Category: Uncategorized

Pigtown Prison (Part 2)

The pain was spreading to the rest of his body now, radiating from his guts but manifesting in entirely different ways. There was…a burning ache deep inside him–everywhere inside of him–and it was only becoming worse. He heard, and felt, the first unsettling crack in his knee, and his leg gave out under him, sending him crashing to the floor…and he felt the bones in his left leg grow and extend…but the muscle and tendons attached didn’t. He screamed then, clutching at his thigh, watching his ankle extend from the leg of his jeans, and with another couple of cracks, his right leg did the same. He didn’t remember much of the next few minutes, as the rest of his skeleton followed suit–it was just a constant sensation of burning in his bones, and the feeling of his meat and skin stretching to try and accommodate his growing body. Over him, he could see the filthy ceiling, Rod leaning against the wall smoking a cigar, and certain he must be dying. But as his bones finished, his muscles followed–each beginning with a horrific, gut churning cramp, and then releasing an explosion of searing heat as they grew, matching the new length of bone, but also doubling or tripling in size and strength.

At some point, he realized he had either grown accustomed to the pain, or it had actually eased slightly; he rolled over onto his knees, jeans and shirt growing tighter across his frame, and forced his feet back under him. He felt off balance and stumbled–nearly falling over again before he found a wall to steady himself with. The entire room seemed to have shifted around him, the scale smaller–but it wasn’t the room that had shrunk–he had grown taller.

He heaved himself towards the sinks again, and in the mirror, he saw his body changing right in front of his eyes. His limbs…they seemed so long, many of his muscles still stretched taut, but everywhere he’d felt his muscles explode in size, he looked like some…brute. His chest constricted suddenly, and he gripped the sink in front of him, trying to not scream in agony. A moment later, two huge pecs burst forth on his chest, huge slabs popping open the front of his button down shirt and stretching the t-shirt underneath to the breaking point. He could barely move, and with his hands he clawed at the fabric, eventually tearing it off his body, giving him a view of his body below, the muscle speeding up and growing faster now. His pants didn’t last long–when his glutes grew, the seam down the ass tore, letting him rip them away as well, and his underwear came off in shreds soon after. He barely recognized himself in the mirror–his pretty young face resting on top of the body of some steroid ridden bodybuilder–at least until he felt the bones of his face beginning to crunch and shift against one another. He clutched at it, screaming, his chin growing angular, nose breaking and rehealing a few times, brow growing fuller and extending over his eyes which sank back into his skull.

He sobbed, looking at his new face–and then came the hairs. He could feel them, millions of hairs erupting through his skin, every single one of them like an impossibly thin needle. He scratched at his body, watching a thick, black pelt erupt across his chest and down his thick roid gut, over his shoulders and across his entire back, down his ass, arms and legs. He was distracted by an invisible hand gripping his cock and balls and tugging at them, hard, making him retch again. His sack dropped as the hand tugged, balls doubling in size, cock growing to nearly ten inches before the hand finally released him, and the pain subsided, only to be followed by a knee shaking puncture in the head of his cock. He watched a thick ring push its way out of his flesh under the head of his cock, circle up and shove its way into his piss slit where it joined with itself, becoming a thick gauge PA. Exhausted, he tried to stay upright, but his shaking legs collapsed under him and he fell to the floor, adding a small dribble of blood from his cock as the piercing healed up behind it. He barely felt the three other rings follow suit–two bursting out of his nipples and one forcing its way out of his septum. His eyes were tearing up, and he choked back a sob. The pain slid away, and what remained was exhaustion–he just wanted to collapse, wanted to sleep, wanted all of this to be some mad dream.

The door to the bathroom swung open, and Keith heard two or three sets of boots clomp into the room. “Fuck Rod, someone dying in here?”

“Nah, just a fucking pussy is all.”

“Hot piece of ass in my opinion–he been broken in yet?”

“Heh, you sure you want this one? Might be a lot to handle.”

“He sounds like he’ll moan real fucking nice ‘round my cock, is what I think!”

There were hoots and hollers, and hands started grabbing at Keith and forcing him onto his hands and knees. All he could smell around him was smoke and booze on breath, musk and piss and cum and leather. He felt someone pull his ass cheeks apart and a bearded face shove its way in, tongue slathering his hole, another face grabbing his face and kissing him. He felt…something else boiling inside him, some other lingering heat from the change. This…it wasn’t right, this wasn’t right! He wasn’t going to let these men take him, no, he…he…

He shoved the man in front of him away with a snarl, turned around and saw a squat piggy looking fuck behind him in leather gear and assless chaps, stroking his cock with one hand. He lunged at him, the others watching him pin the man down and start fucking his ass in surprise, and then they edged their way back out of the bathroom–all of them except Rod, who walked over, observing Keith roughly fucking the pig. “Good instincts, nice technique–you’ll do nicely.”

Pigtown Prison (Part 1)

“Look, I know what you can do here, I know the stories,” Oliver said to the bartender, “I just…I do like him, you know? But I can’t be with a bottom–two bottoms, what the fuck are we supposed to do? And he’s fucking clueless. If he was a top, a bigger, and…well, you can do all that, can’t you?”

Rod looked the young man up and down–he had to admit, he might be small and a twink to boot, but he had balls to come into his bar, and start making requests. “I got plenty of pigs in the back room who would love a turn at your hole, boy–how about I just give you to them?”

“No thanks–I like myself plenty. This isn’t about me, it’s about him. Besides, you can’t do shit to me, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll help me out here,” Oliver smiled, “I’m trying to be nice, and polite.”

Now Rod was fuming. Who the fuck did this punk think he was, walking into Pigtown, his bar, and thinking Rod owed him a favor. “Boy, get your ass around this bar, and suck my fucking cock.”

Oliver just sat there, looking calm, and Rod resisted the urge to let his jaw drop. Pigtown was his, and by extension, everyone inside it was his too. No one should be able to resist his orders, but this fucker was just sitting there, flaunting his control, and worse…he knew it. Apparently this was a bit more…complicated than Rod had thought. “You do this for me, or else you’re going to find yourself with a much more normal bar than you’d like, Rod. Make my boyfriend my perfect top, and you’ll never see me again. He’ll be here tomorrow night–his name is Keith. Big muscles, huge cock, hairy all over–your usual sort of clientele. Don’t fuck with his head any more than you have to, though.”

Oliver got up from the bar and walked to the door, leaving Rod sputtering. “Somebody stop that fucker!” He shouted. The room was full of men–his men. Men who would do anything for him, be anyone for him…but no one moved an inch. Oliver threaded through them at a leisurely pace, feeling all of their eyes following him, and then he was gone. When the door shut behind him, Rod felt something he hadn’t felt in a very long time–he felt scared. “Jimmy, he said to one of his regulars, “Piss yourself.”

He worried for a moment that he’d lost it, that something had happened to the magic of the place, but a second later, Jimmy’s grubby jeans turned dark with piss, and the big bear blushed behind his beard. Rod breathed a sigh of relief–still, Oliver had figured something out, a way to nullify his magic–not just for him, but for everyone around him. If he thought Rod was going to respond to a threat like that and just roll over, well, Oliver was hardly the most formidable opponent Rod had bested in his years. Still, why not give the boy what he asked for? Rod would make it perfectly clear that in this case, the young trickster had bitten off much, much more than he could hope to swallow.

Keith shoved his way into the bathroom, his guts churning and vision swimming, wondering just what had been in that drink that dirty old bartender had given him–and where in the hell was Oliver? His boyfriend had told him to meet here for a date tonight, but he’d texted him to say he’d be late–telling Keith to go ahead and get a drink while he waited. Now, though, it felt like his guts were ripping themselves to shreds, and the look the bartender had given him when he’d stood up and rushed for the bathroom…it hadn’t been a very sympathetic look, by any means.

The bathroom was even grungier and filthier than the bar outside…and he swore he could hear the grunting and moaning of a couple guys fucking in the far stall. Still, he got done in front of one of the nasty toilets and tried to force himself to throw up, but even though his stomach was heaving nothing came, and the pain in his stomach was starting to spread. Had that fucking bartender poisoned him or something? He stood up and stumbled back out of the stall, hanging onto one of the sinks to stay upright while he reached for his phone to call for help, but once he’d gotten it into his shaking hand, someone grabbed it from him, dropped it to the floor, and crushed it under the heel of his boot.

The bartender, still with that cruel grin of his across his face. “Now, now–take your medicine  like a man. I gotta keep my side of the bargain after all, but you don’t get to fucking enjoy this, by any means.”

Use It or Lose It (Part 12)

He went home after work, horny but so excited at the same time. Part of him could barely believe that he was preparing to actively lose another inch of his cock, but that old part of him was so far away and so small now that it was easy to ignore. He’d cum once on the bus, just from the vibration of the engine, but he went into his bedroom, laid down on his cum crusted sheets, and kept still, feeling the need and desire rising within him. He was impatient and growing desperate, but he made himself lie there for two hours–long enough to feel the curse kick into high gear. Then he got up, shoved one of his favorite rubber fists into his hole, and started fucking himself, expecting to cum in a few minutes–but while his cock quickly reached the edge, it stubbornly refused to shoot. Twenty minutes later, he collapsed back on the bed, drenched with sweat, cock and balls aching to release and yet unable to do so.

He waited fifteen minutes, until he had his breath back, and tried again, but like before it refused to cooperate. Like the last time, he had a distinct sensation that his cock was somehow resisting him. It didn’t want to shrink any further, it wanted to grow again–but he couldn’t let that happen. He wasn’t going back to that old life, he wasn’t going to be some stupid Christian breeder. He was a pig now, a filthy perverted sex pig, and he had no intention of ever being anything else for the rest of his life. Still, after four or five sessions, he still had no luck, and his hunger was increasing. He decided it might be best to take a break, have some dinner, and then see if he could find someone willing to help him out.

Most of his contacts weren’t available–generally everyone had something more important to be doing on a Monday night other than abusing a pig, but Randal was becoming more and more desperate. He had to go to his B-list before he finally found someone willing to come over–a fat, greasy skinhead sadist he’d played with a couple of times, but who was always…too rough for Randal’s tastes. Still, it would work, wouldn’t it? The man wasn’t willing to come over, but he gave Randal his address, and told him to wear nothing other than leather and rubber. He got dressed and set out for the man’s place at around ten in the evening, not even embarrassed that other people were staring at him in his fetish gear–it was more important to get off.

The ride over on the bus only made him hornier–as soon as the skin opened the door, smoking a cigarette in his bleached jeans and rubber vest, Randal was on his knees, begging him for release, that the man could do whatever he wanted to Randal, just as long as Randal came. The master chuckled, and dragged the pig in by the collar, making him service his rangers before getting to work on the pig’s hole.

With two hands buried in up to the elbow, Randal finally came. It felt like a torrent, but Master said, afterwards, that it had only been a few pitiful spurts. Still, the pleasure blooming inside him was so powerful, and Randal was so thankful for the man who’d given it to him. He looked back at the chubby man, and he’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life than his Master, not noticing the scars appearing across his back from whips and chains, the shaved scalp he now had, the tattoos running up and down his arms marking him as a skinpig and slave. He was close now–so close, and after Master had his pleasure, Randal begged him for one last scene–tie the pig down for two hours, make him completely immobile, and then make him cum through any means possible. Do that, Randal said, and he’d be his slave forever.

The man didn’t need much convincing–he forced the pig into a rubber suit and bound him tight for three hours, watching the pig squirm and beg to be released, slowly working his cock while he did, and when he let him free, the pig’s appetite was insatiable. It took hours of abuse before the pig finally came, and when he did, Randal felt his cock squirm and fight, but there was nothing it could do. He’d won. He’d beaten it, finally. He didn’t deserve a cock, he didn’t deserve anything. He was nothing.

When he inspected the area later, while cleaning his wounds, all he found at his crotch now was an old scar. He didn’t remember what it was from, at first, but he recalled in time. His master had always hated how often Randal had jacked off, and so one night, he’d drugged him and while he was asleep, had castrated him and removed his entire cock. He’d protested at the time, but he’d learned soon enough that this was a change for the better. Now, without his own cock as a distraction, all of his energy could be focused on making his Master, and any other man, really, happy. And of course, making them happy was about them abusing the pig in whatever vile, ways they could imagine. He wasn’t a person, not anymore. He wasn’t a pig, either, even if that was his official title. He was an object and a tool. Something men could use to masturbate. That’s what made him happy now, and within a week, the new skinpig couldn’t even remember a life before this one, or having ever been as happy as he was now.

Use It or Lose It (Part 11)

I thought your videos were getting a little one note–this should broaden your horizons. What do you think pig? Think you can manage to lose those last three inches? You don’t really deserve them, do you?

The other notes had all faded from his focus within a few hours; Randal could never quite recall what they’d said, and on the occasion, once or twice, that he’d scrounged around to find one again, he’d never been able to figure out where he’d abandoned them. But as the weekend roared by, from his marathon fisting session on Friday, when Master Max had forced five loads out of him, to his tour of the filthy clubs, bathhouses, bookstores and theaters all over the city until Sunday afternoon, he found the words haunting him. Did he deserve his dick? What did he really deserve? What did he want, and who was he–both before this, and becoming? He could barely grip the shaft anymore–it was a challenge to just wrap three fingers around the head as he was fucked or fisted–but the sensation was so strong that he’d shoot with just five or six firm tugs. He found himself in the bathroom, still in his stinking leathers, smelling of smoke, booze and grease, ass and piss on his tongue, staring at himself. It wasn’t pride that he felt, but it was an acquaintance of pride. A satisfaction.

That afternoon and evening, he abstained. He told himself, at first, that he was doing it to try and save himself, yet again, but most of him knew it was a lie. That if he’d been honest with himself about his true intent, he’d…well, he didn’t know what he’d do. The desire built up–quicker this time, in only a couple of hours–but the wait was…excruciating. He wanted to jack off, but he had to be patient. The reward, or the punishment, would be worth it, he assured himself. What the result would be, however, was a question he was terrified to have answered, but he had to know, all the same.

Once he was certain that the curse was prepared to trigger, he shoved his rubber fist deep into his ass, made sure the camera was on (if he could capture the event, would he post it? Of course he would post it, of course he would, but what would they all think? And would it be easier to believe it all himself?) reached under his gut and stroked. It was hard going, his cock was resisting. Perhaps it didn’t want to shrink more, or perhaps he was losing the will he’d thought would come easily. In the end, it took close to half an hour, and a severe pounding, before he finally emptied a sizable load into his hand. He slurped it, up, feeling the curse’s heat suffusing his body, and again, he grew. He looked at the camera, and waited until he was certain it was finished, and then went into the bathroom.

He was at least 400 pounds now, or perhaps closer to 500. The weight gain was only one change however, even if it was the most obvious. His body hair, which had been steadily decreasing, was now completely gone–his body was smooth, and even the beard he’d grown looked thinner and more wispy than before. The stink wafted around him, like someone who only showered rarely–more rarely than he had been, apparently. He…he felt good, though. It was good, wasn’t it? He certainly felt sexy, looking at the pig he’d become. But then, with some panic, he reached under and discovered he’d grown so large, and his cock so small, that he could no longer reach. He looked around for a note, and found one on the counter:

Becoming a proper pig now, you faggot. Good thing those fatty rolls of yours can get you off better than your hands.

He started swinging back and forth a bit, testing it out, and groaned. The note was right–the feel of the fat rubbing along the shaft and head of his cock was…divine.Just walking back into his room, he found himself close to cumming, and he ended up thrusting into his fat a bit more, and filling his gunt with a load of cum. The camera was still rolling–good. His fan’s loved seeing his hand’s free sessions–of course, most of them were at this point, unless he was using his wand or a vibrator on himself. He checked the camera, but there was no evidence of his change–he was the same obese slob at the beginning of the video as at the end. It was a bit disappointing, but not too much of a loss–he uploaded the whole video, jerked off to the comments for the rest of the evening, and then went to bed.

Work was challenging in new ways, he discovered. Just walking around the school in his jumpsuit was enough to make him cum, and he found he loved the idea of pumping load after load of cum into his pants, right in the hallways of the school, stifling his moans. He felt like a pervert, and yet he couldn’t remember ever being happier in his whole life, than at this moment. He felt…like he was finally becoming the person he’d always been meant to be, a kind of person he’d never considered possible before. He didn’t deserve his dick, he realized. He wasn’t even sure that he wanted one, even as much as he loved masturbating. In this body, the constancy of it was growing tiresome–it was no longer an act he indulged in, it was just a fact of his body in motion–pleasurable, sure, but now somewhat…of a hindrance. He was already planning on losing his next inch that evening. He’d show that witch–of course he didn’t deserve to have a cock, but losing another inch proved harder than he expected.

Use It or Lose It (Part 10)

Staring at himself, watching himself in all of these videos, Randal was puzzled by how muted his own horror was at the sight. Why wasn’t he more disgusted with himself? No–the disgust was there, but it was different than it had been before, from that old life that seemed so distant now. Before, whenever he’d seen a faggot, the disgust had been visceral and stomach churning. The idea of someone doing this to themselves…it seemed like such a perversion of God’s gift, that he would have never been able to tolerate even being in the same room as someone like this. Now, the disgust was there, and just as visceral, but wires had been crossed. He was disgusting, it was true, but now that disgust was wired directly to his cock.

He hadn’t even noticed that the entire time he’d been looking at his own videos, picking some out at random to watch, he’d been jacking off and rocking back and forth on his favorite dildo, reading comments he’d missed, enjoying how people loved to degrade him. This wasn’t him, though. Something was happening to him, or something had happened. His mind had split, or the curse had corrupted it. This didn’t just seem normal anymore, to him–it seemed…preferable. He found himself enjoying this life, and thinking back to who he’d been–that middle aged, hetero jock Christian freak–now that was the thing which terrified him. Why in the world would he want to fuck pussy, when he could spend his time masturbating instead?

Randal forced himself away from the computer, pulled the dildo out of his ass, and went into the bathroom to take a shower. This was the curse too, he realized. This is what that cunt had been talking about. It was going to get harder to climb back out, in part because…because he’d started to lose the will, and the reason, to see why he wanted that life back. The shower worked, but there was no soap to be found–at least rinsing himself off in cold water took a bit of the edge off his horniness, and helped him think straight. He knew he didn’t have the strength to fight this right now–it was late, and he was exhausted. Give it a couple of days, he thought, and then he’d start climbing back out.

So he did his best to keep his desires under control. Work was easiest, though each afternoon one of the male teachers at the school usually hunted him down for a fuck. Randal recorded them all, though secretly, and uploaded them each night. To keep the urges under control, he had to masturbate every two hours or so–even in the middle of the night. He would go to bed around ten, and spend the next half day dozing, waking up to jack off before slipping back into sleep. As controlling as his desires and needs were, he felt…free, all the same. He could be exactly who he wanted to be now–he didn’t have to keep pretending all of the time. Randal had hoped a few days would help clear his head, but instead, the opposite happened–that old him was slipping further and further away. He couldn’t remember his wife’s name, or the faces of his girls. On Friday, he decided to try again–if we went through a weekend like this, by Monday, he doubted that he’d have the will to fight any more.

Thursday night, he refused to jack off while he slept. He called in sick to work, to avoid running into any teachers, and holed up in his apartment, but the boredom became grating. He’d filled his days with so much before this, but now there was only masturbation, porn, and sex. Without that, all he could do was watch TV, and beg the clock to tick a bit faster. His new self was frustrated at first, and then angry and bitter. He argued with himself in the apartment, screaming in the mirror, losing track of what was happening, and gave in Friday afternoon–jacking off with a mix of horror and relief, spraying another huge load–his biggest yet, all over the carpet for the camera, and then licked it up, knowing he’d changed again, but rather than the apprehension he was expecting, he was…excited. After all, it was the weekend! He’d made so many plans, and he couldn’t fucking wait to get started with them all. Tonight, a muscle daddy was coming over for a livecam fisting session with everyone online, and then Saturday and Sunday would be spent at the bars and bathhouses around town, finding as many perverts as he could to service.

He stood up, having finished eating up all his cum, and saw that his grubby clothes from before had disappeared, and it their place was nothing other than a leather harness, a collar, some clamps on his nipples and leather boots. He looked like a freak, but at the same time, he knew he was a sexy pigwhore, and a fucking kinky one at that. Yeah, there wasn’t much which was too extreme for him now–but what turned him on more than anything else was having some sexy fuck fist his ass into oblivion. He reached around and started to pull out his dildo, only to discover that it was substantially larger than the one he’d put in. Instead of being shaped like a cock–like his old cock–this one was a thick fist attached to muscular forearm and elbow. Looking at it…he recognized it. Just like the dildo, it was a copy of his old body from before all of this, when none of this had seemed possible. Would…would that old version of him wanted to rape him? That would have been kind of hot, actually, getting a bit thick daddy, married with kids, so hot and bothered that he’d rape a fat, disgusting pig like him.

There was a knock on the door, and he went to let in his master for the evening. The rubber clad fucker shoved Randal into the bedroom, barely giving the pig time to set up the livestream, before he was on the bed on all fours, the man lubing the pig’s hole up for a good long fisting, Randal already rubbing his three inch cock in eager anticipation. On the computer keyboard, a note had appeared, but he didn’t read it until later:

I thought your videos were getting a little one note–this should broaden your horizons. What do you think pig? Think you can manage to lose those last three inches? You don’t really deserve them, do you?

Can you give out some examples of clueless characters in stories, sounds interesting.

brackenousjunk:

It would be like you encountering someone on the street, and they have bags of groceries in their hands, and you ask them, “Oh, did you go to the grocery store today?”

And they stare at you blankly, and ask you what in the fuck a grocery store is.

That sounds…stupid, but I’ve read stories with that sort of shit in them. It happens a whole lot in fantasy novels, when authors are trying to get world exposition out of the way, so they literally have grown characters explaining world geography to one another like they’re both fucking idiots, I hate that shit, it’s a waste of life.

That’s pretty banal though. Worse is when the cluelessness is tied into the development of the actual character or the conflict of the story, which happens more rarely. There’s also the obnoxious version, which is the “hyper-meta-aware” character played for jokes–see “Deadpool”, and the too-smart-for-their-own-good teens in “Cabin in the Woods”, where one overly clever character rules all of the other characters clueless by comparison.

And another one, sorry.

Can you give out some examples of clueless characters in stories, sounds interesting.

It would be like you encountering someone on the street, and they have bags of groceries in their hands, and you ask them, “Oh, did you go to the grocery store today?”

And they stare at you blankly, and ask you what in the fuck a grocery store is.

That sounds…stupid, but I’ve read stories with that sort of shit in them. It happens a whole lot in fantasy novels, when authors are trying to get world exposition out of the way, so they literally have grown characters explaining world geography to one another like they’re both fucking idiots, I hate that shit, it’s a waste of life.

That’s pretty banal though. Worse is when the cluelessness is tied into the development of the actual character or the conflict of the story, which happens more rarely. There’s also the obnoxious version, which is the “hyper-meta-aware” character played for jokes–see “Deadpool”, and the too-smart-for-their-own-good teens in “Cabin in the Woods”, where one overly clever character rules all of the other characters clueless by comparison.