I have quite a sizable backlog today, and if you have any other questions you’d like answered, now’s the time! I probably won’t reply to every message, especially those regarding particular favorite stories, so thank you for the feedback and encouragement, it’s always appreciated.
“That’s it?” Jerry asked, taking the collar from Gordon’s hand, “I just put it on you?”
“Ideally, yeah,” Gordon said, “And, thank you. I mean, for doing this for me. I’ve wanted this for as long as I can remember, but, well, when you tell people you want them to turn you into a…a dog, they tend to freak out.”
Gordon had met Jerry at a bear run the year before–he was looking slightly pathetic, a pudgy middle aged man dressed in mitts, a pup mask, a dog tail butt plug and not much else, and ended up servicing a rough looking top dressed in a leather uniform. They’d run into each other a few more times that weekend, at first by accident, and then on purpose, and even after they’d flown back to opposite sides of the country, they’d stayed in contact. It was a few months later, after they’d been chatting as both friends and as long distance dom and sub, that Gordon sprung the request on him. Jerry, admittedly, hadn’t known what to think about it, and had figured Gordon was just taking his roleplay a bit too far, but in fact he was perfectly serious–and that, much to Jerry’s surprise, had turned him on much more than he’d expected.
“Well, we don’t even know that it’ll work, right?”
Gordon nodded, but from the look in his eyes, Jerry could see that if it didn’t, it would hurt him to the core.
“Stand at attention, pup.”
Gordon hurried to follow the order, standing rigid, hairy gut thrust out, shivering with excitement. It had to work, it just had to. Jerry unhooked the collar and wrapped it around Gordon’s neck, but as he secured the metal clasp in place, something pricked his finger, drawing a bit of blood–breaking through the leather gloves he had on–and when he pulled his hand away, the collar had become a solid band of leather around the sub’s neck. “T–thank you, master,” Gordon said, and unable to help himself, licked his face. “Sorry…sorry Master, I don’t…I don’t know why I just did that.”
A gloved hand wrapped around the back of his head, and Jerry pulled him into a kiss, and as much as he tried to kiss him normally, Gordon kept returning to licking, and Jerry felt his sub’s tongue lengthening as it scraped across his face, growing thinner, and then their mouths didn’t fit together quite as well as they should. He pulled back and saw that the shape of Gordon’s head had changed significantly–his mouth pushing out into a short snout, his nose blackening. His beard had expanded all over his face and was now of two colors–around his mouth it had become pitch black, but as it grew up over his face and head it was a golden brown. Jerry pulled off a glove and stroked his fur with one hand, seeing Gordon’s still human eyes look at him with something between terror, excitement and love.
“Does it hurt?”
Gordon tried to speak, but it came out as a garble. In the end he shook his head ‘No’.
“That’s good. Here’s let’s get those clothes off of you, I doubt they’ll fit for much longer.”
Together they got off Gordon’s harness, leather shorts, jockstrap and boots. It was both easy, because Gordon was slowly shrinking out of them all anyway, but also more difficult, because before they were finished, his hands had fully morphed into paws, covered with the same golden fur as his head, which was spreading up his arms as they grew thinner. His legs were changing similarly, and as Gordon tried to get the boots off, he discovered he couldn’t balance on his two pads like they were feet, and he tumbled forward into Jerry, who caught him and lowered him down. At first he tried to stay on his hands and knees, but his legs wouldn’t bend right to allow it, his new bones forcing him onto all fours.
He looked over and saw the full length mirror that hung in Jerry’s play room, and took a few steps forward. First, he was trying to figure out how to make his legs work, but soon he realized that they worked just fine–he already knew how to work them, didn’t he? If anything, this felt more natural to him than walking on two legs ever had. And yet, it still felt…so strange. He’d imagined it for so long, in so many different ways, that the reality of it. He approached the mirror, saw his mostly German Shepherd face, and saw himself pull his tall ears back a bit, nervously. He could see that his arms and legs had fully changed–it was the bulk of his human torso which was left, the golden fur spreading over his heavy gut, pulling it up into a leaner frame, the black fur spreading over his back and down to his…tail. He hadn’t even noticed it pushing it’s way out above his ass, and he gave it a tentative wag, seeing his new mouth smile.
Jerry had followed him over to the mirror, still unable to believe that any of this was actually happening. It would be a lie, however, to say that he wasn’t turned on. This was a fantasy of his own–just not one he’d ever imagined he’d be able to experience in his life. In fact, Gordon was the first partner who had managed to coax it from his imagination and out his mouth. Gordon looked up at him, and nuzzled the crotch of Jerry’s breeches. He could see the bulge as well, and he licked at the leather. Jerry unzipped the fly and let his cock out. Gordon was careful to keep his new fangs well away from his Master’s flesh, and focused on licking the length of the shaft with his tongue, wrapping it around the head, listening for his master’s moans, and his smell!
Something shifted in his mind, and the entire world lit up for him in a completely unfamiliar way. He could smell…everything. He could smell where he’d been, where his Master had been–the whole room smelled of his Master, and that made him so incredibly, indescribably, irrationally happy. Happy and safe. He licked a bit harder, and then too his Master’s cock in his mouth, gently grazing it with his teeth, feeling him shudder. “C–Careful pup, not too hard…” Jerry said, but Gordon…he could sense that he liked the feeling more than he might be willing to let on, and did it again. Jerry didn’t protest. He shuddered, and flooded his pup’s mouth with cum, Gordon licking the head and drinking it down happily, and then sat back on his haunches, tongue hanging out, panting, and trying to figure out what had just happened to him.
It didn’t really matter, did it? He had Master, and Master would keep him safe. Jerry put his cock away, and looked down at his dog–his new German Shepherd…and yet, he could remember owning him for years now…right? He noticed something glinting on Gordon’s collar, reached down, and looked at the tag that had appeared. It had his name and address on it, but surely it hadn’t been there before.
Gordon let out a whine, and looked over to the door, where several leashes hung.
“What, you wanna go for a walk, pup?”
Gordon let out a happy bark and charged over to the door, sitting patiently, looking back over his shoulder at his Master. Jerry walked over, clipped a leash to his collar, and they walked on into their dream together.
First things first, sorry I missed my regular posting time yesterday–I thought I had a post queued up, but I apparently didn’t. So instead, here’s some better news! I broke $300 dollars on Patreon yesterday, which means that starting in February I’ll be increasing to four posts a week, on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. In addition, before this month is over, I’ll have my first Patreon exclusive story up over there–and it’s a sizable one to make up for the fact that I had nothing for December (blame Christmas). Anyone who donates $5 or more a month will be able to see it, even if you donate after I post it. If you’d like to help out, you can become a patron here: https://www.patreon.com/wesleybracken. Thanks again for all of your support, and here’s a sample from the story, about three young men who have a run in with the wrong side of Pigtown (then again, is there even a right side to Pigtown?)
***
The doorbell chimed again, but they could fucking wait a minute. Caleb pumped the dumbbell again, his bicep twitching, then again, nearly at exhaustion, one final time, fighting for it, pulling it up, and then let it drop. The doorbell, then a knock. He shook out his arm, and then went to the door, opened it, and found his two friends, Mark and Nate, on the door step. “What the hell guys? You were supposed to be here hours ago. It’s like, ten already, what the hell?”
Mark took a long draw off the cigar he had shoved in his mouth, blew it out, and then glanced over at Nate, who was grinning similarly.
“And where’s the fuckin’ beer? You said you were gonna bring some. This night’s gonna be a fuckin’ bore without booze, and my parents come back tomorrow.”
In response, Mark grabbed the neck of Caleb’s shirt and shoved him inside the house. He stumbled back, caught one leg on the side of a table by the door and tumbled down onto the floor. Mark and Nate stepped inside, Mark locking the door behind them, Nate kneeling down on the ground next to Caleb. “Sorry we’re so late boy, but we got caught up at the…the bar is all. Had to…get changed before we came over.”
Looking at them now, in the light, he realized that his two friends looked different. For one thing, they were dressed head to toe in leather gear that looked like something that would be found on some leather queen faggot. They looked bigger too–older. Neither of his friends had been able to grow a beard the day before, but now they both had facial hair around those huge cigars each of them were smoking. “Look, what…whatever. But did you bring the booze or not?”
“Oh no, I think we’re goin’ out tonight, boy,” Nate said, and when Caleb tried to sit up, he straddled his chest and pinned his arms down. “Come on Mark, fucking put it on him!”
Caleb struggled, but as he did, he realized he could feel something pressing into his chest–Nate’s cock was getting hard. Was he a fucking faggot? He was so distracted by the thought that he didn’t notice Mark come around behind him, kneel down, wrap a thick band of leather around his throat, and lock it shut. Caleb immediately stopped struggling, his breathing slow and steady, his eyes glazed and distant. “Hey…hey! Boy!” Nate said, and slapped Caleb’s face with one gloved hand.
“Y–Yes sir…sorry sir…” Caleb mumbled.
“He’s fucking out of it, I can’t believe it fucking worked!” Mark said.
“Won’t know it really worked until we really test it,” Nate said, unzipped his fly, and let his hard cock flop out onto Caleb’s chest. At the sight of Master Nate’s cock, Caleb felt his mouth grow a bit dry, and he licked his lips, his own cock hardening in his jeans.
“Hungry boy?”
“Yes…yes sir…”
Nate scooted up, until the head was right at Caleb’s lips. His enslaved friend stuck out his tongue and lapped the drop of precum from the slit, then raised his head up and took as much as he could in his mouth, groaning.
“Look at that fucking slut go!”
“Just like Sir said.”
“Should we take him back now?”
Nah,” Nate said, wrapping one hand around the back of Mark’s neck, pulling his face closer, “I say we enjoy him for a bit. We’ve got until midnight, right?”
Mark took a long draw off his cigar, then locked lips with Nate, both of them sharing the smoke. Nate had his entire cock buried down his friend’s throat–no, not his friend, the fucking slave. Fuck yeah, the slave’s throat. As he thrust, he unzipped Mark’s fly and pulled out his cock–it was even bigger than it had been at the bar, it felt like every drag off these cigars was turning them into the men they were meant to be. “Come on man, let’s double team this bitch.”
Nate pulled out, and they had a brief fight over who got the privilege of seeding their slave’s ass first. Mark ended up punching Nate in the face, breaking his nose in the process, and he conceded the privilege. They ordered Caleb onto all fours, and Nate kept raping his throat, more viciously now, nursing his aching, bloody nose. Mark lubed his fingers with some spit and started working them into Caleb’s hole. He didn’t know how he knew, but he was able to simply relax, not fight the invasion. After all, his hole was meant to be fucked, right? Caleb tried to push back, but the collar was too strong, and when Mark finally slid his cock in, he pushed back, eager to be filled, eager to be of service.
Nate finished first, feeding the slave his load deep in his throat, then pulled out and went into the kitchen to clean up his bloody face. A few minutes later, he came back in and found Mark still fucking away.
“Would you finish up already? We gotta get him back there by midnight.”
“We got plenty of time, hold your fuckin’ horses.”
“You just can’t finish is your problem.”
Mark hauled his cock out, stood up and stalked over to Nate, “You want a fucking black eye to go with that crooked nose?”
“All I know is that was a cheap fuckin’ shot and you know it.”
They stared at each other for a few moments, but it wasn’t long before their tongues were down each other’s smoky throats, Mark cumming on the front of Nate’s leather uniform, and he ordered Caleb to crawl over and lick it clean. Then, they all left, Caleb on the floor of the passenger side, sucking on Nate’s balls while Mark drove into town, parked out back behind Pigtown, and they all slipped in the back just before midnight.
I think I might have gone a bit overboard. But fuck, the first time I smelled him…I knew it had to be him, I had to. I mean, sure, my son’s hot. I know, I know I shouldn’t say that about my son, and I’d never do anything with him, and I love his mom too. But there’s just something about some guys–muscular, younger, and musky. Fuck, it’s the smell that does it for me, more than anything. I might have, on occasion, when I’m alone, snuck one of my son’s dirty, sweaty singlets from the laundry and jacked off with it pressed to my face. But Max. Max was something else entirely.
Given my, uh, interests, and the fact that I got off work earlier than most people, I could often catch my son’s wrestling practices after school, and I’d go there to cheer him on. Sure, he was a bit embarrassed, but he kind of likes it too, I think. But really, more than anything, it means I get to check out his hot friends in their singlets, and Max…maybe, maybe he’s not the best looking one. A bit too boyish for me in the face, I like them a bit more rugged, with some hair on their chest. Max shaves, I think, but he’s a star wrestler, just great at it. That second practice, I saw him pin my son in half a minute. I felt bad for him…but you know, also a bit envious. When practice was over, they were talking, and I went over and introduced myself, and fuck, I could smell him. It was just so fucking strong, you know? And he’s a big guy, six foot four or something, and he was just looming over me, sweaty, reeking, and he was talking at me and I couldn’t think of anything to say. I still don’t know how I got out of there without cumming in my pants or shoving my face in his pit or crotch or fuck, fucking anywhere.
And so…so I knew I had to do something. I needed…a memento, something of his to enjoy, and so, when I got an opportunity next practice, I went rummaging through the locker room. What I really wanted was a practice singlet, but I didn’t find anything like that in his locker or bag, but I did find a jock–a nice ripe one. I was so horny, I jacked off right there on the bench, cumming into the pouch. That’s a bit odd, right? I mean, why fill it with my stink if I like his so much, but I…I like the idea of filling his shit with my cum, making it smell like both of us, but more than anything, making it smell fucking filthy. Because as dirty as it was, I wanted it to be worse. I liked…like imaging that he’s this really filthy fucker. That…that I could have found the jock cum stained, yellow with piss and sweat…
And that’s…well, I’m not really sure why I did anything that came next. I stripped off my pants and briefs, and pulled on the jock, threw my jockeys in the trash, and wore Max’s jock out of the school, and then I just kept wearing it. I was going to take it off when I got home, but…I just didn’t want to, really. See, my wife, she hates my snoring, so we’ve slept in separate bedrooms for a long time. I mean, that’s just what works for us, we still fuck and everything, but, well, not for the last few months, because I’ve worn Max’s jock the whole time. At first, I just wore it, but then I started cumming in it too, and…and pissing in it. A few times I even wiped my ass with the pouch. And all the while, I kept going to practices, watching him. I was obsessed. I knew it wasn’t right, that it was sick, but I just couldn’t stop myself, it’s like…like something else was in me, making me do these things. The only time it came off was so I could press it to my nose while I jack off, and then it goes right back on. It’s brown. Like, really brown. I can smell it through my clothes. I have to be careful at work, my wife, fuck, she doesn’t know what to think, my son doesn’t even notice, and I didn’t even know what to make of it until today, the day of the wrestling finals.
We had to get here early with all the competitors, but as insane as I knew it was, I went to the bathroom and pulled off the jock, and then went into the locker room, found Max’s bag, and stuffed it back inside, and then headed to the stands, commando and sweating like a nervous pig. What in the hell had I just done? I hadn’t even washed the thing, it reeked of me. I mean, he wouldn’t know it was me, but what if someone had seen me do any of that? I’d be arrested and labeled a pervert for the rest of my life, but nothing like that happened at all. Instead the matches started. My son got eliminated in the quarterfinals, but Max…nothing was getting in Max’s way.
He stepped out for his first match, and he looked a bit uncomfortable. I noticed him…adjust his crotch a couple of times. Then he got in the ring, and he was a beast. Merciless. He had his opponent pinned in less than a minute, and held them a bit longer than he needed to, and his eyes, they seemed a bit distant. He got up, adjusted his cock and I could see he was hard. I realized then, that he must have the jock on under his singlet.
My heart caught in my throat, but what could I do? If I said anything, people would think I’m a pervert. If I went and found him, he’d know who’d fucked with his jock for the last few months. His next match came, and this time I noticed something else, he had a five o’ clock shadow across his face, and he was looking cocky and confident, and like he knew he owned the place, but then things went…a bit crazy.
He got in the ring, had the other guy pinned in moments, but he didn’t stop there, he was pushing him down onto the mat, face down, and grinding his crotch against his ass. His stubble was filling in and pushing out into a beard, his hair darkening to a dingy, dark brown, and soon it was sprouting all over his body. The kid was shouting, trying to get away, and a few of the coaches and the ref tried to pull him off, but Max whirled around and clocked one of them so hard in the jaw he collapsed, knocked out. The rest pulled back, Max returning to his pinned opponent, grabbed the ass of the singlet and ripped it away, pushing apart his ass and jamming his cock into his hole. The scream, fuck, the scream.
People in the stands freaked out, and started leaving. My wife left, but I stayed, unable to look away, my cock hard as a rock and leaking in my pants. He was fucking the wrestler, but he was snorting the air–long, loud and gruff snorts–then he turned towards me, right where I was in the stands, and leered, ramming his cock deeper, and deeper, and deeper, but it was me he wanted, me he was smelling, and I ran. I’m still running, but I can hear him in the halls behind me, hunting me. He’s hunting me, and I don’t think I can keep running for much longer.
You check back over your shoulder, and sure enough, he’s still following you. You can hear him panting, and the occasional whine. You’d seen him earlier in the leather bar, dressed in nothing beyond a skank jock, blowing some rough looking guy off in a corner, but once you’d left to walk the several blocks home to your apartment, he’d slipped out after you, and had been following you since. A couple of times you’d turned around and yelled at him, or thrown a bottle, and while he backed off for a bit, he still persisted.
A gay guy playing pup is following me home–you couldn’t make this shit up. Maybe it was just his thing or something? The guy hadn’t even put on any clothes–he was just wearing that same jock, ass naked. Luckily the streets were deserted, and the few people around didn’t give either of you a second glance. Odd how some things can start to seem normal. He just isn’t your type though, and while the persistence is flattering, you get into your building, make sure he stays locked out, and head up to your apartment, happy to be alone–at least until you hear scratching at your door, and a familiar whine behind it.
You check the peephole, and there he is. How in the hell did he get in the building and find your apartment? Still, you’re worried that someone might see him outside your door–and the last thing you want is the building supervisors on your case, and so you open the door a crack. He refuses to leave. In fact, he just seems thrilled to see you, and licks your face when you lean in too close, trying to shoo him away. He’s making such a racket that you eventually just let him in, rather than risk being seen with him in the hallway.
He bounds around the room, barking and panting, jumping up on you and nearly knocking you to the floor, rubbing his face against your crotch. You try to tell him no, but your cock is saying different, and he knows it. Relenting once more, you let your cock out of your jeans and he starts sucking on it–finally calming down once you feed him a load of cum. However, he refuses to drop the act, and when you try to force him to leave, he barks and whines outside your door loud enough to wake the entire floor, and you let him back in again. Worried he might take the pup thing too far and piss right on the carpet, you make him use the toilet, which he does begrudgingly, and then, exhausted, you head to bed. After much effort expended in keeping him out, you eventually let him up and under the covers with you, where he spends the whole night hogging the bed.
When morning comes, you hope that you can finally put an end to this ridiculous charade, but several things happen which complicate matters. First, you realize that if you force him out during the day you will be sure to be noticed by your neighbors, and second, you see that something new has appeared on the pup in the course of the night–a leather dog collar with a tag hanging from the D-ring with your name and phone number on it. As soon as you read it, it’s like a strange veil lifts from your mind, and you realize that of course this is your pup–Spike. How could you have forgotten that? And while forcing him to leave would be impossible, you also realize that you have no real desire to make him leave. After all…where would he go?
He eats the human food you give him, though he refuses to use his hands. He presents his ass to you regularly, whining and begging until you relent and fuck him. By the end of the day, you’re fucking him rather willingly, and at night, you make him beg for your cock, like a proper pup should. This shift is just obvious enough to be noticeable, and yet too slow to be worrying, but that evening, he refuses to settle down, and instead is pawing and barking at the door, like he wants to leave, but you no longer want to see him go. Still, he grows louder and more insistent, and unable to stand it, you open the door and let him out–but he doesn’t bolt. He stays in the hallway, bounding and barking…and you realize that now he wants you to follow him.
And with that, you realize that you don’t know where you are. This isn’t…this isn’t your home, or your stuff. What are you even doing here? You throw on some of the clothes around–they aren’t yours but they’ll have to do, leave the apartment and head for the elevator with your pup, and out of the building, onto the city street. It’s the middle of the night and the streets are dead, the pup takes off at a run heading south, and you shout at him, racing to keep up. His path zigs and zags a bit, but you neither lose him nor have much of a sense of where you’re both going. The apartments turn slummier, and messier, and things begin to look a bit more familiar to you. Your pup eventually stops in front of an old tenement and waits for you to catch up. Your pup noses a lose brick–you move it and find a pair of keys, one that opens the door, and the other that opens the door to a rundown studio apartment–home.
You feel safe here–comfortable. It smells like your brand of cigarettes, and you recognize the filthy clothes strewn around the room as yours, and smell your musk. Spike is happy to be home too, and you reward him with a fuck for being smart enough to lead you here. Still, looking at the clock, it’s almost time to get to work at the construction site…right? Something about all of this still feels off, but you pull on a nasty jock, a pair of camo pants, and a white wifebeater stained brown with sweat, and take a whiff of your pits, feeling your cock harden at the stench. Looking around for your wallet, you find an empty, ornate glass bottle on the table, along with a note:
Follow your master home, and you will be his forever.
Have him follow you home, and he will take your place.
You have no idea what to make of it, but luckily pup knows where your wallet is, and brings it to you, happy to finally have the master he’d always wanted.
***
I’m on Patreon! If you’d like to see more stories like this, help me out with a monthly pledge here, and gain instant access to a massive archive of unreleased stories.
Just wanted to take a chance to thank everyone who has contributed to my Patreon so far. I’m currently up to $251 dollars a month, which is just $50 dollars shy of me increasing the update schedule to four days a week instead of three. If you’re feeling generous, you can donate over here. Everyone who donates will get access to an archive of unreleased stories, over 200,000 words worth covering nearly every fetish and transformation you can imagine. For $5 a month, you’ll also receive exclusive stories I’m writing for contributors, as well as free digital copies of any stories I release for sale in the future. Here’s a sample from the archive, the start of a story called “The Pig Program.”
~~~~~
The phone was ringing. Billy pounded on the door to his apartment, calling for help, but the sudden constriction of the device clamped around his cock and balls made his stomach twist into knots, and he nearly collapsed. Still, the phone was ringing, had been ringing, would probably keep ringing until he answered it, but he didn’t want to know who was calling him. He didn’t want to know who was behind all of this.
He had gone out Friday, like every Friday before that, to the leather bar, dressed in his harness and jeans, looking for a daddy to give his ass a good pounding and help him explore the whole BDSM scene. Billy had always been…curious about it, but only recently had he worked up the nerve to actually put himself out there. He’d had a few tame sessions with some local Sirs, and he’d enjoyed them immensely, but he was timid, and a bit scared. He might have been a chubby bottom cub, but he did like to stay in control of himself. However, something else must have happened on this Friday–he had no idea what. All he knew was that he’d woken up fifteen minutes ago with his cock and balls locked in chastity, all of his hair shaved from his body, and his apartment door locked from the outside.
He’d tried to figure out how the chastity device worked, but everytime he tried to tamper with it, it would clamp down, crushing his balls, and he’d immediately feel nauseous and leave it alone. He’d resolved to leave the apartment and get help, but his closet was empty of all of his clothes, and his door…there was a strange electronic lock on it, keeping him inside. Every window was locked as well–he couldn’t get out. And always, the ringing phone. His cell phone was gone, and a landline had appeared mysteriously on a side table, and it wouldn’t stop ringing. He picked up the receiver and hung up quickly two or three times, but it would begin ringing again as soon as he slammed it back down.
Now he was pacing the room, trying to think of what to do, but the ringing–he couldn’t think through it. He picked up the phone and shouted into it, “What the god damn fuck do you want? What did you do to me?”
There was silence on the other end of the line, and then a soft chuckle. That laugh–he knew it from somewhere, but his mind was a blank–no face, no body, just that…chuckle, and a voice. “Hello Billy, welcome to the program. This is your headmaster calling–I doubt you remember me very well, but I’ve certainly become quite intimate with you as of late.”
“You sick fuck! What the fuck did you do? How do I get this…thing off of me?”
“Oh? You were so excited when we put that thing on you last night–you were pleading for it in fact. After all, we didn’t do anything which you didn’t ask us to. We don’t admit anyone to the program without their complete approval. I have all of the paperwork to verify it in fact. I included copies of every document in the back of your manual.”
Memories. Fragments really. Signing some documents, his cock hard. “What happened? Why can’t…why can’t I remember what happened?”
“Now, I’ve been lenient thus far, but you must begin addressing me properly. Then, I will answer one question for you.”
Billy swallowed, his throat dry, and then spoke, “Why…why can’t I remember any of this…Sir?”
“Because I don’t want you to remember it, pig. That ruins the whole effect. Now, your training begins today. Read through the manual on the table, and then–”
“Wait! That’s not an answer. That’s fucking bullshit,” Billy said, but his balls were suddenly crushed harder than they’d been all morning, and he screamed–but it didn’t stop. “Please! Please no. Sir! Sir, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please Sir, please…” and they were released, and he sobbed on the floor. He could hear the Headmaster from where he’d dropped the phone, yelling, telling him to pick up the receiver, and with a shaking hand, he did.
The headmaster was shouting, but he was not out of control. It was a voice of command, not of anger. “…that pig? You are not a free animal any longer. You do what I say, when I say it, understand?”
“Yes…yes Sir,” Billy managed to sob.
“Now, as I was saying. Your training begins today. You will read your manual on the table. You will then watch training DVD number one. It may be Sunday, but no rest for pigs. Now get going–and remember, I’ll be watching…” and the phone clicked off–no dial tone–nothing.
“Sunday?” Billy said to himself. It was Saturday, right? Had he lost an entire day with this freak? That would explain how so many changes to his apartment had been made in that time, but how could he lose an entire day’s worth of memories? What in the hell had the headmaster done to him? He tried dialing 911, but there was no answer, so he set the phone down and looked around the room. They had to have set up cameras to watch him, and probably microphones too. He needed to just play along with this insanity until they slipped up, and he could escape.
He walked around the couch and saw a thick book sitting alone on the coffee table, with the picture of a collared pig’s head on the cover and nothing else. It was thick, but not so much so that he couldn’t read it in a single sitting, but he flipped through it, finding it full of a long list of rules, the respective punishments for breaking those rules, and a description of what he could expect his days to be like from now on, and as he read through it–he couldn’t help but feel a kernel of sexual arousal amidst all of the anger and terror. From his read, he learned that the pig program had four grades–and that he was currently in the first grade. To the rest of the world, it would appear as though everything were normal–he would still go to work and engage in various approved activities–but inside the apartment, he would be trained for the next grade. He would have no freedom, his every decision dictated by the headmaster, and in most cases, disobedience would cause the chastity device to crush his balls–which explained the horrible pain he’d experienced throughout the morning. After he’d finished, it had done little more than destroy what little hope he’d had for himself. This Headmaster had obviously thought many steps ahead of Billy–and he could already tell that escape would be nearly impossible.
He set down the book and just stared at the TV in front of him, and the DVD stand which had manifested next to it, filled with numbered cases. With shaking hands, he pulled out the top DVD, labeled “#1” and turned it over. What was on it? What harm could it do, really? Maybe he could follow the letter of the rules and still manage to resist the spirit of them. Maybe they would just give up if he didn’t advance like they wanted. Still, he did want to watch it–wanted to know what they wanted him to watch. He’d be lying if this entire scenario hadn’t been ripped from some of the darkest of his fantasies, and so he opened the case, took out the blank disk, put it in the player, sat down on the couch and started the movie. There was a blast of sound, a dazzle of color oversaturating his vision and then he was staring at the suddenly blank TV screen, bouncing up and down on the thick dildo which had worked its way into his ass, and took a deep drag off the thick cigar somehow stuck into the gag strapped in his mouth, forcing him to inhale the thick smoke into his lungs.
His mind reeled–looking at the clock on the wall, he saw that eight hours had passed in the blink of an eye. He tried to stop fucking himself on the dildo, but couldn’t–his body was moving all on it’s own, and the stimulation on his prostate was making his cock leak uncomfortably in its confinement. The same with the cigar–for some reason, he couldn’t not smoke it. He’d never smoked a day in his life before now, and all he could do was fuck himself, feeling his thighs and hamstrings burning with exertion, and watch the cigar slowly burn itself down to a nub, and fall away from the gag, when control finally returned to his body. After undoing the gag and gasping for fresh air, he hauled the nine inch dildo from his ass, but before he could stop himself, he licked the entire shaft clean before setting it down on the coffee table. He heard words come out of his mouth under his breath, but not words he’d meant to say–“Rule 46. A pig’s toys are vitally important, he must care for them and clean them after every use.”
What had that DVD done to him? He scraped his mind, but couldn’t remember anything other than that flash–had he really blanked out for eight hours? And where had the dildo, gag and cigar even come from? He hadn’t seen them earlier in the apartment. His hands finally put down the dildo, now spotless, and he sat there–wondering what other triggers there might be–what other hidden tricks that DVD had put in his mind. He got up and went to the DVD player to look at it again, but DVD #1 wasn’t in there anymore–it was DVD #3. He’d switched them without even knowing? Billy’s stomach twisted as he realized how little control he had…but also because he was starving. He hadn’t worked that hard in ages–and when was the last time he’d gone eight hours without eating?
He got up to go into the kitchen, where his jaw dropped. On the kitchen table were two extra large pizza boxes, both still warm, with a two liter bottle of soda next to them. He looked around, expecting someone to be there who might have brought them, but he was alone. Still–he was a big guy, and he had a healthy appetite, but there was no way he could eat all of that. As though in reply, he felt himself speak again, “Rule 3. A pig is a glutton, and will eat everything put on the table for him.” The terror at his own words couldn’t stop his feet from walking him up to the table, or his hands from picking up the first slice and slamming it down his throat. He begged and pleaded through the mouthfuls, looking for cameras, asking them to let him stop–to let him go–but he had to eat.
It took him an hour to polish the table, before he waddled back into the living room, laid back on the couch, rubbing his distended gut and started crying. He was exhausted, and he’d only been “awake” for about two hours today. When the phone rang again, he sobbed. He didn’t want to answer–didn’t want to pick it up, but when he felt the device begin constricting his balls again, he heaved himself up and answered it, the words popping out without thinking, “Yes Sir, how may I proceed with my training, Sir.”
“That was very good, pig. You must really want this life for the programming to cement itself so well in your mind.”
“What do you mean, Sir? Please, please let me go, Sir.”
“Again, this is what you asked for pig. Now, I think that this was enough for your first day. After all, you have a very busy week ahead of you. Your work has been contacted, and you will be using your week of vacation for your initial training before returning. I don’t like having my animals running around outside their cages without at least a week of solid conditioning first.”
“You mean, I’ll be able to leave, Sir? Please, just let me go, I swear I won’t tell, I swear Sir.”
“No Pig, you’re far too beautiful to let you roam wild like you were. Trust me, with some training, you’ll be a far better pig than you’d have ever imagined yourself being. As for work, all animals at level one must remain somewhat active in their old lives. It eases the transition into the program, and allows us to sever any ties the animal might have had with others before they graduate to level two. Now, that’s enough questions for now. Complete your smoking quota for the night, and then go to bed. There will be instructions for you when you wake.”
“Smoking quota, Sir?” Billy stammered, “I don’t–”
“Slave, tell me the cigars remaining on your quota,” the headmaster commanded.
“Two, Sir.” Billy replied automatically.
“Good. Now, for questioning me, Smoke both of those cigars with your ass plugged, and recite the rules from memory until you’ve finished both. Good night.”
“Good night, Sir,” Billy said, and hung up the phone.
Marty paced the end of the runway. It was past dawn at this point–Santa should have returned by now. He was always so efficient! He picked up the pistol he’d dug out of his old projects. It was an old failure that never worked very well, but…desperation breeds ingenuity, and he’d cobbled together a working prototype–a love gun. He’d intended to make it capable of making any two people fall deeply in love or lust, but for now, all he’d managed to do is make the target fall in love with the shooter–which was enough for him. He’d imagined that his addictive cum would be enough to control Santa and his heart– but if this is what had to be done then so be it. He would have Santa’s heart, by force if necessary. He was done playing nice.
Timmy was a ways off, closer to the workshop, staring at Marty. He’d emerged from his workshop–alone. No sign of Claude. Marty had locked the door behind him, and even though Timmy was an excellent lockpick, he’d never been able to penetrate Marty’s complex locks, though he’d tried many times before. Still, this was getting out of hand, and he knew that the only person who could maybe talk some sense into Marty was him.
He hiked out to the runway where Marty was fiddling with his gun. Marty looked at him, “Stay out of this Timmy.”
“Marty…don’t…don’t you think this has gone a bit far?”
Marty didn’t say anything.
“Where’s…where’s Claude? What did you do to him?”
“I took care of it.”
“What did you do to him, Marty?”
“I said I took care of it.”
“ He didn’t need to be taken care of, Marty! What the fuck did you do?”
Marty spun around and stalked towards Timmy. “This has nothing to do with you! Fuck off, you fucking halfwit,” Marty spat on the ground, “You’ve been fucking lovesick for me for years–when do you get the hint? I don’t fucking love you Timmy, hell, at this point I don’t even like you. Now get the fuck away from me.”
Timmy’s jaw had dropped, his eyes tearing up. Marty looked away again, scanning the sky. Timmy almost spoke again, wanting to tell Marty what had happened to Santa as he’d ridden all over the world last night…but fuck it. Marty would just get a surprise, right? He’d see who the halfwit is, then. He turned around and stomped a ways off, but stayed close–he wanted to see the look on Marty’s face when the sleigh landed.
A few minutes later, rudolph’s red cockhead finally flickered through the clouds, and the sleigh burst out behind. Marty readied the gun, lining it up in his sights. He wasn’t going to give Santa a chance to dodge, or get a word in–he was going to shoot him in the air. The sleigh banked around, giving him a clean shot. He fired, and saw the figure in the sleigh glow bright pink for a moment–a direct hit! He tossed the gun away, and stepped to one side, the sleigh alighting on the snowy runway. Several reindeer trampled their way across the gun, but Marty didn’t care–it had done it’s job. The sleigh came to rest, Marty hurried towards it, and then stopped in his tracks, as the massively fat pig inside hefted himself out, snorted the air, turned it’s eyes on Marty, and beamed at him with desire.
“No…” Marty said, “No! Timmy? Timmy! What the fuck have you done to him!”
Santa was fat, but he was still larger and faster than Marty…and he had a bit of magic on his side as well. The little elf…he loved him so much, but he just wasn’t quite his type. Not yet, at least. Marty slowed down, sniffing the air, and then snorting it. Something smelled…no. He looked down, and saw that his hands were condensing into trotters, his body bulking up with muscle and fat, his cock…his fucking cock! It grew thick and started lengthening down, reaching his knees in moments, and that smell! He turned around, and saw Santa bent over, presenting his fat ass for Marty, and he was so horny. Grunting and snorting, he stroked his cock hard, forced Santa’s ass lower, and fucked him. His body was growing thicker with muscle, he’d never felt so strong, even as the edges of his clever mind started to dull and soften, lust overtaking him. His balls were filling with cum, bulging heavy and hanging lower, and moments later he was cumming, filling Santa’s ass with his new seed.
The haze of lust lifted, and Marty stumbled back. He was huge by elf standards now–in fact, we was less an elf and more a short, squat pig man, a freak of nature. Santa turned around and snorted closer, trying to kiss him, and Marty pushed him away. He had to fix this, he had to do something! He ran for the workshop, and Santa chased him, eager for another fuck, and Timmy just watched him run all the way there…and then saw the remains of the gun scattered across the runway. He hurried over and picked up all the bits he could find, a plan of his own forming in his mind.
Marty unlocked his workshop, and tried to keep Santa out, the rest of the elves watching the scene with a mixture of horror, surprise and sick humor. Eventually, Marty relented, and they both disappeared into his private workshop, the door locked behind them, and Timmy hurried to his own room, the bits of the gun heaped in his arms, and locked it behind him as well.
As for the rest of the elves–they had no Santa, and no head elf. So they began making toys for next year, because what else was there to do? Christmas would carry on, somehow. But the grew more uneasy, as over the next several months, Timmy, Claude, Marty and Santa never emerged, until one day…
To Be Continued
The sleigh landed on the roof of Phi Iota Gamma, and nearly slid off the steep roof when Santa leaned too far to one side. He weighed so much now–it was hard to judge balance, and his reindeer looked exhausted from hauling him around all night long. Still, it was their last stop, and he realized with glee that he still had that last bottle of cum he’d saved. He’d mostly forgotten about it, with all the piss and sweat he’d been drinking from each man he’d visited tonight–he didn’t usually have a such a thing for slobs, but tonight these fat, filthy men were just driving him crazy with horniness. He dug around for the bottle, found it, popped off the top and guzzled the whole thing down. Sucking the rest from his mustache, he felt a strange rumble in his guts, and a pang of worry. Wasn’t he not supposed to drink that? He seemed to remember trying to hide the bottle from himself earlier in the night, but wwhy would he do that? The worry already slipping away, he heaved himself out of the sleigh, his bag of gifts for the frat brothers hefted over his shoulder, and slipped down the chimney and landed in the fireplace.
He dusted the soot from his flabby body, and took a step into the living room, nearly toppling over when the floor sank in under his foot with a loud squish. He looked down, surprised, and saw that around his foot, the wooden floor had shifted into wet, soggy mud. Stinking mud. Farm mud, with a heavy pang of manure. It smelled…it smelled…kind of good, actually. He took another step, and felt his other boot sink in a bit further, to the ankle. He tried to take another step, but his boot was stuck in the mud. He yanked, pulling his socked foot from the shoe and it landed in the mud, sinking up to the calf, the sock dissolving in a matter of seconds, leaving him barefoot in the muck. He tried to take another step, but that foot was stuck as well, and he ended up toppling over, the hardwood changing to mud as he struck, sinking in two feet deep. He rolled over, trying to get up, but it was too slick and mucky and he ended up pushing himself deeper, grunting and snorting in pleasure. It did smell good, and it felt good too on his skin, as his leather gear dissolved away, leaving him naked in the filthy mud, rolling around, oinking and squealing. He felt himself lose control and start pissing as he rolled about–he flopped onto his back, feeling it shoot up and back onto his fat pad, dribbling into the mud around him, and he sighed. Still, he was hungry–he looked around for some food–he could smell some nearby. He hefted himself upright, but found it hard to balance on his feet, like he was standing on his toes. He tried to wipe off some of the mud with his hands, but his fingers had melded together into clumsy trotters, and he ended up leaving most of it, heaving his way through the muddy room to the kitchen, But in the reflective surface of the stainless steel fridge door, he saw a twisted, monstrous face and squealed in fright.
What had happened to him? His face…it had been a bit piggish before, but now he had a snout with two short tusks pushing their way out from his bottom jaw on either side, his eyes dull…what had he been thinking about again? Food…food, that was right. He opened up the fridge, and started eating everything in sight, and then moved onto the wider kitchen, when one of the frat brothers, awoken by the sound of snorting, came out of his room and looked down on the living room below from the balcony above.
“What…what the fuck? Hey…hey guys! What the fuck happened to the living room?”
There was a clatter of doors opening for a few moments, but Santa was too busy clearing out the cabinets to pay much attention.
“Is that mud?”
“It sure reeks like mud.”
“Who the fuck did it? Sigma Epsilon?”
“Who knows, but this is pretty elaborate for Sigma.”
“Do you guys hear snorting?”
“They didn’t bring a pig in too, did they?”
“I hear it too, it’s in the kitchen.”
Santa was feeling less hungry, but as the frat talked, he started to feel something else. He was horny…horny for a fuck. A lot of fucks.His ass was on fire. He stumbled out into the muddy living room, snorting, and the entire frat suddenly found themselves compelled to go down to the mud pit below. The massive pigman wearing a Santa hat with a huge white beard scared them, but as they waded out into the mud, their slippers and clothes dissolving, bodies bulking up with fat and muscle, hair growing across their bodies, faces contorting with snouts and tusks, they suddenly didn’t care. Two of the boars pushed Santa into the mud and a crowd of boars circled up, hefting their thick, pig cocks in their trotters and they all doused Santa in their piss. He drank as much as he could, but coated his fat body in the rest, before rolling over, presenting his ass to them, and the biggest one rammed his cock in deep in a single thrust, another boar coming around to Santa’s snout and fucking his face.
The rest of the boars, overcome with pig lust, rutted with each other in the mud. Santa, however, was still hungry. Once he finished off the pig fucking his face, he summoned a long trough full of sweets in front of his face and dug in. The boars kept fucking his ass the entire time he ate, a few of the boars joining him at the trough, fattening up as their fellow frat brother’s seeded their holes. Before long, the boars could easily be separated into two camps–muscular, musky alpha boars with huge cocks, fucking any hole in sight, and massively fat, small cocked bottom pigs, only happy with their faces stuffed with food and their asses stuffed with cocks–and Santa was the biggest of them all.
With time frozen, he had no idea how long the pig orgy lasted, but eventually the entire frat had collapsed into the mud, asleep. Santa wanted to stay. He liked it here, here he could have all the food and cock he needed, but something else, something almost forgotten, pulled him back to the chimney, back up onto the roof, back into the sleigh, where he curled up and fell asleep, the reindeer hauling the pig back to the North Pole.
“Well? Do you think they’ll fit? I think they might be a bit small, but I do love how rubber stretches over Santa’s thick arms when it’s a bit tight on him, don’t you agree, Claude?”
Claude didn’t say anything. Marty took the pair of shoulder length rubber gloves and slapped them across his face.
“Fucking answer me, bitch! Do you think they’ll fucking fit?”
“Please…Just let me go. I’ll just disappear, he’ll never know what happened to me, and you can have him, I don’t want him, I don’t want this…”
Claude looked to the left and right, where his arms had been, until Marty had separated them from his body with those same rings which had removed his cock, coated both of them in rubber, and reshaped them into the gloves Marty was now swinging from one of his hands. He was propped up against the wall, balanced carefully, since his legs were also gone, turned into the thigh high waders which were currently laying on the elf’s bench.
“Oh Claude, you see, I’d happily send you away, but the only problem is, like all of us here, you’re now immortal, so you can’t be out of the picture forever. Santa can be…tenacious when he wants something. Of course, once I mindfuck that fat fuck so he loves me like a fucking puppy I doubt he’ll give a shit about where you went, but I’d rather stash you in a place where I don’t have to worry about you causing trouble, like I did with Mrs. Claus–but no one knows about that but us, of course, and you won’t be giving away any secrets soon.”
Claude started sobbing, and Marty sighed, wiping his eyes, “Oh Claude, don’t cry! This is all your fault, don’t forget. You’re just getting what you deserve for stealing Santa from me. And since I’ve spent the last year frozen solid, stuffed up both your asses, well…I’m sure we can find something similar for you to do, though I think you’re going to be stuck for more than a year.”
“No, please don’t make me a dildo, please…”
“Oh Claude, I was thinking of something quite different. And Timmy did promise you an unlimited supply of elf cum after all. No, I’m thinking of something else entirely.” He set the gloves down on the table and then began rummaging around in some boxes, “Now where is it? I was going to work on it and perfect it this year, but the prototype should work just fine for what I have in mind…Ah ha!” He dug around in a large box and hauled out something that looked like a slick, two inch diameter rubber tube with a funnel at the end. He walked over, and Claude noticed something else–it was flopping about, but more than it should be. When Marty came up to him, it was still moving on it’s own, the tube end sweeping around until it pointed towards his face. “What do you think? Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“What the hell even is it?”
“It’s a rubber parasite, a very special one. I’ve imbued it with nanobots, and when it infests a host…well, maybe I should just leave it as a surprise, eh? Now open up Claude.”
Claude shut his mouth tight, and Marty laughed, brought the end of the tube next to his lips, and the rubber started forcing it’s way into his mouth, squeezing between his clenched teeth and forcing his mouth open, squirming around his mouth for a moment before snaking it’s way down his throat. He tried to cough and gag and shout, but the tube shut off his airway, and he started choking, squirming as the funnel planted itself in his mouth, and then, suddenly he could breathe, and he gasped for breath–though he couldn’t speak a word with his mouth gagged by the funnel.
“Looking good, now let’s see about the other end…” Marty said, and lifted Claude into the air. He could feel the rubber squirming around in his gut, but it felt like it was doing more than just working it’s way into his stomach. If anything, it felt like his guts were changing form entirely. Without warning, he suddenly felt like he needed to shit, and the tube slipped out of his ass, dangling half a foot from his hole, searching around for something. “Perfect! Now, let’s get you installed…” Marty kept him up in the air, and then pushed him against the wall at the level of his waist. The rubber tube hardened, the head condensing into a drill, and started pushing it’s way into the wall, finding the nearest pipe and joining up with it. When Marty stepped away, Claude stayed stuck to the wall, suspended on the pipe, squirming a bit and trying to figure out what was happening inside him.
Marty watched his struggle for a moment, and then he saw the next stage take hold. Claude struggled less, his eyes losing focus, the nanobots done changing his body, and now focusing on his mind. “Well Claude? Here you are. Your new home–my private, personal urinal and cumdump,” Marty said, whispering in his ear, “Those bots are going to go quite a number on that head of yours–a bit too much damage in my opinion. Still, I don’t think you’re going to miss those brain cells–a urinal only needs to be thirsty, right?”
Claude nodded dumbly. He was thirsty. Really thirsty, in fact. The thirst was pushing everything else to the side, it was all he could focus on.
“Yeah, that’s a good cumdump. I think you’re going to be very happy here. Let’s see…I think that funnel is just about done adhering to your mouth, so how about I give you your first load of piss, eh?”
Claude nodded, and watched Marty pull out his cock, aim it at his funnel mouth, and let loose a blast of piss. He didn’t have to swallow, it just slid right down his rubber throat and into his gut. To his surprise, he could taste everywhere on his funnel, and the piss was bitter and acrid but he couldn’t imagine drinking anything else. Well, other than sweet elf cum, of course. He was just a urinal after all, urinals didn’t need anything other than piss and cum. He felt the piss settle into his new gut, which was really just a massive holding tank where his parasite would feed off the piss, growing stronger, before releasing it out the tube in his ass and into the sewers below. He had to feed his parasite, he had to…it was the only thing that would keep him alive from now on. He owed the parasite his life. What would he do without it?
The parasite was happy with the piss, and it allowed Claude to orgasm, and he shook and shivered on the wall, pleasure ripping it’s way through his simple mind. Marty was stroking his elf cock now, saying words, but Claude was having a hard time understanding him–all he wanted was cum. Cum and piss, but cum now, it was spraying from Marty’s cock across his face and into his funnel, dribbling it’s way down into his gut, where it belonged.
Marty shook the last drops of cum from the tip of his cock, and looked at his happy urinal. He’d love to keep it flesh, but it would be too recognizable, so he got the bucket of liquid rubber and started spreading it in a thin layer across Claude’s body, just enough to turn his skin to rubber without rubberizing his whole body. He applied a bit more to the face, smoothing out the eyes and ears, removing the beard and hair, until it was just a generic head shape–utterly unrecognizable. Of course, Claude wouldn’t be able to see or hear anything through the rubber, but Marty didn’t think he’d mind for long. Taste would be far, far more important to him. He fed his urinal another load of piss, watching it shiver with pleasure, and then went back to work on his gift for Santa. With Claude out of the way, Santa would have to love him. But just to make sure, Marty wasn’t going to let him have a choice in the matter, anymore.
He shouldn’t drink it, he knew that…he just wasn’t quite sure why anymore. Santa had the bottle of elf cum in his hand, massaging one of his fat moobs with the other, tweaking his nipple. Something about…about getting fatter, but that was alright, wasn’t it? After all, he liked being this fat, and he even liked the idea of getting even bigger. Something in his head was telling him that wasn’t right, that he shouldn’t be this fat at all, that the elves had done something to him, but it all seemed to fade away the harder he tried to grasp at it.
His gut rumbled–hungry again already. He was turning every other guy into a feeder just to keep his huge gut satisfied, and while he hadn’t gained as much as with Aaron, he was still growing. He liked that actually. He liked getting bigger, fatter…he couldn’t reach his cock anymore, but he rocked back and forth a bit in the seat of the sleigh, feeling his cock slip in and out of his gunt, and finally popped the top off the bottle and guzzled it down. That was much better, he thought to himself, and hefted himself out of the sleigh, dug out the presents for the next house, and squeezed his way down the chimney. The tree was in the living room, and he slid the presents underneath, and then found the milk and cookies left for him, hammered down the cookies, took a drink of milk, and sputtered it across half the room.
It tasted terrible, rotten. Who in the hell leaves out rotten milk for Santa? Whoever lived here, he was gonna get it, but first he had to find something to wash down these cookies. He tried a glass of water, but it too tasted horrible, as did the soda, and juice he tried from the fridge. Something was wrong with him, something terrible. He knew he shouldn’t have drank that bottle of cum…even if he didn’t quite know why, but the thirst was only getting worse. What did he want? Everything was just too sweet, he wanted something bitter, something bitter and warm…warm…why was his crotch warm?
Piss was dribbling out the sides of the red rubber jock he had on under his black chaps, and onto the carpet. It was warm, and he could…smell it. Santa gave a loud snort, and then another one, breathing fast, getting down on his knees, pressing his bearded mouth into the carpet, grinding it into the warm piss before trying to suck it out with his lips, but it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. There might be more in…in the bathroom. He hefted himself up and lumbered down the hall, but like the rest of the house it was perfectly cleaned, the whole place was too god damn clean!
Frustrated and horny, he couldn’t even control the burst of magic that rocketed out from where he stood. One moment, the bathroom was clean, the next, the walls were molding, the sink clogged with hair, the shower dry and unused for years, and the toilet, oh the toilet…the water had all turned to piss, and it was brimming with it, concentrated from who knew how many loads, and Santa, snorting eagerly, thrusting his face into it, sucking and lapping it up. He’d drained it halfway when he heard the voice down the hall, “What…what the fuck happened to my house!” A moment later, Frank, the wealthy clean freak who owned the house was in the doorway, staring at the obese, filthy Santa Claus kneeling in front of his toilet, piss dribbling from the beard. Santa leered at him, but before he could run, magic had stuck his bare feet to the floor, and he was changing.
Muscle bound, yeah, muscles with a gut, a fucking workout pig, his pits reek to high heaven, and he loves it, he loves it so much, yeah, look at him sniff those pits, he wants to soak me down in his piss, he wants to soak me down–
No, no, not enough.
Yeah, look at him now, look at that belly sticking out of that grungy leather biker vest covered with hair. Still muscle though, and taller, wide, rough, mean. Hasn’t trimmed his beard in years, or his hair. Chain smoking cigars, can smell the smoke from here. You can see the piss stain on those jeans, can’t wait to suck on them, can’t wait to suck the piss out of the front of them, fuckin’ filthy biker bear–
No, still not…not enough.
Fat yeah, make him fatter. Dumb, fuckin’ dumb trailer trash muscle beast. His beard, fuck grows so fuckin’ fast, three inches a day, all the way to his fuckin crotch, hair too, knotted, ratty, his body covered with hair, matted with sweat. Never had a shower. Makes Pigs clean him, fuck yeah, pigs like me clean that filthy body for him all night long…
Santa was crawling towards him, snorting hungrily. Frank was trying to figure out what had just happened to him. He reeked, he reeked so fuckin’ much, but look at that pig, he’d never known Santa was a hot nasty pig like that. Yeah, they could…they could have lots of fun, fuck yeah. He didn’t even notice that he was pissing, but Santa caught most of it, taking the uncut head of Frank’s cock in his mouth, drinking down the fresh piss, cleaning out the cheese with his tongue before Frank wrapped his hands around the back of Santa’s head and fucked his huge cock down Santa’s pig throat. He took a drag off his cigar, and blew a plume of foul smoke down at Santa, and noticed that he looked a bit different too.
His face…he actually did look a bit more like a pig. His nose was flatter for one thing, pushed flat into a short snout. His body had just been fat, but it was filling in with perfectly white long hairs, thick, like a pelt. He gripped the fur in his hand, and it was oily and grungy with sweat and filth and piss. He finally came deep in Santa’s throat, and the fat man leaned back, revealing a short wide cock buried in fat. Frank got down and cleaned the folds of piss with his tongue before sucking on Santa’s cock, listening to him squeal and grunt in pleasure, before finally letting loose a blast of cum that Frank swallowed down. But he was still tired, so tired. He got up, yawned, and stumbled back into the small bed he had in his filthy trailer. Santa rolled over onto his belly, panting, and hefted himself up. He squealed when he saw his face in the mirror, but after a couple of blinks, he couldn’t quite remember why he was so scared at the piggish nose, the long tangled beard and hair. Hadn’t….hadn’t he always looked like that? His nose led him back to the toilet bowl, and he drank the rest of the piss, licking it completely dry, before leaving the bathroom.
His head was all a fog. He just couldn’t quite fit all the pieces together anymore. He was hot though, a fuckin’ hot piggy. He wandered past the small fake tree next to the soiled couch in Frank’s new home, and got back onto the roof where his reindeer were waiting, and back into the sleigh. At least there was still one more bottle of cum he could drink, but later. He’d just drank so much piss, he’d have to wait a few hours for sure.
Bracken's Corner 