had a bender like this in a long time, not since college. He surged awake, his head pounding, mouth dry, gut twisting into knots. Throw up–he was going to throw up. His vision was blurry, but he’d fallen asleep in his bathroom at least. He crawled over to the toilet, grunting, gut growling, unable to believe how terrible he felt, but when he got there, he discovered that whoever had used the toilet last hadn’t bothered flushing it–and he also realized that this wasn’t his bathroom.

He looked around, the room spinning a bit slower now, and found he was in a tiled restroom somewhere, but his gut pulled his face back around–he thought he was going to finally hurl, but instead he shoved his face down into the toilet’s filth and started chomping and slurping away at it, terrified at what he was doing, but unable to find a way to make himself stop. 

His mind was coming a bit clearer. His balls ached, and with one hand he explored back, discovering his balls were a good six inches lower than they had been, kept there by two thick, steel stretchers. His cock was studded with metal, and he found himself stroking it, running his hand over the jacob’s ladder, toying with his PA, his mouth still hopelessly chomping up the slurry of piss and shit from the toilet. It wasn’t until he heard the door to the bathroom swing open behind him that he scrounged up the willpower to haul his head up, splattering shit around him as he spun, eyes wide with terror, face coated in brown, and found himself looking at a huge man, clad all in leather, smoking a cigar and groping his own cock.

“Looks like a pig didn’t make it out last night,” the man said, with a laugh, “Stuck here for now. Don’t worry though–old Rod here knows how to take care of pigs like you. By the time we open, you’re gonna be the freakiest pig around, and you’re never gonna want to leave.”

Marco tried to object, but all his words fell out as grunts and moans, his head pulled back around, lulled back to the filth, and he was stuffing himself again by the time Rod lined his own, ten inch cock with Marco’s already well bred hole, and gave his newest Pigtown hog a good, long, filthy fuck.

Source: hairypisser

Trust me, none of these fuckers are going to make it to the end of pledge week, I can assure you that. Oh sure, we like to lead them on for a few days, but you can always tell the losers from the pack right at the beginning, they sure as hell aren’t cut out for this frat–we’re the fucking elite on campus, and we can’t have losers like them dragging us down. We’ll have them beaten to a pulp and they’ll run away with their tails between their legs–we don’t haze lightly around here. Still, I don’t know what’s up with that drink of theirs–one of them told me some upperclassman on campus gave them the brew as a good luck charm, telling them they’d get in for sure if they had some. Whatever, if someone else wants to use our reputation to make a few bucks what do I really care? But no silly drink is going to save their skins.

For pledge week, all of the new meat has to live out behind the house in a small shed we reserve specifically for the week. There’s no privacy, it’s cramped, but the real goal is to start weeding out the runts like these ones. We make sure the real pledges know who has a target on their back, and after a couple of days they’ve been hazed, beaten and ridiculed so hard by their fellow pledges they all drop out before too long. Trust me, none of these three can take that, not to mention everything else we’ll be throwing their way soon enough–they’ll be gone for sure.

***

Alright, so maybe things haven’t gone quite according to plan. It’s weird–we told all the freshman football jocks to break these three fuckers…but it almost seems like it happened the other way around. All of the jocks are suddenly these meek little bitches, doing whatever those three demand. There’s been some other strange things happening too–the three guys weren’t much to look at before, but all of them have packed on quite a bit of muscle…even as the freshman jocks have all lost a bit of size. Hell, I saw one guy, Kyle, in the shower–I swear he had a eight inch cock, but it’s less than an inch now. He’s packed on weight, and his uniform doesn’t fit right, like he’s a bit too short for it now. Whatever–I had a talk with the three of them, and all of them suggested they go ahead and move into the house with us. Doesn’t bother me any, we’ll beat some sense into them, and show them who’s boss soon enough.

***

No, this shit’s too fucked up. I have…some of the other guys have lost it, fuck, they’re just they’re fucking slaves now! And the Masters–fuck, they’re so…so fucking big now. I mean, of course they should get the house to themselves, of course us slaves should all live in the shed but…I swear things should have been different. I can remember them being different. I…I was in charge, and I can be still, if I can just keep my wits about me. Figure out what the fuck was in that drink, what’s letting them…suck the fucking life out of us, literally! Oh shit, here they come, to decide who gets to stay with them in the house tonight. God…I don’t want them to, but I can see them looking at me. If I have to spend another night between them, I don’t know if I can take it anymore.

I really enjoyed reading ‘The Trophy’. Especially the last part. Is there a chance you’ll be making something similair in the near future? Or was it too extreme in retrospect?

I don’t think it was too extreme, no. I mean, it was very extreme, don’t get me wrong, but most of the stories that end up going to those sorts of extreme ends don’t really start out headed in that direction.

“The Trophy” was initially just going to be a fairly standard straight to gay slave story with a large amount of humiliation focused on cutting the guy’s hair. It wasn’t until the guy cut his prey’s finger off that I realized the character would hardly be interested in stopping at just turning him into a slave. Everything else emerged as a consequence of that particular choice. 

So, to answer your questions more directly:

Will I be making something like that in the *near* future? – I don’t know. I never plan on writing the extreme stuff really, I just follow the story where it wants to go.

Will I be writing something like that in the *future*? – Almost certainly. If you have a particular idea that you’d like to see explored that might jump start my imagination, that would probably accelerate the process.

Was it too extreme in retrospect (and implied here, was it too extreme to repeat?) – I don’t think so. It is one of the stranger things I’ve written for sure, but at this point I don’t really have much interest in censoring myself as far as horror elements go.

What about a trash man who turns into a leather pig

I’ll think about it, though for the record…

There’s this funny thing that happens when I start asking for requests, where I swear they start sounding like madlibs, i.e.:

[Type of Person] turns into [Kinky Fetish]

or

[Type of Person] comes home to discover [Relation] has become [Kinky Fetish], and is turned into a [Kinky Fetish] as well.

For the record, I try to avoid these kinds of setups–or rather, I find them a bit uninteresting? I tend to be more interested in stories which have a bit more internal logic / development to them.