I’ve always hated the Eastside gym. I mean, over the course of wrestling season you get to see a lot of kinda run-down places, but Eastside seems to have zero maintenance or janitorial budget.
You might think I’m exaggerating, but when me and my partner Laz showed up today, the handle had literally fallen off the front door; it was being held open by an overflowing trash can. The white rat groaned as we passed by it. “How does this place even stay open?”
“People like us holding events here, I guess,” I said. The hall that led to the locker room was uncomfortably humid and smelled of mold. “Bringing an audience to a place like this probably brings in lots of pity cash.”
Most of the lockers were busted open, and many were so bent out of shape they wouldn’t even close. A fellow bull was in the process of trying to bang one shut, muttering curses. I didn’t even try; I just dumped my duffel bag on what was left of the bench and started stuffing my street clothes into it.
I heard the sound of running water on the other end of the room as some foolhardy soul attempted a shower. Now me, I know this place and try to come prepared to spend as little time here as possible—my shower waits till I get home, no matter how bad I stink—but some needs can’t wait.
Like the need that comes on sometimes with the sound of running water.
“I know I’m going to regret this,” I said, “But fuck it, I’ve got to piss.”
I ventured toward the facilities.
The restroom area was as bad as I’d feared. All the urinals were cracked or outright broken, one of the stall walls had collapsed, and a couple of the toilets were missing altogether. A layer of unidentifiable grime covered the vast majority of the room.
“This has got to be some kind of health code violation.”
I’d half decided it might be better to just find a discreet drain in the floor to let loose in when a gray-haired gorilla in red boxers stomped in.
“I wouldn’t risk it, boss,” I said.
He grunted and surveyed the room, then looked back at me. “You’ll do,” he growled, gesturing at an empty stall. “Get in there.”
I scoffed. “What? I didn’t come here to cruise, boss.”
I tried to push past him and leave, but he blocked me with his arm, grabbed me, and lifted me up in the air.
Fuck, he was strong. Despite my professional efforts, he had no trouble carrying me back to one of the missing-toilet stalls and tossing me against the wall.
“Now open up,” he said, pulling down the front of his boxers with one hand and hefting an uncut gray cock in the other, which was barely big enough to wrap around it.
“The fuck, ’rilla, I don’t even know you.”
“Ain’t a toilet’s job to make people’s acquaintance. Open your mouth or I’ll open it for you.”
I flipped him off and tried to scramble under the stall wall, but he grabbed hold of my leg with his foot and started dragging me back.
Who the fuck’s bright idea was it to give gorillas opposable thumbs on their feet?
He pulled me back into the stall and grabbed my horn, holding me at arm’s length. “Once again,” he said. “You’re going to take my piss, toilet bull. Is it going to be the easy way or the hard way?”
“Once again,” I said, “fuck you.”
The gorilla’s fist moved so fast that I felt the pain in my nose before I even realized he’d punched me.
Just let him fuckin’ piss on you, the back part of my brain thought. He’s too strong for you to put up a fight. My pride wanted to rebel, but I knew this guy had me where he wanted me.
Yet when I tried to voice my surrender, I found myself unable to move my mouth.
In fact, as the gorilla released my horn and stood over me with his dick in his hand, I found I was unable to move anything at all.
“That’s right.”
A stream of piss fired from his cock and splashed across my face before he was able to aim it at my open mouth. The taste and the smell of it made me want to gag, to spit it up, to do anything to get away from it—but instead I was stuck immobile, feeling it pooling at the back of my throat, unable even to swallow.
I don’t even know how my mouth held it all; the stream of piss went on for at least half a minute and I never felt any of it spill until the gorilla had nothing more to offer besides the last drips.
He put his dick away, unaffected by the resentfulness I was trying to put into my stare, and grabbed hold of my left horn again.
As he pulled down on my horn, I was horrified to find my throat opening up and the mouthful of piss rushing down into my stomach.
Somehow, it made my mouth water.
“It’s all downhill from here,” he said, and left.
Frozen in place, I tried to shake off the spell. I’m not a toilet. I’m a bull. I’m not a toilet. I’m a bull. I’m stronger than this.
An enormous gray hulk of a rabbit looked into the stall, gave me a smirk, and shut himself in with me. I watched with trepidation as he pulled his cock through the fly of his shorts and aimed it at my muzzle.
I’m not a toilet. I’m a bull. I’m not a toilet…
Despite the exertion of my willpower, I was unable to keep myself from opening my mouth wider, my body anticipating the rabbit’s piss.
The yellow stream was directed straight at the back of my throat, and my traitorous body accepted it—no, revelled in it, like some kind of golden reward. For being a good toilet.
I’m not a toilet. I’m a bull. I’m…
My mouth opened wider, eager to take in more of it, and I felt my body fusing to the floor and the wall. This time, when he pulled down on my horn, I didn’t feel the piss collect in my belly—it flowed all the way through me, to whatever pipe was carrying the waste away.
Fuck, I’m a toilet…
And even though the rabbit had finished pissing, he still stood over me, slowly stroking his dark gray cock.
“Time to finish what my buddy started.”
I was helpless to do anything other than watch as the rabbit’s unhurried strokes brought himself to full hardness.
“Soon there’ll be nothing left of you but another grimy fixture in this awful place…”
I was helpless to do anything other than watch as a strand of precum slowly developed from the tip of his cock, long enough to touch my— my instinct was to call it my lip, but at this point I could really only call it my rim.
“Filling up on piss and shit and cum and paper till the inevitable day you get clogged and left to rot like everything else here…”
I was helpless to do anything other than watch as his breaths quickened and his paw’s movements became faster and more erratic. I knew what was going to happen; at the edge of my vision I could see that where his precum had touched, my rim had become white, smooth porcelain.
“Welcome to your new life, stranger.”
I was helpless to do anything other than watch as thick ropes of cum shot from his cock and splattered across me, coating me from head to— from top to bottom in his seed.
I could feel it completing the change—not just my shape and my substance, as cum and fur combined to create porcelain and plastic and stainless steel, but my mind and my desires as well. I was a toilet now, not a…whatever I had been.
The rabbit squeezed the last drops out of his cock, put it away, and left.
His toilet watched him go and wished for more.
I heard a familiar voice calling a familiar name. “Targ! It’s go time! Hello?”
The seeker came into the bathroom area. “Where the fuck are you?”
A white rat in black-and-white–starred boxers came looking through the stalls. “What the…”
He looked at me, and for a moment I had a flash of memory. Laz! He recognized me, he’d find a way to—
“There’s a fucking clean toilet? Here?” He looked around behind him and made one last half-hearted call: “Ta-aarg?”
When no Targ answered, he said “fuck it” and came into the stall, pulling it shut and dropping his shorts.
The part of me that remembered being the rat’s wrestling partner looked on with dread as he rested his ass on my seat, while the rest of me was overwhelmed with an eager anticipation.
And when I started to hear him going to work—the deep inhalation before the shallow grunt as he began to push—the last bit of resistance faded away. After all, that old life I thought I remembered must not have any meaning if a friend I thought I had would be so casually feeding me his shit.
And then it started coming.
Shit splattered across my bowl as the rat hurried through his bowel movement, irregular grunts highlighting his effort. From my perspective as a toilet, the smell and the taste of the scat were appetizing in a way that a rapidly-shrinking corner of my brain found mortifying.
But there was no more fighting from that corner. I focused my full attention on the sound of the rat’s sputtering asshole as he gave me everything he had—the heavy dump of a guy who had clearly been holding it in for a while.
I was filthy on the inside, water and bowl, and I loved every second of it.
The rat finished after a minute of feeding me and reached for the toilet paper to wipe himself. I heard the sound of it tearing and then the unmistakable sound of an empty roll spinning in its holder.
“Fuck me,” Laz said, making a token attempt to clean his ass with the two or three squares that had been left, dropping the dirty paper in my bowl and pulling up his shorts. “That’ll teach me to ever trust this place again.”
He was so caught up in grumbling about it as he made his way out that he entirely forgot to flush.
And as I sat savoring the taste of him, I decided that suited me just fine.
I’m on vacation this week! This is a featured author you should go support! I’ll be back with original content next week.
The diner was usually a quiet place—even though it had the best pies in the county, it had yet to be ‘discovered’ by the folks in the city, so the clientele was mostly farmers and the older folks who lived out in the sticks.
Myself, I’d only found it because I was looking for work and I’d already run out of places to apply that were anywhere near where I actually lived. I was half disappointed when they actually did hire me: a long commute and a low paycheck? Awesome.
Still, every day is an opportunity to get a little bit better, and I tended to that dining room like a boss in hopes that I’d be able to move up the ladder, such as it was.
I’d been working there a few weeks before I first saw him.
The farmer was enormous. Now, a lot of folks are on the portly side around here, but this guy was at least a head taller than me and he was wide enough he needed to take two seats when I sat him at a table. (With a gut like his, our booths would have been out of the question altogether.)
Most people, I’m sure, would look at a guy like him with derision or contempt. And, well, while my first reaction may not have been the kindest, there was a part of me that wished I could follow after him. Not—not necessarily to be as big as him. But to just let go of what I thought I had to be, and be…my real self, whoever that was. Maybe a little more of a slob. Maybe a little fatter, sure. Maybe a little lazier.
I took his order and soon was bringing him out a plate piled up mostly with sausage and bacon.
“Gotta love the pig,” he said, as he started tucking in. “Don’t know whatever we’d do without them.”
Gotta love the pig, I thought. The sight of him eating had caused a stirring in my pants, and I made a quick retreat to the restroom to hide my sudden needy boner.
As soon as I got out of public view I couldn’t help myself—I scrambled to pull my dick out of my pants with one hand as I locked myself in the stall with the other and sat down.
Fuck, I want to be a pig, I thought, pumping my cock as I imagined being under the farmer’s massive belly and servicing him as he ate. The fantasy deepened, the image of myself becoming more and more piggish, grunting and squealing as my curly tail wagged from side to side. I just want to be a filthy beast for him to use…
I don’t know if it was the fact of me being in the restroom at the time, or just because it was the easiest filthy thing I could think of, but I couldn’t help but dream of taking it further—not just being a sex pig for the enormous, glorious man, but being a toilet pig for him as well. Why make him get up for anything when he could have a portable urinal on hand at any time?
In my daydream I was swallowing down loads of piss straight from the tap, eagerly slurping down the sharp-tasting liquid from what I imagined must be an enormous cock buried deep under all that fat.
The thirst carried over into reality. I need to be a pig, I thought, bending down to bring my face closer to my cock, and pointing its head at my mouth. I need—
Piss shot out before I was even ready, drenching my face and splashing over my shirt before I was able to get the stream under control. I drank in the smell and the taste of it and felt the warmth slide down my throat.
OINK, I thought. I’m a pig.
The thought of getting off faded as my piss stream ended. After all, what kind of release could be better than that? I pulled my pants back on and left the bathroom stall.
I was greeted by my reflection in the mirror: all too human. A little stocky perhaps, but definitely far from a proper pig.
I was half disappointed before I remembered my shirt was entirely drenched in urine.
I left the bathroom, luxuriating in the smell of myself, and called out to the manager that I’d had a rather bad restroom accident and needed to go home and change.
“Do, and you aren’t coming back,” she said.
“Fine.”
I left, feeling the big farmer’s eyes on me as I went.
Of course, I didn’t change when I got back to my apartment. Why would I? In fact, I’d taken the opportunity on the drive home to piss myself a couple more times. I was soaked, I smelled amazing, and I wanted more.
I went online and typed PIG into the personals search. What came back was far more than I’d expected: piss pigs, sure, but also scat pigs, pain pigs, scent pigs, cum pigs, fist pigs…
Anyone can be a pig, I thought. Anyone can let go of what they think they have to do, and pig out on what they really love.
I knew what I wanted. I posted an ad inviting all men to come and give a pig some piss. I put my home address in, too, because who wants to wrestle with emails?
At first I was a little worried about the kind of guys who’d just show up to an ad like that, but after the first guy—a burly biker type—came in, crammed a fat cock in my face, and made me gulp down every drop of piss that gushed forth, I realized I didn’t care.
This was my element.
The men started arriving. I’d have three or four lined up at a time. Most wanted to use me as a urinal, making me drink down all their piss. Some were happy just to drench me in it, soaking me from head to foot. A few shoved their dicks in my ass and filled me from that end. Sometimes they’d drop a load of cum in afterwards. I didn’t care, so long as I got what I wanted.
For a while there was a lull, and I sprawled out on my couch—noticing that someone had done me the favor of soaking it and a good deal of the rest of the room—and thought of what a good pig I was. I could smell the individual scents of every man that had came through, and their tastes had merged together into a single golden river of masculinity.
I was so lost in pleasure that I didn’t even notice I was face down and slurping piss from the couch cushions until I heard a tentative knock from someone in the doorway.
The man at the door was big; he wasn’t the giant that the farmer had been, but being shorter only made him look all the more round. He waddled in the door, breathing heavily—my apartment’s up a flight of stairs—and came around to take a seat on the couch beside me.
“Hope you don’t mind if I take a load off before I share my load,” he said.
I couldn’t hide my admiration of the big man—my hands already moved to explore the sides of his massive belly as I knelt in front of him. “Fuck,” I said. “Make yourself at home. A man like you gets carte blanche with a pig like me.”
He chuckled, reaching down to rub my chin. “Looks like you’ve been having all sorts of piggy fun already. But let’s give this snout a whiff of me.”
His hand moved up the side of my face, tracing along my—
My eyes crossed as I noticed the development on my face: my nose really had grown out into a snout. And I didn’t even have time to react before the big man hooked his fingers into my nostrils and pulled my head between his legs—into the dark, humid, musky space outlined by his thighs and underbelly.
OINK, I thought. I’m a pig.
The smell was even more powerful than I expected. At first I couldn’t tell if it was because having a piggish snout meant I could breathe in so much more of the scent of piss, or if—
“You know, when your belly hangs this low, you can piss yourself a little in public and no one can tell.”
I couldn’t help myself—I buried my face deep in that crotch and suckled as much of that stale piss from the denim as I could. After a few moments, I felt a new stream forcing its way through the fabric, and I planted my mouth over it and drank as eagerly as if I’d been thirsting for days.
More guys came around after him, but it just wasn’t the same.
I needed to serve a big man, I knew it now, and I already knew who that big man had to be.
I took my ad down, waited a little while for the last of the men to finish showing up—big or not, I wasn’t going to let any man’s piss go to waste—and drove back out to the country.
Of course, I’d been taking piss all day; evening was coming on now and there was no way the farmer would still be having breakfast at the diner. However, I felt a strange sense of ‘home’ in the area, like I knew where my…where my sty was, and how to get there.
I drove down back roads as the sun started setting; I couldn’t help but stroke my piss-filled gut on the way. It felt huge and bloated, pressed against the steering wheel, and I couldn’t get over the way it jiggled—my dick was hard as I reached down to push my seat back.
And it wasn’t more than a couple of minutes before my gut was swollen out against the steering wheel again, making me feel squeezed into my seat. The pig is coming out, I thought, feeling the wet clothes plastered against my body grow tighter. OINK. I’m a plump sausage.
I saw the light of a house in the distance and somehow knew it was the farmer’s home—the place I belonged.
I pulled up and tried to turn the car off, but found my fingers wouldn’t respond. In the moonlight I could just barely make out why: I didn’t have fingers anymore, and I couldn’t figure out how to make my trotters grab hold of stuff.
I decided to leave it running. The farmer would take care of it. I opened the car door—which was a little easier, but only barely—and before I could make two steps out I tumbled onto the ground.
That was silly, I thought, as I tried to work out what’d happened. Trying to walk upright. I’m a pig.
I went on all fours to the front door of the house, feeling my belly dragging on the ground the whole way. I’m gonna be the best pig. I could probably have reached the doorbell with a bit of effort but what kind of pig would do that?
I squealed long and loud until the farmer came to the door. My master, my owner, my farmer. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him.
Like a good farmer he recognized me right away, even though I’d changed a lot since last he saw me. “Gotta love the pig,” he said, sighing a bit. “C’mon, porker. Welcome home.”
This month’s requested stories are finished and ready for you all to download! All it takes is for you to support my Patreon at any level, from one dollar on up, and you can get access to these three stories, as well as all the suggestions I’ve done over the past several months now! It’s a pretty good deal. Plus, you’ll have the privilege of suggesting ideas of your own next month. If you’d like a summary of the stories this month, you can find that here. For an idea of what these stories are like, here’s one from last month to whet your appetite!
A Deeply Held Secret
“Good slave–now go on and take a look at yourself in the mirror. Tell me what you see. Tell me what you are.”
The bathroom had one full length mirror across from where he was positioned against the wall, which allowed him a full view of himself, his cock visibly throbbing in the rubber bodysuit Master had given him to wear for the night. Master Parker had outdone himself this time–he’d never even seen a suit like this before in his life. It was porcelain white from head to toe, with a full hood and urinal mask–larger than any model he’d seen before or ever worn–with a metal tube keeping his mouth forced open, ensuring he’d swallow every drop. His arms were pinned to his sides, and the bottom had no legs–only a space for him to kneel, making his body look like a seamless white hunk of rubber, with a head resting in top. He knew what he was, but he couldn’t speak with the tube in his mouth.
“You’re a human urinal, of course,” Master Parker bent down beside him, his black rubber suit a dark contrast to the slave’s white suit. “That’s what you’re going to be all night, isn’t that right? You’re going to forget you were ever anything else.”
The words felt like truth–but Master’s words always felt like that, after he’d sent his slave into his deep trance. He was a human urinal–nothing more. Designed to drink the piss of men better than him–he wasn’t even a man anymore, not entirely at least. He felt his cock go numb, and shuddered at the sensation, pleased to be an object again, like Master Parker wanted.
“It’s gonna be busy tonight, you know. Saturday night at the sleaziest bar in the city. You’re gonna be bursting tonight–but if you serve me well…if you serve everyone well, like a good human urinal…well, you’ve been in my service for a year now, and I think it’s time you finally learned the Secret.”
The Secret. It was something Master had taunted him with ever since they’d met. Master claimed he knew…something about him, something that gave him such power and control over the slave, a reason he was helpless and desperate to serve him. The slave didn’t know what it could possibly be, but he did know that Master Parker could…make him do, and feel, things no other dom had ever been able to. He wanted to know so badly, and so he would serve well, as he always did.
Master gave him his first load of piss, which he drank down with glee, and then he left the urinal to its work. Men began pouring in soon after the club opened, and seeing the freak kneeling against the wall, most were more than happy to use him. He drank load after load of piss, feeling his gut ballooning outward, the suit growing tighter against his skin as he filled up. On occasion, Master would bring in some rubber boy to fuck in front of the urinal, and had he been more than a human urinal at the moment, perhaps he would have even felt jealousy, but as he was, he was merely happy to watch his Master dominating and controlling others, taking his pleasure whenever and wherever he wanted. Hours passed, and soon it was four in the morning–the club was empty, and the slave was there, drenched with piss, gut full to bursting and aching for release, when his master finally returned.
“You did well, slave. Very well. I’m very pleased. I’m going to reveal your secret now–are you excited slave? You know what you are now, this moment, right slave? You’re a human urinal.”
It nodded.
“Good. Now–here’s the secret–you really are one of those two things, but you can’t really be both. Right now, you’re pretending to be one of them, right?”
He nodded.
“All your life, though, you’ve believed you were human–that the urinal part is fake. But here’s the secret: you aren’t human, slave. You can be human on occasion, but you aren’t really. You’re a urinal, slave. That’s what you really are. That’s the secret.”
The slave didn’t know what to make of that–it sounded ridiculous. It shook its head, and Master just laughed.
“When I snap my fingers, you’ll become what you really are, slave. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’ll be human again. Go on, prove me wrong if you can.”
He had to be wrong. He knew he was human, right? Master held his fingers together a moment, and then snapped them–and when he did, the slave felt a massive shiver run through its entire body, and it realized the truth: it had been wrong this whole time. It…it wasn’t human. It was just a urinal. The truth felt impossible–it couldn’t possibly be real.It tried to move, to struggle, but no muscle would respond–it…after all, it didn’t have muscles, right?
Master stepped to the side, allowing the urinal to see itself in the mirror across the room. The surface of its body no longer had the semi-translucence of rubber–it was porcelain. Real, solid porcelain. It’s head looked vaguely human, but it could…feel it’s mouth, it’s bowl–where it had fused to its face–to what had been its face, when it had been partly human before. To its horror, it watched a metal pipe push its way out of the front of it’s body–something which felt vaguely like its cock had felt before–and connect to the floor, and the massive load of piss it had stored it its body from the night emptied out into the pipes and sewers below.
It was true. It really was just a urinal. A urinal first…and…and human second. Only human when Master desired it. Perhaps it would never be human ever again.
“Now, the club has you leased for the next month, slave.” Master said, “After that, I might let you be a bit human again, for a while. But now that you know your secret, slave, you’re never going to be able to forget it. You’re never going to be able to pretend to be human again–and that’s what we both want, I can assure you, though you probably won’t realize it for a while yet.”
With that, he turned around and left the room, shutting out the lights and leaving the new urinal in complete darkness, still struggling to believe what had just happened. But before long, it was struggling just to think at all–after all, urinals didn’t have minds, or brains, right? By morning, it was just another soulless object, experiencing only a constant, unending thirst for piss–the only sensation it was ever certain to feel for the duration of its existence in Master’s service.
Paul just kept encouraging him, telling him was a good piggy he’s being, that he’s gonna enjoy having a toilet pig around the farm, and soon, Nate started to feel full, but shit just kept coming anyway. It was backing up his throat, and he couldn’t breathe–the panic was momentary, however, as he quickly found that he didn’t…need to breathe. In a few minutes, his throat was packed up to his snout, and try as he might, he couldn’t take anymore. Thankfully, Paul finished up soon after, and stood back up, not minding the shit coating his ass, turned around, and looked at the rubber pig on hands and knees, and grinned.
His massive load of shit sure had done the trick. The suit which had been hanging off the pig’s body before was now stretched tight–and the pig had probably doubled in size, it’s massive gut nearly dragging along the ground as it felt it’s stuffed snout with one trotter, trying to figure out what to do about it’s predicament. “Here piggy, I can help ya wit that,” Paul said, and shoved his rock hard cock into the packed snout and began forcing the shit down into the pig’s throat roughly. It worked–Paul could feel it working it’s way deeper into him, and the taste of Paul’s nasty cock was enhanced by the shit covering it. It was even better when he let loose a load of piss, helping to liquify a bit of the mass and wash it down. After a couple of minutes he pulled out, huffing a bit, leaking precum, and Nate could lick his snout clean, and tentatively, he got his strange legs underneath his huge frame, and he stood upright.
He was nowhere near the height he’d been before–with his much shorter legs, he was probably barely five feet tall, but with the massive gain in weight, he was easily 500 pounds, if not even larger. His arms were shorter as well, and could barely reach his face, much less the rest of his body. They felt useless. Still, he pressed on his body with them, and he felt the mass of filth inside him shift around slightly. How in the world was he holding all of it? Was there…even a flesh body left inside of him? He recalled how he hadn’t needed to even breathe, when the shit had filled him up, and he concluded that his body…wasn’t really a body anymore–it was just a cavity, a vessel designed to store filth. He could feel his piggy cock hardening at the thought, and pressing through…something against his body, hugging it, and realized the suit had formed a sheath around it–the only bit of his old body still hanging free, and touching the air, were his balls.
Paul hefted up Nate’s gut and looked under it, at them hanging there, and grinned. “Guess we only gots one thing left tah do, right piggy?”
He backed up, unsteady on his feet, turned and started to waddle away, but Paul tackled him to the ground, compressing him slightly, and he felt shit push back up his throat and into his mouth, as well as squeeze out his ass.
“Now, now, if ya wanna make yer farmer happy–ya should know I only wanna fuck hogs. The sooner it’s over with, the better ya will feel–I promise.”
He grabbed hold of Nate’s sack and pulled it tight, before stretching the rubber ring from the package out and looping it around them. He let it go, and it snapped tight–very tight–and merged with the suit, trapping his nuts on the outside, as the rubber squeezed every blood vessel shut. It hurt, and he squealed and groaned, but there was nothing he could do as Paul forced him to roll over onto his back, arms and legs flailing in the air, and he stroked Nate’s pig cock. “One last load for you, piggy,” he said, and Nate could feel it building. With a painful squeal, he came, spurting cum all over his belly, and Paul took out his knife and cut off the entire sack, now dark blue, and a moment later the rubber closed up, sealing smooth like there had never been a break at all.
He expected to feel fear, and anger, and sadness–but instead, all the hog felt was calm. A deep, complete calm, a kind of peace that can only come from a complete loss of self, and identity. He wasn’t a man anymore. He wasn’t even a pig. No–no, he was a hog. A hog for filth. A hog for fucking. A rubber hog to be abused and roughed up and toyed with. A hog who could take anything and then squeal for more. Crave more. The hog rolled over onto it’s gut, feeling more shit squish out of it’s ass, and it wiggled its tail, letting the farmer know what it needed–and Paul was only too happy to give it to the beast. He rammed in deep, pushing through a short rubber canal and meeting the warm shit filling the hog to capacity, and shuddered.
“Awww fuck yeah, I’s a proud fuckin’ hog fucker, yes I fuckin’ is!” he shouted, whooped, and slammed in again, the last remnants of the hog’s human mind disappearing, leaving only the simplest of desires. A need for filth, a need to obey its owner, and a deep aching desire to be filled at all times. Still, its story had ended well–it was going to be very happy, it was certain. Paul came after a while, pulled his shit coated cock out and the hog cleaned it up, mostly–then it followed his master out, waddling on its hind legs. Together they managed to get its huge frame into the bed of the truck, and it settled down for the long ride to Master’s farm–happier now that it was truly a hog, happy that at least some horror stories could have a happy ending.
I’m taking my summer camping trip this week, and that means this week’s content is going to be a bit different than usual. Today we’ll have the final part of Arctos Audio 2, tomorrow will be a short story from Patreon, and then the rest of the week will be roundups of some more recent authors on tumblr, and also a few other recommendations I’ve found lately. Thanks as always for reading, and regular content should resume next week on Monday or Tuesday with a new story!
“Ain’t never thought ‘bout havin’ a rubber hog before,” Paul said, looking at the gear, “But fuck, rubbin’ my cock against mah waders does sure make me nut hard–so I reckon I could give it a try.”
Nate looked back and forth, trying to understand what had happened to his husband. How had he gone to work looking perfectly normal, only to arrive back home looking like this? And…and why was looking at this new version of Paul turning him on so damn much? Nate could smell him from where he was on his hands and knees, and his mouth was salivating more than it had while he’d been stuffing himself. Paul walked over, the stench growing stronger, and as hard as Nate tried to back away, he couldn’t–his face was right at the crotch of Paul’s muddy overalls, and he could see the bulge of the redneck’s big cock tenting them out, and he wanted to taste it so badly. He shoved his head forward, but Paul caught his snout and shoved one of his dirty hands into it, and groaned.
“Damn piggy–that a rubber mouth ya got? Rubber inside and out?”
He grabbed hold of the top and bottom of Nate’s pig face, and pried the jaws apart roughly. Nate…felt them bend and stretch past the point they should have been able to open, like they had no bones inside them, and Paul pushed his hand inside Nate’s gaping mouth and down his throat, which stretched to accomodate it further than it should have been able to, nearly to Paul’s elbow.
“Gawd damn, gotta be careful ‘r I might blow a load already. Let’s git ya dressed up, piggy–ya gots me all excited now.”
The rubber suit had a zipper that ran all the way down it’s back–Paul undid it and laid it down, before grabbing Nate’s arms and legs and guiding them through the four holes. He knew he should be fighting this, but at the same time…he was excited. Thrilled. Hadn’t he wanted this? Not…quite this, he supposed, but a moment ago, with his…his farmer shoving his fist down his throat, feeling that violation, his cock had spasmed and spurted precum all over the floor beneath him. With his arms and legs in the sleeves, Paul pulled the suit up around him and zipped him up–and as he did, the suit melded seamlessly together, with not a single sign that it could even be parted. When it reached the nape of his neck, and the rubber base of the mask which had adhered to his head, the zipper disappeared, though the suit…hung off his body and was far, far too loose. Nate knew that it wasn’t that the suit was too large–it was that he was too small.
“Looks like somebody’s wastin’ away!” Paul said, tugging at the loose suit, “Still–I…yeah, I know what’ll fatten ya up real quick, but first, we better git yer hands ‘n feet fixed, right?”
Nate nodded, and allowed Paul to put the gloves and boots on him as well, and as he did…he noticed that something about the length of the boots and the sleeves of the suit seemed…a bit off. On his arms, the sleeves were quite short, and the gloves weren’t quite long enough to reach his elbow, and yet somehow they managed to meet and seal together. The same with the boots–which were even stranger. The suit ran down his thigh, but the boots…they felt like the weren’t even made for a human foot. Paul shoved and tugged them on anyway, and they too connected up with the suit, and looking back, his legs seemed…a bit shorter, and crooked. Still, he didn’t have long to think about that, because Paul was unhooking the clasps of his overalls. Rapt, and oinking softly in anticipation, he stared as the bib came down, allowing his massive gut to spill out, and then he shoved them down, giving Nate his first view of his massive, ten inch cock with a hefty overhang of foreskin, with two balls hanging low below that looked like they’d belong on a boar, not on a man.
“Judgin’ by that kitchen thar, I’d say ya probably ate everythin’ in sight, ya gluttonous fuck–good thing I got yer dessert right fuckin’ here,” he said, smacking his fat gut, and making it jiggle. He turned around and bent over, “judgin’ by the state a yer crack back there, I don’t think yer gonna mind, right piggy? Go on, nose up ‘n git lickin’. Looser I is, the sooner ya’ll git fed nice ‘n fat.”
No–not this. He wasn’t going to do this, was he? But the hunger he’d felt earlier was now even more intense–it felt like the suit had created a whole new stomach inside him that was aching to be filled. He hobbled forward on his strange hands and feet, feeling them beginning to go oddly numb, and shoved his snout into Paul’s wide, filthy asscrack. His slick tongue started running up and down, and he was surprised by how long it was–probing Paul’s hole, he slid it inside, listening to the redneck groan around his cigar, grunt, and start to bore down–the shit starting to ooze out after a moment. He did his best to fight, but his body knew what it needed–his tongue happily licked it up, and he grunted and squealed in delight at the disgusting taste, feeling it slide with ease down his rubber throat and settle into his gut, where it…seemed to be burning. The shit kept coming. He didn’t know where Paul had been keeping it all, but the filth kept pouring out and he kept swallowing it down, feeling it settle into his gut and spread, and soon, he found a happy rhythm, and enjoyed the sensation of fullness spreading through him.
Nate stopped in front of the door to catch his breath–how out of shape was he, that fifteen steps to the front door had him out of breath? He hauled his keys out of the pocket of his overalls and found the house key, went to unlock it, and found a sizable package sitting on the stoop. Curious, he bent down and picked it up–it wasn’t too heavy, but he hadn’t ordered anything recently, had he? Maybe it was for Nate. He checked the address label, but the shipping address didn’t have a name, instead, it read, “The Filthy Pig, C/O Its Farmer Master.”
He didn’t know what that meant, but fuck, that kind of turned him on. If it wasn’t meant for him…maybe he could still take a peek inside, just out of curiosity. He held the package against his gut and unlocked the door, pushing it open and lumbering in, setting the box on a table in the hall and shutting it behind him. “Hey Nate! Ya home? Hey, I’s…got some stuff I wanna dis–disca–some stuff tah talk ‘bout wit’ ya.”
Nate didn’t reply, but Paul heard someone was in the house. There were noises coming from the kitchen, but it didn’t exactly sound human to him–it reminded him more of an animal, like a raccoon he’d startled while it was rummaging in the trash. “If some fuckin’ pest gots its way in here, gonna have tah git mah shotgun,” he grumbled and headed for the kitchen, paying no mind to the mud he was tracking into the house from the bottom and sides of the knee high waders he was wearing. He rounded the corner, and there, facing away from him, was the widest, cutest, prettiest little piggy rump he’d seen a long time, with a little black rubber tail swishing to and fro above a crack caked with manure. “Well cross my eyes backwards! Somebody let a sexy little hog loose in mah fuckin’ house.”
Nate lifted his head up from the food he was scarfing down and looked behind him, eyes wide at the sight of Paul–or at least a man he could barely recognize as Paul. His slim, well dressed husband had left this morning in pristine condition as always, and had returned home looking like he belonged in the middle of Iowa. As horrified as Nate was at what had happened to him, and as hopeful as he was that his husband might be able to help him escape this nightmare, the pig inside him, the pig growing stronger by the second, saw the massive redneck in the doorway, and all it could think about was how fucking sexy Paul looked, and how much it wanted that redneck cock buried deep in his piggy hole.
“Sooey! Come here sweet little thing–I was just thinkin’ ‘bout how much I been missin’ havin’ a hoghole tah fuck, ‘n looky here! Just like Pa said, ya ain’t never gonna know where ‘r when yer prayers ‘r gonna be answered.” He stepped forward, and it took him a moment to realize that the animal he was looking at wasn’t in fact a pig. When he actually noticed the human hands and feet, his heart sank a bit. “Wait…this a fuckin’ trick? Ya ain’t even a real piggy!”
“It’s me! It’s Nate!” he tried to say, but the mask refused to let the words come out right, and Paul had no idea what the pigman had tried to say. Paul looked closer, certain he should recognize the person under that pig mask, but his head just wasn’t quite as agile as it had been in his youth–not that it had been particularly quick then, either. Then he remembered the package he’d found on the step. “Wait a god damn minute–a package fer a filthy pig, care of a Farmer Master! That’s me, ain’t it! ‘N that’s you, ya dirty piggy.”
Paul retreated back to the entry way to get the box, pulling a slender knife from a holster hanging from his pocket and using it to cut the tape. The pig in his head gave a few grunts, and decided it had had enough food for the moment–what it needed now, more than anything, was a good rough fuck, but that sexy redneck didn’t seem that interested. Nate was fighting it as hard as he could, trying to stay in control, because he was realizing that what he’d thought was a story all this time might have actually been something more like a prophecy.
The boy had taken the carcass and sewn the head, cock, and tail to his body, and after he’d done that…thanks to a twisted fairy, the dead flesh had come alive again, granting the boy his disgusting wish, but with a cost. His human mind began to wither, and the new piggish instincts began to take control. The boy, a pariah and monster, had hidden on a pig farm and emerged only at night, helping himself to the slop the farmer left for his pigs, until one night he’d been discovered.
What the boy hadn’t known, was that this farmer had always held a deep, perverse love for his pigs–especially the castrated hogs he raised for slaughter. In fact, it a twist of fate, it had been one of his hogs’ carcasses the boy had stolen from the butcher, and the man recognized the hog’s face–it had been one of his favorite lovers. It had broken his heart to send it to the butcher, but now it had come back to him–though it was incomplete. Still, the fairy had whispered to him, he could fix that, couldn’t he?
Nate rounded the corner, in time to see Paul reach into the box and start hauling out the contents from the box–but in his heart, he already knew what it was going to be. First, the skin–a full body, black rubber suit, with the word HOG on the back in light brown. Next, the trotters–two gloves and two boots, all four with solid rubber trotters where the hands and feet should be. And lastly, a ball stretcher–and it was the last item that filled Nate with the most terror. After all, he was still a pig, for the moment. But the story wasn’t called “To be a Boar,” now was it?
WARNING: Things get nasty / rough / strange from here on out! Scat etc.
*Meanwhile, with Nate*
Nate was on his hands and knees in the bedroom, just staring at himself in the mirror. He had to stop this–he couldn’t let this fucking nightmare go on any longer…but fuck, it felt good to let go, it felt good to be a pig for once in his life. He wasted so much time keeping everything clean and organized and tidy for Paul and himself, and these last few hours in this gear, oinking and squealing as he emptied to cupboards and fridge, stuffing himself with everything he could find–he was so content, and so full! He let off a belch, disturbed at how the mask’s mouth moved along with his own–and he realized, for the first time, that he’d eaten his entire meal through the mask, and it hadn’t bothered him or gotten in the way once. If anything, it had seemed…easier, to just shove his masked face into whatever he was feasting on at the moment and scarf it straight down, not even bothering with utensils, or even his hands for the most part, aside for opening packages.
But still–he’d shot his load, he was done. He had to be done. Paul was going to be home soon, and he was filthy–fuck, the house was a fucking sty! How was he going to explain this? He tried to figure out some cover story, but his mind felt like it was slogging through mud. He was just so full…and feeling so full felt so good…and feeling good was making him horny all over again. He reached down and felt the pig cock sheath, slick with precum and tried to pull it free from his own cock, but it was so slick that he couldn’t get any grip. Was it stuck? It had just slid over his cock, hadn’t it? It shouldn’t even be able to hold on that tight. He looked between his legs at it, but he couldn’t really see it past his belly–in the end, he managed to lay down on his side, and in the mirror…he saw his cock was wrong. The sheath wasn’t there–or rather, it was still there, and still made of red rubber, but it merged seamlessly with the skin around his crotch. He tried again to pull it free, and only ended up jacking himself slowly, oinking and snorting as he did.
The buttplug then. That…that had to come out. He certainly felt full back there still, so it couldn’t have come out. He got back on all fours and bore down, expecting it to pop out, but instead he felt shit start flowing out of his ass, and as soon as it had started, he couldn’t stop it. It ran down between his ass cheeks and his thighs, pooling behind him on the carpet–it reeked, but the stench didn’t disgust him. It smelled…comfortable, and with one hand still stroking off piss started gushing out of his cock as well, soaking the underside of his gut and the floor below him.
But then what about the tail he could see behind him? Ignoring the mess he’d made, he reached back and felt the curly black tail, following it to the root–where it met his tailbone above his ass. It was a tail–an actual rubber tail, and he could even make it wiggle. “No–no no no!” he said…or tried to say. The mask contorted the words, and with both hands he tried to pry it free of his face, but to his horror, he couldn’t find the seam there either.
The story–the fucking story. The guy had stolen that pig’s carcass, and sewn the pig’s parts over his own–and they’d become his own. He’d started becoming a pig, and now…now was it happening to him too? He stared at himself in the mirror, covered in sweat, food, piss and shit, trying to convince himself that this was all so fucking wrong, but his mind was changing. There was…nothing wrong with this, was there? If anything, he needed to go further. Now…now that he’d gotten a taste of being a pig, didn’t he want so much more? Isn’t this what he’d wanted? Isn’t this why he’d put this stuff on in the first place? Because deep down, ever since he’d read that fucked up story, he’d wanted…he’d wanted to turn into a dirty hog too. A filthy hog. The filthiest, most perverse hog he could possibly be.
He sat back in his shit, wiggling his tail in the much and squealed in delight, scooped some up in his hand and started jacking his piggy cock with it. His gut was distended from his massive meal earlier–but it was larger than it should be, even given everything he consumed. He realized that he was even fatter than he’d been in the morning–and it thrilled him. He smeared shit over his belly, and then licked it off his hand, coating his snout, smelling all of it. His rubber snout was so much more sensitive than his flesh nose had been before, and the stink of his own muck pushed him over the edge, his piggy cock spurting another massive load of cum all over his hand–and he licked that up too, tasting the shit and cum together, and grunting in delight.
What was he doing up here in the bedroom anyway? He should be back downstairs in the kitchen; he should be eating. After all, he still wasn’t really large enough to be a true hog, and there was certain to be some food he’d missed before. He crawled back down the stairs, dragging shit along as he went, and started scrounging around in the cupboards for anything he had missed.
Paul was about ready to head home from work, putting the finishing touches on his work and shutting down his computer, already dreading the commute home–but dreading having to see Nate even more. Something…was wrong with him. It had been going on for a couple of weeks now, but every time he’d tried and talk about it with him, Nate had avoided the conversation like the plague. It had been little things at first–mostly these…violent dreams, where he’d be thrashing and squealing and no matter how hard Paul shook him he wouldn’t wake up. Then things had gotten stranger–Nate usually kept a pristine house, but lately he hadn’t seemed to be keeping anything clean, and the way his body was looking, he’d been spending a lot of that time binge eating.
It shouldn’t have been that big of a deal, he supposed, but the change had happened so quickly…and Paul didn’t know how to deal with it. This weekend…he’d have to talk about it with him, he just didn’t have any other option. They’d work through it, whatever it was–he was sure of it. With his things packed up he got up from his chair and checked his phone, where he saw a strange notification from an app he didn’t recognize, and which he was certain he hadn’t ever downloaded, called Arctos. He tried to dismiss the message telling him he’d been selected to receive a complimentary audio album from their collection, but instead of swiping away, it took him to a download screen, which he couldn’t stop.
Was it some virus? He tried to click away, frustrated, but it only let him get out of the screen after it had finished downloading whatever it was onto his phone. Was it a fucking virus or something? It didn’t seem to have messed with anything else on his phone, but he’d have to get it checked out this weekend as well, to make sure it wasn’t something malicious. Trying to focus on his bigger problem with Nate, he rode the elevator down and got to his luxury sedan out in the parking lot, and started the engine. Without thinking much of it, he hooked up his bluetooth from his phone to the car, ready to play some of his music, but as soon as it was connected some strange country song started blaring out of the speakers instead of his usual classic rock. Checking his phone, he discovered that whatever strange album that program had downloaded had been set to autoplay, and he couldn’t make it stop, no matter what he did–even turning down the car volume wouldn’t work for some reason. Frustrated, he simply resigned himself to the problem–he’d get it figured out this weekend, but if this was the worst the virus did, he might as well count himself lucky–and now that he’d listened to it for a couple of minutes, the music wasn’t bothering him nearly as much as he’d have expected it to. To his own surprise, he belted out the chorus of the first song without even realizing he’d learned it by heart:
Ya don’t want no city livin’. Got ya wishin’ for a simpl’r time Well ya’ll be a big, old country bear If ya just listen tah mah rhyme!
Ya got a beard down tah yer gut And mullets never went outta style. Relax ya big, old country bear And crank that volume dial!
Paul didn’t notice, as he kept humming along to the catchy tune, that he was starting to change in the driver seat of the car. He’d always taken great care to make sure his appearance was professional–he knew that appearances mattered in business, and he wasn’t about to let a beard or a paunch get in the way of a promotion. Yet he slumped a bit in his seat now, adjusted the crotch of his pants as his cock picked up a few more inches, heaved a sigh, and his gut pushed out against his tight shirt, a couple of buttons popping as it grew. He scratched his face, unfazed by the beard growing out from his cheeks and chin, rapidly rowing longer than a foot–his meticulously styled hair growing greasy and long, hanging around his head in tangled locks with streaks of grey, the top shaved short–but not short enough to disguise his now receding hairline. Unaware of the changes, and curious about the album now that he’d gotten through the first song, he turned up the stereo and kept listening:
Wearin’ yer waders ‘n yer overalls Smokin’ a ‘gar in yer rusty truck Nothin’ but a dumbfuck redneck, ain’t it just yer fuckin’ luck!
Ya Never wash yer clothes ‘N ya never take a shower The worse ya stink the dumber ya think But a real man ain’t a fuckin’ flower!
Paul guffawed at that line–because…because he was a real fucking man, and he sure as hell didn’t smell like those prissy bitches in the city. No–he didn’t want to live like that anymore–why worry about climbing the corporate ladder, when he could just work on the farm all day–simple shit, without having to worry about complex shit like accounts, or computers or whatever. He leaned forward and gave the ass of his overalls a scratch, digging into his crack a bit with a grunt around the cigar he was smoking, and then sat back with a sigh, hearing the old seat of his pickup groan under his weight, smelling the grungy musk welling up around him and making his cock stir Sure was his luck! No better fucking life than this one he had right now as a dirty fucking farmer bear, right? This was a great album–how in the world had he never heard of it before? He kept listening, humming along and singing when he got the choruses of the song’s down. As he was pulling onto the subdivision where he lived with Nate, the last track of the album came on, called “Hogfucker” and this one made his breath catch in his lungs:
Those curly tails and big wide rumps get ya rarin’ fer a nasty fuck Can’t help climbin’ in the filthy sty just a plowin’ in the mud and muck!
Who’s a proud hogfucker? Yer a proud hogfucker!
Manure and slop sure turn yer crank, The oinkin’ snortin’ ‘n squealin’. Ruttin’ away in the disgustin’ filth Yeah! Ain’t no better fuckin’ feelin’!
Fuck, why in the hell was his cock so hard all of a sudden? He thought the song was metaphorical for a moment, but pretty soon…he was sure it was talking about pigs. Real fucking pigs, and how…how fucking sexy they were. Hell, why should he try and deny it anyway? It was true–he’d fucked a few pigs in his life–it was always better than fucking a dude or a bitch in his opinion.
“Who’s a proud hogfucker?” The song asked again.
“I’s a proud hogfucker!” Paul shouted back with a chorus of redneck voices on the track, hauling his cock free of his overalls and stroking himself roughly, thinking of the last time he’d been with a proper hog–too fucking long ago in his opinion. He needed to get back out on the farm, into the country, where he’d feel more at home anyway–but he…he had to do something here first. The song ended–too soon for Paul to finish his load–and the heavyset redneck got out of his truck with a grumble and tromped up the steps of his house, feeling out of breath and out of sorts, but he was sure he’d feel better once he was back on the farm, where he belonged.
It wasn’t the reply Nate had expected from the company, but then again, what had he expected? Why in the world had he written to them in the first place? He felt ashamed at daring to admit what had gone through his head to anyone, over the last few weeks, and now the same company which had cursed him with this fucking obsession was sending him a gift? He was sick to his stomach, when Paul came home from work to discover his husband in a fit of–well, Paul didn’t know what was wrong with Nate, but he was concerned. He hadn’t been sleeping well, and his mood–and appetite–swung wildly. On some nights, he wouldn’t be able to eat anything, and on others, he’d arrive home and find Nate laying on the couch, binging on snacks, with an obvious hardon in his underwear. That night, however, it was clear that something was worse–but like before, Nate refused to discuss it, and simply disappeared into their bedroom, leaving Paul to fret on his own while he prepared dinner for himself, his mind running through a whole list of worries. Still–what could he do, if Nate wasn’t willing to be open and honest with him? He went to bed late, and found his husband tossing and turning in bed, as had become common, the sheets wet with sweat, and smelling of cum. Disturbed, he decided to sleep in the guest room instead–at least that way he wouldn’t have to put up with it.
The next morning, Nate awoke late to discover that Paul had already gotten up and left for work without disturbing him. The night had been even worse than usual–it seemed like he’d relived the entire story from beginning to end in his mind, trapped in the horror, unable to wake up. He groped for his balls, and gave a sigh of relief when he felt them, and then looked at the rest of his body. He was normal–a bit worse for wear, after his sudden binging habit which had kicked in, but…himself. Why did that…upset him so much? He felt better, at least–more focused. Today was the day he’d turn it around, he decided. He’d put it behind him. He could do it. He wouldn’t worry about Arctos or their fucked up books anymore, and he’d be Nate–himself…right?
He spent the morning catching up on the household chores he’d been neglecting, and with a cleaner house, he felt cleaner himself–especially after a nice long shower. Maybe writing that letter had been what he needed to do–maybe just getting it out of him and admitting it had gotten him to a place where he could finally move on. It was around eleven that he’d gotten dressed and ready to run some errands–and get back to the gym, of course–when he opened the door, and found a large package on the stoop in front of him.
It couldn’t be–how had it gotten here so quickly? It must be something else he’d ordered from Amazon and forgotten about. He checked the shipping label, and sure enough, it was from Arctos–it was his gift. Throw it in the trash, he told himself, nothing this company sends you can be any good. He picked it up–it was heavy–and with a look around to see if anyone was watching from the neighborhood, he turned around and went right back inside, found a knife, and opened it up.
When he pushed aside the packing material from the top, he tried to scream but his voice was caught in his throat. It…it wasn’t real, was it? No–no, it was black, it didn’t look like flesh–he reached in and touched the thing, and while it was stiff, he figured it had to be rubber. A rubber cast of a pig’s head, hollow, meant to be worn as a mask. Just like…like the head the boy from the story had stolen from the butcher, the boar’s head he’d taken, hollowed out, forced over his own and then sewn in place. The boar’s head which had magically come to life–and beside it, two other things–a pigtail dildo and something that looked like a dildo, but wasn’t–he discovered upon inspection. No–the last item was…was meant as a sleeve for his cock, just like the boar’s cock the boy had skinned and sewn over his own as well.
It was a cruel joke, to call such a thing a gift, and yet, looking down at them, the feelings Nate had managed to quell for the morning roared back to the front of his mind. He…he wanted to put them on–there, he’d thought it. He’d thought about it for weeks now, about what could drive someone to do such a horrific act, and now, staring down at the rubber gear–he knew. He was in the wrong body–he wanted to be a hog, had always wanted to be a hog–he’d just never known how to articulate that desire in all his life, and this monstrous book had given him the language, and the need. Or maybe it was just a brief fascination. Maybe if he tried it, he’d see how silly he’d been and be able to forget it. He was already stripping his way free of his workout gear, and had the head out of the box, feeling the heft of it, imagining the weight on his shoulders.
In front of a mirror in the hall, he lowered it over his head, and it fit snuggly. It took him a moment to line his eyes up with the holes in the mask, but when he did, he let out a snort of excitement–there in the mirror was his body–his awful, human body–with a beautiful boar’s head resting on top, just like he’d always imagined, just like he’d always needed. He grabbed the cock sleeve and shoved his hard, leaking cock inside it, and then pushed the dildo into his ass, and started stroking, amazed he could…feel his hand through the thick rubber of the sleeve, but he needed this–he’d always needed this. In his mind he knew he needed to take the stuff off, that it was feeling…hot stuffy and sticky inside the heavy mask. But he needed this, as ashamed as he was. He needed this more than anything, and he could always take it off, right?
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